The above photo was probably taken when I was six, almost certainly on a hot August day—though nowhere near as hot as it is now and will be in future Oregon summers.
I recently posted the image in my Instagram stories, as part of a prompt inviting users to share a childhood photo that captures some essential quality of their adult self. Technically, the prompt was: "pic of u as a kid that gives off the same vibe as u now."
Let me back up for a moment. I write for a general audience here at the The Windfall Dispatch, and some of you might be unfamiliar with Instagram stories—or the prompts I'm talking about. Instagram stories are temporary photos or images of text you can share on the social media platform. The stories disappear after 24 hours, making them an ephemeral experience. Blink and you'll miss them. The prompts I'm talking about are within Instagram stories. Someone will post a photo in their stories with a prompt, the equivalent of a low-commitment chain letter. Other people who see the prompt can click on it to post their own photos of the prompt, perpetuating the chain.
These prompts are silly, but fun. It's entertaining to see how people you know—and people you don't know!—interpret them. It's a tiny moment of connection in a big, random world. With this particular prompt, we were all posting goofy photos of our childhood selves trying to figure out what through line got us to who we are now.
My through line vibe is pretty obvious. I enjoy jumping into cool bodies of water in the summer. I like cute clothes. I find joy in small adventures. And I love August in Oregon.
For the adult version of me, the first week of August marks the ninth anniversary of starting out on what would become Windfall. I noted the occasion over on Instagram, of course. There, I posted one of the very first photos I took in North Dakota, of a bunch of wildflowers framing a sign warning of poisonous hydrogen sulfide gas on the edge of the oil fields.
I had no idea what I was doing, other than looking for some answers about why my mother inherited some mineral rights in North Dakota at the height of the oil boom there. I did not know what hydrogen sulfide was and I certainly did not know it would take another nine years to see my project to fruition. But I went after it anyway because I could not ignore the whispers I heard blowing on the Great Plains.
Coincidentally, the first week of August this year also marked a major production milestone for Windfall. On Monday, I turned in my responses and corrections to the final proofreading markups of my book.
Later that evening, I celebrated at a party with a friend who knew me in the prime of my Underoos years. My childhood friend Ingrid Parmeter was installing a Little Free Library outside her house, and used it as an excuse to throw a neighborhood party. How did I know about this party? Ingrid posted about it on her Instagram stories! I brought an advanced reader's copy of Windfall to add to the library. (Sometimes known as galleys or ARCs, advance reader’s copies are uncorrected proofs of forthcoming books. They're printed for reviewers, librarians and booksellers to get an early peek at new titles.)
Yes, it was a coincidence I finished the proofreading process the same day as Ingrid's ribbon-cutting. But I was thrilled to share a copy (albeit uncorrected) of Windfall with the Little Free Library of a friend familiar with one of the oldest versions of me.
This week, I also saw Sam Now, a documentary by my friend Reed Harkness. I met Reed in 2018 at a podcasting class; we bonded over both being immersed in longterm, family-related nonfiction projects.
Reed's film uses footage he shot over 25 years, beginning with a Super 8 camera from his dad's garage that he and his stepbrothers used to make goofy action movies. In the film, you see the moment where Reed becomes a professional filmmaker. It's when he and his stepbrother, Sam, set out in search of Sam's mom, Jois, who disappeared shortly before her son started high school.
Oh, this film! It's so good! And it's so cool to see someone you know finish their multiyear creative project! Keep your eye out for showings of Sam Now, and support it if you are so inclined. It premiered at Hot Docs (that’s huge!) and will air on PBS in 2023. Fingers crossed it will hit it big. It is just so poignant and so relatable. (At one point early in the film, Chris turned to me and whispered: "This family feels a lot like my family.")
Afterwards during the Q&A, someone asked Reed 1) how he knew he was done with a multiyear project, and 2) what it was like to see all those previous versions of himself both as a human and a filmmaker. I don't think it was phrased exactly this way, but the heart of the question was: How did Reed feel about who he used to be? Did he cringe at the ignorance of his past selves?
And the answer was no, of course not. Sure, we all did stuff that makes our present-day selves cringe. (Don't ever look back at emails you sent in your 20s, ack!) But we wouldn't be who we are without our mistakes and missteps, either. Seeing all these previous versions of Reed and his brothers onscreen, I began to understand even more the kindness we need to offer to past iterations of ourselves.
How could I not love that clueless woman who got on a plane to North Dakota on Aug. 4, 2013, with a new camera and a file she'd been keeping of clippings and research—and a dream? She had no idea what she was getting into, no idea what adventures awaited her. She was stubborn as all get out, yes. But she was right to follow her instincts. Turns out she knew exactly what she was doing, following all those whispers of riches on the Great Plains. She stayed curious and saw her project through.
Let's all hold those previous versions of ourselves close to our hearts.
Love,
Erika
THE NEWS
All the links…
Could factory built homes solve our housing crisis? My latest for Stateline. (I’ve been writing a lot lately about housing, definitely want to write more.)
Desperately craving that solar panel life, too. "The bliss of sudden abundance" is such a smart way to sell people on solar energy.
I met Madeline Ostrander in 2013 at a conference for environmental journalists, and she, too, was just beginning to think about a book project. Her book At Home on an Unruly Planet came out this week! You can buy it here at my Bookshop link.
Also this week: I met the author of Trees Are Overrated, a fascinating piece in The Atlantic about the importance of grasslands. (And yes, we bonded over prairies.)
Do goats even like yoga? Some goats probably do. Some do not.