These Roots Run Deep

“Human nature will not flourish, any more than a potato, if it be planted and replanted, for too long a series of generations, in the same worn-out soil. My children have had other birthplaces, and so far as their fortunes may be within my control, shall strike their roots into unaccustomed earth.”
—Nathaniel Hawthorne, “The Custom-House”

Tuesday, September 8th, is my birthday—4 PM to be exact. The story goes that my father had to stop the bean harvest for a few hours so he could take my mom to the hospital. I was born within an hour of arriving. I must have been in a hurry to get going with my life; I often say that I don’t want to waste a minute and I try to live that, too.

I hope everyone pauses, even just for a few minutes, to consider his or her life when his or her birthday arrives. I know I do. I think about how next year could be better than the last, and actually try to plan or visualize what I can do to get there. Sometimes it actually works!

Usually around my birthday, a few things occur—Labor Day being one of them. I’ve learned to expect a few cards in the mail late because of the postal delay. As if I care, I’m always simply elated to be remembered; the people close to me know I love real snail mail (hint, hint)! Other than mail, my favorite birthday treat is my husband cooking dinner for me. Oh man, I can’t even describe his cooking prowess. I can’t wait! As I’m writing this, I have about 24 hours to go…tick tock, tick tock…

The other thing that happens around my birthday is our home-town county fair. I case you missed my guest post at Quest for Balance, I grew up in the Midwest on a farm, but now live in California along the coast.

My grandparents moved here from Europe to start a new life when they were very young. My grandfather worked as a hired hand on local farms, eventually saving enough money to buy his own potato farm.

I mentioned the county fair because every year the small local paper, based in a town of 900 people, publishes a comprehensive issue about the fair: who’s blackberry pie won the blue ribbon, who’s child won the grand prize for his or her sheep and cows, who’s preserved string beans were the most tasty, etc.

But, this newspaper issue included an added bonus. A special section profiling families who have been in the area for 100 years or more in context with the rich farming history of the region. Photos and profiles of families still living in the area dotted the pages, five or six families in all. One unidentified family photo (shown at top of this post) made me pause. Can you imagine? Life in a sod home in the early 1900s could not have been easy. The dust storms, the snow and ice, the harsh winters, how did they do it? It made me take a deep breath, consider all I’ve been whining about recently, and pause. I don’t think I need to explain what went through my mind when I saw the photo, other than that I needed to stop whining.

Since I know a lot of you out there in cyberspace, I thought I’d include a snippet about one of those profiled families, which was mine: my roots, my blood, the people who made me who I am. Thanks in advance for making it this far into my post (I realize it’s a humdinger).

The photo above shows my Czech grandparents, the ones who bought their own potato farm, surrounded by their five sons. The good-looking gent sitting next to my grandmother is my father, Alvin, also the oldest of the sons. All boys are still farming with exception of one, who found another fulfilling life about 10 years ago in a neighboring state. I love them all very much.

My grandparents are no longer living; they were kind, hard working, and full of life. They often polka danced in the living room and my grandfather also played the accordion. Maybe that’s where I got my rockin’ music abilities! My grandmother (not shown, my mom’s side) also played the organ by ear even though she never had formal training. I think I had had a good shot at being musically inclined from both sides, actually. My grandfather’s father used to shine shoes on a famous bridge in Prage, Cz. I had the honor of visiting that site a few years ago. I felt I was with “my people.” I will never forget that visit—goosebump city.

Here’s another picture from the same issue of the newspaper showing all of us grandkids, I think this was taken in 1987.

Since my dad was the oldest of the five brothers, me and my three siblings were the oldest of the grandkids and also did most of the babysitting of all the others. Yeah, and yours truly is the one with the biggish hair, top row, far right. My sister is the other bookend in the top row, between us are my two brothers. My three siblings still live in the heartland where we grew up. My roots run deep.

They stayed.
But, I left.

Now I’m finally getting to the quote on the top of this post.
(Take a moment to read it again, if you please.)

What is the ideal way? Is it to stay and tend your roots? Cultivate stories that last for 100 years? One could posit a heritage develops deepest when one’s roots remain planted in the same soil, giving roots time to take hold, widen in breadth, and deepen in depth.

I’ve moved 16 or 17 times in the last 20 years (I’ve lost count). But, does that mean my roots no longer connect to that deep earth?

I say, “Yes, they’re connected.”

I’ve experienced many wonderful things. My life is full, rich, and deep, but the fullness and richness has been a result of roots of a different sort. Feeder roots that connect me to where I grew up, but also allow me to grow into varied soils, pushing me to build complex and diverse sets of thoughts and experiences.

But, maybe the real answer is that there is no one right way to grow—no one correct soil?

In the end, when all is said and done, I want to look back and remember taking photos like this one (above). Having observed photos from this era, married couples often look serious and stoic, but look at these two! They look like they are enjoying the ride. This photo was also a part of the same newspaper—it was taken in 1914. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

I have struck my roots into unaccustomed earth, will keep smiling as long as I am able, and try to make as many others smile as I can in this unfamiliar earth.

Create your day and enjoy your life!

[Images from The Index, No. 14, Vol. 109 - August 5, 2009]