Nothing pleases me more than getting a book in the mail, especially one about local history. Last week, lifelong neighbors sent me a book about their ranch. This is no small thing, knowing you were thought of, and that someone cared enough to share a part of their lives.
The Pass Ranch was begun back in the 1880s, by two of the Hanna brothers, and the 6th generation is now in charge. The Hanna family have neighbored with my grandparents, parents, me, and my children. They were among the earliest settlers along the North Loup River and to this day if you tell someone you are from the Brownlee area, they will know the Hanna name.
When I called Don and Susie to thank them for the book, Don recalled how, before the advent of television, modern transportation, and occasional disposable income, people sat around in the evenings and told stories about the old days. “You remember that,” he said. But I don’t. My family read everything in sight, went to visit neighbors, joined community activities, but they were not story tellers, and I have felt the lack all my life.
Growing up, I was like most youngsters, too absorbed in my own doings to care about the old days. That was past, and had no bearing on my life, present or future. I even felt sorry for the adults, who, when we were at a neighborhood event, sat around talking about yesterdays. Grownups never have any fun, I told myself, as I ran out the door to join my friends in a game. Now I realize they were probably enjoying themselves more than us kids.
Don said the book was written by a long-time friend, who has spent a lot of time at the ranch. Their friend thought that Hanna history deserved a telling, and asked permission to write it down. Don didn’t know if the younger family members would have any interest in reading it but maybe someday…
Yes, if not now, then someday. It seems that most of us come to a place when we search to understand ourselves, and realize that a lot of who we are came down from who our ancestors were. When we don’t have their stories, we feel adrift, and some of us go on the hunt. Having no siblings made my quest more challenging so I pestered the people who were my parents’ companions. I learned more family stories from neighbors than I ever did from my own people.
One of the discoveries was how intertwined our lives were with people around us, and I treasure the values learned from my close-knit community. I hardly can remember my parents and grandparents without the voices of all those others joining in. One of the reasons it seemed important to write my memoir was so those people would become somewhat real to my children and grandchildren. Will they even care? If not now, maybe someday…
It’s seldom, nowadays that families gather and share about the past. There are too many distractions, and I’m not sure we even know how to talk to one another in this digital age, but please give it a try. And write it down, or have someone do it for you. It’ll be worth it if you make someone as happy as Don and Susie made me.