You can’t know the whole story without a little character development, can you?
I was born and raised in a rural county, and grew up in an old farmhouse that my great-great-great (yes, three greats) grandfather lived and died in. The little homestead I spent the first 18 years of my life on was filled with mysterious memories, spiteful bumblebees, and cottonwood trees that dared to reach into the summer’s meanest thunderclouds. I chased fireflies into a starry nights, befriended toads and snakes, and had one too many dangerously delightful adventures with my siblings. I am forever grateful to have a brother and sister I could be free with.
I had a magically tragic childhood. I ran barefoot year round, learned which wild berries were deadly and which would make good jam the hardest way. I spent time with my ancestors, finding their little relics in the sandy loam I spent hours digging in. I collected derelict glass bottles, cracked cats-eye marbles and stepped on rusty square headed nails, and if I was lucky enough, even arrowheads. I fell deeply in love with nature and archaeology and read everyone of my grandfather’s National Geographic magazines he gave me.
I learned how to run a wood splitter, repair a roof, wrangle pigs, love and bury barn kittens, chase chickens and collect eggs. I could dig holes for hours (no wonder I loved the movie Holes so much), and swing hammers 30 feet in the air in a bucket truck. I was doing what my ancestors had — I was capable, hard working, indomitable.
I told myself stories about the people that lived there before me, most of them glorious and potent, when the truth was something far less glamorous. As an introvert and person of deep imagination, I didn’t know I was living in generational poverty until I was nearly graduated from high school.
I befriended a girl from California my junior year, and she took me to eat sushi for the first time (for reference, eating out at the truck stop buffet was a birthday occasion). I suddenly felt so very small and that the wider world was something I must desperately discover.
I had teen troubles with my mother (who doesn’t?) and stumbled fiercely into womanhood after years of tomboy life. I moved out, partied a little too hard in college and owned too many miniskirts, but managed a 4.0 my senior year at university while juggling several jobs. I dreamed of traveling, and eating sushi with my friend in Japan, but sometimes our dreams and what is actually meant for us are two wildly conflicting things.