Ethnicity
I've been thinking about ethnic groups lately, mostly about the Hmong's as there are many in my neck of the woods.
It seems to me that mostly they live as they would have in their own land before war changed everything. War does that.
While they don't farm their own land here mostly, the do rent land and continue their own agricultural heritage. It seems the men of the family go 'off' to work and the women and children tend the fields, with the men coming in the evening and on weekends to help. I see the women and children-usually only female children over about 12 years-together selling at farmer's markets. There are often 3 generations of women selling, and it is to those booths that I usually stop first. The produce the Hmong families sell is the freshest and most tasty of all the market offerings. Some years ago they added flowers to their booths, large bouquets of many-colored splendor that they sell for around $7.50. What a lovely and inexpensive way to bring the outside into your own home! In the beginning it was just Hmong families who did this, but lately I've seen large flower bouquets in many other stalls also.
The Hmong women are quiet and a bit bashful. Their English is often not good, and they let the children answer questions and take care of the money. When they speak amongst themselves, their voices are soft and gentle with a bit of the sing-song quality about it. To a person they are polite and thankful in their manner, sometimes a noted contrast to some other kinds of sellers who are brash and in-your-face. I never stop at those vendors, never leave a dime with them. And though I hate to say it, to a person those sellers are 'Americans'.
Sometimes the Hmong women will be teaching their girls to sew, grandmother sitting toward the back of the booth and helping with the traditional stitching that symbolizes their own culture. The results are colorful and lovely, but I admit to never buying anything. It is not my own taste, but still I can appreciate the hard work and continuing culture that goes into every stitch.
I have to appreciate their ability to live in this American world and maintain so much of their own traditions. I respect that. Their culture is a living one, passing on to the children in so many daily ways. I hope they can maintain that, the living history of their people.
My own 'cultures' here in America are Scotch, Irish, English, French-Canadian and German. I have nothing left of my family from these places, no recipes, stories, songs. The things that I pass to my children and grandchildren are only of this place, the upper Midwest, an American upper Midwest. There are pieces of furniture handed down. But the stories that go with them are gone. It seems that when my family members emigrated they left their old lives behind, and began completely anew here. Everyone wanted to be 'American' then. I long to learn about the old days, the traditions that were alive when my family members left Europe and moved here.
Cultures clash, people move, wars erupt, the winners hold it all, and the daily lives of everyone else changes, melds, becomes something else.
I wish the best of lives to the Hmong peoples who are now Americans. I hope they continue to hold their own traditions, religion, ways of life special and sacred. Sometimes when we lose our past, the hopes of our parents, the traditions of our grandparents, the stories of those even older, we lose our future along with it.
It seems to me that mostly they live as they would have in their own land before war changed everything. War does that.
While they don't farm their own land here mostly, the do rent land and continue their own agricultural heritage. It seems the men of the family go 'off' to work and the women and children tend the fields, with the men coming in the evening and on weekends to help. I see the women and children-usually only female children over about 12 years-together selling at farmer's markets. There are often 3 generations of women selling, and it is to those booths that I usually stop first. The produce the Hmong families sell is the freshest and most tasty of all the market offerings. Some years ago they added flowers to their booths, large bouquets of many-colored splendor that they sell for around $7.50. What a lovely and inexpensive way to bring the outside into your own home! In the beginning it was just Hmong families who did this, but lately I've seen large flower bouquets in many other stalls also.
The Hmong women are quiet and a bit bashful. Their English is often not good, and they let the children answer questions and take care of the money. When they speak amongst themselves, their voices are soft and gentle with a bit of the sing-song quality about it. To a person they are polite and thankful in their manner, sometimes a noted contrast to some other kinds of sellers who are brash and in-your-face. I never stop at those vendors, never leave a dime with them. And though I hate to say it, to a person those sellers are 'Americans'.
Sometimes the Hmong women will be teaching their girls to sew, grandmother sitting toward the back of the booth and helping with the traditional stitching that symbolizes their own culture. The results are colorful and lovely, but I admit to never buying anything. It is not my own taste, but still I can appreciate the hard work and continuing culture that goes into every stitch.
I have to appreciate their ability to live in this American world and maintain so much of their own traditions. I respect that. Their culture is a living one, passing on to the children in so many daily ways. I hope they can maintain that, the living history of their people.
My own 'cultures' here in America are Scotch, Irish, English, French-Canadian and German. I have nothing left of my family from these places, no recipes, stories, songs. The things that I pass to my children and grandchildren are only of this place, the upper Midwest, an American upper Midwest. There are pieces of furniture handed down. But the stories that go with them are gone. It seems that when my family members emigrated they left their old lives behind, and began completely anew here. Everyone wanted to be 'American' then. I long to learn about the old days, the traditions that were alive when my family members left Europe and moved here.
Cultures clash, people move, wars erupt, the winners hold it all, and the daily lives of everyone else changes, melds, becomes something else.
I wish the best of lives to the Hmong peoples who are now Americans. I hope they continue to hold their own traditions, religion, ways of life special and sacred. Sometimes when we lose our past, the hopes of our parents, the traditions of our grandparents, the stories of those even older, we lose our future along with it.