Where I Am From

 

2jSh7G1IQL2Vl5MKTIWH1w_thumb_10838.jpg

Where I am From

I am from Annie-I-Over and London Bridge, the upstairs trunk filled with my mother’s Eastern Star formals and my older sister’s discarded prom dresses.

I am from backyard cherry trees and grain sacks piled in the old cinder block garage. From the lame dog that dad named the arithmetic dog because he put down three and carried one, from that winter when the three little Judd girls perished on the prairie during a snow storm, their gloved hands rising from the snowdrift, their ungloved hands, one each, in opposite pockets of their snow parkas that were not sufficient in the prairie winds and drifting snow.

I am from sounds in the prairie night. That sudden popping noise and choruses of mice families in the walls, my oldest sister in late from the Vivian dance, trying to sneak quietly up the wooden stairs to our upstairs all-girls loft, my middle sister in her purple bedroom, me in my yellow and red with the green linoleum, my oldest in her green and black and white checked refuge whose windows opened up to the front porch roof and sunbathing a story above pesky neighborhood boys with ice water in glasses or simply inquisitive eyes.

I am from the creak of playground swings in the schoolyard across the street. From our neighbor’s cocker spaniel that they let me pretend was mine, me cross-legged in the dirt of their front yard in Levis and a checked shirt with my dog in the triangle of my legs.

I am from Frosty Freezes and Mowell’s Drug Store. Cherry phosphates and chocolate Cokes, Russian Peanuts and love comics I could only buy if they were at the bottom of the stack I bought ten at a time—my entire week’s allowance. My mother’s instructions only countermanded by the cooperation of Jack Mowell, who never looked beyond the top three in the stack.  Archie and Veronica, Casper the Ghost, Richie Rich and then—Love for the duration of the stack.

I am from hay rides and watermelon feeds at the Thomas family farm down by the river. Wood ticks and sand bars that sucked you in. I am from White River boys and mean White River girls who said they were their boys and to leave them alone. I am from a sudden stubborn nature that didn’t listen and so had my first kiss standing in the field between two cars––one being my car with  Jones County plates, the other the car of a Mellette County boy from White River who would make me dizzy as often as we could arrange it for the next two years.

I am from Job’s Daughters and 4-H, the apron I spent all summer sewing that made it to the State Fair where the judges declared it to look “hastily made.”

I am from a book handed to me at the age of 16 that began, “Listen, Violet, I am going to tell you a wonderful story and it’s all about the birds and the bees.”

I am from choke cherries and meadowlarks, riding in the backs of pickups, picking up pop bottles along the highway ditches, and bouquets of sweet clover and alfalfa and snake grass. Stealing corn from the neighbor’s fields and overnights in our own fields down by the river to switch the irrigation pumps at midnight, my older sisters in a wrestling match, throwing each other in the irrigation ditches and my dad’s ghost story ending in “You’ve got my golden hand” and his hand descending from the pitch black to grab my upper arm.

Screams under the summer stars and the half-full moon. The yip of coyotes and an occasional marauding coon. All the spirits of departed Sioux natives and homesteaders as well as a few ghosts of our own. Perhaps ourselves coming back to investigate our pasts. Haunted by the whole surrounding vast emptiness of rolling plains and empty skies between the vast amount of stars and grass and seeking souls who frequented those spaces that made the emptiness not empty but full of things with space enough to grow and move into whatever we were becoming.

 

I published this for Mary who asked for more results from the exercises we did at our writing retreat a few week ago. I believe this was a 20 minute timed writing to the prompt, “Where I Am From”. If you’d like to tell us where you’re from, please link your essay in the comments below!

This entry was posted in childhood, Teenagers, Uncategorized and tagged on by .

About lifelessons

My blog, which started out to be about overcoming grief, quickly grew into a blog about celebrating life. I post daily: poems, photographs, essays or stories. I've lived in countries all around the globe but have finally come to rest in Mexico, where I've lived since 2001. My books may be found on Amazon in Kindle and print format, my art in local Ajijic galleries. Hope to see you at my blog.

31 thoughts on “Where I Am From

    1. lifelessons Post author

      Russian peanuts are what we called sunflower seeds. I know not why. Job’s Daughters was a lodge for girls affiliated with Masons. My mother insisted I join as they were planning on moving and wanted me to be able to meet girls. I hated it as I had to go to the town where my boyfriend lived and all of the girls there hated me because I was dating him. And, we never moved! I think they let me quit when they decided to wait until I was out of high school before they moved.

      Liked by 2 people

      Reply
      1. koolkosherkitchen

        Sunflower seeds were sold on every corner in the South of Russia. They were as cheap and popular as peanuts in the US. I guess that’s where the name comes from. But what’s the connection with Job’s daughters, other than their reputation as the most beatiful girls in the land? They died young, so why name an organization after them?

        Like

        Reply
        1. lifelessons Post author

          Ah, we could tell you, but then we’d have to kill you! Secrets of the lodge.. but honestly, I don’t remember. Why are Rebeccas called Rebeccas or Eastern Stars called Eastern Stars–or Masons called Masons? All ancient symbiology. I just know I hated having to memorize all the ritual. Seemed like wasted time to me.

          Liked by 1 person

          Reply
  1. Noreen

    Judy, this is so ‘imaginable’ and fun – so much freedom in those days, and we all learned the hard way! Loved this description of a piece of your youth – thanks for sharing!
    Hugs,
    Noreen

    Like

    Reply
        1. lifelessons Post author

          Recently I’ve had a lot of dental work done and while having the root canals done with a dam, to take my mind off choking (ha) I went back through every house I’ve ever lived in and tried to remember where every room was and all the furniture in it. It was an interesting exercise and took my mind off matters at hand. Ten houses in all during two trips to the dentist. Worked like a charm!

          Liked by 1 person

          Reply

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.