I’ve heard it said that one can never go home. I think that statement is the furthest from the truth. On the contrary, I believe going home is essential to moving forward.
I am home, home in Fort Frances, the geography that claims me, that defines me, that holds me. It is both privilege and honour to stand before family and friends and offer my book MEADOWLARK for consideration. It’s a bit like standing naked in front of those I love and admire, baring myself for scrutiny and celebration.
I am not a public speaker. I am an introvert who pretends at times that she is not, has fooled some but not all. In moments I am afraid of this launch, afraid I might fall down or throw up or worse. But I’m also ready to stretch myself, to challenge my fear in the realization that many fine books are never published, many fine writers never get the opportunity I have been given and to not stand up tall and give it a go would be a shame, a blunder.
I grew up on Wilson Road in Crozier near Fort Frances on a farm on the mighty Rainy River, on a farm right next door to Annie who took care of me when I was little while my mother taught school and my father farmed.
We come full circle some times, retracing our past and leaving go the bits that hurt and wound and embracing that which made us whole.