Full Steam Ahead
By the time I was seven I was comfortable riding the
train alone from our residence in southern Germany to where my maternal
grandmother lived two hours to the north. I spent several weeks with her each
summer, nourished by her stories and our outings into the countryside.
At twelve my summer vacation brought me my first
earnings at the farm of my godmother. My task was to weed her flower garden and
to pull small hand wagons loaded with hot luncheons out to the field workers. I
was busy all day and tired at night, and very proud of the extra money I
brought home to our meager household. As soon as my return train rolled into
our station and I saw my mother standing on the platform, I could hardly wait
to get off and throw my arms around her.
My heart leaped with joy when my uncle in Sweden
needed day care for my little niece. I was thirteen and this was the longest
train ride I had taken thus far. The journey included a night on the ferry
where I was overwhelmed by the smorgasbord of foods. My stomach was also
overwhelmed. Its contents landed in the spray over the railing. We were used to
simple meals at home.
I like children and the two months with little Astrid
flew by. Each week I was given a couple of free days. My frugal uncle handed me
a few krona and showed me on the city map of Stockholm how to use the trolley.
Upon my return in the evenings I had to account in writing for every krona I
had spent! On my outings into the city I wandered through the cobblestone
streets, explored different municipal parks and joined tour groups on numerous
occasions, including three visits to City Hall. I also ventured out to the
Scheren, rocky outcrops on the outskirts of the city. There one day tears
dripped onto the sunbaked flat surface of a stone. I stirred the tiny teary
puddle with my index finger and wrote, “I want to be home.” Back in Germany I
never mentioned my homesickness because my parents regarded these trips away as
“blessed luxuries.” But I felt a crack in my foundation.
I was thrilled when, a year later family friends
invited me to join them and their large brood of 8 in Switzerland. From there
they took me along on an excursion to the Cȏte d’Azur. Their chalet in the
midst of blooming meadows and overripe blueberry patches with cowbells echoing
through the valley evoked magical images. And the golden sun and pearly sand
along the blue Mediterranean were unforgettable sights. Still, I was lonely.
The small children were my only company. I was fourteen. The adults kept to
themselves. At night I clutched the encouraging letters from my
grandmother and wept. I was never mistreated, just ignored. Lying on the beach
with a towel over my face, I overheard two women from the household exclaiming,
“Let her be. She is always so sullen.” The crack in my foundation widened and
led from loneliness to depression.
With the passage of time, I became a self-sufficient
traveler. I knew how to navigate a city, change trains, buy my meals from
vendors and converse in a foreign language. But not until I befriended
lighthearted Margot at nineteen and we both attended a summer language program
in Neuchatel did I learn what a joyful time away from home can feel like. Soon
after we arrived, we met two artists who took us boating and dancing.
Margot and I enrolled at the University of Hamburg.
On completion of our first semester we signed up for a sojourn to the Middle
East with other students. To earn money for the trip I secured a part-time job
helping with children and Margot worked a few hours in a fabric store. We sewed
all of our clothes for the upcoming adventure from remnants she brought to our
student apartment .
Although my parents encouraged visits abroad, this
one frightened them. As our train chugged out of the Stuttgart station destined
for Istanbul, they dabbed their eyes with the handkerchiefs they had brought
for waving.
My parents’ foreboding did not prove altogether
wrong. I met my husband on that long journey into wonderous lands. A year later
I married him and followed him to the United States. My interest in different
cultures was complemented by his passion for exploring regions far and wide.
Through long years of married life, we have traversed the world. I am
never lonely with him at my side.
But my husband’s wanderlust diverges from mine. As a
youngster he had taken excursions with his parents across the United States,
but an exchange year in Germany was his first solo stay with another family.
Because he grew up in a stable environment, he is comfortable taking calculated
risks. He never feels a stranger in a strange land. He pushes boundaries with
confidence and curiosity, never minding an unfamiliar custom or a welcoming
foreign bed. He loves to extend stays. When my husband comes back from abroad,
he immediately plans another trip. I always take my home with me wherever we go
and try to replicate familiar features in my new experiences. I search for
posters and cheap throw rugs to bring a touch of my taste to a foreign setting.
For me even a most wonderful stay abroad is always temporary. I get restless
for our return.
All through my happy years in America I have not been
able to entirely shed homesickness. I still miss my childhood traditions with
their intimacies and feelings of belonging. I miss the summers with my
grandmother, and especially her warmth. I miss my early sense of security because
I know from personal experience how quickly it can be taken away. After each
trip I sink into the fluffy worn featherbed from my youth and sigh with
gratefulness and relief, “Home again, home again, home sweet home.”
Ute Carson
A writer from youth and an M.A. graduate in comparative literature
from the University of Rochester, German-born Ute Carson published her first
prose piece in 1977. Colt Tailing, a 2004 novel, was a finalist
for the Peter Taylor Book Award. Carson’s story “The Fall” won Outrider
Press’s Grand Prize and appeared in its short story and poetry anthology A
Walk Through My Garden, 2007. Her second novel In Transit
was published in 2008. Her poems have appeared in numerous journals and
magazines in the US and abroad. Carson’s poetry was featured on the televised Spoken
Word Showcase 2009, 2010 and 2011, Channel Austin, Texas. A poetry
collection, Just a Few Feathers was published in 2011. The poem “A
Tangled Nest of Moments” placed second in the Eleventh International Poetry
Competition 2012. Her chapbook Folding Washing was published in 2013 and
her collection of poems My Gift to Life was nominated for the 2015
Pushcart Award Prize. Save the Last Kiss, a novella, was published in
2016. Her new poetry collection Reflections was out in 2018. She
received the Ovidiu-Bektore Literary Award 2018 from the Anticus
Multicultural Association in Constanta, Romania. In 2018 she was nominated a
second time for the Pushcart Award Prize by the Plain View Press.
Ute Carson resides in Austin, Texas with her husband. They have
three daughters, six grandchildren, a horse and a clowder of cats. www.utecarson.com
Tags:
Short Fiction