When Grete attended a recent Quaker Retreat, participants were asked to write about “Where I’m From…” as an introduction. From that, came this:
I am from a line of strong-willed women, who only have two names.
I am Grete, born to Sallie, who was born to Grete, who was born to Sallie.
I have a daughter who is Sallie, who has a daughter who is Grete.
We are six generations of women who land on our feet.
We love to read, and be read to. We love backrubs, sunsets and the way the ocean laps on the shore.
I come from a line of women who are not soft-spoken. We love to laugh out loud.
I am from a time when as a child, I was expected to curtsy when introduced to an adult.
I am from three blessings, my children, Sallie, Christopher Robin, and Chip.
I am from Winnie the Pooh, Dick and Jane, and Golden books. I am from Nancy Drew, The Wizard of Oz and Misty of Chincoteague.
I come from bright colors, silver jewelry, my grandmother’s pearls, and pressed flowers.
I come from a VW camper, piled full of children on an adventure to new horizons.
I come from winding roads following ancient contours, and a long line of Quakers.
I am from cobblestone streets, the Liberty Bell, and Independence Hall.
I am from a row house with a postage-stamp-size front yard, to a 19 room house with a 3 car garage, to a one bedroom apartment, then a 3 bedroom condo on the 20th floor in a high rise on the beach in Florida, and now, a small log cabin on 100 acres..
I am from summers spent at Cape May, with boardwalks and gulls, the smell of the ocean, and music that announced the ice cream truck after dinner.
Unfortunately, I am also from the jeep that would go up and down the streets spraying DDT to keep the mosquitos at bay, and what fun it was to run behind it in the cloud of mist. We didn’t know.
I am from a small town in Alaska where air is clean and the Mayor is a cat named “Stubbs” because his tail is.
I am at one with the woods, and the breeze in my hair, and the sound of ice slurry in the rivers.
I have learned that not much beats a good book, and the time to read it.
I am from beaver-chewed sticks, and the ancient sound of Sandhill cranes returning in the spring.
I am from, bald eagles, black bears, and the call of great-horned owls in February.
I am from joy and laughter, dreams and imaginings.
I am from gentle spring rain, the sound of leaves crunching, and the first snowflakes of winter.
I am from following animal tracks in the snow; I am from down comforters and candlelight.
I am from fresh beets that taste of the earth, and pressing my face into peonies.
I am from family photos, family pride, and respect for my ancestors.
I lost a son, and my daughter and other son lost their brother, to alcoholism.
I am a survivor of a little-known disease that I had for 9 years that put me near death, but was saved by a 15-minute surgery.
I know not of boredom or idleness, and was taught the importance of hard, earnest work, and good manners.
I have learned that I should never underestimate the power of a deep breath.
I am over-the-moon excited on a daily basis. I am friends with awe and splendor.
I am from roasted garlic and red peppers with olive oil on hard-crusted Italian bread.
I am from many loyal dogs.
I love real maple syrup, fireweed jelly, and smoked salmon;
I am from blue jeans and bare feet, pogo sticks and the Big Box of crayons.
I love the smell of new tennis balls, and sheets hung outside.
I am from Howdy Doody, Jackie Gleason, Red Skelton, and the Mickey Mouse Club.
I am from Frank Sinatra, rock and roll, Rhapsody in Blue and the Beatles.
I am from watching my grandmother for hours as she built drip sand castles on the beach, and watching my father play quoits with clam shells.
I am from my mother’s Lily of the Valley perfume, and the softness of her cheeks.
I am from the stillness of a summer’s eve.
I am from before jet planes, zip codes, big box stores, and telephones without cords.
I am from typewriters and mimeograph machines, and Latin taught in schools.
I am from a place where Sandhill cranes return each year, and salmon run in the glacially fed rivers.
I am from a time when people wrote letters and sent cards, in cursive.
I am from the sound of bell buoys and wind in the pines, and the smell of my clothes after sitting around a campfire.
I am from catching fireflies and pollywogs, and playing jacks.
I am from clean windows, and the heavenly scent of lilacs.
I am from the first warm day when we can open those windows and chase winter away.
I love sundogs, rainbows and thunderstorms.
I try to hug everyone I meet.
And I am from “I love you,” said often, and meaning it.
A Sense of Place: “Where I’m From”, by Grete Perkins
