Reclaiming forgotten voices from the fringes.
I lagged behind our guide, tugging at my daughter’s sleeve.
“Rose, this is like a scene from my childhood.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Mom, you grew up in North Dakota. This is Nepal.”
“Look—that little girl. Give her braids and that would be me, playing in the street while Pa loaded our wagon.”
“Seriously, Mom.”
“And that man in the doorway. Why, he stands, arms folded like Nels the shopkeeper. And that woman in the striking material. His wife I bet. Nels’s wife always dressed better than everyone else.”
“What is with you? We are in an exotic country.”
Nepal inspired me. I now knew that I would return home and write about my childhood. “Every place in the world has its little town on the prairie.”