Echoes of Laurentide

  • Katrina Hauer



 Glaciers creak beneath my feet. Not literally, of course, not anymore for the last several thousand years, but I can feel their remaining chill hum in me. Each step I take whispers of the ice that shaped my home, shaped me. Who I am is so intertwined with where I’m from, so fused at the core of my soul, that separating them proves hopeless. Is that not one of the first questions asked at every introduction? Others may ask you to share your name and pronouns, perhaps an awkward fun fact that feels excruciatingly hard to come up with, and of course – where you are from. We must define each other by this fact far more than we realize. 

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