Where I’m From

I’m restless today. The project that has consumed much of my time lately, Living Liminal: A Slice of Pandemic Life, is about to be released into the world and I feel at loose ends. Conventional publishing wisdom would have me already switched into marketing mode by this point, but I decided long ago that this would be a soft release. No fanfare. No giveaways. No asking for reader reviews. Just an offering.

As I write this, Gerry is packing for a trip he’s taking starting tomorrow and I’ll have to leave soon to pick up Makiya from school in Caronport. I’ve spent much of this morning thinking about a new project I’m considering: a 5-week OWL (Older Women’s Legacy) writing workshop. I have thought about doing so for years—since before I retired—but the time wasn’t right. Maybe it is now.

I took a break from pondering and planning to visit a few favourite blogs and came across this post called I Am From by Karen at Over the Backyard Fence. Karen and I have followed one another for years; I think we both started blogging around the same time in 2007. Anyway, I love the post and the concept and decided to piggyback off of it and do something similar here.

I am from Mary.

I am from Ed and Laura.

I am from Heinrich and Katarina, Jacob and Mary, Isabelle and Tenor, Louis and Helena. Abby, Edie, and Albert.

I am from Saskatchewan. Big sky and wheat fields. Prairie.

I am from frostbitten ears, noses, and toes; ice skates and rinks; mittens and parkas and scarves wrapped round and round. I am from frosty eyelashes and too-small snow boots. I am from a biting winter wind.

I am from Brownies and choir practice and Sunday School in the United Church across the street. I am from the Church of the Nazarene next door, where I took piano lessons from Mrs. Knight. I am from a street with a candy store at one end, a grocery store at the other, and a hardware store in between. 

I am from a house my dad built with his own hands and a large backyard and two garages—one with a swing hung from the rafters and expired license plates on the walls, and the other where my friends and I played school when it was empty. I am from adventures had in back alleys where we rode bikes and made up games; and a coulee where we spent hours exploring and imagining. I am from a bedroom my sister and I didn’t share very well.

I am from warm wind and hot asphalt, dirt roads and grasshoppers and mosquitoes. Tomato sandwiches. Chocolate milk. Orange popsicles. White bread and jam.

I am from places found only between the pages of books.

I am from secrets and searching. 


I’m a writer, reader, and creative. I thought by now I’d have things figured out, but I keep coming up with more questions. I think that’s okay. I’m here most mornings pondering ordinary things and the thin places where faith intersects.
  1. I love the “I am From / Where ” Am From” poems. I think Kentucky writer George Ella Lyon started that. http://www.georgeellalyon.com/where.html Our students had to do poems in that style for an assignment. I got to hear her speak when she came to our school. What an experience!

  2. loved it…thanks

  3. Nice post. I think I may join in and do something similar. It’s always nice visit your blog.

  4. I love this, Linda. Thank you for sharing. I think I will borrow this for my next YouTube video. Your use of descriptive terms helped me to “see” your “I am” vividly. Thanks again for sharing this.

  5. I love the I am from….. Thank you so much for sharing this with all of us.

    God bless.

  6. I’m so glad you did this, Linda. I feel like I know you a better, and feel a kinship with some of the similarities in our backgrounds. Especially being ‘prairie girls.’

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