Susan Thurston

I grew up on a small farm in south central Minnesota not too far from the banks of the Minnesota River. This proximity to a flowing river saved me often as I came of age, a time during which I pretty much railed against a landscape that seemed more antagonistic than nurturing; and I was certain I had been born into the wrong place, and felt homesick for a place I did not know. With the river so near, I imagined that if I simply could not handle another moment of longing to be somewhere else, searching for my true home, I could build a raft, hug my parents farewell, and launch onto the Mississippi River, which would then carry me to the Gulf of Mexico, and from there…engage in the world. I have tried out a lot of different places, and had a few chances to turn a journey into a relocation. But I returned to Minnesota, external expectations, and perceived responsibilities. Now, well into mid-life, I realize my true home was always carried within myself: a quiet, watchful center-point. Here in a near-center-point of North America, a not-too-distant walk from that Big River that pleasures St. Paul, I am nurtured by words and art, the love of my children, and my community of creatives.