As with so many lessons, this one has taken a long time to learn. I used to think that it was the town’s responsibility to make me feel at home. To claim me. (I know, I’m smiling sheepishly as I type it.) Not until moving away, far away, did I figure out that it was my responsibility, my joyful responsibility to claim it for myself. And I do.

It was the same with my art. Even as a child, I thought, there has to be more. Why aren’t people sharing themselves with me. I want to know feelings — all of them. I want to know love and pain and heartache and laughter, sweet sweet laughter that only comes from knowing the first of these. But people don’t rush to an unopened door, so I gave it fling with paint and words, and started sharing it all through my art.

Even the hardest of times. When I was kicked with boots. No, I said. This is mine. I claim it. I will make it beautiful. It was a choice. Just as the scars on my body — I could see them as pain, or a sign of healing. A beautiful sign that I could in fact heal. I did in fact heal.

So we wander through this beautiful town. And it is mine. Big Ole – that big beautiful lug is mine. And I love him. The lakes. The swamps even. The wide lanes of main. The sidewalks. The laughter. The greetings. The Minnesota accents, all in agreement – you betcha. The empty echos of Herbergers. The mowed lawns. Children on bikes. Teams in red and black. All beautiful. All mine. All ours. So we feel it. Celebrate it. Claim it as ours – and make it more beautiful, every day!