Katy Hackworthy
The blurb on the back of Nickolas Butler’s debut national bestseller, Shotgun Lovesongs, aptly describes Little Wing, the tiny fictional town where the novel takes place, as “a place like hundreds of others, but for four boyhood friends - all born and raised in this small Wisconsin town - it is home”. Like many who’ve lived in the Valley, whether it be for a few short years at university or for decades, I feel the same way about our city nestled on the Chippewa.
Despite almost 70,000 people calling Eau Claire home, to me, she’s always felt more intimate, like a hug from a childhood friend, like she’s all mine. I imagine many others feel this way; they have “their table” & “their bartender” at the Joynt, their favorite spot to watch the sun plop down over the patient river, the coffee shop where they spend almost as much time as they do in their own homes. They walk down the street knowing they'll probably run into someone they know, and they’ll welcome that familiar face, however fleeting. These are the ordinary things that make a place feel like so much more than that, and Butler’s many love letters to the Midwest remind me of that time and time again.
“I’ve lived in Minneapolis for a little more than a year, but when I refer to “home”, I mean Eau Claire. ”
I’ve lived in Minneapolis for a little more than a year, but when I refer to “home”, I mean Eau Claire. Sure, there are things I love about the city. I’ve been entranced by my neighborhood full of kind hearted weirdos with passions for biking, social justice, and kick ass vegan food, and I’ve discovered a home teeming with laughter, cinnamon rolls, and books. I’m seeking delight here, and I’m cultivating joy, but when I think about the people & places who will always understand & embrace me, it’s the Chippewa Valley. Every time I’ve left the Valley— whether it be this past year just a short drive away, or halfway across to country to live with my grandma in Arizona—I turned to Nick’s books in moments where I needed to remember what “home” looks like: how the frost clings to your fingertips after that first snow; the sound of a pitcher being poured, then refilled, then poured again; the way you don’t have to do anything but be exactly who you are, and around here, that’s cause for celebration.
“I know what it’s like to lounge in a supper club, stomach sagging with too many rolls and creamy soup. I know what it’s like to spend an hour or so at the town dump, just because my papa went to church with the parking lot attendant. It’s that intimate recognition that’s reminded me time & time again that even when I feel completely alone, there’s a community that makes me feel like I’m held up by hundreds of weather-worn, warm hands.”
When I was sitting in the Arizona desert, missing the river & the friendly faces who tend to her, I was comforted by characters who reminded me of the people I grew up with, by scenery that might seem boring to the untrained eye, but brimmed with beauty to me, a sucker for a coupla’ bluffs on a county road. I know what it’s like to lounge in a supper club, stomach sagging with too many rolls and creamy soup. I know what it’s like to spend an hour or so at the town dump, just because my papa went to church with the parking lot attendant. It’s that intimate recognition that’s reminded me time & time again that even when I feel completely alone, there’s a community that makes me feel like I’m held up by hundreds of weather-worn, warm hands.
There’s a warmth in Nick’s work that reminds me of the person I want to be, the person I’m trying to be. The kind of person who checks in on their neighbor, who isn’t afraid to slow down, who knows how to appreciate what they have & even more importantly, who understands the importance of sharing it. Sure, we can appreciate the simple joy of reading something that’s familiar to us, but it’s more than that. It’s like a friend whispering in my ear to never forget where you come from, and I’m here to promise I won’t. Don’t worry, Eau Claire, I’ll be back for you soon enough.
As Shotgun Lovesong’s Leland Sutton says, “I came back here and I found my voice, like something that had fallen out of my pocket, like a souvenir long forgotten. And every time I come back here I am surrounded by people who love me, who care for me, who protect me like a tent of warmth.”