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It is hard to believe that just one week ago Jacinta and I boarded an airplane (the first of four that 36 hour long day) on Easter Sunday. Having heard tales of her daddy “flying,” she slightly understood what was happening when we buckled our seatbelts on the first little 45 minute plane ride to Sydney. Her tears were not due to fear of flying, nor the knowledge that she’d be far away from her dad, her friends, or her animals. The tears came because she did NOT want to sit on my lap for take off, she wanted her own seat! Luckily our stuffed Ghandi doll was close at hand along with a few strands of yarn to tie around his arms and legs as jewelry and sandals.
After a lovely 3 hour layover in Sydney where Jess and I met up with Matt’s sister Allison, lovely for the company and the extra hands, we almost missed our plane to Los Angeles. “Lollygagging” would be the only explanation for this. Picture this…. wandering slowly through the final terminal with Jess at my side frolicking to and fro, gazing at all of the brightly lit stores with no idea which gate we are actually going to and the announcer calls out…”Gate 56B flight 863 to Los Angeles is now closed.” Ahhhh!!! I’ve never been so close to a heart attack nor have I hyperventilated, but this time I did. Jacinta felt my pain and took it upon herself to run along side of me and chant, “running…running… running.” Sparing you too much detail, we got on the plane somehow and even had a bulkhead seat (with no seats in front of us). It took me a few minutes to regain my breath but within seconds Jacinta had found a buddy in the seat next to her, a sweet quiet sixth grade boy. Other than the food, this 14 hour flight was not too hard thanks to the extra floor space, the little boy and Jacinta’s positive spirit.
As I said, the flight was not difficult, but sad for a few minutes, yes. It was “bed time” (how can this be determined on a 14 hour flight when the time change is about 14 hours???) and everyone else was putting on their blankets and eye covers. We brushed our teeth, changed the nappy, changed into jammies, and read a story. But how can this be “bed?” Jacinta wondered. She cried out “home” for the first time, and through tears asked for all of the signs of bedtime at home, “daddy, candle, crib” but none could I offer outside of a book, a blanket, my arms and a pillow. She wanted to lay flat, and my lap wasn’t working so she would cry, “home” and eventually asked to sleep on the “floor.” Still whimpering, her little friend passed her a stuffed koala souvenir to cuddle and she fell asleep. So all “night” long I slept with one eye open, my baby locked in between my feet on the floor, picking her up every time the seatbelt sign reappeared. We made it through this flight and the next two without many glitches. Jess also found a new love for pantyhose, funny. She caught about 3 different airline attendants and started rubbing their pantyhose, and later got my mom too! On the third flight, Jess accidentally tipped a glass of ice water in my lap and I about lost it. But another angel came to the rescue: the lady next to us found a new seat and thus provided us with her dry seat for the last 2 hours of the flight. On our last layover, in Denver, Jess and I got to sleep for 90 minutes on a nice flat airport floor, again with Jess’s stroller locked in between my legs. If you can believe it, we arrived at 9:30pm at our final destination, Billings, Montana and it was still Easter! Mom and cousin Phil greeted us off the airplane with a stuffed bunny and wide open arms. Jess knew ”Grandma” as if we had left the US yesterday. That night we stayed up until midnight, played and ate, enjoyed the space and the familiar company. After a bit of a cry for “home” again, we had the best sleep ever.
On Monday, Mom, George, cousin Phil, Jess and I drove the 4 hour journey out to Sidney Montana where my Grandpa Norby was to be buried. After a long and fruitful life of 86 years Grandpa got to go home. To celebrate his life his big family all made the journey home to do this together. He had 5 children, 4 of whom are still on earth, 13 grandchildren, and 10 great grandchildren. Grandpa was a “quietish” farmer who made you think, laugh, love, work hard, and hold his hand. Although he always had clear control, he let you think you were right and much smarter than he was. He taught us all different lessons, but perhaps the biggest one that I inherited from Grandpa was his affection and need to touch people. It was a true blessing and honor for me to be involved in the funeral, to hear the stories of Sioux Pass and how Grandpa enchanted it for so long. Over the past ten years I have envied my cousins who had the chance to grow up on the farm near Grandpa and Grandma and perhaps this is one of the reasons that I’m a wanna-be farmer. I’ll never drive a tractor, and sure as hell won’t ever have 2200 acres, but I’ll try in my own way I suppose.
Besides greater love for my Grandpa as a thought for the week, I had a lot of time to ponder the severe effects of the global corporatization of food on communities such as Sioux Pass. We always heard stories of the local school, the local dance hall, places where members of the community would meet and digest life together. This is no news to anyone, especially the farmers in the deserted communities, but huge farms don’t make having neighbors or community very easy. Terribly low prices on grains and vegetables determined by the global market don’t entice young hopeful farmers. The global market knows nothing about individual communities except that it forces them to buy commodities grown in countries where the farmers make even less money than they do. It may make “economic sense” but what does that mean in a community? It means driving between 30 minutes (using petroleum) and 3 hours for cheaper goods, not necessarily nutritious or high quality goods, but cheap enough to be paid for with the meager earnings of a farmer paying off debts to the government for big tractors. There are no schools in Sioux Pass, no halls, no stores. Grandpa bought his farm somewhere in the midst of the Green Revolution right after World War 2 so it was never small, it could not be small if he wanted to make a living. It makes me wonder how big farms were before the war, before big tractors and pesticides became a necessary but expensive part of farming.
It was strange being an outsider to all of Grandpa’s extended family and friends, wishing I had been there, but yet knowing how hard it must be watching the last few members of your community pass away not knowing whose kids would actually want to farm the land. Grandpa has one daughter still farming and one grandson who will probably keep the tradition. At present, I don’t count myself yet because I am still a city girl with hippy ideals of going back to the land to love it. I am not a farmer who has been born and bred in the ways of a cattle rancher. I have no knowledge of any specific patch of land or its history, I’ve never lived anywhere longer than 10 years. I’ve been reading some Wendell Berry and I am beginning to share his opinion that we must learn from the land we live on. He believes that we must go back in its history and stop looking on other horizons for answers. The answers can not be global, they must be local or else we will destroy the land upon which we depend. Each community is unique. He says that if the current humans on a bit of land are disrespecting it, then we must go back and catch the few who knew its secrets before they die.
What a strange thought for me to allow into my head after all of my searching in other countries, my degree in French and International Studies, my passion for other cultures and learning their ways. We’ll see how far it goes because it does seem to hold a bit of truth, especially given the nasty array of homogenous superstores and strip malls strewn across the globe. How can we all want the same thing when we are all so awesomely unique? Perhaps it’s the ads that convince us of our own homogeneity and how we should all want the same thing…freedom to consume and unconsciously exploit the land and its inhabitants. There must be a balance though, the world is already so beautifully mixed up and I LOVE being able to explore its wonders.
On that note, exploring we did….with Lecia and Ben in the front, Kai (7 weeks old) on my right and Jess on my left and our baggage crowding out every spare inch of the car, we drove back to Milwaukee. The first day we made it about 45 minutes before we hit a snow storm and had to stop at a hotel for the night. Snow! I had wished for it so mnay times over the past six months, but in April??? When Jess first saw it out the window she said, “Bubbles!” Unfortunately the wind was so severe, and I did not pack us coats, mittens or boots so we could not go out and play. The best thing is that I was with my sister, her husband and their new baby boy, and that Jess had her auntie, uncle and “baby Kai,” to entertain her. All day long Jess laughed and made us all smile, but bed time was still hard. This was the 4th and last night that Jacinta cried herself to sleep whimpering, “home.”
The next day we drove from 9am until 4pm to arrive at Ben’s grandma’s farm in Edinburg, North Dakota, and there was no sight of snow anywhere! En route we stopped every 2 hours for Kai to feed and Jess to play. Once we stopped at a mall that looked exactly the same as every other mall in the US I’ve seen and picked up a wooden toy and some crayons for Jess. Next stop was lunch at a small café where Jess had her first meal all to herself, eggs and pancakes. This was at the “geographical center of North America,” in Rugby, North Dakota. Finally we arrived at the farm and seeing cows was just what Jess needed. It was calving time so “babies” were everywhere. It is spring, the trees are budding, the colors are gentle, the hay is moist and it smells like mud. For the next 2 days we played with burrs, sat on tractors, climbed on haystacks, mooed with the cows and played with baby Kai.
Jacinta is in love with her little cousin. After meeting Kai for the first time, she was allowed to hold his tiny hand. She would quietly marvel, “Hand! Hand!” After a few minutes she said…”like him.” Each day she grows bolder and her touch is not as gentle, but she just wants to touch him. Across the car she would beg, “touch him? Touch him?” At each rest stop she got to touch him after he had his “milk.” She misses her silly daddy, but her uncle Ben is doing a good job making her laugh and being the male she is used to. When she “toots” though, she still blames it on “daddy, Jedda,” or sometimes “mommy!”
On Friday we drove another 8 hour day with our destination as Minneapolis. It was so good to arrive at our aunt and uncle’s on the lake. They are grandparents extraordinaire and made our night cozy, happy and nourishing. We finished off the night looking through old photo albums of Grandpa’s. By Saturday noon we were in the car for another 8 hour drive finally arriving in Milwaukee, our final destination by 8:30pm. We stopped a few times, once at a cranberry town to learn about cranberries. Jacinta psyched herself up a few hours before arrival that this was going to be “home.” That it is, for over a week. We are thrilled to stop moving and spend some time in a familiar place with people we love. Jacinta put out a bowl of grapes to share with Rory today, she can’t possibly understand how far away Rory really is right now. She always asks to hear daddy sing on the cd, and has even begun thinking a few other artists singing with guitars are also “daddy.” It looks like she is learning to live in two places as Matt and I do.
A writer from Guadeloupe named Maryse Condé focuses on this theme of “home” in many of her novels. Growing up in Guadeloupe speaking French, her parents never told her she was African because they wanted to protect her from the fact that others ever thought of her as inferior. Studying in France by age 16, she learned her history and went back to search for her roots in Africa. She looked for “home” for a long time and eventually found it. She learned to accept and love her home as a nomad. Although she never found the acceptance and true roots she sought, she learned to be at home in herself. Perhaps the only way we’ll ever find true peace is to be in love with our own home, take good care of it and stop coveting and destroying the homes of others. Perhaps that is a good goal: to learn to love and take care of our home and community, whatever and wherever it may be.
After a lovely 3 hour layover in Sydney where Jess and I met up with Matt’s sister Allison, lovely for the company and the extra hands, we almost missed our plane to Los Angeles. “Lollygagging” would be the only explanation for this. Picture this…. wandering slowly through the final terminal with Jess at my side frolicking to and fro, gazing at all of the brightly lit stores with no idea which gate we are actually going to and the announcer calls out…”Gate 56B flight 863 to Los Angeles is now closed.” Ahhhh!!! I’ve never been so close to a heart attack nor have I hyperventilated, but this time I did. Jacinta felt my pain and took it upon herself to run along side of me and chant, “running…running… running.” Sparing you too much detail, we got on the plane somehow and even had a bulkhead seat (with no seats in front of us). It took me a few minutes to regain my breath but within seconds Jacinta had found a buddy in the seat next to her, a sweet quiet sixth grade boy. Other than the food, this 14 hour flight was not too hard thanks to the extra floor space, the little boy and Jacinta’s positive spirit.
As I said, the flight was not difficult, but sad for a few minutes, yes. It was “bed time” (how can this be determined on a 14 hour flight when the time change is about 14 hours???) and everyone else was putting on their blankets and eye covers. We brushed our teeth, changed the nappy, changed into jammies, and read a story. But how can this be “bed?” Jacinta wondered. She cried out “home” for the first time, and through tears asked for all of the signs of bedtime at home, “daddy, candle, crib” but none could I offer outside of a book, a blanket, my arms and a pillow. She wanted to lay flat, and my lap wasn’t working so she would cry, “home” and eventually asked to sleep on the “floor.” Still whimpering, her little friend passed her a stuffed koala souvenir to cuddle and she fell asleep. So all “night” long I slept with one eye open, my baby locked in between my feet on the floor, picking her up every time the seatbelt sign reappeared. We made it through this flight and the next two without many glitches. Jess also found a new love for pantyhose, funny. She caught about 3 different airline attendants and started rubbing their pantyhose, and later got my mom too! On the third flight, Jess accidentally tipped a glass of ice water in my lap and I about lost it. But another angel came to the rescue: the lady next to us found a new seat and thus provided us with her dry seat for the last 2 hours of the flight. On our last layover, in Denver, Jess and I got to sleep for 90 minutes on a nice flat airport floor, again with Jess’s stroller locked in between my legs. If you can believe it, we arrived at 9:30pm at our final destination, Billings, Montana and it was still Easter! Mom and cousin Phil greeted us off the airplane with a stuffed bunny and wide open arms. Jess knew ”Grandma” as if we had left the US yesterday. That night we stayed up until midnight, played and ate, enjoyed the space and the familiar company. After a bit of a cry for “home” again, we had the best sleep ever.
On Monday, Mom, George, cousin Phil, Jess and I drove the 4 hour journey out to Sidney Montana where my Grandpa Norby was to be buried. After a long and fruitful life of 86 years Grandpa got to go home. To celebrate his life his big family all made the journey home to do this together. He had 5 children, 4 of whom are still on earth, 13 grandchildren, and 10 great grandchildren. Grandpa was a “quietish” farmer who made you think, laugh, love, work hard, and hold his hand. Although he always had clear control, he let you think you were right and much smarter than he was. He taught us all different lessons, but perhaps the biggest one that I inherited from Grandpa was his affection and need to touch people. It was a true blessing and honor for me to be involved in the funeral, to hear the stories of Sioux Pass and how Grandpa enchanted it for so long. Over the past ten years I have envied my cousins who had the chance to grow up on the farm near Grandpa and Grandma and perhaps this is one of the reasons that I’m a wanna-be farmer. I’ll never drive a tractor, and sure as hell won’t ever have 2200 acres, but I’ll try in my own way I suppose.
Besides greater love for my Grandpa as a thought for the week, I had a lot of time to ponder the severe effects of the global corporatization of food on communities such as Sioux Pass. We always heard stories of the local school, the local dance hall, places where members of the community would meet and digest life together. This is no news to anyone, especially the farmers in the deserted communities, but huge farms don’t make having neighbors or community very easy. Terribly low prices on grains and vegetables determined by the global market don’t entice young hopeful farmers. The global market knows nothing about individual communities except that it forces them to buy commodities grown in countries where the farmers make even less money than they do. It may make “economic sense” but what does that mean in a community? It means driving between 30 minutes (using petroleum) and 3 hours for cheaper goods, not necessarily nutritious or high quality goods, but cheap enough to be paid for with the meager earnings of a farmer paying off debts to the government for big tractors. There are no schools in Sioux Pass, no halls, no stores. Grandpa bought his farm somewhere in the midst of the Green Revolution right after World War 2 so it was never small, it could not be small if he wanted to make a living. It makes me wonder how big farms were before the war, before big tractors and pesticides became a necessary but expensive part of farming.
It was strange being an outsider to all of Grandpa’s extended family and friends, wishing I had been there, but yet knowing how hard it must be watching the last few members of your community pass away not knowing whose kids would actually want to farm the land. Grandpa has one daughter still farming and one grandson who will probably keep the tradition. At present, I don’t count myself yet because I am still a city girl with hippy ideals of going back to the land to love it. I am not a farmer who has been born and bred in the ways of a cattle rancher. I have no knowledge of any specific patch of land or its history, I’ve never lived anywhere longer than 10 years. I’ve been reading some Wendell Berry and I am beginning to share his opinion that we must learn from the land we live on. He believes that we must go back in its history and stop looking on other horizons for answers. The answers can not be global, they must be local or else we will destroy the land upon which we depend. Each community is unique. He says that if the current humans on a bit of land are disrespecting it, then we must go back and catch the few who knew its secrets before they die.
What a strange thought for me to allow into my head after all of my searching in other countries, my degree in French and International Studies, my passion for other cultures and learning their ways. We’ll see how far it goes because it does seem to hold a bit of truth, especially given the nasty array of homogenous superstores and strip malls strewn across the globe. How can we all want the same thing when we are all so awesomely unique? Perhaps it’s the ads that convince us of our own homogeneity and how we should all want the same thing…freedom to consume and unconsciously exploit the land and its inhabitants. There must be a balance though, the world is already so beautifully mixed up and I LOVE being able to explore its wonders.
On that note, exploring we did….with Lecia and Ben in the front, Kai (7 weeks old) on my right and Jess on my left and our baggage crowding out every spare inch of the car, we drove back to Milwaukee. The first day we made it about 45 minutes before we hit a snow storm and had to stop at a hotel for the night. Snow! I had wished for it so mnay times over the past six months, but in April??? When Jess first saw it out the window she said, “Bubbles!” Unfortunately the wind was so severe, and I did not pack us coats, mittens or boots so we could not go out and play. The best thing is that I was with my sister, her husband and their new baby boy, and that Jess had her auntie, uncle and “baby Kai,” to entertain her. All day long Jess laughed and made us all smile, but bed time was still hard. This was the 4th and last night that Jacinta cried herself to sleep whimpering, “home.”
The next day we drove from 9am until 4pm to arrive at Ben’s grandma’s farm in Edinburg, North Dakota, and there was no sight of snow anywhere! En route we stopped every 2 hours for Kai to feed and Jess to play. Once we stopped at a mall that looked exactly the same as every other mall in the US I’ve seen and picked up a wooden toy and some crayons for Jess. Next stop was lunch at a small café where Jess had her first meal all to herself, eggs and pancakes. This was at the “geographical center of North America,” in Rugby, North Dakota. Finally we arrived at the farm and seeing cows was just what Jess needed. It was calving time so “babies” were everywhere. It is spring, the trees are budding, the colors are gentle, the hay is moist and it smells like mud. For the next 2 days we played with burrs, sat on tractors, climbed on haystacks, mooed with the cows and played with baby Kai.
Jacinta is in love with her little cousin. After meeting Kai for the first time, she was allowed to hold his tiny hand. She would quietly marvel, “Hand! Hand!” After a few minutes she said…”like him.” Each day she grows bolder and her touch is not as gentle, but she just wants to touch him. Across the car she would beg, “touch him? Touch him?” At each rest stop she got to touch him after he had his “milk.” She misses her silly daddy, but her uncle Ben is doing a good job making her laugh and being the male she is used to. When she “toots” though, she still blames it on “daddy, Jedda,” or sometimes “mommy!”
On Friday we drove another 8 hour day with our destination as Minneapolis. It was so good to arrive at our aunt and uncle’s on the lake. They are grandparents extraordinaire and made our night cozy, happy and nourishing. We finished off the night looking through old photo albums of Grandpa’s. By Saturday noon we were in the car for another 8 hour drive finally arriving in Milwaukee, our final destination by 8:30pm. We stopped a few times, once at a cranberry town to learn about cranberries. Jacinta psyched herself up a few hours before arrival that this was going to be “home.” That it is, for over a week. We are thrilled to stop moving and spend some time in a familiar place with people we love. Jacinta put out a bowl of grapes to share with Rory today, she can’t possibly understand how far away Rory really is right now. She always asks to hear daddy sing on the cd, and has even begun thinking a few other artists singing with guitars are also “daddy.” It looks like she is learning to live in two places as Matt and I do.
A writer from Guadeloupe named Maryse Condé focuses on this theme of “home” in many of her novels. Growing up in Guadeloupe speaking French, her parents never told her she was African because they wanted to protect her from the fact that others ever thought of her as inferior. Studying in France by age 16, she learned her history and went back to search for her roots in Africa. She looked for “home” for a long time and eventually found it. She learned to accept and love her home as a nomad. Although she never found the acceptance and true roots she sought, she learned to be at home in herself. Perhaps the only way we’ll ever find true peace is to be in love with our own home, take good care of it and stop coveting and destroying the homes of others. Perhaps that is a good goal: to learn to love and take care of our home and community, whatever and wherever it may be.
posted by Matt & Shana & Jacinta & Genevieve Henry at
3:59 PM
2 Comments:
Shana,
You said more than a lot in this weeks's post! But the goal "to learn to love and take care of our home and community, whatever and wherever it may be." sums it up sooooo beautifully.
Enjoy your time in Milwaukee. We're all looking forward to your visit to Michigan next week.
Love,
Diane
Hey Shana , well everything is exactly the same over here, I enjoyed reading your blog, we miss you and Jacinta. Warm Greetings Melina
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