A memory surfaced on my Thanksgiving road trip a few weeks ago: down the dusty roads of central Iowa there was one town in particular that I always wanted to visit. I loved driving through the center of town, smashing my face against the grungy window to see the towering behemoth that was so different from the flat nothingness I was accustomed to.
Twenty-five feet of pure Pocohontas statue. I loved to stare up and try to decipher her face, far away as it seems to be. What an insane thing: let’s build a giant statue of a woman in the middle of our small town. It will be a fun tourist attraction.
Thanks to my car ride inspiration, I soon found out that this is far from the only towering dedication to womanhood in America. My second find was the world’s largest statue of Our Lady Of Guadalupe, which can be found in the amber waves of grain rolling across Ohio. This statue stands thirty-three feet tall and is completely coated in mosaic tile.
What is it about the Midwest that makes us want to erect huge statues to very young and famous teen mothers? The midwesterner’s relationship with mothers is complicated at best. While mothers stand at the forefront of most midwestern social gatherings, they are often mocked for being nitpicky, controlling, and not to be taken seriously. And teenage mothers tend to fall even lower on the social ladder.
Another curious aspect of these enormous icons is the “showing off” in Midwest culture. In my experience, the rural Midwest is flooded with various churches and towns that hold fast to the virtues of simplicity and practicality. Such flagrant denials of these values suggests a sort of rebellion against them. In my mind, I choose to link the social transgression of excess and veneration of the young mom.
I was in awe of this find until I stumbled upon Our Lady of the Rockies. Our lady nearly tripled Lady of Guadalupe’s stats with a ninety foot height in the Rocky Mountains. The statue is widely considered to be a monument dedicated to the work of mothers everywhere. I could nearly cry just thinking about women receiving recognition for the trials of motherhood in the form of a ninety-foot mountain icon.
If there is one thing that adulthood has taught me, with discussions of childhood trauma, endless phone conversations with concerned mothers of teens, and merely beginning to imagine the personal sacrifices it may entail, it’s that motherhood is a role to be honored above almost anything else. And that the sacrifices required by a young mother are nearly incomprehensible. The people of Butte, Montana, got something right.
My five-year-old self understood the awe that motherhood commanded. The people of Windsor, Ohio, got the memo as well. This Christmas season my heart rests with Mary and the other young mothers of this world. If only I could create a monument for each and every one of your bravery.
Susannah currently lives in New Jersey and works as a 7th grade ELA teacher in East Harlem. When she is not teaching or writing, she can be found exploring independent bookstores, going backpacking, and trying to roller-skate on all the cool trails in the city. She is also recently experienced in the art of citrus skunk repellent (I know you’re impressed).
