Explore the Cubbies
Mary O. Schueller
Bundt Cake Pan
Mary shares, “Many meaningful food traditions are passed down in families. From sharing a recipe, to preparing the food, to gathering together to eat it, family stories abound. In my family, it's all about the bundt cake. It began with my Great Aunt Marie, who first introduced me to the phenomenon (long before the infamous My Big Fat Greek Wedding scene)! Upon her death, I received her treasured bundt cake pan. Since then, I have added numerous bundt cake pans to my collection. The countless bundt cakes I have made through the years are foundational to a feeling of home in my family and, thus, I'd like to share her original bundt cake pan with Considering Kin.”
Jeanne Bogardus
Pamphlet from The Lonesome Train Album
Jeanne shares, “Home is the sound of a distant train. Throughout my life it has been a sound that evoked longing—to travel from home, to find home, to make home, to return home. That same sound also invokes the memory of growing up in the town where Abe Lincoln lived and where he is buried and the funeral train that brought him ‘home.’”
THE SOUND OF HOME
By Jeanne Bogardus
A distant train whistle is one of the earliest sounds I remember. Throughout my life it has been a sound that evoked longing……to leave home, to find home, to make home, to return home, to remember home.
Springfield, Illinois, was a crossroad for railroad travel between Chicago and St. Louis and the promise of destinations far and wide, places exotic and mysterious, places to explore, maybe even call home someday. One could live anywhere in the town and be not far from the sound of a train coming or going.
As a child I could hear, especially at night, that far off sound of “going somewhere” and imagine where, and who was going or coming back. I would imagine myself on the way to some place I had read or heard about.
Springfield was and is also Abraham Lincoln’s home and burial site. The city and surrounding areas are rife with Lincoln Lore and locales. Our home was only 3 blocks from the Lincoln Home, a national historic site. And a couple blocks from the train station where he made his farewell address as he left for Washington D.C. to serve as President.
My family had cabins in an area on the river across from Lincoln’s New Salem in Petersburg…. known by locals as “Old Salem.” Every Friday during many summers, my father would hop a freight train for the brief ride from his work in Springfield to “Old Salem” for the weekend with us and other family. We always listened for that sound of the train coming up the tracks at 6PM and would run to watch with glee as it slowed and he would jump off.
On Lincoln’s birthday, the local radio station would broadcast a drama with achingly sad, almost operatic music and poetry and the sound of a train. Only recently have I discovered, thanks to the internet, what that sad, haunting production was. First aired in 1944 as a live broadcast, “The Lonesome Train” was eventually available as a recording in the early 50s and can be found now on You Tube. It depicted the story of the journey of his funeral train and the stops from D.C., eventually arriving in Springfield.
My first train ride was on a school field trip to Chicago. I am reminded of Arlo Guthrie’s words about sons and daughters of railroad workers riding “their father’s magic carpet made of steel.” To see Chicago for the first time from a train window was indeed magic.
There have been many more journeys and places I have called home – all accompanied by that lonesome longing sound: the night train from Paris to Venice, the train from New Delhi to Agra, the train from my first home in Chicago to visit my family home back in Springfield, trains from homes in San Francisco and the Bay Area and across the state, the continent, and to other continents and countries. And now, living in Sheboygan, I can hear a distant train and I know I am home.
Recently, I found myself back in Springfield for the funeral of a family member. During the burial ceremony at the cemetery on a warm summer day, there came the sound of that distant train. And once again, I knew where I was.
Before I left, I visited the grave of my great grandfather, a civil war captain for the union army. It is situated very near a railroad. And there on the monument are inscribed the words “Gone Home.” And nearby, once again, is the sound of home coming up the tracks.
While the house where I grew up is long gone, as are the old neighborhood and the cabins by the river, whenever and wherever I hear that sound, I know I am home.
Elaine Dunisch
Lainey’s Fetching Finds; mixed media; 2020
Elaine shares, “A toy store in miniature. My second home as a child.”
Carmen Leal
Metal Dog Sculpture
Carmen shares, “Coconut, the dog no one else wanted, has helped me to live in the present, to find joy in the most unexpected places, and to find purpose in my life.
“This orange dog reminds me every day to give myself time to heal and to accept that I am no longer the me I was. Coconut never met the old Carmen. He loves this Carmen more than any person in his world. I guess that’s all that matters.”
Please note, this story discusses suicidal ideation. If you or someone you know is struggling or in crisis, help is available.
National Suicide Prevention: Call or text 988 or chat with someone at 988lifeline.org.
Sheboygan County Mobile Crisis Team: 920-459-3151
Rogers Behavioral Health: 800-767-4411
My Repurposed Life
By Carmen Leal
On October first I was taking a break from writing this essay and the following words popped up as a memory on my Facebook page.
I wonder if people who commit suicide have regrets in heaven?
I read my thoughts from eight years ago and was immediately transported to that desperate time when I truly believed that suicide was the best option.
What had started as a simple trip home from the beach ended in a five-car pileup while at a red light. Our small car, sandwiched between two SUVs, was totaled. My husband suffered no injuries. I was not as lucky.
I don’t know if my head hit the phone I was holding or if it was the other way around. Either way, those few seconds resulted in blunt force trauma from the impact leaving a hole in my brain. I suffered a concussion, moderate frontal and temporal brain damage, and a level ten migraine. I’ve had a headache every day since.
My doctor explained that I would have to learn to manage the resulting depression, anxiety, and suicidal thoughts while my brain healed. He suggested that an emotional support dog would make a big difference. I told him no. A few months passed and he brought it up again. I refused.
I struggled to keep up the happy façade, but when I wasn't working as a concierge at the upscale Waikiki Beach hotel, I was plotting my death. After eighteen months the struggle became too much, and I put in my two-week notice.
Without my income we could no longer afford to live in paradise. In March of 2017 we moved from sunny Hawaii to cold, gloomy Oshkosh. Leaving a life you loved and starting over at age sixty-two was much harder than I expected. Besides my son, his wife, and their son we didn’t know anyone.
One day in July while my husband was working in Appleton I decided to walk downtown and explore. The deafening noise of a flyover from EAA Air Adventure, something I knew nothing about, resulted in instantaneous pain from the noise-induced migraine. The pain was like a red-hot poker relentlessly being stabbed into my forehead. I started shaking so badly that I sat down in the middle of the sidewalk in front of the post office and sobbed. No one stopped or asked me if I was okay. I remember thinking that people in Oshkosh cared more about their dogs than they did about people.
That was the moment I knew I did not trust myself to be alone. In almost two years nothing else I had tried had taken away the pain, the anxiety, or the deep overwhelming sadness; I’d try a dog. If it didn’t help at least my canine-loving husband would have a friend when I killed myself.
Jim, the owner of the rescue we’d found online, left the room and came back with an underweight fourteen-month-old brown pooch with a long black tail. He was of indeterminate breed and, for some reason, came directly to me and sat staring at me as if to say he had made his choice. He had been there for three weeks and not one person had ever asked to see him. I’m not sure why, but there was obviously a connection, and we went home with the dog who saved my life.
The big turnaround came when I found a purpose. The rescue desperately needed marketing support which happened to be my strength. During the four years I helped them before they became a COVID casualty, I redesigned their website, wrote grants, created events, and pretty much became the face of the rescue.
I wrote over 6,500 bios and helped every dog find their forever home.
The thing about getting a dog is no matter life’s twists and turns, I have an amazing partner on the journey. The miracle of his rescue and transport from Kentucky to Wisconsin still amazes me. It’s as if he specifically came to this one rescue shelter to save my life. And I moved all the way from Hawaii, kicking and screaming, to save his.
Coconut forced me to get outside, and those regular walks improved my fitness and my attitude. Walking him helped me to meet my neighbors since dogs are people magnets. When humans see someone in pain, they want try and come up with a fix. But dogs aren’t like that; they help us to see that not all problems can be fixed or, if they can be, it’s not usually an overnight solution.
That first Christmas Jim gave me a gift card and I bought this little dog made from a repurposed piece of metal. The true gift was the note he scribbled on a torn piece of yellow note paper.
“Thank you for being my light. You have brought me and our staff out of the darkness. You are my friend, my sister, and my fantastic queen of everything. Thank you so much.”
I still miss my old life in Hawaii. I’ll probably never be headache-free. Coconut, the dog no one else wanted, has helped me to live in the present, to find joy in the most unexpected places, and to find purpose in my life.
This orange dog reminds me every day to give myself time to heal and to accept that I am no longer the me I was. Coconut never met the old Carmen. He loves this Carmen more than any person in his world. I guess that’s all that matters.
Parker Fortney and Ezekiel Casañarez
Us and Them; mixed media; 2023
Parker and Ezekiel share, “Our piece is a trifold with our self-perceptions on the outside. When opened, it reveals the way both parties perceive each other, both physically and abstractly. The outside is dull and bleak while the inside is full of color and energy. This represents home in that people can feel like home; we don't always feel great alone, or like ourselves, but home is a feeling that is achieved by being near someone you know views you in such a fond light.”
Suzanne Dysert
Handsewn Teddy Bear, 1995
Submitted by the Dysert Family
The family shares, “This is a handmade teddy bear made out of a real mink fur coat. This was handmade by our mother, the late Suzanne Dysert. This teddy bear reminds us of the tender and loving mother who made it. This is just one example of the attentive detail and artistry she put into her work.”
Susan Fiebig
Untitled; mixed media
Susan shares, “My assemblage illustrates home for me as a place of memories. I used to love to wear my cowgirl outfit, sit in the tallest tree in our yard and daydream, and snuggle in a chair with my father and read books. These are all moments in time that cannot be replaced. They have been replicated with my own children in some way, but memories of a childhood cut short by the loss of a parent are hidden deep in my heart.”
Abigail Marquardt
Hoarder; yarn, wrapping cord, and polyester fiber fill
Abigail shares, “I recently learned how to weave baskets and I had brought it home and immediately started throwing things from around my house into it. Many of the items were things that were given to me by my family.”
Richard Lee Sauer
Baseball Scorebook
Richard shares, “I’m an ‘old school’ person with a lifelong passion for the sport of BASEBALL. One ‘old school’ habit I have is scoring (pencil and paper in hand) radio baseball games in scorebooks that I then save and refer back to over the course of ??? years!! Each game is a narrative from first pitch to final out. I listen (to Bob Uecker) and track the ball over grass, dirt, and through the air as if it were a tiny white rabbit with tiny red seams being struck and chased and thrown around by men with laced leather gloves. I record each and every ball, strike, hit, walk, strike out, fly out, ground out, pop up, passed ball, wild pitch, physical or mental error by player or manager in my scorebook.
‘From these books I can reinvent and picture in my mind any ball game I’ve ever listened to. Winter mornings I can be found sitting in my latrine library dissecting our national pastime!”
Bruce W. Pepich
Bear and Photograph
Bruce shares, "My childhood memories are very vivid. As the first born of what would later be six, I had four happy years when I was the apple of my parents’ eye. This photograph from about 1954 shows me holding what would be the first of many teddy bears—but a special one that brings back floods of memories.”
Laura Graney
2016 Wisconsin Dietitian of the Year, mixed media
Laura shares, “I am blessed to be part of a very loving and nurturing family. Being ‘family’ means ‘being there for each other,’ through good times (and bad). Fortunately, in 2016, my family was ‘there for me’ when I received the Wisconsin Dietitian of the Year Award, from the Wisconsin Academy of Nutrition and Dietetics. Many of them were in attendance (Wisconsin Dells), to see me receive the award. My sister Sara made a one-inch dollhouse miniature (room box) to commemorate the event—PRICELESS to me!
“The large vignette (in the middle) depicts a scenario from the WIC (Women, Infants, and Children) office, where I spent approximately thirty-five out of my thirty-eight years of my professional career as a registered dietitian nutritionist. Of those thirty-five years, I spent almost thirty years as a WIC nutritionist for Sheboygan County.
‘The two smaller vignettes on the left represent two of my passions: baking and crafts. The two smaller vignettes on the right represent two other passions: cheering for the Green Bay Packers and making/collecting dollhouse miniatures.”
Louise Berg
Ceramic Waves
Louise shares, “These ceramic sculptures currently sit on windowsill in my home that faces Lake Michigan, but I also enjoy moving them around to different rooms and my studio for inspiration. They remind me of the pull of home. Whenever we travel, I look forward to coming back to be at one with the lake. The rhythm, movement, and everchanging nature of the lake speaks to me and influences my creative practice.”
Laura Macdonald
EXTRA; ceramic; 2004
Laura shares, "During my adult life I have gone through many changes and at many points have had to give up the majority of my possessions during my moves. However, there is one piece that always comes with me: the decorative bowl I made in high school pottery class. Unpacking my possessions, buying new ones, and placing them around each new environment to make it feel like home, it is not truly my home until my yellow bowl is in its place."
EXTRA
By Laura MacDonald
While I was lucky enough to call one house my home from age 2 until 18, I did not find home within my own community. My family was glared at and gossiped about as we were considered “ outsiders” for not being there for several generations. The poor treatment came from teachers, my classmates, their parents, hairdressers, the local clinic, the local gas station and convenience store and especially my teachers. While I was born and raised where Lake Ontario and the St. Lawrence River meet, that was not enough for the locals to consider me as one of their own. I sought home in nature, art, and within myself. While I have lived in many places in my adult life, I have chosen to remain within driving distance of the Great Lakes. Knowing that the water I spend time near is the same water that would eventually flow past home, brings me a sense of comfort and stability. During my adult life I have gone through many changes and at many points have had to give up the majority of my possessions during my moves. However, there is one piece that always comes with me, the decorative bowl I made in high school pottery class. Unpacking my possessions, buying new ones, and placing them around each new environment to make it feel like home, it is not truly my home until my yellow bowl is in its place. It was hard for me to express myself as a child through young adulthood due to the criticism and gossip I experienced from my community. I found refuge in art projects beginning in kindergarten. This passion for expressing myself in art followed me through highschooler. It felt like a silent, yet powerful way for me to express myself and to create beauty in the world. While I do not consider myself a “talented” artist, I do enjoy how I feel when I create something. Looking at my decorative bowl you will see it is a bit lop sided, uneven. I love this feature as it shows others it is handmade. It reminds me that it is made by my hands. Highschool art class is where I began to gain more confidences in making things, especially in pottery class. I took to the potter’s wheel naturally and the feeling of being able to transfer the image in my head to reality is one of the greatest feelings in the world to me. Looking under my bowl, you will see my hand carved name. You will see the tool marks from where I carefully smoothed the bottom of my bowl to make it level. You will also see in big black letters the word “ EXTRA”. This bowl is the piece I was most proud of making that semester and I had chosen it to be a piece that factored into my final grade. My art teacher must not have agreed with me because he removed it from the pieces I asked to be graded and marked it as an “EXTRA” piece, which he did for the pieces the students made to take home but not be graded. Essentially, “EXTRA” was Mr. Mengel’s polite way of saying “TRASH.”. If you think I am being dramatic, Mr. Mengel told the class this himself. I was furious as this was my beloved piece and Mr. Mengel did not ask my permission to write on it. I’ve thought about sanding it off but have since decided to keep it. It reminds me that other people’s perceptions of me or my work, which essentially is a part of me, do not matter if it makes me happy. When I unpack this piece to every new place I call home, on a physical level it is one of the few rare pieces I have carried with me since my original home. On an emotional level, it reminds me of being judged and rejected by those in my community. Home is not always fond memories of hot chocolate in a snow palace you built with your neighbors or swimming in the lake almost every day each summer. Home can be a complicated place for many. It is the environment in which both positive and negative influences helped form our foundation on how we view and interact with our communities for the rest of our lives. Sometimes home is a lopsided yellow bowl deemed as extra, but it’s really extraordinary.
Kirsten Meier
Lamb Figurine
“My partner once counted over two hundred pairs of eyes in my living room. These objects are my friends and make up my home.”
Adriene Daniel
Magic Chicken; metal cabinet painted by Adriene’s son
Adriene shares, “Magic Chicken is a childhood memory turned into treasures for grandbabes.”
Magic Chicken
By Adriene Daniel
When I was seven years old, I tagged along with my favorite cousin and his family to his grandmother’s lake home. There was a lot of excitement about the visit and a lot of talk about the magic chicken.
When Anthony explained to me that the magic chicken always left a small trinket for him and his little brother Matthew, I began to feel sad.
I had never been to visit Grandma Betty before, so I thought, there should be nothing there for me.
After all the hellos and hugs, the boys ran into the kitchen and there she was, a large ceramic chicken on the counter. When Anthony lifted up half of the chicken, inside were two gifts for the boys and a bracelet for me.
It was TRULY MAGICAL!
Decades later, I found this white, three door shadow box at Goodwill. I asked my son, an artist, to design it for Jazmine (top), CieloAzul (middle), and Mateo (bottom). I love it and so do they. Thanks, Uncle Matt!
When the grandbabes would come to visit me back in St. Paul, MN, they would shower me with hugs and kisses and then…run most excited to THEIR Magic Chicken. Sometimes there is something for them and other times, there is not. Once in a while, a note would be found in their section reading, “Please see Mamma, item too big for box.” No matter the trinket or note, Magic Chicken IS FOREVER loved in our home!
Marissa Meyer
Chase; plush animal; and drawing (displayed on other side of gallery); ink on paper; 2023
Marissa shares, “I collect Paw Patrol things. I have movies and stuffed animals of all the characters. I picked this character Chase to represent ‘home’ because he makes me feel happy when I see him on the show. He is a police pup. He helps people feel safe, and feeling safe is a good feeling. That’s what home feels like. I included a drawing of Chase with his police car that he drives.”
Frank Juárez
Golden Coast; mixed media; 2021–2023
Frank shares, “The idea of ‘home’ literally became home when the pandemic was upon us. I remember attending a faculty meeting on March 16, 2021, when a custodian relayed a message to our principal that school is officially virtual. Our teaching profession immediately changed in the blink of an eye. We found ourselves overwhelmed with stress since we have never taught virtually. This stress was felt at home. How do I teach art to two hundred-plus art students virtually? This routine focused on Sundays, which involved turning on my computer, putting a vinyl record on the turntable, grabbing a hot cup of joe, and burning Golden Coast incense. During this time, I was relaxed and focused. Once the incense reached its end, I put the ashes and stem into a glass jar. For two years, I repeated this practice for two reasons—to have something to look forward to and to remind me that how we spend our time matters.”
Kristen Stimac | Danielle Becker, Daughter/Poet | Jean Plum, Friend and Maker of the Bear
The Golden Bear; wool and fur; 2023
Kristin shares, “The Golden Bear was made from my mother’s coat that was given to her as an anniversary gift from my dad around 1950. They had very little money and six kids, so this was a treasure for her. I got the coat after she passed at ninety-three. My friend said she would make a bear out of it if I would do a painting of her dog. My very talented daughter wrote the poem:
“The Golden Bear”
The little bear upon my shelf called out to me today.
He said, “I see your pain and sadness, I can take that all away.
The golden coat I’m made of will bring peace and warmth to you.
Just hold me close and close your eyes, I’ll help you see this is true.
Your memories of your mother are captured here in me.
Her loving ways, her beautiful smile, are here for you to see.
Inside of me are the beautiful things that made your mother special.
I’m love and comfort, security and happiness, and all things sentimental.
When you’re feeling down and missing me most don’t forget that I am here.
Please pick me up and cuddle me close and remember I’m always near.”
Written with love to my mom, a special poem in memory of my grandma ~ Danielle”
Tori Tasch
Migration Stories: Capri, mixed media; 2023
Tori shares, “Capri is a souvenir with pochoir stencils cut from Brittanica Junior Encyclopedia 4-C 1968, both inherited and part of my family history. I've been thinking a lot about migration and how the journey impacts the family. (*CNN reports nearly 130,000 unaccompanied migrant children entered the U.S. in 2022.) My grandmother was eight when she immigrated to the United States from Germany after a fire destroyed the family business and home in 1886. Her family was sponsored by relatives who had settled in South Dakota due to the Homestead Act.”
Mimi Peterson
Is My Home An Illusion?; metal, wire, and glass; 2017
Mimi shares, “Is My Home An Illusion? underlines the paradoxical mix of home as an animate concept—a mind place—and sculpture as an inanimate object. The works play with illusions while alluding to interrupted human endeavors and an unjust environment.”
Is My Home An Illusion? underlines the paradoxical mix of an animate idea and an
inanimate object. Home is an abstract concept, a mind place. The space gets its’
strength when static forms give way to fluid forces.
Like a shadowy structure drawn from memory,
Like a shiny habitable sculpture put on a pedestal,
Is my home an illusion?
Or, reality?
Light falls on surface and within,
Air flows beyond lacy black walls,
While beneath, distorted by time,
Honeycomb metal holds tight to shards of pink mirror.
Broken! A seven-year myth failed by default.
Altered materials, natural and artificial,
Designed to look and listen,
No matter if dream house or emergency shelter.
Human rituals, once rejected, now embraced,
Hard promises, softened by transparency,
Turn to truth and welcome intimacy.
Some textures can be described,
Others only feared.
Things of value, feelings of love.
Open routes for flashes of memory.
Do not ignore nature’s cycles,
Remember, cultures cultivate meanings,
Nomads integrate marginal thinking.
Others have said what I feel.
Found objects tell the story,
Whether cosmic spiral or earthly ruin,
Powered to reawaken notions of site,
Redefine temporal perception.
Meditate on the optics of reflection,
“Our eyes are not equipped to see the true size of the moon,
rather it depends on where the moon is in the sky.” (anonymous)
Go beyond spatial confines,
Move with time.
An imperceptible blend.
Historic Evil Eye sees a fascinating
Universe to protect,
My home, shaped by visible and
Invisible fragments of a mysterious, unjust environment
Found here and other elsewheres.
Video Interviews
Explore the Wall
Ann White
A Few of My Favorite Things; collage; 2023
Ann shares,
“Home is my refuge from this chaotic world
A sanctuary I share with my pack of six dogs
Mornings in my cottage are new beginnings
Savored with coffee from around the globe
Bringing these precious beans into my home in Sheboygan
Playful pups and morning coffee—no finer start to my day”
Travis Gross
Bob Dylan Poster
Travis shares, “I received this second-run copy of Milton Glaser's poster art titled “DYLAN” from my younger brother when I opened my business. We are both deep music fans and Dylan is my favorite songwriter. The poster hung in my pub until I decided to close. It then came home and has graced our fireplace mantel ever since.
“My brother and I lost our mother at young ages, and music became our comfort. We both shared new artists and songs with each other as we were learning the vastness of music. That continued through the years and still continues today. The poster constantly reminds me of the strength of music and the role it plays in our relationships. It also keeps me connected to a time when we were struggling. When my brother gifted it to me, it felt like an acknowledgement of achievement. We achieved moving on in a different world for us, but a new world filled with music.”
Sam Walker
On the Shelf; illustration; 2023
Sam shares, “This is a comic about reconnecting to nostalgia and childhood imagination through a stuffed animal.”
Dolores Jablonski
The Harebell Fairy; mixed media on playing card; 2023
Dolores shares, “This is an altered playing card that my son gave to me when he was a teenager. He thought it a joke to play cards (we played cards a lot!) with this large deck. I collaged the card with a teddy bear fairy that I painted holding harebells; buttons were also included. My children are my home no matter how grown they are. Memories of stories that I told them of fairies that would come if you touched the harebells (I called them fairy bells). During that time, when they were children, I designed and made collectible teddy bears. We were surrounded by them, stories about them; buttons and ribbons were all part of home, as well as a deck of cards that always sat on the kitchen table for a quick game while eating lunch.”
Janine Petrie
Painting by AJ Buntrock; 1916
Janine shares, “This painting was given to my parents as a wedding gift. It reminds me of my childhood. Memories of playing board games with my sisters with Mom in the kitchen cooking and my father and uncle watching football. It's a time in my life of fond memories. It's easy to imagine a family, cozy and safe, in this cabin. It still is a mystery of who gave it to my parents. ”
Lucy Watson
Four Rabbits; embroidery floss on Aida fabric; 1989
The Story of “Four Rabbits”
by Lucy Watson
When I stitched this picture in 1988, I was a young mother of one. Eventually I would have four children, though I could not have known that at the time. One day, years later, I happened to look at this picture on the wall, and I realized that the four rabbits perfectly represented my four children. The first and third bunnies are my middle two children – the best of friends when they were young, never far apart. The second bunny is my oldest – inquisitive, always at the center of things. The fourth bunny is my youngest – enamored of nature and in his own world. The “bunnies” are all grown up now, and when I became a widow earlier this year, I moved to Green Bay to be close to them. This cross-stitch has become one of my most cherished possessions and hangs in a place of honor. “Home” is wherever my children are.
Willa Marie Leannah
Family Trio; cardboard, tape, paint, and baking soda; 2023
Willa shares, “In the months leading up to the birth of my first child, I had great anticipation to meet her. I spent nine months channeling this sense of urgency by creating various treasures as benchmarks of the passing time. I made this shrine to commemorate the life my husband and I created as a pair while simultaneously celebrating our daughter’s imminent arrival. Now that she’s here, I look upon it with a sense of satisfaction rather than anticipation. My family is complete.”
Paul Briskey
Madison Mourns
Paul shares, “This is a view of State Street Madison with the Capitol. My Mother was born and raised in Madison and she passed away in May. Madison is on black paper in her honor.”
Katie Nack
Hiraeth; watercolor paint on paper
Katie shares, “This piece is created with watercolor paint I made from a rock I picked up in the driftless region in Wisconsin, which is where I grew up. And with paint made from a piece of brick from the old hospital here in Sheboygan. I carved and printed the daffodils as a symbol of home. This piece has memories and meaning from the places I call home. From the rocks beneath our feet, the flowers that bloom every spring and the foundation of a place, everyone in Sheboygan has experienced life, death and everything in between.”
Trace Chiodo
Member’s Bag Tag
Trace shares, “My first ‘Member's Bag Tag’ from Rivermoor Country Club speaks home to me for many reasons. When I was young, our family lived a block away from Rivermoor Country Club in Waterford, WI. I began taking golf lessons at the age of five. As I progressed, I would hang out at the pro shop almost every day of the season. Staff and members became my second family and they nicknamed me ‘Tracer.’ I became a junior member when I was eleven years old and they presented me with this tag. It is uniquely precious because only a rare few would get their nickname placed on the tag instead of their full name. That meant you were more than a member, you were family.
“This tag speaks of my family, my neighborhood growing up, my home course, my ‘second family,’ the precious people who mentored me, the friends I hung out with, and my life that was surrounded by and immersed in golf. It is highly treasured and holds thousands of memories.”
Kelly Witte
Cupcake; linocut and silkscreen; 2022
My mixed-media linocut and silkscreen print Cupcake is reminiscent of the fond memories that I had of baking with my mom while I was growing up. Our house always smelled delicious, and my mom took pride in sharing the delectable treats that she made with family, friends and neighbors.”
Laura Marie Averill
Button Down Bear; illustration; 2020
Laura shares, “’Home is where the heart is,’” my grandmother liked to say. Family history creates feelings along with objects that hold the memories of the love shared in creating a sense of home. A children’s book I am creating is an amalgamation of our family's grandparents’ stories and experiences.”
BUTTON DOWN BEAR
Yesteryear
By LAURA M. AVERILL
As soon as I would see my Grandpa, I would run up to him. He always hugged me, snuggled in warmth I felt loved. He smelled like Grandpa. We sat in church together on Sundays. He wore a big brown wooly coat and pretended to be a bear.
Grandma hugged and kissed gently, sweetly she smelled of flowers and cookies.
Grandpa and I walked together, we fished together, he told me stories by the fire in his big furry robe. Always keep a prayer in your heart and an angel on your shoulder he told me.
One day Grandpa was sick, and I could not go to see him. I never saw him again except in dreams and pictures. I had a prayer in my heart and grandpa is the angel on my shoulder.
Grandma was sad and held me close she said yesteryear is gone but the love in my heart shines on.
We took Grandpa’s soft shirts, and buttons from his overalls. We cut the cloth in squares. We took Grandpa’s big furry robe and Grandma cut it into shapes.
Grandma and I baked cookies after; while I ate warm cookies, she started to sew by hand. She told me all about Grandpa.
When Grandpa was little folks still used horses to farm and travel even in the snow. They met when Grandpa offered to help her out of a carriage.
Cars, trucks and machines changed a lot in all the years that they had seen and they had had many miles and problems, laughter and joy together.
Grandpa went off to help fight World War 2. This was when Grandma was with child and my daddy was born when he was away. She sighed, he came home with a limp and a purple heart. She smiled then saying he always had my heart and still does.
Me and Grandma sat holding hands in church.
Then Grandma was sick, and I did not get to see her again except in dreams and pictures. Her amazing smile and small bony soft hands sewing away I remember well.
My dad brought home a few boxes and told me about my grandma as my mom took out of the first box a tea set. Carefully unwrapping each cup and saucer. My mom had tears in her eyes.
This tea set came from your great, great Grandma across a great ocean when I introduced your mom to your grandmother we sat and had tea together, Dad told me. We also had tea together when I said we wanted to get married, we were so happy, Grandma and Grandpa gave us their blessing.
Next, Dad took out Grandma’s cookie jar. This is where she would put her extra money when she was saving to buy a home. When Grandpa was at war, Grandma worked in a factory and great-Grandma took care of me as a baby. We were blessed and loved as family.
Then came a book of photographs, some old and yellow, we all sat on the couch, me in the middle. I fell asleep listening to the stories my parents shared with each other.
I missed my grandparents especially in church. I felt I had two angels one on each shoulder. Then sometimes I thought I could hear them singing with me.
Christmas came and dad brought out a box with all the family ornaments from the family including the ones that used to be on my grandparents’ tree.
Under the tree was a box with a tag on it with my grandma’s writing. I could not believe it.
On Christmas morning with a prayer in my heart and two angels on my shoulders I opened the gift box up. Inside there was my button down bear made from Grandpa’s wooly coat. It was wrapped in a quilt made of all my grandpa’s shirts it smelled of Grandpa. The button down bear had a purple heart from Grandpa; I felt Grandma’s heart shining through it. Then we shared Christmas tea and cookies.
Tara Zimmerer
Home; photograph by Tara’s father; 1970
Tara shares, “In 1968, my parents bought a farm in Fish Creek in Door County, Wisconsin. We lived there every weekend and summer for ten years. This will forever be home to me. The photo is of me, my brother, our dog, and childhood friends in the back of our Ford pickup truck.”
Vanessa VanderWeele
Hallmark Card
Vanessa shares, “This Hallmark card caught my eye years ago, and has joined me wherever I live since. It's a simple and sweet reminder of how to live your best life and are what I consider ‘house rules.’”
Missy Isely-Poltrock
Faith, Hope, Love, Roots, Mommm!; vintage magazine, thread, vintage lace, tape; 2023
Missy shares, “This is a collage piece with an accompanying poem about my mom who was recently diagnosed with stage 1 Alzheimer's. It's about what she means to me, and how she IS my home. It's also about me trying my best to stand with all of it.”
Faith, Hope, Love, Roots, Mommm...!
I was wondering
who is your
best person?
I mean have you been
lucky enough to have a
best person?
A cheerleader for you
since the beginning of
your time on this planet.
My whole life
my mom
could intuit
when I was sad.
She would not even have to be with me
to be able to do it.
It is a holy amazing mom skill.
and she would sit with me
until I spilled it.
She taught us compassion. Hope. Resilience.
She taught us do-overs,
to lay down the past or a grudge
and to begin again.
To root for the underdog.
To be patient (sometimes)...
OK not that one time
when she flipped someone off
while teaching me how to drive
right after she got done
telling me to always
remain calm in traffic...
She juggled multiple
crappy thankless jobsleaving the house before the sun was up.
Stretched the sparse finances as best she could,
doing much of it by herself in all the ways.
She put notes in our lunches.
She wanted us to follow our dreams.
When Kev wanted his cross country numbers
shaved in his head
she told him to go ahead.
She told the grade school photag
to let Chris wear his driving cap
in the school pictures that one year.
She always had wings
around Jen and I.
Trying hard to keep us out of real trouble.
With boys. Or drinking. Or both.
I was always too scared to
have my own kids.
This is how much reverence I have
for moms. I never thought
I’d be up for the task.
Some days it’s all I can do
to keep my own **** in order.
But this is not about me.
It’s about my mom.
And how many times she’s been
my savior.
And how I am slowly slowly
learning the difference between
being able to fix anything
and just leaning in...
boomeranging love back
and being grateful.
My Friend pointed out that
if you are trying so hard to
carry something
for someone else, you have
no arms left to hold them with.
I hope you have a
person that can peer into
your heart.
A person who reads it
and waits for you
to lay it down and just be.
Infinite thanks always mom.
Love, Sweet Melissa
Jose A. Chavez
Juan y Angelita
Jose shares, “This is a small painting of my paternal grandparents in their house back in Mexico. The painting shows both of my grandparents in their beautiful house. I’m choosing this painting that hangs in my house because of the wonderful memories of my childhood visiting them and my maternal grandparents every summer. Their house and their presence is something that will always live in my memory.”
Andrea Worthey
The Axis Mundi; acrylic paint and paper on panel; 2023
Andrea shares, “This painting is of my late father's recliner, or rather the recliner I remember as a child. It always sat in the middle of our living room. Kind of like a throne. It was always the center of what was ever happening. Although through the years the chair changed, but the spot never did. It's where he rested, napped, opened Christmas presents. Eventually it's where he would be when he was being treated for breast cancer. It was replaced with a hospital bed. It's where he saw me in my wedding dress for the first time. It's where I shared we were having our first baby. It's where he eventually would pass away surrounded by family. Right there in that spot.”
Vanessa Freund-Baden
She stitched a path for me back to Buffalo; thread on cotton fabric; 2022–2023
Vanessa shares, “This piece is the result of collaboration between an anonymous quilter and myself. I found an unfinished quilt top of unknown age or origin at the Buffalo Nickel antiques store in my now distant hometown. I was instantly drawn to it. I like to imagine that the person who started this quilt top may have been the grandparent of a friend or acquaintance. I was so captivated by the bold pattern and timeless color scheme that I felt compelled to finish what they started.
“What resulted was something reimagined. By applying new shape and color in areas that needed mending, new aesthetics emerged. To honor the original hand stitching, dense hand quilting became a key visual element. I connected so much to the invisible hand of this quilter that I embroidered illustrations of our two sewing arms linked. "Similarly, in recognition of its path to me, I also embroidered an outstretched hand holding a buffalo nickel.
“In the found-art tradition, I expounded upon our shared medium of sewing to form the material into its own unique expression. Domestic objects of importance, like quilts, are often used to beautify and warm our homes. Once without one when it was found, now this quilt is in a home where it belongs.”
Cheryn Prentice-Holstead
Grandma's House; oil on canvas; 2023
Cheryn shares, “This is an oil painting of my daughter outside the home of her great grandmother. My husband and I rented the apartment upstairs. Home was a place that felt safe, where Grandma sang songs as she rocked the kids on her swing and passed out bubbles and popsicles to all of the grandchildren, where simple pleasures became magic in the eyes of a child.”
Theresa Books
World Traveler; watercolor on paper; 2021
Theresa shares, “The little girl in this painting is ready to go, anywhere. As long as she has her teddy bear with her, she feels brave and secure. She is taking with her what gives her comfort and reminds her of home, her buddy.”
Kelsey and Linda McNamara
Door County Moonrise #4
Kelsey and Linda share, “This is an original watercolor painting by Kelsey McNamara and a corresponding poem written by her mom Linda McNamara. These items connect us to home because they represent our connection to our family and friends who live in, around, and near the states that surround Lake Michigan. Our family and friends are our home.”
Drawn to it
Shores preserved; road,
sidewalk, sand, grass,
garden, pier
Left behind but near; homes,
skyscrapers, vehicles,
playgrounds, voices, work,
busy restlessness
Eyes rest on
Its ever changing horizon line,
a prism of
a million shades of blue
Sun, clouds, moon,
stars, sparkly reflections
of sky on water
Graceful boats that seem to float,
floating surfers that seem to fly
Baking sun, windy breeze,
stormy rain, showers,
swirling snow, blizzards
touch sky and water
Never ending seasonal
kaleidoscope of beauty
Lake Michigan
Lisa Englander
Peonies Study; watercolor on paper; 2014
Lisa shares, “My memories of my grandmother, the woman who raised me, are very vivid when it comes to the three things she excelled in. Her baking is legendary, and she played canasta every Monday and Wednesday and made a luncheon that I would run home from school to catch the leftovers.
“However, my third memory is of her tiny Brooklyn garden, perhaps ten feet by twelve feet, no more, is my most active memory—no fruits and vegetables, no herbs—just roses, irises, and lastly peonies....one plant, which was all that would fit. As I have planted peony bushes in my Racine yard as a tribute to her, I bring a few in every year from my yard and deviate from my traditional painting to honor her and her loved peonies.”
Heather Hanlon and Sheboygan County Museum
Writing on Brick from 1921; photograph; 2023
Heather shares, “This is a photograph and written reflection about a mansion turned jail turned museum with gratitude that no one person has to contain all the history that an object does. The photograph shows both writing and etching on a Cream City brick wall to record a prisoner’s stay in the barred basement.”
The Taylor House | A Cell That Remembers for Us
By Heather Hanlon
I could barely stand up straight in the basement. It was cold. There was no direct sunlight. I was searching for names and dates written on Cream City brick. Jack? Connor? Kid Mic Williams? These were written by inmates in what was once called the “Taylor Mansion” and, fifty years later, became the County Workhouse, a jail.
Just after Wisconsin received statehood, Judge David Taylor had an Italianate-style home built for his family at one of the highest points in Sheboygan. This architectural style was an interpretation of an Italian farmhouse first popularized in England, then transplanted and transformed into an Americanized style of the English version. Just for fun, this layering of cultures was facilitated by a prominent German immigrant, Henry E. Roth. When it was built in 1852, the home lacked running water, gas, and electricity. The mansion used ten fireplaces, chamber pots, and hip tubs.
After a brief stint being owned by the Pape family, the house became Sheboygan County property in 1906. And what to do with a fine mansion? Well, to take a hard pivot, it became a work farm associated with the Sheboygan County Chronic Insane Asylum, eventually also taking in criminals convicted of vagrancy, disorderly conduct, and drunkenness. Windows and doors barred the faces behind them until 1948 when it was leased to the twenty-four-year-old Sheboygan County Historical Society. It has remained part of that society, now called Sheboygan County Museum, to this day.
Do things remember? I don’t hold much superstition, but I do believe in objects. Objects give truth about people and time with an honesty only available to something with no motive. Objects don’t even need to survive. What do they care? And over the now linoleum floor, past the stanchions, through the lace curtains ribbed with afternoon light, I unlock and descend into the Taylor House basement. It strikes me as a great place to store jams or host a litter box. Not so much a place to eat, sleep, restore, caretake. Layers of pipes and wires talk about innovations brought from far beyond this hillside. With a sharp turn, I see the two remaining barred windows, cemented in place. My eyes travel up and down the bricks and I see names, dates, numbers, illuminated by the light on my phone.
This jam cellar was someone’s home whether they wanted it to be or not. This jam cellar was my aunt’s home who chose homelessness over an asylum. This jam cellar was my cousin’s home who, when my aunt picked up the police report, did things she said she would never repeat. I don’t know what that means and I don’t want to. But the brick knows, and if we let it, it can remember a bit for us.
Without objects to imbue, we would all be trapped in our own stories. When I climb up the stone stairs, pass the lace, the piano, the pretend shortcakes, and get outside, I sit on the porch and watch the Acuity flag wave over the highway. I think about how nice it is to not live in an Americanized version of an English interpretation of an Italian Farmhouse…jail. I think about how thankful I am that I’m not the one who needs to know the whole truth or remember much of anything at all.
Celeste Marchi
Photograph of Still Life
Celeste shares, “The coffee mug belonging to the Love I won’t hold again. The photograph of my sister and my mother at my grandmother’s home in Italy. The calligraphy of my mum spelling the Italian words ‘Epifania’ and ‘Baci,’ year 2019. The paintbrushes that I can never get cleaned up. Home.”
Thomas John Siegworth
With Cream, Please; photograph
Thomas shares, “The comfort that comes with improvising a little coffee with the brother who's still alive next to you. Happiness is to be sitting in the harsh rain, wrapped up in a poncho without holes.”
Jacqueline Rice
Photograph of Prairie Lawn
Jacqueline shares, “Almost twenty years ago, my husband created a prairie of wildflowers, rocks, trees, bird baths, flowerbeds and more replacing the ‘traditional’ lawn. From crocuses in early spring to mums in autumn, there’s something colorful growing in our yard (back and front) for more than half the year. Precious resources like water are rarely needed because the flowers are mostly native. And because we care about the environment and the planet, we’ve never used pesticides. This photo was taken in early August when the cup plants were nearly twelve feet tall. Our habitat invites all manner of creatures including birds, bees, insects, butterflies (we have milkweed for the monarchs), and very content chipmunks, squirrels, and the occasional possum or owl. Although I live in the middle of the city, seeing this gorgeous sight when I open my front door always makes me happy. I'm in the middle of nature and it's home!”
Dalinee Vang
Bring Me Home, 2018
Dalinee shares, “This is a poem that I wrote about my idea of what ‘home’ means. I gathered inspiration from my cultural background of being Hmong and incorporated the journey of my grandparents and great-grandparents. Home to me is the United States, but Home to them is in the mountains of Laos and Thailand. I wanted to give a voice to their experience, and that is what this poem is about.”
“bring me home”
“bring me home
and carry me in your arms
your strong strong arms
that tend the rice fields
day and night
from the sunrise
to the sunset
bring me home
to where our hearts lie
together as they beat as one
yours
and mine
yours
and mine
bring me home
like the boat sailing on the sea
from one european city
to the next
from the night lights of France
to the cold winter nights of Oymyakon
where time is nonexistent
as direction is in the stars
that shine once the moon
graces itself in the midnight shadows
of the clouds
bring me home
like the feet of our grandfathers
when they crossed the mekong river
through the slippery slope
of the dark cerulean waters
and the tiny fishes that
swam between their toes
and the grassy moss
that brushed against their ankles
bring me home
because home
is where you are
so take my hand
and together,
let’s go home”
Leovardo Aguilar
Photograph
Leovardo shares, “Growing up, my dad always lived somewhere on the outside of town that felt ‘country.’ He always had some kind of skull hanging too, which I'd play with as a kid. In this photo, my daughter, a much younger version of Esperanza, found a deer skull while we visited my dad.”
Madeline Magee
Gus Gus; acrylic paint on paper; 2023
Madeline shares, “Gus Gus has been with me through the hard times of my life and has never left my side. I would describe Gus as my "home" because he's always been there. My parents were divorced when I was ten. Gus was the one thing that was stable. He was someone I could talk to. And when things were dark, he was my flashlight. He's my animal. He's my pet. Gus is my home.”
Antoinette Mattern
Traveling Kettle, August ’22; oil on canvas
Antoinette shares, “Much of my art is an expression of gratitude for home and family.
I wrote a little bit below to explain the meaning of this painting and its title, which refers to the transition time when our young ones begin to leave home.
This old kettle was poised on our stove, ready to travel back to college, unboxed but home just for the summer. We had set our newer one aside for a few weeks, using this one for tea and talks.
I set up my easel to paint the kettle where it was at rest, reflecting the moment’s late August light.
My heart so full, I painted it. I painted it and then released it to the next kitchen of my grown child, like an ambassador from home.’”
Candace Croizer
Sunset at the Landbridge; paint on canvas; July 2023
Candace shares, “This past year I moved closer to the lake, and I take walks at sunrise and sunset by the lighthouse. To me, the lighthouse symbolizes light in dark times—to light the way home.”
Roberta Filicky-Peneski
Mine, paper and fabric
“Mine” and “Tia Mine”
By Roberta Filicky-Peneski
He dubbed it “Mine.” It was a soft, waffle weave, satin-trimmed, aqua blue blanket that sometimes shimmered into a seafoam green.
My son Mark’s “Mine” went everywhere with him—to the store and to his friends’ houses and to the backyard and to his Playskool airplane seat as he watched Sesame Street and Mr. Rogers. “Mine” always went to bed with him.
I’m not quite sure how “Mine” got its name. My best guess was that it was in response to multiple adults asking the same question about the ever-present blanket: “What’s that?” If they would touch the blanket or playfully try to snatch it from his grasp, two-year-old Mark would draw away and say, “Mine.”
Mark also loved “Tia Mine.” “Tia Mine” was a substitute teddy proffered by Cousin Susan when, as we were leaving Aunt Liz and Uncle Joe’s house, we were unable to find Mark’s larger bear. As Mark wailed and cried and refused to leave until he had his teddy bear, the enterprising six-year-old Susan put one of her bears into Mark’s arms. The smaller “Tia Mine” never left them…even after the other teddy was recovered.
Both “Mine” and “Tia Mine” grew old and weary. “Mine’s” fabric gave way. The aqua blue faded to a washed-out gray. The satin split as did the little pocket “thumb hole” that was formed by the overlap of the continuous satin binding. As the blanket turned into shredded fabric, I folded and mended and folded and mended. I sewed clothes onto the matted or missing fur of “Tia Mine.” I attached a turtle-neck shirt to rejoin “Tia Mine’s” head to his body as it gradually disintegrated into a bundle of mostly cotton batting. “Tia” was eventually relegated to a plastic bag. “Mine” lived under Marks’ pillow all the way through grade school…and I suspect through high school and college too.
When Mark moved to Colorado, he left a number of items at home, including “Mine” and the remnants of “Tia Mine.” After asking his permission, I pressed the remainder of the “Mine” into paper that I hand-made from pulp, air brushed to restore the aqua blue and framed.
I had often said throughout the years, as I mended and folded and mended and folded, “I’m going to dip this thing in fiber glass someday to preserve it.” Not fiberglass…but a promise preserved nevertheless.
Jackie Rejholec
My Bedroom; color pencil on paper; 2023
Jackie shares, “This is a picture of my bedroom at my house. I have pictures on my wall of Twilight movies, and me and my family. I have a bulletin board in my room full of pictures of family members too. My bedroom is comforting and quiet, and this is one of my favorite places that I enjoy spending my time. I enjoy going home to my bedroom because it is a space where I feel safe and I can do things that I enjoy, such as watching TV and movies, talking to my family and friends on the phone, playing with the dogs, and coloring. My bedroom is my example of what ‘’ome” means to me.”
Brazzy Hildebrand
Phoenix; yarn and canvas; 2023
Brazzy shares, “I grew up going to horse camps. I fell in love with the horses and still continue to love them. I really enjoy the show Heartland, and my bedroom is even full of different horse things. I collect Breyer horse figurines. When I’m riding horses, I feel good. They make me feel loved, calm, safe, and that I can be myself around them. These feelings all make me feel like I am ‘“home.’”
Kacie Sharpe
Snickers; ink on paper; 2023
Kacie shares, “This is a picture of my cat Snickers. I’ve had her for ten years. I like cats a lot. I also work with animals at the Humane Society for my job. Being with animals gives me the feelings of ’home’. They make me feel loved.”
Kelly Seider
Yami-Yugi; acrylic paint; 2023
Kelly shares, “The character Yami-Yugi teaches me to stand up to bullies. This character fights bad people. He usually wins his battle. I stand up for the people that I care about. I have many close people that I care about including my siblings and my dad. I am like Yami-Yugi when I stand up for the people that feel like home to me.”
Marissa Meyer
Chase; plush animal (displayed on other side of gallery); and drawing; ink on paper; 2023
Marissa shares, “I collect Paw Patrol things. I have movies and stuffed animals of all the characters. I picked this character Chase to represent ‘home’ because he makes me feel happy when I see him on the show. He is a police pup. He helps people feel safe and feeling safe is a good feeling. That’s what home feels like. I included a drawing of Chase with his police car that he drives.”
Sarah Petzold
House Rock; mixed media; 2023
Sarah shares, “The words that are hanging at the bottom are all words I describe home with. ’Happy, Safe, Proud, and Good.’ The house in the background has hearts on it. My parents live at home with me. I love my parents. They are a part of my home. Rocks are strong and hard to break. My love for my parents is strong.”
Digital Submissions and Other Stories
Red Line Service artists
The artists from Red Line Service share, “Red Line Service is a community of artists with a lived experience of being unhoused and of housing and food insecurity. We know the pain of losing home, people, and objects; and we know the trauma of social isolation, stigmatization, and ruptured collective and communal bonds. But we forged new ones in and through art and through care for one another. Our solution is ART itself. For us, as houseless artists, art forges the bonds of kinship and through art, we find belonging. Take a moment to listen to the difference art has made in our lives.”
Tracey Christmas, Shaylynn Scales, Valerie Bankston, William Robinson, Rosalind Smith, Tracy Byer, James Lee Smith, Big Mama, Dave Scott, Lorenz Joseph, Chris O’Hara, Deborah Awwad, Rebecca Lang, Sheba Peaker. Sound editing: Samantha Caldera.
Listen to “Art is Belonging”
Tyrone Lucious
Tyrone shares, “This is a song called ‘Surround Sound’ that takes me to this beautiful ethereal place. It’s almost like I’m floating on warm water with no sense of time. This is what home is for me.”
Listen to “Surround Sound”
original song by Tyrone Lucious
Leighanne Metter-Jensen
Leighanne shares, “’Clara’ is a story that describes finding shelter in a felt beaked duck. She was a gift when I was a baby and took my first flight to visit relatives in New York City. She has since traveled many more miles and is the only stuffed animal from childhood that I still have.”
Listen to “Clara”
Aaron Hurvitz
Aaron shares, “Autumn’s leaves provoke memories of home and all its stages. My mother fought cancer for years and died six years before my father passed from Parkinson’s. My father’s disease mirrored leaves during its final stages. His hands would vibrate. He wavered when trying to stand or move. He hung on to life despite challenges that would make many give up. When fall began in 2021, he maintained his joie de vivre. But, two months into fall, his color faded, and he fell from life.
I noticed leaves everywhere I traveled to attend the services related to my father’s death. The trip was about my father’s passing, but the metaphor was leaves. Leaves still hung on trees in various colors and scattered like poetry in the wind. Homes had yards blanketed with leaves. Other homes had fallen leaves in huge piles on the edge of their streets, ready for removal by their municipality. I went to a local nature preserve where half the leaves hung on their trees, mostly golden. The other half was on the ground, mostly earth tones.
Ever since, autumn reminds me of home and all its stages.”
Jen Odegaard
Jen shares, “The film is a visual essay exploring the narrator’s return to a familiar home after moving twenty times in twenty years.”
Hannah Hunt – Recipe Book
Maj-lis Hagglund – Read “Finn Slips”
Anapaula Micher-Santamaria – Photographs on Wall
Sheila Yang – Handmade Hmong Dance Costume
Al Herwig – Carved 1927 Penny
Simon Joseph Blake – Baby Shoes from My Homeland
Miva Yang – Photographs
