My hometown in Wisconsin is situated between the parentheses of two gently flowing rivers. Once carrying the regal names of Mishicot River and Neshota River, both of Native American origin, they were later renamed the East Twin and the West Twin rivers. For many years, Neshota River supplied a variety of fish, mainly bass and trout, that my dad caught and my mother fried up for our supper.
Along the banks of the rivers, Dad set traps for muskrat (sometimes catching mink) and sold the pelts. The Neshota River allowed for enjoyable boating excursions in summer. When frozen solid during the winter, the Mishicot River supplied an alternate route for my grandfather to travel by automobile.
While researching the lives of my ancestors, I noticed that European rivers seemed to play prominent roles in their lives, also. With the researched genealogy information, I wrote a series of short stories, using the collected facts to detail the lives of my ancestors as I imagined them.
One tale is set in a village of the area now known as the Czech Republic and revolves around my father’s great grandparents. The narrator is the great grandfather’s older brother, who remains on the family farm while his brother immigrates to the United States. At one point he muses over the inevitability of his brother’s life:
Years ago, Adalbert had told me that the Blanice river cut through the farmland owned by Jan Novotny. This was something he’d learned after he married Jan’s daughter, Marie, and moved up to Horni Hrachovice, a village divided by the Blanice. He always believed the river, which flowed through our land also, had connected him to Marie from the time of their births.
Because of this, I knew Adalbert and Marie were destined to leave our bucolic South Bohemian countryside and travel far. Like the river that drew them together, it was not in their nature to remain still.
One tale is set in a village of the area now known as the Czech Republic and revolves around my father’s great grandparents. The narrator is the great grandfather’s older brother, who remains on the family farm while his brother immigrates to the United States. At one point he muses over the inevitability of his brother’s life:
Years ago, Adalbert had told me that the Blanice river cut through the farmland owned by Jan Novotny. This was something he’d learned after he married Jan’s daughter, Marie, and moved up to Horni Hrachovice, a village divided by the Blanice. He always believed the river, which flowed through our land also, had connected him to Marie from the time of their births.
Because of this, I knew Adalbert and Marie were destined to leave our bucolic South Bohemian countryside and travel far. Like the river that drew them together, it was not in their nature to remain still.
Do rivers play a prominent roll in your family history?
*****
