We are creatures of place. In novels and movies, the setting of the story can prove as important as any character: the Russian Jewish community of Fiddler on the Roof, or Gilead’s Iowa religious setting, or Flannery O’Conner’s southern gothic background in her short stories. We are shaped by place, even in this era of generic fast food restaurants and blockbuster movies.

Place is felt strongly by the displaced. The first who felt it were the native Americans in the United States who were displaced by European settlers. The English who left homes in the British Isles for America experienced their own displacement as they tried to make early colonial America a subset of their former home. Germans moved in among the English-speaking communities. Jewish, Irish, Polish, and Italian immigrants arrived. The descendants of freed slaves moved north after the Civil War. Southern whites dealt with an increasingly changed landscape. Asians, Hispanics, free Africans, and Caribbean islanders came. Recently, Southeast Asians and Middle Easterners have wandered in.

Love of the old place, left behind family, and foreign heritage compete with attachment to the new place. Volumes have been written about the hybrid-American young adult seeking identity between two cultures.

Both old and new communities lay obligations on us. Americans of long duration in this country do well to recognize the gifts that newcomers bring, from the crop picker to the Ph.D. engineer. Newly-naturalized Americans retain pride in former cultures yet owe an allegiance to this country that supercedes allegiance to the old.

Not so much a bland melting pot as a rich-hued tapestry, somber tones alternating with cheerful ones.