Proud to be a Fargoan - or why I live in Fargo and how can I possibly like it?

Most of you know I live in Fargo, but many do not know how I came to be here. I'm a transplant, you see. I wasn't born here, though I spent a good amount of time here, visiting my grandparents during my childhood. I'll tell you how I came to be here as briefly as I can, so you understand that these are the thoughts of essentially an outsider. Someone who, true, calls Fargo home now, but until the age of 32 had never been more than a visitor.

My mother grew up in Fargo. There are at least two homes here in Fargo and Moorhead that my grandfather built. My grandfather fought the Red River from destroying his property more than once over the years. My parents met at NDSU, Dad taking Mom with him to the Chicago area where he was from.

One of the fondest memories I have of not just Grandpa but the Red River is December 1981. I chose to spend my Christmas break here while my brother chose to spend his with our dad and other grandparents in Tucson, Arizona. (It was, coincidentally, my mother's first Christmas alone.) Despite the cold December weather, my grandfather shoveled off a portion of the Red River behind their house so that I could ice skate to my heart's content. At the age of 12, I thought it was the coolest thing ever that I could go out into my grandparents back yard, skate across the river and be in another state! (By the end of my break, I had the blisters on my feet to prove his efforts did not go to waste!)

Born and raised in the Northwest suburbs of Chicago, I never really 'belonged' there. I don't know how to describe it exactly, but perhaps there are others out there who felt what I did and understand what I'm talking about. I didn't hate the area or my childhood or anything, I just never felt complete there.

That all changed the summer of 1983. It was a busy summer for me. I met three people I still consider extremely special to this day. I spent time in Washington, D.C. with my 8th grade class. I spent time at my grandparents in Fargo. I spent a week fishing in Canada. And I spent a month at Concordia College Language Villages' Skogfjorden, the Norwegian camp located on Turtle River Lake in Bemidji, Minnesota.

I'd been to Bemidji before. There are pictures of me as a wee thing standing in front of Paul Bunyan and his big blue ox, Babe. That summer was the first time I'd ever spent any time there, though. And I knew instantly that I had finally found it. That place where I belonged. The month I spent there was the most at peace I'd ever felt to that point, and I think since then.

There was never a question in my mind where I was going to attend college when I discovered Bemidji had one. My brother had tried his hand at attending NDSU in Fargo, lasting only a year before transferring to University of Iowa. He was sure I would follow in his footsteps and end up at a large university in the end y. That didn't happen. I graduated from Bemidji State University in May 1990.

Life threw in a bit of a wrench as its wont to do. I was pregnant and ended up staying in Bemidji for another 15 months to have the baby and adapt to single motherhood. Six months after Stephanie was born, I returned to the Chicago area and began my life in the administrative assistant pool. Not my ideal job, but without grad school my Theatre BA was useless and with a child to support - well, a woman's got to do what a woman has to do.

I married my first husband in August 1996 and moved to Orlando with my daughter and his son. We bought a nice house, in a nice neighborhood and began what I'd hoped would be a nice life.

Things didn't turn out that way. Some know the story of that time. I'll sum it up in a few words: drugs, violence, robbery, attempted suicide. Christmas 1996, my husband and I found out that one of his relatives had sexually abused my daughter. That discovery led to the drug use, which led to the rest and ultimately my ex's suicide attempted overdose.

Along the way, I found myself pregnant. We welcomed Arthur Edward, named for both my grandfathers and my father, into the world March 10, 1999. By this point, things were tense between us. I no longer trusted my ex as he'd proved time and time again by this point he wasn't deserving of it.

Divorce wasn't as easy as it seems. I earned too much for Legal Aid but not enough to afford an attorney. Eventually, I had the divorced filed and the unfathomable happened, my son got out to our pool one morning and died. My step-son was already with his mother for the summer by this point, but Stephanie was taken from me as a result of an accidental death in our home. Leaving me in my house where my son died alone with my dog. Fortunately, Steph's friend's mom (and a neighbor) took her in so I was able to see Stephanie every day.

As soon as I was able, I put my house on the market, packed my belongings and left Florida and all the badness it represented. I was working from home at the time. I earned a decent salary, but it wasn't enough to support me in the Chicago area. I needed to find somewhere close enough that I could go home and see my family occasionally (something I was unable to do the five years I lived in Florida), but where I wouldn't go broke living.

My grandmother was still alive and I had other relatives in Fargo. Plus, there was a college here - three of them actually. So, Fargo it was. My goal when moving here was to obtain an M.S. in Economics and a PhD in History, stay until Stephanie graduated from high school, and then return to a larger, urban area to put my Theatre BA, Economics M.S. and History PhD to work together. A dream come true for me, to finally put my Theatre degree to use.

Things have changed as I'm married now to a man who has never lived away from Fargo other than a stint in the Army in the early 70s.

So, here I am, calling Fargo home for the long haul. I've already lived here as an adult longer than Chicago or Orlando. I listen to the jokes about this town, and I even tell them on occasion. I remember shortly after moving here, listening to the radio's "traffic report" as I was taking Stephanie to school. Traffic? I thought. Having driven in Chicago and Orlando, driving around in Fargo's version of a rush hour was a breeze.

There's been flooding in Fargo while I've lived here, but nothing to the magnitude of what Spring 2009 is bringing us. And it's during this troubling and frightening time that it's hit me.

This is my home. This is where I belong.

There is no place I'd rather be than right here. In Fargo. With my husband and my kids and my pets and my existence that most would think pales in comparison to the dreams and goals I had when embarking on college a year earlier than I was supposed to back in 1986.

Thanks to Facebook I've touched base with friends from college and high school and I admit there are times I cringe when I see their accomplishments. I sit back and realize I've done very little of import. My life isn't exciting or glamorous and there are certainly things I'd like to do and see one day. But, really, my life plan changed the moment I decided to bring a child into the world on my own way back in May 1990.

The nice thing about rivers is that it's traditionally no big surprise that it's going to rise once the spring thaw begins. A good amount of snowfall during the winter indicates the river might be high. So, people were prepared, just not for a forecasted crest of 42'.

The citizens of Fargo could have fended for themselves, worried about their own domiciles and belongings and said 'screw you' to their neighbor or the house two blocks up. But we didn't do that. That type of mentality is pretty much unheard of here.

Volunteers ranging in age from as young as six to 70 contributed by filling sandbags or helping build dikes with those sandbags in the hopes it would be enough. Relentlessly, for days this went on as homes and businesses and schools were barricaded in for protection.

It wasn't just these volunteers that humbled me. Though they certainly did because it was just another day to them, a fact of life that their town was in trouble, and they were offering their sweat and tears to help fight for this place we call home.

It was the people who would stop at Sandy's Donuts for a few dozen donuts or McDonald's for a hundred cheeseburgers and coffee or Hornbacher's for a few dozen cookies and brought them to the volunteers. They didn't know anybody, they weren't getting their photograph taken. Many didn't even stick around to receive a thank you, merely dropping the food and going. They simply wanted to do something for those helping to keep our city safe.

I've never experienced anything like it. No one was sitting back, letting nature take its course in the hope of receiving a handout afterward. It certainly would have been easy to do. A river level breaking a historical high dating back over one hundred years is certainly deserving of being declared a disaster area.

These people assembled and distributed over three million sandbags in a matter of days. Some volunteers showed up daily, tirelessly assisting the city's efforts to keep the waters from destroying the city.

News crews have come as I'm sure many of you have seen, turning the focus on our community in a time of trouble. And shown the people here to be of the ilk that so many aspire to be - courageous with a sense of community that most don't understand yet want. There is no violence, there is no looting, there was no stampede to exit stage left via I-29 or I-94 - there's just a community that fought to save their city and has (so far) managed to accomplish that goal much to the relief of everyone here.


I've posted this link at Facebook already, but I'll put it here, too:

Former Fargo resident Matt Chambers recently blogged about his experiences sandbagging. Using Google SketchUp, he put together some amazing visualizations that truly convey how many sandbags the community managed to fill in the span of a few short days. The blog post is pretty long, but its well worth the read.

Check out his great blog post on Concept3D: http://blog.concept3d.com/?p=433


There's a reason so many choose to live in Fargo - AND IT AIN'T THE WEATHER. The rest of the nation is only getting a glimpse into the reasoning behind it. Gratefully, when the river has returned to its normal ebbing and flowing level, those reasons will still be here. Even if the cameras and national attention won't be.

Susan E. Falk
A proud Fargo resident