LOCAL STORY AND THE POWER OF ART
(Spinless, 610 words)
By Joe Paddock

In rural towns we tell stories, and in time our overall story takes on an a sacred dimension. Art projects based on such content are very special for those whose lives intertwine with them.

            Back in the ‘70s, I worked for a year as a community poet in Olivia, Minnesota. We published a book of oral history, and I’ll never forget an area farmer telling me:

            “You know, that book made me realize that we have a great story, too.”

            This was true, and in fact, the story of any community,

looked at closely enough, is at least as interesting as a great novel.

            In the early ‘90s, Florence Dacey, a poet from Cottonwood, began working with a project in Granite Falls based on the story of the Minnesota River. Elementary School children were the primary artists, and Florence developed a script from their writing. With the help of many teachers and community workers, the children presented this pageant as the culminating event of their elaborate project. It began with the words:

“This is the story of our river. It is one of the stories of the Circle of Life.... Long ago, long before the river was here, there was only the sound of the earth’s heartbeat....”

            Florence writes that audience members were amazed to learn that the show had risen from the writings of children. People wept. They were moved that “somehow, all together, we had come in touch with something large, ancient, and profound.”

When on sidewalks and in coffee shops we tell and retell our stories, we are defining ourselves and our community values, and we live stronger lives because of it. Art projects based on local story help us with this process of definition.

            Once thought to be our foundation, the stories of small-town rural America are currently being overshadowed. Mass media offer us fictions meant to please, to make a buck. They tell us not what we need to hear, but what we want to hear. Collectively, we suffer the consequences.

            At a time when many rural communities are greatly challenged, the story our children most commonly hear has nothing to do with staying home and caring for community. They are told instead a story which praises  rootless upward mobility, success in distant urban centers.

            I too cut away from my beginnings as quickly as I could. In time, though, I returned to my childhood home in Litchfield, and was lucky enough to direct an early project of the Minnesota Rural Arts Initiative here in my home town. We called our project “Recovering the Story,” and early on, we brought local stories into school classrooms where I often asked a pair of related questions:

            First, how many of you thought Litchfield was a pretty good place to grow up? With a little grumbling, most of the students raised their hands. Then: How many of you intend to stay here in adult life? Out of several classrooms, two girls cautiously raised their hands.

            These students didn’t know much local history, but they loved what we gave them. Could it be that we should try harder to connect our children to their roots?

            In Litchfield, I scripted a play from the stories we’d collected, and on the nights it was presented by our community theater, I often heard a buzz of recognition move through the audience as the voices of our long-dead rang out again. Many of us were deeply moved. And we were reminded again that our story, that of small town rural America, continues to be a great one.