The Powerful Play

What are you born with that no one can take away from you? 

My family does not come from where I was born, and until I went to college, I was educated at home by my mom, a former teacher who graduated from the University of Minnesota. Unsurprisingly, I became more familiar with the culture and customs of another region than the one in which I lived. A college classmate thought I was from Fargo, North Dakota, due to my accent. “I’m from here, but…” would be a common preface to my response, especially because I put a lot of stock in history.

Studying history is being a detective, it is discovering why things are the way they are. History is not boring or impersonal. It is very personal, and when things get personal, they get exciting. I might have a foot in two worlds, but I can tell you my history, and I can claim that and identify with that. No one can change it. There is peace in the immutability. You are you, I am myself, a unique part of history, with a past that stretches far and wide. It would be so dull to only live in the present! It would be like reading the last page of a novel and skipping the first thousand.

So what does this have to do with traveling to Woodstock, Vermont? After I returned I found out from my mom that my 3rd great grandmother was born in…Woodstock, Vermont. My wish to be a part of a place that meant a lot to me unexpectedly came true. An exciting coincidence! Or is it? Why we are drawn to what we love is an intriguing mystery.

In Woodstock, Vermont, where my 3rd great grandmother was born. 

By doing a little more research, I discovered that my 5th great grandfather fought in the Revolutionary War. Less than one hundred years later, my great-great uncle volunteered for the Union Army. The National Park Service’s website references him in relation to Shiloh National Cemetery: “Near the river bank lies six Wisconsin color bearers, all killed in action as they carried their regimental standard into the heat of battle.” One fought to create a new country, the other died to save it. 

As evidenced above, some New Englanders gradually migrated towards the Upper Midwest. Others moved west, too, in particular a family with an ocean separating them from America. My grandfather was born in Norway and traveled by ship to the United States with his parents and siblings in the early 1900s. My mom, a treasure trove of stories, wrote on her father and his family for a 10th grade school paper; her eloquent words are in the quotes below. 

The Atlantic from the coast of New England.

“Each person on that ship shared a common joy—they were going to America. Although the family had this realization, each passenger had a difficult time crossing the cold, bleak Atlantic.” My great grandfather’s ultimate ambition was “to farm the rich land which stretched and flowed across the Upper Midwest.” Eventually, after hardships and struggles, the family purchased a farm in Minnesota. I never met my grandfather or his parents, but I meet them through seeing the land that they loved, and feel the realization of their dreams. The landscape of southern Minnesota is beautiful in my eyes, and it is a part of me. When visiting the Upper Midwest, it feels like home, because my history lives there.

In front of a home where my mom lived in southern Minnesota.

History has formed my identity. My grandfather was born in the 1800s, and I am here now. The past does not seem so far away when I look at it like that. I am a part of rustic log cabins where Scandinavian ingenuity made life bearable. I am a part of farms where hopes were planted and bodies ached from work. I am a part of America. I am a part of history. That is my identity.

The design above is made up of flowers and plants that stand for the regions where my history lives: lilacs for New England, red clover for Vermont, violets for Wisconsin, showy lady's-slipper for Minnesota, wild prairie roses for North Dakota, and finally, some stalks of wheat to represent an agrarian past.