Rust against my soft city raised hands, harsh winds through the prairie that surrounds me with an intense solitude, a solitude that might be lonely to some but it is comforting to me. The fields of wheat and barley smell like pesticides and cow manure and the pile of old farm equipment dating back to 1910 when my family first settled on their homestead located on the Fort Peck Indian Reservation in eastern Montana. My grandmother's grandparents came from Czechoslovakia on her mom’s side, and her dad’s parents were fresh off the boat Irish immigrants. One of the most valuable machines in the pile is my family’s first automated wheat combine, purchased in the 1940’s. It was the first piece of non-horse-powered equipment my family owned. I visit the reservation every few years to go to rodeo and help out with my family's non-profit (Bigger Sky Kids). I’m not disillusioned to the fact that the land is not my family's, it is land stolen from the Assiniboine and Sioux; land that has been robbed of the rich culture, drained to a state of poverty and desolation. I cannot change what my ancestors were a part of but I can change what my successors have to look back on. That is why despite the financial hardships my family who still live on the homesteads experience they maintain ethical and environmentally concise practices.

– M McQuillen

Relationship:  Great-grandchild of im/migrant or more Great-grandchild of im/migrant or more