As I sit in my garden quietly content after checking on the upcoming bounty of fresh veg, nibbling away at a few plucked snap peas and cherry tomatoes, I wonder about my ties to soil and the urge to have my hands in the dirt. Where does this come from? Why such a strong sense of connection to this voluntary toil I do with willingness, hope, and joy every year when so often the effort is way more than the output?
I know it's partly because I want my kids to learn where food comes from and the difference between home-grown and store-bought. But also, is it just because my parents showed me the same? My father an expert farmer who knew how to make magic with seeds, soil, and water. My mom having a prolific green thumb as well.
Or is it something deeper in us? Some cellular level DNA thing that is built in over time?
I recently had reason to ponder this further when, out of the blue, an unserious web search looking at my family's genealogy produced some surprising but reaffirming revelations. What I found makes for a great story and ties into what this blog is all about despite the fact that I'm not talking about food this time.
I have to provide a bit of historical background along the way but stay with me, it will be worth it.
Per this blog's namesake, I hail from the farmlands of the great state of North Dakota where the buffalo (used to) roam.
For those who've never been there and noticed that 90% of the population is blond, North Dakota is a state of primarily 2 types of peoples - Scandinavians and Germans, with the great majority of Germans then being of 2 types who arrived in America from Germany by way of Russia.
The Dakotas are full of what we call the 'Odessa or Black Sea Germans' or the 'Volga (river) Germans' depending on which body of water was closest to their point of origin in Russia. I'm from the Black Sea bunch. To give context to this story, I need to give you the cliff notes version of the historical landscape. Promise it's 200 years in just 2 paragraphs.
