House of Fields, by Anne-Marie Oomen is a definite read. Her portrait of life in Northern Michigan could be a picture of farms across the country. You could change the time and setting, but you would still have the fears and loneliness of growing up with a worldview that is made up of the fields and farms of your home. Oomen's use of language, it's confusion, and it's way of broadening the universe, was intriguing. I could especially relate since, I was raised on a farm with little knowledge of what the world had to offer. I didn't have the language to understand. It was a great mystery.
When I went to college, I made a big joke of flushing the stool and flicking the lights on and off. I was from the "sticks". It was my first chance to see how other people lived: city people, ethnic people, other than farm people. When I went to the reservation in Arizona, I felt like Columbus falling off of the edge of the earth. Anne-Marie reminded me of the love of home and the knowledge that home is such a small dot on this planet. That's where the loneliness comes from.
My mom always said that you had to go away to come back. And so I did, and so I have lived on my family farm next to the big house where I was raised for the last thirty odd years. I am thankful for my travels and adventures around the world, I have language from these places. My going away has made me deeply appreciate my present surroundings. I love the memories that come from trees and hills, and roads and rocks. I cherish my history. I belong here.
Oomen's tale of a rural education has sent me a flood of memories. I would say that is high praise for any book.
