MIDDLE OF EVERYWHEREThe World's Refugees Come to Our TownMary PipherCHAPTER 1CULTURAL COLLISIONS on the GREAT PLAINSI AM FROMI am from Avis and Frank, Agnes and Fred, Glessie May and Mark.From the Ozark Mountains and the high plains of Eastern Colorado,From mountain snowmelt and lazy southern creeks filled with water moccasins.I am from oatmeal eaters, gizzard eaters, haggis and raccoon eaters.I'm from craziness, darkness, sensuality, and humor.From intense do-gooders struggling through ranch winters in the 1920s.I'm from "If you can't say anything nice about someone don't say anything" and "Pretty is as pretty does" and "Shit-mucklety brown" and "Damn it all to hell."I'm from no-dancing-or-drinking Methodists, but cards were okay except on Sunday, and from tent-meeting Holy Rollers,From farmers, soldiers, bootleggers, and teachers.I'm from Schwinn girl's bike, 1950 Mercury two-door, and West Side Story.I'm from coyotes, baby field mice, chlorinous swimming pools,Milky Way and harvest moon over Nebraska cornfields.I'm from muddy Platte and Republican,from cottonwood and mulberry, tumbleweed and switchgrassfrom Willa Cather, Walt Whitman, and Janis Joplin,My own sweet dance unfolding against a cast of women in aprons and barefoot men in overalls.As a girl in Beaver City, I played the globe game. Sitting outside in the thick yellow weeds, or at the kitchen table while my father made bean soup, I would shut my eyes, put my finger on the globe, and spin it. Then I would open my eyes and imagine what it was like in whatever spot my finger was touching. What were the streets like, the sounds, the colors, the smells? What were the people doing there right now?I felt isolated in Beaver City, far away from any real action. We were a small town of white Protestants surrounded by cow pastures and wheat fields. I had no contact with people who were different from me. Native Americans had a rich legacy in Nebraska, but I knew nothing of them, not even the names of the tribes who lived in my area. I had never seen a black person or a Latino. Until I read The Diary of Anne Frank, I had never heard of Jewish people.Adults talked mostly about crops, pie, and rainfall. I couldn't wait to grow up and move someplace exotic and faraway, and living where I did, every place appeared faraway and exotic. When I read Tolstoy's book on the little pilgrim who walked all over the world, I vowed to become that pilgrim and to spend my life seeing everything and talking to everyone.As a young adult, I escaped for a while. I lived in San Francisco, Mexico, London, and Madrid. But much to my surprise, I missed the wheat fields, the thunderstorms, and the meadowlarks. I returned to Nebraska in my mid-twenties, married, raised a family, worked as a psychologist, and ate a lot of pie. I've been happy in Nebraska, but until recently I thought I had to choose between loving a particular rural place and experiencing all the beautiful diversity of the worl Excerpted from The Middle of Everywhere: Helping Refugees Enter the American Community by Mary Pipher All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
