The House Jane Built: a Neighborhood Story

When people ask what I do, I say I'm a playwright and (fairly new) middle grade/young adult novelist, but mostly, I think of myself as a storyteller. Whenever I moved, as a child or adult, I tried to find out the history of where I'm living.

My new house's history was pretty easy to learn. There was one short-term owner who built the place and then couldn't afford it (I think)? He then sold it to a couple with Norwegian-sounding names who lived here with their two daughters since 1957 or 1958 (which is when The Beat on Ruby's Street happens).

The neighborhood has a history, too. The Mdewakanton Dakota from Little Crow's Village or Kaposia made their summer home in the area, hunting and fishing out of the lake across the street. I don't know how long they were here but wish I could have heard their stories.

At our first house, bought when we were mostly newlyweds, we found a house nearby that had belonged to a woman named Jane Gibbs. Jane had been kidnapped as a six or seven-year-old child by a minister's family and brought to Minnesota. She was actually born in Batavia, New York. When Jane's mother became ill, she was sent to live temporarily with a family, but supposedly, they tired of the little girl who was always asking to go home.

Instead, when this minister and his wife came through with their two little boys, they were mourning the loss of a daughter.  They somehow persuaded the family taking care of Jane to give her up, and the minister and his wife brought Jane to the wilderness of Minnesota. While Jane's father and brothers gave chase, they never caught the minister's family. 

As Jane grew up, she developed strong relationships with the Dakotah and was given the name "Zitkadan Usawin" (Little Crow that was Caught). 

If I remember correctly, Jane married someone named Heman and they lived in the house in our neighborhood. I think she did travel to Batavia as an adult and have some sort of reunion with her family. 

You know I was very excited to learn this story and, though I didn't seek it out, was asked to write a play about Jane for a local children's theater. Because the house where Jane lived was so close to ours, it was interesting to imagine what the world had been like outside my door--and when I was writing, to go there.

The lake across the road here is very beautiful, and inspiring in its own way, but I can't get much of a grasp on imagining life at the Dakota's summer home. That's probably because there are a lot of people boating and swimming here all summer. 

Of course, the lake wasn't named for the tribe that lived here -- though I wish it had been. Instead, the lake was named for the first white settler, who came here in 1844 from Canada. Some days, I walk around here and think, there are other stories like Jane's that I don't know yet, but hopefully will at some point. 

Because everywhere we go has a story buried in it. You just have to know where to look--and keep looking.


Little Crow photo: Mark Turnauckas