Accidents of birth and borders
Had my great-grandmother’s parents kept their family in Pomerania, to wait out the crop failures and political unrest, they might have perished in one of the World Wars.
While our local drama continues - 300 folks who want to end our town’s Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion Commission by amending the city’s comprehensive plan, and who want their names kept secret, apparently afraid of the same kind of political violence and thuggery* the far right has used for years - this weekend, a bit of a pause seems in order.
We are fully into spring, a glorious time here in our valley. Planting is safe, now, as the danger of frost is so minimal we all feel free to put out even the tomatoes that have been raised in cozy indoor or sheltered spots.
This valley has a long agricultural history, as do most places inhabited by humans. We shape our natural surroundings, and they shape us, in beautiful symbiosis. In my family history, on my mother’s side, my ancestors found their way to the next valley over about 100 years ago. But first, they had to leave Europe; in the last half of the nineteenth century, they came in droves from a region known as Pomerania, then part of the Kingdom of Prussia and the German Empire. On the south coast of the Baltic Sea, Pomerania was a breadbasket; but in the late 1800’s it suffered from similar potato crop failures as struck Ireland. And since potatoes were the mainstay of the peasant farmers (whose labor was often used by landowners to raise cash crops), and the region was frequently disputed between Prussia, Russia, Poland, and Germany, my ancestors scraped together what they could and booked passage to the Americas.
Most of them wound up in Minnesota, in tiny farm towns that likely resembled their home countryside - although much harsher in climate, without the moderating effect of the Baltic sea. They married, had children, and farmed. And then, for some reason not captured in the written records I’ve found so far, a cluster of them came west to this region.
The 1930 census for their town shows them living on a road with neighbors who were almost all from Germany via Minnesota as well. And they were nearly all “fruit farmers.” I imagine, at this time of year, their orchards in full blossom; the smudge pots they likely used to keep insects and birds away filling the air later on in the season standing by; and their family gardens in full tilth, ready for their tomatoes, beans, and corn.
My great-grandmother was born in Pomerania, Prussia, married in Minnesota at age 17, and moved west for her last two decades of life, living with her unmarried daughter and her youngest son. She died in 1946, eighteen years before I was born. My family’s immigration history is that close to me. My mother was born here, her mother was born here, but all my great-grandparents in her line were born outside the U.S. borders.
Had my great-grandmother’s parents kept their family in Pomerania, to wait out the crop failures and political unrest, it’s likely that they would have perished in one of the World Wars. Their decision to come to the U.S. is why I have the life I do today.
I didn’t earn this, it is an accident of birth and national boundaries. I keep this in mind as I watch how folks who immigrate to this country are treated now.
Be safe and well, enjoy spring, and take good care.
*And yet, the only concrete actions they could cite in their lawsuit were some nasty online comments (name-calling, inappropriate surely but not threats) and what they called “vandalism” - someone writing in chalk on a local business’s access ramp, “this is DEI.” No wonder the judge turned them down.