Going Home
A visit back home during "corn sweat" season
About a month ago I took a trip back home. I had goals of getting some time with my uncles to do interviews as well as to see my cousins, both of which I got to do, but the trip had so much more in store for me. I’ve spent the last few weeks trying to work through feelings and thoughts, sorting through the stories I want to write.
However, as the result of my hubby’s awesomeness in his field and his excellent mentoring of a young Indian man for the last several years, hubby and I are about to take a trip to southern India to attend his wedding. Preparing for the trip has been a whole other level of overwhelm.
Most of the time, I remind my stomach to stop flip flopping and try to picture butterflies instead and most of the time I get there. There is just so much to be excited for - the clothes alone are going to be absolutely astounding. And a wedding - a true village level wedding with my husband as an honored guest - this is truly a once in a lifetime opportunity.
But first I want to get some thoughts about my trip home down in writing. It was profound in both genealogical and personal ways and I wanted to share a little of both.
Oh - the corn sweat?
Yeah, apparently there are some scientific studies showing that the mugginess of an Iowa summer increases with the height of the corn due to a phenomenon that has been called “corn sweat”. My cousin texted me about it the night I got back.1
One of the most important things I wanted to accomplish in going back was to be able to interview two of my uncles; aged 80 and 85. They are my mother’s younger brothers, and the last people alive who knew my mother as a younger woman. With the oldest’s health getting progressively worse, I knew I couldn’t wait any longer. I’m so glad I did. Talking with him was such a pleasure that I’m looking forward to doing it as much as we can in the coming months.
I spent several hours with Uncle R. I used my phone to record it all and I have hours to go through when fall comes and we’re done traveling. He struggles with memory and sometimes wouldn’t have an answer for a question. Other times, his eyes lit up as he shared vivid descriptions of his mom and dad’s first farm, and what it was like to grow up there. He was thoughtful about all of his answers and we dove into some philosophical conversations.
A couple hours into my 1st visit with him, his younger brother, Uncle r, stopped by. As soon as he entered the room, the energy shifted. The room was a little lighter. Together, they were much more than 2 individuals telling shared stories. As the memories came out, they would collaborate and jog each other’s memory. As they joked and shared their memories, even more details would surface . For me, as a genealogist, it was pure magic.
That day I heard about hobos who visited the farm regularly; some good, and some bad. I learned about their boyhood antics and reflected that small town Iowa 75 years ago was a different world. Things they talked about doing would be today would never be tolerated. Pranks that were laughed off in the 1950s would be severely punished today. Even 30 years after that, I would never have dreamed of attempting most of what they did. I am equally sure that plenty of what I did as a teenager would be equally scandalous to the next generation. Some changes seem magnified by generational differences.
While home, I was also given a box of treasures by my cousin. In it were photos and documents from my grandmother. Included were two “memory books” from her high school years, full of mementos from her teenage life; everything from napkins to candy wrappers to ribbons.
There are several pieces from the courtship between my grandma and my mother’s father. Grandma divorced him when my mother was 5 and every depiction of him involved the worst part of the story between he and Grandma. While he certainly had issues, and treated my grandmother badly, human beings are not only who they are at their worst moments. In these books, I now have little pieces of the earlier, sweeter story of my grandparents, each one detailed in my grandmother’s practical script from 100 years ago.
The two books are also full of written passages, variously written to “Liz”, “Lizzie”, or “Beth” with just a few “Elizabeth”s, most of those written by adults rather than friends. At a century old, the books are remarkably preserved, but the glue and the bindings have started to fail and the writing is fading. It could take a decade to decode all of it but I can only imagine how it might be to see my grandmother through her friends’ eyes.
Unexpectedly my trip home was also soul healing. I’ve been back to where I grew up a few times, but it has only been in the last few years that going back meant getting together with family. This time that was my sole purpose. This year I got to remember what it felt like to be a part of a strong family.
For 44 years I searched for that feeling. Somewhere along the way I forgot that I had it in my mother’s family. After my mom died, I spent less and less time with all of them, and after Grandma died my junior year in high school, almost none at all. Between that loss and the horror of what home was for me, I imagine it wasn’t hard to forget that I had ever had it.
Part of the feeling of belonging came from learning that traits that I had always thought of as unique in myself were actually family characteristics. I asked about family friends and both my uncles talked about how the family really didn’t have a lot of friends; that we kept to ourselves and really didn’t like other people.
Ummm, have you met me????
My week stay culminated in a mini reunion, where most of my cousins and I went to brunch. We spent more time at our table of 12 than the manager would have liked, always a good sign that folks are having fun. And the best part? We’re resolved to have a full reunion next summer. l’ll start preparing for that once I’m back from India. Do you suppose the Indian people do genealogy like we do here? I can’t wait to find out.
And now… off to pack.
Sounds like it was a good visit. A friend from Iowa worked in the cornfields the summer after high school. She said the corn sweat made the job incredibly hard--just unbearably hot. Not to get all Maoist about it, but if we all took a turn doing this work, we might have greater appreciation for farm workers who provide our produce.
Thank you for your story...so interesting to hear about your getting together with family and learning so much genealogical info.
India will be different but memorable. My husband and I have visited India 4 times. We have taken some of our family on 3 of them and we volunteered at an orphanage and leprosy colonies. Those experiences changed our lives. You will see the very wealthy and the very, very poor and you will come home so glad you experienced it all!! All the best!!