Introduction
We humans are natural preservers. Photographs, letters, old programs and ticket stubs are just some of the things we squirrel away as mementos of events, people, places.
I couldn’t believe my luck when I was asked to work on this story project. I love stories. As a child, I lived for stories—those that I read and those that I heard. Eventually I developed the itch to start telling stories myself.
As a teacher I’ve seen stories bring together students from different cultures. "Tell me about yourself" often makes people stammer around a bit. But ask them to tell their favorite stories—stories from their past, or memorable stories told to them—and the words flow.
We were inspired by National Public Radio’s National Story Project, which evolved into an anthology called I Thought My Father Was God, edited by Paul Auster. The collection was meant to "put together an archive of facts, a museum of American reality."
Why not do a similar thing locally?
For our project, we gathered stories by running ads in the Fillmore County Journal, a weekly paper delivered to virtually everyone in the county. We invited people in and around Fillmore County, Minnesota, to send us their stories. We gave two rules: the stories had to be true, and they had to be short. The result is a group of stories written by a variety of people, some of them with previous writing experience, many without.
Think about it. Almost any time people get together, they tell stories. We tell stories to laugh, to cry, to gossip, to amaze. We want to learn about life, about other people, and maybe, indirectly, about ourselves. In Fillmore County, people might gather with coffee cups, or beer mugs, to tell and hear stories. I think this collection of stories does more than entertain: it occasionally teaches something about the past, offers hints of hopes and fears for the future, and thus, offers a picture of the present.
But stories are unique in that, unlike a photograph, they preserve more than just one moment—they preserve a little bit of that business we call living. In a time when national and global challenges contribute to a sense of rootlessness, it seems more important than ever to preserve some of our stories—the funny, the sad, the ordinary—to provide a sense of continuity with the past, as well as a sense of community in the present.
I am grateful to John Torgrimson and Nine Dragon Press for inviting me to work on this project. I can’t begin to express my appreciation to each of the writers willing to send in his or her story. And for my Fillmore County families, especially to Mike, Katie and Wil, thank you for everything.
Bonnie Flaig Prinsen
