I came into this world after the Second World War. The cold war had started, Gandhi had begun a march for peace in East-Bengali, Palestine was partitioned and the State of Israel was created. It was a tumultuous time in history.

In the United States, The Great Fires of 1947 consumed more than 200,000 acres of wooded land in Maine. The era of “McCarthyism” began, a time when The House Committee on Un American Activities was set up, putting many Americans under suspicion of alleged communist activity. There was great fear and paranoia.

In many ways, it was also an innocent time. Gender roles were most often traditional, and many women who had worked during the war had returned to a domestic way of life. Television shows like the classic Leave it to Beaver were a cultural norm. The family into which I was born, preceded by a brother, fit this stereotype. My father, who had become a pilot in the Air Force, struggled to support our growing family by opening a retail shoe business. My mother settled into domestic life, a happy and devoted wife and mother after her support of the war effort.

The family settled in Minnesota, where both my father and mother had been born and raised. The summers, in my memory, were spent mostly outdoors. Lakes and parks seemed to be around every corner and the mosquitos in summer were just a way of life. We lived in a two story family house that sat in front of a swamp. There was a pond in the back which we kids, my brother and cousins, liked to wade in. Afterwards, my father would use a match to detach blood suckers from our skin. He would light a match, blow it out, and touch the little bugs so they would fall off.

My cousins and extended family could be quite boisterous and wild. I spent a lot of time with them but was most content to play quietly with dolls or the critters around my house, like the harmless garter snakes. And I had great fondness for my best friend, Katy, who like me, was more reserved and introspective. When alone together we were more unselfconsciously ourselves.

When I was seven years old my father applied for a job and was accepted to work for a major airline in California. It was painful to leave Katy but part of me was excited for the move. California held a kind of magic and mystery. The glamor of movie stars, sunshine, WARM winters, and the ocean. It seemed a bit dreamy. We drove the entire distance in an old woody station wagon. The newest member of the family mostly slept in a little bassinet between myself and my older brother.

I loved the drive and the scenery. I spent hours just looking out of the window, enjoying it all. I felt comforted by the giant angel, almost as tall as the telephone poles, who accompanied us alongside the road the whole way. It was reassuring to watch him and something I didn’t speak of. I seemed to know that there were some things people don’t talk about. I never considered why. It was an unspoken understanding.

Cheryl Canfield, CCHT, 2023