Vicki Holmsten

These are the tomten who live in our house. They are michievous and tend to jump around unexpectedly. They have been spotted riding the train under the Christmas tree, peeking out various windows, and trying to blend in on bookshelves. According to Swedish legend, these guys live in the barn and should be appreciated or you will live to regret ignoring them even though they work hard not to be seen. It is best to keep them happy and leave rice porridge and cookies for them on Christmas Eve. Mother read stories to me about the Christmas Tomten. I must say these elusive spirits came in handy when cookies went missing from the cookie jar. “The Tomten ate them,” worked well for me. These two have eaten their fair share of goodies in the years they have lived in New Mexico with this transplanted Swedish-American.

We interrupt our blog series on micro-memoirs for this bulletin.  I am in love with Delia Owen’s book Where the Crawdads Sing. This is a completely absorbing story about Kya, the Marsh Girl, feral child off the coastline of North Carolina. Mystery embedded in the story, but also a treatise on the nature of loneliness, secrets,  and the importance of the natural world. Go find yourself a copy. Really.

I lived in Foequellie, Panta Chiefdom, Upper Bong County, Liberia, West Africa for two years as a Peace Corps Volunteer. I learned a few words of the local tribal language, Kpelle, and to live without electricity and running water. My town chief and neighbors generously taught me about themselves as they welcomed me into their community, and sent me home with the mission to tell other Americans about them. It was my job at Dolokelen Paye Elementary and Junior High School that made me realize I was meant to be a teacher, and my life in the mud stick house under the big tree at the far end of the village that made me better understand my place in the world. This five inch sculpture sits on the shelf next to my writing desk, reminding me where I have been and how lucky I was to have spent two years in the village that rose in the morning mists at the edge of the jungle.