An American Map

An American Map: New York City

An American Map New York City i. destination Because as a child, learning directions—north, south, east, and west—was a great mystery to me, the very idea of a map was like having a paper-folded miracle in a wilderness. Once I understood the idea of maps, everything, even my own body, with its heart on the left side existed in the possibility of a place. I love the way maps reveal a here to there for a person as easily flummoxed as I am. I love the dot-to-dot linear blue, black, red system—our states’ highways and towns—the gray squares of platte books—here the Greiner farm, here the Jenson land— and the penciled maps that lead you from my kitchen to your kitchen where the sugar is. Even the map of the voice holds Maps also reflect shifts in our perception of where and who we are and where we are going—that is, shifts in our imagination of the world, our reasons for travel, and what destinations are possible. James R. Akerman an american map 127 true. I stand in a woods, lost, and if you call my name, you draw a map in my head, and I will come to you. Three of us—my sister Marijo, her husband, John, and I—follow the map of a heat wave from the upper Midwest to lower Manhattan, arriving at the crest of searing temperatures the last weekend of July. When the cab drops us at a 13th Street brownstone on the lower east side, we step into heat nearly solid in its force. We stand, taking in the not-sotall older buildings of the East Village, their pocked fronts of brown brick or gray stone, their stoops braced with wrought iron and concrete steps. Squinting, we stare up at the ragged stories of these older apartments as they release heat into the morning. We breathe heavy air. We are in New York City— Marijo and John for the first time, me for the first time in so long that my understanding of where I am on this island has disappeared. Perhaps that is what causes my sense of dislocation . I am longing for a map. Our purpose is unique and would be comedic if we weren’t so dead serious about it. We are here to promote a documentary film about a vegetable, asparagus, grown in our home fields. Throughout the Great Lakes, but particularly in Oceana County, Michigan, asparagus is the center of a specific economy for a large number of farmers and agricultural businesspeople . Asparagus is my home crop. I grew up in the asparagus fields, and in many ways asparagus raised up my siblings and me. It is the crop that kept the farm stable and taught us to work from the age of seven on. Now, we have come to New York City, where this film, “Asparagus ! Stalking the American Life,” will premier at the Rural Route Film Festival being held this July weekend. We are representing our family and the asparagus industry to the film an american map 128 industry. John has figured largely in the film’s implementation because he has said things that need to be said to lobbyists. He has gone to Washington DC. He has met the Secretary of Agriculture and asked her if there is any good news on the horizon . He, an entomologist by training and a leader by practice, is the director of the National Asparagus Industry Association. He and Marijo, through her work at the Michigan State University Research Farm, have tried to save our corner of the agricultural world. In the tradition of farmers of old, we have come to the market. We intend to keep our dignity, but we are strangers in a strange land, and no one has given us a map. Imagine us, hauling bags and boxes up the stoop into a tiny lobby, laden with promotional materials and asparagus “product ”: asparagus salsa, pickled spicy and dilled asparagus, a kind of sauce we call asparagus guacamole. We buzz in. Trudge up four flights. Wrestle luggage down a gloomy hall. Marvel at the multi-lock system on the door. Step into a narrow one-bedroom apartment spanning the length of the building—public rooms to the front, the bath and bedroom to the back, kitchen a central pivot. Shotgun style, we’d say...