Immigrants, Seattle, Travel, History, Family, Writing, and Maine

 

Pederson-Cover-Front

Features excerpts of our wide-ranging lives

 

All  the themes covered in my updated book are finally published after years of work. For decades I believe my mother’s tale that Danish immigrant Hans Pederson left us penniless. Then I uncover the truth about my father’s wealth and prolific contributions to Seattle. I discover my mysterious father’s boom to bust life in the early 1900s as I grapple with family secrets and heartbreaking deception in this very personal memoir. My coming-of-age journey from Seattle to Singapore, Shanghai, Honolulu, New York, New Jersey, Maine and North Carolina.

 

Available on Amazon. Please check our Facebook page!

 

 

 

Maine Writer Elizabeth Strout Meets Immigrant Writers

“The novelist Elizabeth Strout left Maine but it didn’t leave her,” states Ariel Levy in the May 1, 2017 New Yorker.

Strout’s books resonate with me. Maine claims my heart too.

Strout’s people do not live in Maine tourist towns along the coast. The characters in Olive Kittredge, winner of the 2009 Pulitzer Prize, either cannot  leave the state that defines them, or or else they feel driven to leave it. The Congregational minister in  Abide With Me must work his way through the family tragedy with his daughter in the inland hamlet away from the coastal Maine town favored by his wife’s summer-season parents. Drama is understated, inexpressible. People cannot communicate their feelings. In one interview Strout states that when growing up she had a sense of “just swimming in all their ridiculous extra emotion.”

Levy says “a recurring theme in Strout’s novels is the angry, aching sense of abandonment small-town dwellers feel when their loved ones depart.” It is almost as if they are emigrating to another country.

My parents were both immigrants to the U.S; my father Hans Pederson from Denmark, my mother Doris Huchulak, a Ukrainian Canadian from Alberta. My Danish friend and fellow blogger, mariaholm51, sent this wrenching painting that shows the pain of immigration to the Facebook page currently celebrating my memoir, (same title for both)  “Mysterious Builder of Seattle Landmarks.”

 

640px-Udvandrere_på_Larsens_Plads_(version_2)

Edvard Pedersen, Emigrants at Copenhagen Harbor 1890

 

My January 22, 2016 blog, “Maine Nonprofit Helps Immigrant Kids” described one young immigrant’s experience at The Telling Room a Portland, Maine youth writing program. On a recent visit to The Telling Room, Levy tells us that  Strout met refugee and immigrant  high schoolers mostly from Africa and the Middle East.

“The students stood in a circle and told Strout what they were working on. ‘My name is Abass and i’m trying to define what home is,” a teen-ager from Ethiopia said.’ Steff rom Burundi told her, ‘I’m writing about how I find my voice in America.’ Another boy said, ‘I’m writing about second chances.'”

After wrenching leave-takings from towns, cities, or countries, lives becomes either better or worse for those who leave and those who remain. They are never the same.

 

Hans Pederson, Pioneer Seattle Contractor

 

pederson-cover-front-crop-v-4-5-2

 

I just spent a week in Seattle, joined by family and friends, to celebrate the coming publication of my memoir,

The Mysterious Builder of Seattle Landmarks The Search for my Father

The following link shows bits of the story, but only if you have access to Facebook, I’m learning.  https://www.facebook.com/mysteriousbuilder/

It rained some—what else do you expect in Seattle in March— still, the sun shone brightly for three days!  We took in lots of northwestern eye candy. Especially snow covered mountains and glaciers— Mt. Rainier and the Olympic Peninsula.  First a ferry through the islands to Victoria, then a pre-season tour of the beauteous Butchart Gardens,  a convivial dinner with Canadian kin at a craft brewery. Many totem poles that made us wish we had more time to learn about First Nation culture,  and a celebratory high tea. Later, after brunch at the Seattle Space Needle, we wandered slowly through the other-worldy Dale Chihully Glass Museum. Two of our younger members went hiking.

%d bloggers like this: