This chair sat at my grandmother’s kitchen table for as long as I can remember. It came from the house she grew up in, the house that was built on land my family homesteaded when they settled in Washington after a long journey west. The chair held such special memories for my grandma, that she brought it with her when she moved away to have a family of her own. My grandpa strengthened its ancient legs with new screws and sanded down the rough edges that had splintered and cracked over time. The kitchen was the heart of my grandmother’s house, always warm and inviting, filled with the smells of her homey farm cooking. She ate every meal sitting in this chair. She rested in it when she taught me how to make pickles and country gravy. She sat in this chair surrounded by her children and grandchildren on every holiday and family get-together.

When she died four years ago, the light went out in our family. We had never realized before how much she held us all together, how we all gravitated towards her. She was our center. My grandfather wilted after her death. He removed most of the things from their little home that reminded him of her, reconstructing his life to a sparse and quiet existence. Holiday gatherings have migrated to my aunt’s house, and the family echoes with her absence. We will never adjust to life without her.

A few months ago while visiting my grandpa, I found this chair hidden in a basement corner. The space that it used to fill at the kitchen table has been replaced with a cold metal folding chair. I asked him if I could have it, and he helped me load it into my car without a moment’s hesitation. I think it’s painful for him to see her sitting there in his memory, when she was so full of love and life. But for me, this chair is a connection to her. When I sit in it now, running my fingers along the smooth, bare arms where her hands rubbed away the varnish, I feel like she’s with me. The wood creaks so invitingly when I adjust my weight, just as it’s creaked for the many generations of women in my family who have rested their tired bones there. When I see that chair sitting so straight and tall on the far side of my living room, it reminds me that I’m part of the legacy my family created when they staked their first claim in the west. In my veins runs the blood of pioneer women who faced off with Indians and helped build a sod house. Women who farmed cattle and birthed babies at home in their beds. Women who held my face in their hands and proclaimed me the most beautiful creature they had ever seen. This chair gives me strength.

This month’s Self Portrait Tuesday theme is “Personal History”. To see more self portraits, go to the Self Portrait Tuesday blog. Also, to all you Firefox users- we are still working out the kinks, please be patient!