Sense of Place

This past weekend I attended the Dalton Threshing Bee.  You might have seen me in one of the craft buildings.  Hot weather didn’t dampen the spirits of those interested in harvesting methods of days gone by.  I was pleased with the enthusiastic response to my historical novels set in that beautiful area of Minnesota.  It was also great meeting old friends and schoolmates, distant relatives, and former neighbors.

I grew up on a dairy farm just  north of Dalton.  Prior to the Threshing Bee, we visited the old home place and had an enjoyable conversation with the present owners while sitting in the shade of an ancient cedar tree planted by my grandfather.  It felt like a warm hug to sit again in that shady spot enjoyed so often during my childhood.

What is it about the place of our childhood that holds us so tightly?  Forty years after leaving the farm, I still feel as connected as I did while living there.  Of course, the family farm, built by my grandparents more than a hundred years ago and farmed by my father his entire life is important to me on many levels.  I loved seeing the new steel roof on the old barn, smelling the mowed grass, and feeling the shadow of the shade trees in the yard.   The corn is doing well and the lake as beautiful as ever.  I remember so well going with my grandmother to her garden on top of the hill and picking strawberries into a white colander held in her gnarled fingers.  I remember playing in the plum bushes with my little brother and sister, the place where our favorite cat died, the pasture where we played with the newborn calves.

Certainly sense of place is important to any piece of fiction.  Where the story happens is as important as whose story it is.  I’m working on a new novel and I will incorporate the sense of place from my home place into my story.  After all, our roots grow forever in the soil of our childhood.  Our characters must feel the same way.