{"id":21117,"date":"2024-06-26T00:43:25","date_gmt":"2024-06-26T06:43:25","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/?p=21117"},"modified":"2024-06-25T08:44:37","modified_gmt":"2024-06-25T14:44:37","slug":"the-prairie","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/index.php\/2024\/06\/26\/the-prairie\/","title":{"rendered":"The Prairie?"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"
JoEllen Collins\u2014a longtime resident of the Wood River Valley, now residing in San Francisco\u2014 is an Idaho Press Club award-winning columnist, a teacher, novelist, fabric artist, choir member and proud grandma.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

I <\/span>returned from my recent trip to Oklahoma for a reunion of some cousins from my \u201cother life\u201d with a slightly different version of myself. As I left the members of yet another found family, I heard calls of \u201cDon\u2019t forget you need to add our last name to what you already have.\u201c \u201cYou are a Frazier and will always be, a true prairie woman.\u201d I have considered myself a westerner, born in Berkeley and spending half of my life in California and the other half in Idaho. How, indeed, could I be someone from the prairies?<\/span><\/p>\n

As I sat down to breakfast with some of my cousins, I giggled at the main entr\u00e9e on the table, biscuits and gravy. I joked about not usually enjoying this particular breakfast, and we all laughed. I shared this kind of delight a lot during this weekend reunion, meeting many of over 30 people who are cousins from my biological father\u2019s family, raised, for the most part, in a small Texas town near the Oklahoma panhandle. They welcomed me immediately, as did another man, some 16 years younger than I, who was also fathered by our mutual dad, Markley Frazier. Now I can claim two half-brothers, a kind of miracle at this time of my life.<\/span><\/p>\n

Many acquaintances know the now-too-familiar story of my journey locating, being accepted by, and sharing mutual love with my birth mother\u2019s son (10 years younger than I), who waited a long time to know about my existence but immediately took me in their arms. They live in Oklahoma City but never knew any of my paternal relatives.<\/span><\/p>\n

In essence, if I had not been adopted in Berkeley, California, where my birth mother was sent to have and then give me up for adoption, I would really have been a \u201cprairie girl.\u201d The concept of nurture versus nature is worth contemplating as I envision my two different personal histories, one real, one imagined. For example, many of my cousins have been teachers and civil servants, have good senses of humor, enjoy young people, and love to talk. Hmmm.<\/span><\/p>\n

One odd coincidence is that I have felt an instinctive fascination with the lifestyles, challenges, and courage of those who settled in the prairies. Silly as it sounds, \u201cOklahoma\u201d was my favorite musical, and over the years I read many accounts of what it must have been like for a woman whose life was often spent in remote and challenging locations without easy access to other women friends. I even wrote a book about it before I found the first of my two new brothers.<\/span><\/p>\n

In short, I have once again spent some time thinking about any part of my story that would reflect my genetic components. All I really can conclude, at this time, is that I have shared\u00a0much laughter and kindness in ways I would not have imagined in the life I have actually lived.\u00a0What great fortune!<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I returned from my recent trip to Oklahoma for a reunion of some cousins from my \u201cother life\u201d with a slightly different version of myself. As I left the members of yet another found family, I heard calls of \u201cDon\u2019t forget you need to add our last name to what you already have.\u201c \u201cYou are […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":16827,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"tdm_status":"","tdm_grid_status":"","_pvb_checkbox_block_on_post":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[2,22],"tags":[],"class_list":{"0":"post-21117","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","5":"has-post-thumbnail","7":"category-commentary","8":"category-on-lifes-terms"},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/21117","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=21117"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/21117\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":21118,"href":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/21117\/revisions\/21118"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/16827"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=21117"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=21117"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=21117"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}