/tags/memoir/ Recent content in Memoir on Rootstalk Hugo -- gohugo.io en-us Mon, 26 Oct 2020 18:22:27 +0000 /past-issues/volume-v-issue-1/a-place-to-call-home/ Mon, 26 Oct 2020 18:22:27 +0000 /past-issues/volume-v-issue-1/a-place-to-call-home/ Twenty eight years ago, on a cool August evening, our family—consisting of my husband David and me, our three kids Josiah, Katie, and Nathanael, and a hound dog—turned a huge corner in our lives and, with great anticipation, pulled off Interstate 80 at mile marker 182 to begin our life in Grinnell, Iowa. A few weeks earlier, my husband had received a call to be the new pastor at Immanuel Lutheran Church, a small church north of the high school, with cornfields in its backyard. /past-issues/volume-v-issue-1/welcoming-the-world-to-our-farm/ Thu, 06 Aug 2020 15:59:41 +0000 /past-issues/volume-v-issue-1/welcoming-the-world-to-our-farm/ I have been blessed to live in the country all my life. To see the sun set in a blaze of glory, orange, pink and red; to smell the new mown hay; to hear the first frogs croak in the spring…all are treasures. The decision to share this wonder began when a preschool teacher in Newton was looking for a farm to bring their children to visit. It was the beginning of years of fun. /past-issues/volume-v-issue-1/the-hottest-car-in-town/ Thu, 06 Aug 2020 15:59:41 +0000 /past-issues/volume-v-issue-1/the-hottest-car-in-town/ Hotrods. The pastime of cruising your pride and joy down Main Street, racing to impress the hometown crowd, is a lost art of a long gone era in Grinnell, Iowa. High Octane Beginnings I lived in the country and graduated from the eighth grade at Ewart School. I then moved to Grinnell with my folks. A second-hand bicycle was the incentive to attend high school. Before I ever got my license, I drove with my parents to “Seven Mile Corner,” and a patrolman came along and stopped us. /past-issues/volume-v-issue-1/first-taste-of-freedom/ Thu, 06 Aug 2020 13:49:54 +0000 /past-issues/volume-v-issue-1/first-taste-of-freedom/ It was Halloween eve—or Beggars’ Night, to all of the little kids of the time—in my small Iowa town. It was a beautiful and warm autumn day. The sun was shining, still high in the sky, leaves were on the ground and though the grass had lost some of its beautiful green luster, it seemed to us as if the summer of 1978 was still going strong. We lived in an older neighborhood. /past-issues/volume-vi-issue-1/brown/ Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000 /past-issues/volume-vi-issue-1/brown/ console.log("Debugging in figure_azure.html. PID: grinnell_28564_OBJ.jpg"); console.log('Debugging in figure_azure.html. width: '); console.log('Debugging in figure_azure.html. height: '); console.log('Debugging in figure_azure.html. maxwidth: 200'); console.log('Debugging in figure_azure.html. alt: '); console.log('Debugging in figure_azure.html. caption: Dartanyan Brown and the members of the Drake University Jazz Band in 1974. He is seated front row center with his bass. Future wife Marcia Miget is at the end of the second row, on the right, holding her saxophone and flute. /past-issues/volume-v-issue-2/publisher/ Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000 /past-issues/volume-v-issue-2/publisher/ A few years ago, I wrote a little essay called “Changing Heroes” that appeared in The Land Report, the bulletin of The Land Institute. In it, I argued that the Western world has a propensity for choosing the wrong heroes, and the wrong kinds of heroes. Hercules is our archetypical hero. His life, even in infancy, was a playbook of superhuman deeds. He performed astonishing feats—the “twelve labors of Hercules”—showing all the while physical strength, undaunted courage, unimaginable endurance, and the ability to overcome seemingly insurmountable challenges.