FIVE

2014

For the next several years, I spent hundreds of hours researching archived newspaper articles on the internet, and I became a member of the Wisconsin Historical Society. I was looking for answers to questions about places and people I knew nothing about. But even with all of the online research I did, something was missing. I had a deep need to see, in person, the house where my grandmother lived, and to walk the streets she had walked. I needed to see the lakes she swam in, the trees and rocks she climbed, and to visit the places where so many of the photos had been taken. Most importantly, I needed to breathe the air and smell the ground where everything had happened. Yes—I needed to go to Amherst, Wisconsin.

I assumed things had likely changed considerably in the little town of Amherst over the last one hundred years, but I wanted to see it for myself. I prepared myself for a town that was either overdeveloped or rundown. It seems like time has a way of changing places, especially small farming towns like Amherst, often for the worse.

I planned a business trip to Chicago in the middle of March 2014. After my last meeting, I packed up my rental car and set my GPS for Amherst. I was looking forward to the four-hour drive and to seeing the wide-open Wisconsin landscape.

Three hours into the drive, I started recognizing the names of towns and cities my grandmother had mentioned in her cards and letters: Oshkosh, Appleton, New London, Waupaca. At every town I recognized, I laughed and cheered out loud. It was like I was living a dream that was slowly turning into a reality. It also cracked me up that a West Coast city girl would know so much about a place I had never been. I’m sure some people driving next to me thought I was crazy, but I didn’t care. I was coming home for the first time in a hundred years.

I loved every mile and every minute of the long drive. The landscape was beautiful, with old country barns and wide-open land—things I wasn’t used to, growing up in Los Angeles. I saw the train tracks that ran parallel to the highway, and couldn’t help wondering if Grandma Ruby had taken those same tracks when she traveled to Milwaukee or Chicago to visit family and friends.

My GPS informed me, “Only two more miles to Amherst exit.” Then the electronic voice announced it was only one mile. My heart was pounding so hard I thought it might burst out of my chest; my palms were sweating, and my breath was short from excitement.Oh my God, I’mhere!

After taking the exit, I immediately pulled over to the side of th