Even to this day, I can recite the story of how I was named almost perfectly. My mother loved the name of the famous Olympic skier, Christin Cooper.

However, my mom wanted to incorporate an element of religion in there, so she changed the spelling to Christen (Christ + en).

Even now, when I check my bags at the airport, the shortened version of my name on the luggage tag is Christ.

While this was always a cool story growing up, it made finding things with my name spelled correctly on them difficult.

As fun as this anecdote about my name is, it’s only the start of today’s article because what you’re really going to find out is — it didn’t matter what my mom actually named me, rarely was that name going to be used. Instead, because I grew up in a small rural town and my grandfather was a well-known local character, I developed an entirely new name.

Back when my grandfather was younger, people used to stop by his farm all the time. From people trying to buy raccoon furs to others just stopping to chat, the farm was a hive of activity.

Since I was able to spend lots of hours hanging out at my grandparents house, I was his little shadow. I would constantly hear people ask, “is this your granddaughter?”

It was a constant refrain and his answer would simply be yes, rarely did my actual name get spoken.

As I entered high school, my athletic abilities started to make the paper and people would come up to talk to me.

Most conversations started with the question, “Are you Joe Letwen’s granddaughter?”

My answer, a “yes” always made me wonder when I would get recognition of my own. Even as fewer people began to stop by and life became busier, being identified as Joe Letwen’s granddaughter became standard practice.

My college years were weird. No one at State College knew Joe Letwen and I finally got a chance to be known as Christen Clemson.

I would walk down the street and friends would stop to chat, yelling “Christen” or “Clem” across the street to get my attention. It was only on holiday breaks that the old question, “Are you Joe Letwen’s granddaughter?” would arise.

After life at State College, moving back home was an experience. My grandfather was no longer here physically, but his legacy still was. A few months after moving home, a question I hadn’t heard in a long time was asked. “Are you Joe Letwen’s granddaughter?” was spoken by a face that I knew was familiar, but I couldn’t recall their name. My affirmative answer brought about stories of my grandfather I hadn’t heard.

The speaker regaled me about being a student on my grandfather’s bus and other shenanigans that my famously ornery grandfather was known for in his younger years. I smiled as my grandpa magically came to life again in the stories that this person told me.

This was not simply a one occasion incident. The longer I have lived in Mecca, the more stories I have heard and the more people I have met and the more comfortable I have become in being known as “Joe Letwen’s granddaughter”.

However, it’s not just me that is known by names like “Joe Letwen’s granddaughter.”

One of the wild things about a small town is that I know people by their nicknames as well. I won’t be specific, but there are people that my family has known for years that if you asked me what their real name was, I couldn’t even hazard a guess.

Sometimes, it’s something as simple as the “Last Name Boy” or something as complicated as a nickname earned when they were child that no longer even applies now. It’s one of the joys of living in a small, rural town.

These nicknames, these associations with characters of the past, keep the history of our small rural town alive. Even when the people are no longer physically present, the memories, the names, the legacy lives on.

It’s one of the unique aspects of rural life, a rite of passage so to say, that roots children (no matter if they are 10 or 50) to the family and the land.

It’s similar to the ancient tradition of naming people after their trades, like Fletcher (a fletcher in medieval times made arrows), Taylor (a tailor made the linen to line armor), or Smith (shortened for blacksmith who forged metal).

So just like those whose last names proudly display their heritage, when someone asks, “Are you Joe Letwen’s granddaughter” the answer is a resounding yes. He’s my heritage and my history and he’s played a huge role in who I have become.

Clemson is a member of the Trumbull County Farm Bureau and completed her Ph.D. at the Pennsylvania State University.