When your birthplace is designated a superfund site, you truly can’t go home again. If you ask my father where he comes from, he would say Joplin, Missouri. He lived there from a relatively young age, graduating from Joplin High School. Sometime after he graduated, my grandparents moved to Lawrence, Kansas. I remember visiting them… Continue reading Picher: “America’s Most Toxic Town”
My granduncle's car saw the country, well after his death. Tasked with writing about something "long-lasting" with regard to my ancestors, I thought that I had a compelling subject. In researching the essay, however, I discovered that the story I remembered was not the real story. My granduncle James Williamson (1912-1981) died when I was… Continue reading A Three-Generation “Hand Me Down”
At least four generations of women in my family possessed/possess significant skill in needlework and other handwork. My grandmother also spent some leisure time out of the house, going to a local ceramics studio where she picked out pre-fired pieces and painted or glazed them. She also made many fabulous needlepoint projects. She was disappointed… Continue reading Cut from the Same Cloth
