Henry

I really don't remember when Henry first came into our lives, where he came from or even how he got his name. Many other families would call an object with the same purpose "the board of education". Henry is a beefed up yard stick. Twice as thick as the wimpy sticks that the hardware store gave out, Henry has brass reinforcing the ends, and extends a full 48 inches!  Dad would grab Henry when he needed to discipline us with a quick swat. The extra length made sure Dad wouldn't miss his mark and we didn't need to even be near as with Henry in hand, Dad could reach clear across the room. After the first couple of incidents, all that was usually needed to keep us in line was just the threat that Henry would come out of the closet.

Henry had other purposes as well. After all, a beefy 4 foot yard stick could come in handy for measuring things.

Years later, as we cleaned out Dad's house for the last time, one of the items that came home with me was that now antique measuring stick that we as children called Henry. No longer used as a board of education, he is content to stay in the closet until needed to measure something.

Gone Fishing

Grandma lived about 90 miles from us in Morse, Wisconsin. The year we moved into our new house, it was decided that we three children would spend the week with Grandma. We all loved the idea of a vacation at Grandma's house. I was about 10, my brother 2 years older and my sister 4 years younger. The Bad River runs through Morse, so it was a quick walk to a fishing hole. Sometimes we would fish from the bridge, but more often Grandma would take us a little further. We would walk the railroad tracks, balancing on the rails until we got to the slightly overgrown trail that would lead to the falls. We sat on a large flat rock, baited our hook and waited for the fish to bite. While there were trout in the river, it was rare that we caught any but it didn't matter. We were just as happy catching chubs and shiners as we would bring them back to the feral cats that lived near Grandma's. By the end of the week, the cats were very well fed and were hoping for something besides fish for dinner.

The summer vacations at Grandma's continued for several years. Fishing was always a focus, but we also spent time berry picking, picnicking, helping Grandma bake. Some days it would be cookies, while other days it could be cupcakes. Grandma's sister Mildred would also come to visit and would take us to Ashland for a picnic at Prentice Park where we would be able to watch deer and swans. In the evenings, we would sit around the card table and play cards. The games were either smear or 500. While I remember the names, I don't remember how to play either game.

It was a quieter time, before video games and home computers. There weren't any children in town our ages so Grandma made sure we had fun. Fond memories.

Goodbye

1983, the year of the aforementioned reunion Grandma (Leola Swanson) spent a lot of time in the hospital. We visited as often as we could but distance limited our time.  I went to the reunion in August and answered the questions of many of Grandma's health. She had really looked forward to seeing everybody but it was not to be.  After the reunion we travelled the 40 miles to be with Grandma. She looked frail, lying in the hospital bed but was alert and she wanted to learn all about the reunion. Oh how I wished  I spent more time remembering names.  Finally, I had no more to tell. Grandma leaned back, grimaced in pain and was gone. I knew then that she had hung on, waiting for the reunion report.   News travelled quickly to the rest of the family. A funeral service was planned, visitation at the small funeral home in Glidden WI. Grandma had her own reunion as we said goodbye to her to the strains of "How Great Thou Art." Many of the cousins who had travelled for the reunion stayed the extra days so they also could say goodbye to the cousin they knew so well.

Grandma would be buried in Ogema next to her husband in Hillside Cemetery where many of her ancestors were also buried. After the funeral, the hearse departed for the trip alone.  Others departed the church for their respective homes. Tony and I followed Mom, Dad and Glen to begin the task of cleaning out Grandma's house. Memory escapes who else was there. While at the church we noted they were soon to have a rummage sale and it was decided that what was not wanted would be sent to Grandma's church.

Grandma was a great hostess, never letting anyone leave her house hungry. She always had cookies in her cookie jar "in case someone would come". That day was no different. We shared in the somewhat stale chocolate chip cookies knowing it would be the last we would get from Grandma. The task at hand was hard. The brothers were each generous with each other and many times the line "you take that" was uttered from both. They also thought of the next generation and saved  items for my cousins that were not there. I was allowed also to take what I wanted. 

Grandma's turkey roaster served her well and now over 30 years later it still serves me as do her cake pans and other kitchen items. Each time I use them, they remind me of a loving Grandma who hosted many family dinners.  As a budding genealogist, but not expecting to find anything, (they had all burned in the fire, I was told.) I quickly made it known that I would like any genealogical papers and photos. Imagine my surprise when deep in the closet were 2 large boxes of photos!  Grandma, I wish....

Catching the Magic

Catching the Magic

            It has been many years since that last Swanson/Halberg reunion in Glidden. Still, I will never forget the program. We joined together for a time of stories and song to celebrate our heritage. I knew very few people in the room but we all had a common ancestor. Most songs were unfamiliar to me, being of a younger generation, and this being my first reunion. I could pick out Dale Bjorklund’s well trained melodic baritone voice. (Perhaps because of our close proximity.)

            Then a gentleman stepped up to the mike with a briefcase. Upon opening it, I could see the glimmer of silver as he carefully selected a tool. The magic began! Clarence’s eyes shone, his foot started tapping in anticipation of the music to come. He put the harmonica to his lips and lustily blew a lively tune. Details are long forgotten, but the magic lives on. 

            It wasn’t long after, when I, wanting some of that magic, purchased my first harmonica. The Pocket Pal, as they are called, went everywhere with me. If I had a few secluded minutes at work, I would try to pick out a melody. My job allowed for many solitary nights in a van waiting for trains to arrive so I had time to practice. Soon, I was craving more. That year Tony bought me a new harmonica for Christmas. A Honer Echo in the key of C. This became my pride and joy, and my main instrument. I began to practice in the car as Tony and I drove to various destinations. I bought a book, hoping to get tips to further my skills. I found songs in the key of C that I could play from reading the music. The magic was beginning.

            I am always amazed at the sounds that can come from the harmonica and the number of melodies that can be played not only in one key but with only 16 different notes. Pianos with the multi octaves truly are versatile but don’t look down on the lowly harmonica as being too limited.

            In 2004 when I went to Kentucky with a group of 4-H kids, I left my harmonica at home. Big mistake! A tourist shop near our hotel sold Pocket Pals. I and several others purchased one on a lark as the others didn’t know how to play. They noodled around on theirs. The bus trip home was long. It was time for some camp songs. The harmonicas came out. Standing in the aisle of the bus, I noticed my foot tapping, my body swaying. Had I been in front of a mirror, I am sure my eyes were shining too. Song after song, the kids joined in singing to my accompaniment. I had caught the magic.

            Thank you Clarence for sharing your harmonica with us so many years ago. It has made a difference in my life.

Elation!

Armed with the letter, when I came home, I quickly penned a response to Peter in Sweden. I dutifully answered his questions to the best of my ability and waited patiently by the mailbox for his reply. It wasn't long in coming. He was excited to make contact with his American cousins (he actually was my Dad's cousin) and sent a copy of his genealogy to show how we were related. I was thrilled to know some of my Swedish heritage as my Grandfather had died the year before I was born. Personal computers were just becoming available and were very expensive but already I could see where one would be helpful in keeping all of my genealogical data straight.  The first genealogy program I purchased was for my Apple llGS. I can not remember the name, but I thought I was on the cutting edge of technology and sat for hours entering what Peter had sent me. I knew nothing about sources back then and doubt if the program did either.

Living away from my ancestral home, research was limited. I asked my parent's for some information, they gave me a few names which I quickly typed in. By this time, 3 of my grandparents were already gone. I asked Grandma about her family, but she seemed to clam up. I asked for photos, but her reply was they had all burned in the fire. I knew there was a fire, so figured I was out of luck and didn't pursue it further.  Basically, I had no genealogical research skills at this point. As a year had passed since that first letter, it soon became apparent that my computer would also be inadequate and I quit using the program I was once so enthusiastic about.

Meanwhile, the letters to and from Sweden continued. Peter and his family became close friends, he nurtured my genealogical interests, offering more family tidbits as he found them. For my part, I was not able to contribute much genealogy but still valued his friendship.

I was excited about my upcoming wedding so put thoughts of genealogy research on hold.

The Beginning

Growing up I had a strong sense of family. Not only did I have both parents, but an older brother and a younger sister. Yes, I was the "forgotten" middle child. Three of our grandparents were still living. We had aunts, uncles, and cousins, as well as great aunts and uncles all whom we visited often and knew quite well. Where did we come from? Mom told us a few tidbits, Grandma told us a few tales of her childhood (as we rolled our eyes in boredom). We didn't ask for more.  I guess it just didn't seem important. Oh, how I wish I had taken the time to really listen, to ask for the stories of my ancestors.

Genealogy or family history was not part of the school curriculum as it is today in most schools. Had it been, I may have paid more attention to history classes and started my genealogical journeys much earlier.

Early in 1980, Grandma received a letter from a Swedish cousin looking for information on her late husband and his descendants. She wasn't going to answer, and had several lame excuses why not. I was fascinated and thought he at least deserved an answer to his inquiry. Grandma gave me the letter and thus my genealogical journey began when I was 26.