Built in 1902 by my great-grandfather, painted white to keep cool in scorching North Dakota summers, the simple, sturdy farmhouse in this photo has witnessed over a century of history: births, deaths, celebrations, and too many blizzards to count.
When I first saw Waiting at the Station it sure reminded me (quite literally) of something resonant with my own family. The story that follows is what came immediately to mind when PNB announced this project.
My father’s name is takashi koshi. He wanted to keep his name in lowercase whenever printed for the purpose of standing out. Dad was born in Denver, Colorado. With very few Japanese Americans like himself around, standing out was never a […]
My daughter, at the age of 11, attends a school that embodies and embraces inclusivity, diversity and tolerance. She […]
The America I know is a paradox, defined by the contrasting experiences of my daughter and my mother.
My daughter, at the age of 11, attends a school that embodies and embraces inclusivity, diversity and tolerance. She […]
Both sets of my grandparents were homesteaders around the first decade of the 20th century – north western North Dakota near the Montana border for my father’s family, Norwegian immigrants whose families had settled in Wisconsin where dad was born in […]
My father’s wish list had only one thing on it, go to Ireland where his paternal family originated. In 2012 my husband and I took my dad to Ireland. Before heading over the big blue ocean, I did as much genealogy research as I could to narrow down where his clan originated. I […]