...there was a woman that lived in small insular community, so small it wasn't even big enough to be called a town. This speck on the map had managed to keep an almost 1950's existence well into the new millenium. This 36 square mile square of a township is home to 51 shy of 5,000 people, 98.5% of those people being Caucasian. The township was organized in 1838, after pioneers cleared and claimed land inward from Lake Erie. When Andrew Jackson decided to start giving away land grants and moving the original inhabitants to reservations in the late 1860's, the township was platted and made official in 1868.
This woman was raised in this community, and her family have been landowners there since 1873. While this should have meant something back before the turn of the century when dowries were required in order to remain in good standing, 100 years later for a girl-child it just meant that she had better go to college if she had any dream of a good life. The boys were the ones worthy of inheritance. Life was conditional.
So I said all that, to say this: while spending all but 10 years of my life in this insulated bubble, this place and my family have greatly influenced me, but not to the point that I was unable to think for myself and form my own opinions. This blog will be my avenue for my thoughts and opinions. Don't try to change my mind, it will take a darn good argument for that, and frankly I am not into wasting precious moments left here on Planet Earth listening to drivel.
Welcome, come on in and stay a while.
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Input welcome, as long as it is in good taste and not rude.