Nelson's General Store

Nelson’s General Store

            The brass cowbell tinkled softly announcing our entrance into the dimly lit general store. The well-worn hardwood floors creaked as we searched the shelves for our few purchases. Such a contrast from the supermarkets in my hometown. No florescent lights, no hustle and bustle of customers late getting supper on the stove, no rows of checkout lanes. No, Nelson’s General Store in Ogema, WI seemed from another era. The store had plenty of groceries, though not the variety I was used to. Being only 5, I judged a store’s quality by the size of its candy counter. My favorites were within reach but I knew better than to ask. I wasn’t with my mother but with my aunt Pearl and wanted to be on my best behavior. I contented myself with looking around. We were the only customers in the small store and my aunt gave me the freedom to browse. This was a privilege I didn’t get at home, where I was always under the watchful eye of my mother.          

            Mr. Nelson came from the back room and greeted my aunt. He was a balding gentleman with wisps of graying hair peeking from around his ears. The heavy black rimmed glasses seemed to define his face. He had a bloodstained long white apron covering his clothing. As my aunt placed her order for the week’s meat purchases, Mr. Nelson disappeared into the back room. He soon returned from the cooler pulling a large beef carcass on an overhead hook. As it hovered over the solid butcher-block table, Mr. Nelson lowered the carcass to prepare cutting. Deftly he wielded the cleaver and parts of the carcass became steaks. At the end of the table was a huge roll of paper hanging on a wrought iron roller. Mr. Nelson quickly wrapped our purchases with this paper and tied the package neatly with white string. He carried our purchase over to the counter with the rest of my aunt’s selections and proceeded to ring up our purchase on the ornate silver cash register. CaChing! The final total appeared. My aunt paid, said our good-byes and we turned to leave. The brass cowbell tinkled softly as we left the store.

Ice Skating

Ice Skating

Ice skating was an important form of entertainment for my parents. Both mentioned skating with friends on the river when they were young.  Thus as they started their family, they wanted to give us every advantage. As soon as winter snows would allow, Dad would bank out a small area of our yard  by shoveling to form a rink. The garden hose would come out and Dad would flood our private rink. Of course it wouldn’t be ready until the next day but by then the water froze solid to form a smooth sheet of ice. Mom and Dad both would help us lace up our skates and we would attempt to become the graceful skaters they wanted us to be. It never happened. We fell more than stayed upright, our legs betraying us as we landed on our posterior thankful for the padding the extra warm clothes offered.  Dad went through this ritual for us for several years to no avail. We were not going to be star hockey players or figure skaters. 

Let's Go Fly A Kite

Let’s Go Fly A Kite

A song made popular by the movie Mary Poppins in the 1960’s was Let’s go fly a kite. The chorus went like this.

Oh, oh, oh!
Let's go fly a kite
Up to the highest height!
Let's go fly a kite and send it soaring
Up through the atmosphere
Up where the air is clear
Oh, let's go fly a kite!

I remember singing it quite often but I don’t think we ever sang it on our kite flying adventures. Our kites were simple: plastic sheeting stretched over balsa wood cross pieces. We used a torn sheet for a tail, tied in bows along a string.

The wind needed to be just right as we ran along to help our kites get airborne. Many times they would circle and flop to the ground, lying inanimate until picked up and set free for another attempt. YES! The wind caught and lifted the kite. More line was played out as the kites began to shrink from sight. An average spool of kite string was a mere couple hundred feet. Not being satisfied, we purchased more and added to our kite’s tether. The kites soared as we had a competition of sorts. How far would the kite fly? We could barely see them, flying so high, tugging for their freedom.

“Vicki! Julie! Dennis! Supper!”  Before cell phones it was common practice for parents to summon their children by calling out the back door.  “Coming!” We answered. We began the arduous process of reeling in the kites. Having a taste of tethered freedom, the kites fought the process. The string was wound on the handles and the kites came into view. Finally, back on the ground they were quickly gathered up as we raced through the trees to hurry home for supper. 

Sliding

Here is another attempt at a poetic memory.

Sliding

We were lucky.
Our own backyard sliding hill.
Horses recently vacated,
lumps of manure still present.

Bundled against the cold,
snow pants, heavy coats,
freshly knit mittens covering tiny fingers.

Piling three on the toboggan, Dad gave a shove.
Zooming, flying, shouts of glee broke the silence.

Tail wagging, happy black dog ready for a job.
Clipped to the collar
the toboggan followed Smokey up the hill.

Laughing, holding hands,
we trudged up the hill.

Do it again!

The Boat

I recently attended a program on writing your life story in poetry. The assignment was to take a photo and write a poem about it. Here is my attempt.

Wooden Boat

Wooden boat; American flag flutters fully in the breeze.

Classic- Dad's pride and joy.

Touring the river, miles of water

Waving to friends at backyard barbeques.

Fishing crappies, sunfish, bluegills.

Three small children

Cane poles tangled.

Waterskiing-with big waves challenging

Splash!

Circle to pick up skier.

Smaller waves; skier upright.

Safely on shore.

A new generation enjoys.

My Third Great Grandmother - Wilhelmine Ziese Maas

My 3rd GGrandmother Wilhelmine Ziese Maas was buried in Immanuel Lutheran Cemetery in Watertown, Wisconsin or was it the Immanuel Lutheran Church Cemetery in Lebanon, Wisconsin 6 miles away. The only mention I had of her was in an email about 10 years ago from a shirttail cousin. One email he mentioned Lebanon, and the next he mentioned Watertown. He did mention the stone was deteriorating as could be expected since she died so long ago. The hunt was on as we took a whirlwind genealogy tour the summer of 2016. I knew nothing about her other than her birthdate (1825) again from that early email.

Digging in my records, I found her listed as the mother of Bertha Maas Albrecht on Bertha's marriage record to Carl Ewald. Wilhelmine's spouse was listed as Johannes Maas. So now I had names of both GGG grandparents but little else. The Email from Bob also stated that Wilhelmine's full name was Ernestine Wilhelmine Ziese (asa Ziehse) and her husband's full name was Johannes David Maas. He died in a logging accident in Pomerania although no date was given. They both were from Trechel, Pomerania. Their daughter Bertha Emilie Maas was born December 15, 1846 in Basenthin, Pomerania. Still not much to go on about Wilhelmine and Johannes.

Before our trip, I took to the internet to see if I could find more. I used a Facebook Group called Random Acts of Genealogical Kindness and within minutes someone responded with the following.

The first image is the marriage of Johannes David Maas to Ernestine Wilhelmine Ziese in July of 1843.  The second 2 images are the complete baptism record of Wilhelmine Ziese which shows her full name of Ernestine Wilhelmine Henriette Ziese baptized in 1826. Her parents are Johann Ziese and Maria Duwen. My German is lacking so I will need to find a translator to read the rest of the record.

As we came to Lebanon first from Milwaukee, we stopped at the cemetery there. While we found many stones with the name Maas, we were unable to find Wilhelmine born in 1825. On to Watertown where we stopped at the store my GG grandfather Charles Goette had built. Talking to the current proprietor we were able to locate the Immanuel Lutheran Cemetery in Watertown so headed out there. It didn't take long and we found her!

She was born July 15, 1825 and Died June 5, 1919. Not knowing when she came over, I elected to search for some census records. Working backwards I hoped to find her in at least the 1910 and the 1900 Federal census. Possibly also the Wisconsin 1905 and 1895.

The 1900 Federal Census shows her living with her son Albert and family. She is 74 years old, widowed, had 8 children but only 3 are living in 1900. She arrived in the United States in 1888.  I have not found her in the 1910 census yet. So many questions. What were the names of all of her children, how many of them came to America, where did they settle? What port did she arrive? My guess on some of these are they are hidden because of spelling interpretations. I will keep searching.

The Fabric of my Life

The Fabric of my Life

             This quilt has pretty much seen its better days as it has been much used and loved. My grandmother Tillie Albrecht made it in the late 1950’s using scraps of fabric from other projects. Though not displayed on a bed anymore, every time I look at it I can fondly remember the clothing my siblings and I wore from  these fabrics.

           

My Grandmother was a farmer’s wife and having come of age during the Great Depression was resourceful enough to make sure that nothing was wasted. The “batting” for this quilt and others she made were old flannel sheets which added an extra layer of warmth. This quilt is tied with yarn and  was pieced together on her treadle machine. As my grandmother died when I was in second grade, this  quilt brings back memories of a grandmother who left too soon.

Grandma's House

Grandma’s House

I have many fond memories of going to Grandma Swanson’s house in Morse and have shared the floor plan as best as I can recall.  Grandma’s bedroom (or as she called it the front bedroom) was a good sized room with a large opening that had a curtain rather than a door. The closet also had a curtain covering so I really have no idea how large it was.  There may have been a nightstand next to the bed but I don’t recall. The dresser was a large dark mahogany colored piece with a large mirror and several drawers.  It matched the headboard and foot board of the bed. The cedar chest was lighter in color. Next to the cedar chest was this ornately carved wood box that was always a mystery.  The walls were covered with wallpaper though I don’t remember anything of the design.  Grandma’s house always smelled faintly of mothballs.

The front porch was fully screened in and stood in the shade of the 2 large pine trees so in the evening it was cool and breezy. Many hours were spent visiting with neighbors or playing cards while sitting on the porch. The cot was a nice place to take a mid afternoon nap.

The living room had a large overstuffed green striped rocker, a recliner, and a couch with the slanted arms that made it easy to use them for a pillow. In one corner of the room was the large black and white television encased in its wooden cabinet.  The room was also wallpapered. A large area rug covered the hardwood floor.

The dining room was a place of family gatherings. The dark finished table with its matching chairs and large buffet or credenza took up much of the room. Grandma did have a few small plants near the windows. In the far corner stood the large oil burning furnace which heated the house and in the winter would dry mittens and other wet clothing.  The daybed would open from a couch to provide additional sleeping space. This room was also wallpapered and the floor was hardwood.

The back bedroom was a comfortable room with a  tubular steel headboard and footboard on the double bed. Grandma’s treadle sewing machine stood against a wall waiting for her next project. She sewed many Barbie clothes with that machine for her grandchildren. The dresser and matching vanity stood against the wall. In addition, the closet held toys for us to play with while we were there. A clown doll, a sock monkey, both of which she made, a small red wagon, and a baby doll with a blanket. We knew to put them back when we were done playing. This room also had wallpaper and the closet had a curtain rather than a door. Worn linoleum covered the floor.

The most surprising thing in this room was the door in the floor which led to the cellar. We were not allowed in the cellar, but when Grandma would go down for a jar of canned goods, we could see that the primitive ladder led to basically a hole in the ground. There was a dirt floor, and I couldn’t be sure but the walls probably also were dirt. There was a bare light bulb providing adequate light and a few shelves for the home canned goods. The cellar was not very large.

The kitchen was not very large and the formica topped table and chairs just barely fit.  The white steel cabinets covered one wall. The double sink was placed in the middle and under the window so you could look out while doing the dishes.  Over to the right, Grandma kept her stainless steel canisters filled with the staples of every kitchen. Most important to us kids though was the cookie jar which always had cookies in it. A standalone metal cabinet provided additional storage as there were no upper cabinets. The refrigerator had a rounded top with a small freezer on top until in later years it was replaced.  The stove was a behemoth of a woodstove that Grandma would need to feed small pieces of wood in order to cook or bake. She was an expert at using it and all her meals and baked goods came out to perfection.  Next to the stove, there was a tall metal cabinet which she called her pantry that held her canned goods.

The bathroom was unusual in that it did not have a bathtub or shower. Grandma had a large square galvanized steel tub that she would bring in for baths. The water would need to be heated on the wood stove as the house did not have a hot water heater. An appropriate amount of cold water would be added so you didn’t burn yourself. The tub was small and difficult to fit in and wash yourself.  You would stand in the tub and pour warm water over you to rinse the soap off.  You washed your hair in the sink. The bathroom did have a toilet, and a bare sink which she had skirted with fabric to hide the plumbing. Her vanity table with a small mirror and her makeup also had a matching cloth skirt to hide the cleaning supplies.

The completely enclosed back porch was used primarily for storage but at least once a week, Grandma would roll her wringer washer from the wall to the center of the floor and door her laundry. After agitating the laundry in the tub, Grandma would then feed each piece through the wringer to get the excess water off before hanging the clothes outside to dry.  The back porch was the main entry for family to the house so shoes and coats were also left there.  On the wall hung a curious plastic molded picture of a deer driving a car with 2 hunters on the hood. Later I found out that my dad had purchased that as a gift for his father when he was a child.

The family had lived in that house for many years as my uncle Glen was born in that house in 1929. Dad mentioned that during recess he and his friends would walk home from school because they were sure that his mother would have some fresh cookies on the table for them. They were not disappointed. The furnishings I drew were as I remembered in the early 1960’s. I am sure the living room furnishings were also updated from the earlier years.   As I mentioned, the round top refrigerator was replaced, and in the later 1960’s the old wood stove gave way to a newer propane model which I am sure was an adjustment to Grandma’s baking.

My Grandfather's clock

The clock is a mission oak style and family legend (though unverified) has it that it was won by my grandfather, Edwin Albrecht for selling newspapers in Milwaukee as a 12 year old.  I first became aware of the clock shortly after we moved to Charles St in Hiawatha Heights. It was sitting on top of a box in storage in the basement. As a youngster of about 11, I would tease the clock so I could hear its melodious chime. I was told it had a 7 day windup mechanism with the key long gone, that it would not only keep time but activate the chime on the hour and the half hour. I fell in love with that clock.

Pa's Clock: It leans to the right to keep it running though I have not let it run in years. I love the chimes.

Mom also treasured the clock but it sat in the box for the rest of my childhood and teen years. In 1978 I purchased an older home (built in 1924) in Superior Wi and made my move. I wanted the clock. The conversation went like this. "Mom, don't you think Pa's clock would look better on my living room wall than in the basement in the box."  Next trip the clock came north and I was thrilled! I first gave it a good rubdown in tung oil to get rid of the dust and grime. I didn't do the back because it has a wonderful label on it, telling about the clock. Next stop was Nummi Jeweler's clock repair. After about a month, I was able to pick up my WORKING clock complete with a key to wind it. The chimes were just as I had remembered: Melodious and rich, sounding every half hour and on the hour. Occasionally, I needed to reset the chime by moving the large hand to 2 then back to 10 until the chime sounded the correct time. I enjoyed my grandfather's clock for many years. The chimes became silenced once again when Tony moved in as he was a light sleeper. The clock has made the moves with us, and I hope someone of the next generation will cherish it as I have. It has a place of honor on the wall of our bedroom and is now truly an antique at over 100 years old!

The Family Garden

          Throughout history, the family garden was very important. For many, it meant the difference between eating plentifully during the winter or having meager meals. The size of the garden was always in direct proportion to the number of people it needed to feed and family plots could be found not only in rural areas but also in urban yards. Our ancestors were no different. During the late 1880's when most of them immigrated from their homelands, they would make sure a garden spot was hand tilled and planted so the harvest could be preserved for winter eating. During the depression years, the family garden took on a new meaning and many children were enlisted in the garden's care of hand weeding and watering. Of course harvest time also meant the children were able to pick the produce and help with the canning and preservation. These would be the meals they would be fed in the winter so it was important to make sure the garden produced as much as possible. If you had a growing family, a garden would save the family many dollars on the grocery bill. Money was scarce during the depression.

My family was no different.

My mother always had a large garden. There were rows of beans, carrots, tomatoes, several kinds of squash, and cucumbers. There were radishes, and potatoes and a few rows of corn with their tassels swaying in the breeze. The garden would have to produce enough vegetables to feed a family a five for the coming year. That meant during harvest season, Mom spent days processing the fruits of her summer’s labor. These lessons on canning were also shared with Julie and I as we worked along side Mom, learning how to slip tomato skins, cut carrots and beans, and other skills we would need in our future.

As we got older, we also were expected to help in the garden. We were patiently taught to distinguish between a garden plant and a weed. We were taught that if you pull only the tops of the weeds, you would be battling that same weed tomorrow.  Weeds needed to be dug from the root, carefully making sure you got the whole thing and not just a portion. We would need to be extra careful with the weeds that were close to the vegetable plants.  We were taught the best time to harvest, when the vegetables were at their best. Many times after his retirement from the farm, Pa would also help in the garden.

A good gardener always samples the fruits. A plump cucumber was quickly plucked from its vine. I carefully inspected it and realized it would need cleaning before I popped it into my mouth. As my mother taught me, I gently rubbed it up and down on the leg of my jeans slowly twirling it to make sure all sides were cleaned. It crunched as I took a huge bite. Summer gardens!

At the edge of the garden stood the rhubarb patch. Rhubarb likes shade so the patch was located in the shade of the garage. Mom used the rhubarb to make jam, sauce, and my favorite; rhubarb pie. As youngsters, a special treat was when Mom would hand us her tin measuring cup with about ¼ cup of sugar in the bottom and tell us to go pick a stalk of rhubarb. Yummm. We knew we didn’t want a very fat stalk as the more flavorful stalks are about ½ in diameter. We kept the leaf on as we pretended it was a plumed pen needing dipping in ink. We sat on the cool concrete steps and dipped our rhubarb stalk in the sugar and giggling as we ate. 

Mom’s Rhubarb Custard Pie

1 frozen unbaked deep dish 9 inch pie crust or homemade pie crust.

Beat 3 large eggs

Add 2 tablespoons of milk.

Mix and stir in 1 ½ cups of sugar, 3 tablespoons flour and ½ tsp. nutmeg.

Stir in 4 cups of sliced rhubarb.

(I also add a packet of unflavored gelatin and refrigerate right from the oven as some years the rhubarb has too much moisture in it and the pie doesn't set up properly)

Pour mixture into piecrust and bake at 400° for 55 minutes. Allow to cool before serving. Refrigerate leftovers.

Remembering ... a doll house

Growing up in a time before personal electronics and other gadgets of today's childhoods, we received gifts that sparked the imagination.  I don't remember the year that I received my doll house, but I do remember it vividly, and remember the hours of enjoyment I got from it. A posting on the internet prompted me to do a little research.

My doll house was built by my dad from McCalls pattern No.150W. I can imagine Dad working hard in his workshop to get everything just right so he would have a very happy daughter when it was presented. Frustration would have let the occasional swear word slip but he would have gotten quickly back on track. For the finishing touches he would ask for an expert opinion from Mom before painting or finishing the decorating. McCalls included a photo on the cover of the pattern.

 

 

Dad's version was very true to the pattern. Made from plywood, the house size was 51" long, 11 1/2" deep, 18 1/2" high. Built to 3/4 scale.  A little girl's paradise world.   Of course my furnishings and decorating was quite different. My kitchen/dining area had tan woodgrain contact paper "linoleum". Cabinets were not built in, and no curtains on the windows. Going upstairs to the living room, I remember the steps as well as the floor covered with Terry Cloth forest green "carpeting", The fireplace was painted black while the "brick" was a dull shade of red. I don't remember wall coverings, but I know Mom would have chosen light tans or grays. "Carpeting" in the bedrooms was again terry cloth (probably an older towel from the cabinet) while the bathroom had "linoleum" again. None of the windows had curtains. Of course the outside was painted also. It sat on a long older dark varnished table that seemed perfect in size for this use. 

 

 Ready to move in.  The family I had was several hard plastic dolls with no clothes on and immovable arms and legs. Reminded me of clothespin dolls but in my imagination they could do everything that real people did. The furniture was again heavy colored molded plastic. I remember the beds as being blue with a white coverlet on top.  The dressers even had drawers that opened! The dining room set was brown, a table and 4 chairs whose fragile legs eventually got broken. The kitchen appliances were separate and in the most modern style of the day. There were some cabinets which included the none working kitchen sink.  The living room had an overstuffed easy chair with couch to match and a small oval coffee table. My memory is fuzzy on other chairs for the living room but I seem to remember at least one. I can't remember the color of the bathroom fixtures but I know they were not white. Pink seems to come to mind.  I loved having the storage drawer, as sometimes in my rearranging, the furniture I wasn't using or the family went in there when I was finished playing.  I wish I had a photo of me playing with it. 

 

 

As we moved, my doll house came with us, and was set up in the basement playroom though I was almost getting too old and my sister Julie was beginning to spend more time with it than I.  Years later, it was redecorated and put to use by the next generation but alas it eventually met its demise and a potential family heirloom was discarded.

 

 

Researching on the internet came up with many photos how others had elaborately decorated their dollhouses with self created furniture miniatures, photos for the walls, curtains, and furnishings. Some even gave it a Victorian look though the house design is decidedly a modern 1950's tri-level. Almost makes me want to find a copy of the pattern and build another one.

A strange Christmas Present

My brother and I were first introduced to snowmobiling through our church's Luther League party which was hosted by classmates. They only had a couple of yellow and black Skidoos available, but by hooking sleds to them with long ropes, more of us could play and get the feel. That was it. We both came home singing the praises of the Skidoo and how much fun they were. We expected Dad to go right out and buy one the next day. It didn't happen.

Maybe there would be one under the Christmas tree although we couldn't fathom how Dad would get it in the house. We still were asking for one daily, but to no avail. We didn't have additional opportunities so it appeared that snowmobiling would soon become a memory.

Christmas morning dawned and no shiny snowmobile awaited. We eagerly opened packages, knowing that at least some of them would be new pajamas, socks and underwear. We got to the last box, rather large and square and addressed to the three of us. Of course it would be a board game we guessed. The three of us quickly tore the wrapping, to reveal a box taped shut with packing tape. A knife from the kitchen allowed us to make quick work of the tape to reveal a ... shiny new red metal gasoline can!?!  Puzzled, we didn't understand until Den noticed the piece of paper taped to its side. There was the sales slip for a new 1968 16 horse Scorpion snowmobile! 

Our dreams had come true. It was waiting for the first ride right outside the window!  Breakfast was quickly gobbled as we threw on clothes to try our new present. Den, being the oldest got to drive it first and made a trail around both the front and back yard. My turn made it easy to follow the trails. Julie was a little young to drive so Dad rode with and helped her. Then we brought out the metal saucer and tied it to the back to give each other rides. What a fun and memorable Christmas day!

The Haircut

I walked into the barbershop with Dad and waited my turn. There were several gents perusing the latest newspaper while holding animated conversations with the barber. Norm concentrated on the head of hair before him, scissors clacking rhythmically as he snipped methodically around the ears but never missing his turn in the give and take of the conversations. 

Looking with wonderment at all the tools on the counter and wondering which he would use on my head, I grew impatient and started fidgeting. A quick look from Dad and I knew I was not to leave my chair until given permission.

Finally it was my turn. I was shorter than most of his customers so Norm took a well worn board from behind the counter, quickly dusted it off and set it on the arms of his barber chair. Following his invitation I climbed the chair and plopped my butt on the board. “How would you like it cut?” Norm asked as he covered me with one of his plastic aprons. I glanced at Dad for help with the answer. “A Pixie cut”, Dad replied and Norm went to work. A snip here, a snip there, I could see the clusters of hair falling to the floor. I felt a gentle touch and instinctively knew to bow my head so Norm could trim my neck. Moments later, I felt a soft bristle brush sweeping any loose hair from my head. Norm handed me a small mirror. “Do you like it?” he asked with the same concern and consideration he gave his adult customers. I nodded and Norm removed the plastic apron with a shake to allow the rest of the hair to fall to the floor. 

Though I was a girl, Norm the barber would give me many haircuts in my early childhood.

4-H

 As fall approaches, I am once again reminded that so closes another 4-H year. I have been a volunteer 4-H leader for 32 years.

During that time I have seen the positive impact 4-H has on many young citizens of Superior and Douglas County.

I have seen the very shy youngster blossom as they gain confidence in working with others of different age groups. I have seen these same youngsters gain valuable political experience as they choose to campaign, run and hold elected offices in their clubs. They gain leadership skills and valuable public speaking experience as they learn the responsibilities of those offices.

Through the over 75 project areas that 4-H offers, members can explore those that interest them the most. Many have taken what they have learned in a 4-H project and pursued a career in that field. Members learn valuable research skills, analytical thinking, problem solving, creativity, and more as they explore their projects. Each year they have the opportunity to display their knowledge and projects at the Cultural Arts festival and at the Head of the Lakes Fair. I have shared with members the joy as they are rewarded for a project well done. I have also challenged many to take their project to the next level. I have consoled through disappointment and encouraged to try harder.

4-H teaches youngsters to get involved in their community. Over the years I have seen many ways that the 4-H youth have spawned an idea, did the planning and carried through with the project to give back to the community. I have seen them walk dogs at the local animal shelter, build dog houses, visit nursing homes for pumpkin carving, as well as partnering with the residents to share other crafts, cooked a meal for the residents of Solid Rock, redecorated and refurbished a room at CASDA, purchased toys for needy families at Christmas, and many other projects to numerous to mention.

4-H encourages members to think globally with the LABO exchange with Japan and the other international programs that members can participate in.
 I have seen 4-H members stand up for a cause, join the Superior Days team and lobby for changes that will affect their hometown. I have seen them take part in finding ways to control purple loosetrife, and other environmental issues.

4-H will offer valuable job experience as members interview for camp counselor positions, dairy bar manager, and the member evaluation process. Working at the dairy bar at the fair gives all of the 4-H members a chance to gain some of that on the job experience that is so vital. They develop a work ethic that many local employers seek.

 The 4-H after-school programs give many that would otherwise not have the opportunity a chance to participate in their neighborhood. Many will later join regular clubs and become more active with the program and develop their leadership skills. 4-H is a nondiscriminatory program that is open to everyone. Membership fees are affordable so all can participate.

4-H gives members the opportunity to represent Superior and Douglas County at State Wide events as well as national events. The 4-H Youth conference in Madison, Arts Leadership Lab, Citizen Washington Focus, National 4-H Conference, National 4-H Congress are some of the events that outstanding members are chosen to participate in. Members also are chosen to represent Superior at the State Fair with their demonstrations and clothing projects.

Because of my longevity with the program, I am now seeing some of those early members stay with 4-H as volunteer leaders. I am also seeing some of those same members now enrolling their children for the valuable experiences to be had. I am proud to be a part of a program that has had such a positive influence on so many youngsters in our community.

In 2007, Tony and I were both honored to become the Family of the year. Below is the nomination letter and the introduction speech written by Molly Sigafus.

I have one last nomination for the 4-H Family of the year I hope you can print this and share it with at the meeting. I may not be able to make it.

I would like to nominate Vicki and Tony Garro.

       Vicki and Tony may not have any children in 4-H but all the lives of the 4-Hers they have touched are their family. They have been role models for my sisters, brother, and I as well as all the dog and horse 4-Hers. Throughout the years they have helped us make dog houses for the humane society, taught us how to ride and train horses, taught us how to work with our dogs and encouraging us to be all that we can be and that anything is possible.

       Vicki has chaperoned a 4-H group to Kentucky, helped get Jump Start 4-H off the drawing board and into action. With out Vicki being inspired by her niece's efforts to bring a dog to the fair there wouldn't be two dog clubs with 4-Her's learning fun new tricks to teach their dogs. Vicki often brought one of her ponies to the nursing homes with 4-Hers to visit the residents. She has helped plan meals to feed the community. Every year Vicki spends numerous hours at the fair as the horse superintendent to help others with their needs and she allows non horse owners to learn about horses by using hers.

      Tony has been Vicki's support throughout all her 4-H escapades because without him many of these things wouldn't happen. He drives the horses to where they need to be. He builds the equipment used with horses and dogs. This year one project for him was the agility equipment for the Puppy Pals 4-H club. Many of the youth in the club have expressed how thankful they are to be able to have access to such wonderful equipment.

      One club project, from the Country Explorers, that sticks out in my mind is the pet project without Vicki and Tony we would not have been able to learn as much as we did about as many different animals. The children that weren't able to have a pet got hands on experience with a hamster the club moved around from family to family every month. Without Vicki and Tony it would not have been possible to build two dog houses, this year, and bring them to the humane society

I have so much to say about how they have enriched my life, but in deciding who deserves this award you don't have time to read a 500 page book.

I’m sure after reading this you or just about anyone in the room, can add a little more.

So, on behalf of 4-Hers past and present I would like to nominate Vicki and Tony Garro for family of the year because they are truly part of the 4-H family.

 

And here is Molly's introduction speech.

When I found out that this family was chosen for this years 4-H family of the year, I asked Sarah if I could say a few words about how they have affected my life as well as many others. I have known this family for as long as I can remember, if not longer and whenever I saw them they would encourage me and offer support for any project I might be working on. If asked they always participate in parades from the Christmas parade in Duluth to the pumpkin fest parade in East End. Both members of this family have chaperoned several horse events, trip to Kentucky, Horse expo in the cities, or Oshkosh, Many times “adopting” a child for the weekend. One of this family’s top priorities has been community service. We have seen, dog houses built, meals for the homeless, dogs walked at the humane society, club equipment built, horses taken to the nursing homes, just to name a few. When doing community service they always encourage 4-Hers to participate. A couple memories that stick out in my mind are they taught me how to ride a horse and would take me along on many trail rides. Activity within the dog project restarted with their efforts to help me train my dog and enter him in the fair over 5 years ago. Although they are not the traditional family, they are a big part of the 4-H family. The number of young lives this family has touched and influenced is countless, and will continue for generations to come. So, on behalf of all the lives this family has touched; it is with great pleasure that I introduce to you the 2007 4-H family of the year, Vicki and Tony Garro.

 

Vicki and Tony Garro (back row right) with the kids from Puppy Pals 4-H Club

 

Right after the previous photo was taken, they took another one. I have never seen a 4-H Family of the year get that much recognition either before or after. 

Molly Sigafus is standing in front of her aunt and uncle, Vicki and Tony Garro.

Thank you for the honor, Molly! 

 

Selling Bread

Early Bake Rite Bread Truck driven
by John L. Swanson of Tomahawk WI.

           Dad was a route salesman, daily driving the yellow truck with Mrs. Carter painted on the sides and laden with bread, donuts, Hostess Twinkies and my favorite, the Paramount little fruit pie. He rose early, about 3:00AM, to make sure his truck was properly loaded and to be on the road well before sunup. The day’s drive in the early years encompassed about 200 miles before he would return to the dock with the truck carrying only yesterday’s bread that the company deemed not fit to sell.

            It was my turn to see what Dad really did at work! He awakened me early. Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I trudged behind him while he got the truck ready, finally clamoring up on the vinyl seat for the long day ahead. We started out for the first stop, a small country store. Dad was in and out of that store in minutes as the owners were not yet there. The supermarket was next. Dad loaded Cases of bread onto the two-wheeled dolly and wheeled them to the bread department. I carried the boxes of pies, not a heavy seller. The store was open now. Customers were looking for the best buy. Dad and I worked quickly, knowing we had many more stops. He rearranged the shelves bringing the older loaves to the front, while I, surrounded with the many loaves, stacked the bread he pulled from the shelf neatly into the boxes to be returned to the truck.

            A gruff voice spoke from behind me. “Hand me one of those loaves in the orange wrapper”. Instead, I handed the customer a loaf of my favorite, telling him, “This one tastes better”. The gentleman took the loaf I offered and warmly smiled as he put it into his cart. I had just made my first sale at age four!

John L Swanson in his bread truck. The Mrs. Carter brand name was used after Patty Piper.

Introducing My Great Great Grandmother on my mother's side of the family.

 

 

Bertha Emilie Wilhelmine Maas

Bertha Emilie Wilhelmine Maas was born December 15, 1846, at Basenthin, Pommerania, one of several siblings to Johan Maas and Earnestine Wilhelmine (Ziehse) Maas. On October 24, 1870 she married August Friedrich Robert Albrecht who was born August 23, 1848 at Basenthin, Pommerania.  Five children from this marriage lived to adulthood. Wilhelm Albert August,  (b Jan 21, 1871), Anna (b 1874) , Bertha (b 1880), Augusta (b 1882), and Franz (b 1875).  Some of Bertha’s siblings had already emigrated to America and settled in Wisconsin near Watertown. Many of their neighbors were also emigrating and soon the Albrecht family made plans to do the same. Since the family was large, and money was scarce, they were not able to travel at the same time.   While Wilhelm arrived in America April 13 1887, I have not been able to find the immigration data for his father Robert. They both settled in Milwaukee, WI,  Robert finding work as a carpenter and Wilhelm as a laborer.  In 1890, 


Ship Bertha and her daughters took into Philadelphia

Anna and Franz came into the port of Philadelphia and travelled to Milwaukee. In 1892, Bertha and her two remaining children. Augusta and Bertha also came through the port of Philadelphia.  A note on the passenger list recorded that she had 1 dollar and was to meet her husband Robert Albrecht in Milwaukee, WI.
 

Robert Albrecht

The 1890’s were a joyous time for the family as  Wilhelm married Dec 16, 1893, daughter Bertha married Sept 5, 1896, Anna married June 7, 1892, Augusta married October 15, 1898 and Franz married November 16, 1891.  Grandchildren soon followed. April 24, 1899 was a day of sadness when Robert Albrecht died of  pulmonary tuberculosis at age 50.  Robert is buried in Lincoln Memorial cemetery just off Burleigh Street in Milwaukee. Bertha lived with her daughter Anna and son in law Albert Von Hoffman after Robert’s death.  Job opportunities for an unskilled woman of her age were limited, even in Milwaukee.  She soon met a tailor, Carl Ewald and married him on March 1, 1903.  They lived in Milwaukee, not too far from her family.  Carl passed away on April 8, 1912 leaving Bertha a widow for the second time.  She married again to a Mr. Pagel but by 1920 she was widowed the third time and living with her daughter Augusta and her son in law Max Brueckner.  Bertha died  on December 21, 1928 and is buried next to her first husband Robert  in Lincoln Memorial Cemetery.

Happy Easter

Tomorrow is Easter Sunday. As I work in two different churches, and am currently president of a third congregation you can imagine the week that I have had. Yet, it takes me back to a simpler time. As children, we looked forward to the Easter bunny as he would bring us a basket of treats. Jelly beans, speckled malted milk robin eggs, hollow chocolate rabbit, and some smaller chocolates, nestled among the green Easter Grass. We would get up extra early as we knew that the bunny had hidden around the house the boiled eggs that we had dyed the day before. It was always a rush among siblings to see who would find the most eggs. When all were found we could have breakfast but that didn't stop us from going back to our baskets for a treat or two to sustain us on the hunt.

We didn't forget the true meaning of Easter, having parents that made sure we went to church. Holy week was a time of celebration. Maundy Thursday worship you would hear the story of the last supper and Jesus betrayal. The story continued on Good Friday. The whole town shut down between noon and three to commemorate the time frame Jesus was crucified and to allow workers to go to church. Our family went to Grace Lutheran Church in Tomahawk.  A highlight of the service was a solo sung by one of my classmates' mother. The song remains a favorite today. "Were you there when they crucified my Lord?" 

After breakfast Easter Sunday we of course went to church to hear the good news. Worship opened with "Jesus Christ is Risen today, Alleluia". Special music would include a trumpet fanfare to celebrate. I was honored to be a part of the worship service in Jr. and Sr. high. We then invariably would travel 90 miles to Grandma's house where she would have a roast ham and all the trimmings waiting for us.

Ma

Early on we started calling my mother's parents Ma and Pa  to differentiate from my Dad's mother whom we called Grandma.  My early childhood, Ma and Pa lived on the farm where my mother was raised about 30 miles from Tomahawk just outside of Ogema. It was a working farm, Pa was proud of his Holstein cattle. Ma helped with the farm chores in addition to keeping house.
It was before the automatic milking machines when Ma would trudge to the barn, grab her stool from the rack and start on the lineup of cows. Milk would ping the bottom of the bucket but soon a rhythmic hiss would take over until the bucket was filled. The barn cats knew the routine and would lineup just close enough that Ma could squirt a short stream of milk to their waiting mouths.  The bucket was dumped into the larger milk can and Ma moved on to the next cow. So it went until the entire herd was milked and ready to be turned out again. Pa would wrestle the full milk cans to the milk house to wait in the cool water for the truck to pick up.

Ma had a large flock of chickens, in the spring she would set up one of the bedrooms in the house as the brooder. Newspapers covered the floor, Pa had made a large enclosure with just room to walk around, A large light hung from the ceiling to provide warmth for the chirping chicks. They would grow contentedly until strong enough to be outside.

Ma loved her grandchildren and made each of them embroidered quilts. The hours she must have spent, hand embroidering the squares, then sewing on the treadle machine until the quilt grew large enough. Being a young mother during the depression, many of the quilts were made from outgrown clothing. The flannel quilts of course were from pajamas and long johns. Her quilts were all tied, and for batting she used additional flannel sheets. 
I was about 4 when my newborn sister received a baby quilt from Ma.  I don't remember saying anything, but Ma knew I needed a gift also. She quickly returned with a small box that held beer bottle salt and pepper shakers. Perhaps a strange gift for a 4 year old, but I treasured them and still have them over 50 years later. 

The next time we visited the farm, Ma handed me my very own quilt for my bed. It was pink (I was the oldest granddaughter) and white with embroidered animals on the white squares.  I couldn't wait to have it on my bed! Yet, my mother decided it would grace a spare bed, rather than my own. I would treasure my quilt, taking many opportunities to lay on it with a good book, trace the animals with my fingers, until finally my mother relented and allowed me to put it on my bed. Though somewhat tattered, that quilt is still a prized possession.

It was time to leave the farm. Pa wanted to retire, Ma wasn't feeling well. The decision was made for them to purchase a trailer and move it to our back yard.  Mom had strict rules about Ma and Pa's new house. We couldn't go to the door and were not allowed in unless we were invited.  One day, I don't know where my siblings were but Ma invited me in. It was time for a treat so she grabbed a fork and speared the last marshmallow in the bag and gave it to me telling me not to eat it. She brought a chair over to the stove and invited me to stand on it. (only a grandmother would sanction this). She turned the flame on medium on her gas stove and showed me how to roast the marshmallow to a rich golden brown. Oh, how yummy, made especially so because I didn't have to share.  A precious memory of a grandmother that would leave us all too soon.

Ma was soon diagnosed with a brain tumor and died while I was in second grade. My parents thought we were too young to go to the funeral so stayed with a babysitter. It was hard to understand why Ma wasn't there for us anymore.

Edwin and Tillie Albrecht in front of their house in the 1940's
I would later know them as Ma and Pa (my grandparents on my mother's side)

Back to Genealogy

It was time to sort through the boxes I received from Grandma,  you know the ones, those filled with photos supposedly burnt in the fire.  Were they Hallbergs, Bjorklunds, Swansons or somebody totally unrelated.

There were a few that I could recognize as having seen from my parent's collection. Whew! Those were identified. Then came others that I had NO IDEA who they were. Some were written on the back in Swedish, and the front had a Swedish Photography Studio stamped on the cardboard frame. Still, which side of the family as both my grandmother and grandfather were Swedish.

By this time Peter (the one who started all this) and I had exchanged many letters.  Email was still not prevalant so I did the best technology of the time. I scanned some of the photos and mailed them to Peter asking if he could identify any.  A few weeks later I got the long awaited answer. He was able to identify all but one. Yippee!!!! This was my grandfather's family.

I asked my father for some help in further identifying some of the unknowns. True, it had been a few years, but he was able to identify some of the others. Yet, there will be a bunch that will forever remain unknown.... Sigh....

There were other treasures in the boxes as well. Grandma had started writing some of her genealogy down. There were newspaper clippings with the puzzle left to me to figure how they all fit in.

It was going to be a journey through time to sift through this and get it recorded. Grandma left me quite a legacy. I only wished she would have been open to talking about her family more while she was alive.

She did mention a couple of stories from her childhood.

She loved to surprise her mother by cleaning the house while her parents were in town. They lived  a few miles from the center of the community, so I imagine the shopping trips were few and far between and took most of the day when they happened.

Bjorklund Road in Ogema is named after John Bjorklund (my great great grandfather)
Hallberg Road in Ogema is named after Andrew Hallberg (my great great grandfather)

The more I found out about my ancestors, the more I wanted to know. I was smitten.

Christmas!

Christmas- The very word evokes memories for all of us. For me, it was Christmas shopping trips to Wausau. Not the shopping itself, but the getting there. Wausau is about 40 miles from Tomahawk so to pass the time, we sang. Beginning around Thanksgiving, we switched to the Christmas favorites, carols we had learned in church to the fun songs we learned in school and other places. It was a family affair, we all sang, some more off key than others, but happy memories. Who could forget our "fractured" version of Santa Is Coming to Town?

You better watch out,
You better cry
You better pout,
I'm telling you why.
Santa Claus ain't coming to town.

He's made a list, checked it twice
He found out you were naughty, not nice,
Santa Claus ain't coming to town.

He saw you when you were sleeping,
He knows when you were awake,
He knows that you've been bad not good
So for this year it's too late.

You better watch out,
You better cry
You better pout,
I'm telling you why.
Santa Claus ain't coming to town.

Other favorites of the time: I want a Hippopotamus for Christmas; Are my ears on straight? Up on the housetop, O Christmas tree.

Our tree was always a balsam, it came in the house the day after my sister's birthday. Dad would work hard to get the lights "just so", It was then our job to unscrew the bulbs and put the colored  metal reflectors on. Ornaments were hung with care, making sure not too many in one place, but the tinsel seemed like it took forever to get the just right look. Soon colorful packages would start appearing under the tree to add more mystery. We would be admonished to leave them alone but it didn't stop us from shaking them and trying to guess.

Mom would start her Christmas baking, many varieties of cookies and candies. We kids would "help" and most times would just make more work for her with our sloppy decorating techniques.  Still, year after year she included us in this ritual. It seemed we ate them as fast as she made them.

Sunday School had switched to Christmas mode, with the lines distributed and the program scheduled. Everyone had a part, no matter how small they were. Parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles were in the pews, as the program was performed. The story of the Christ Child born in a manger.

Christmas Eve would find us feasting on Lutefisk and potato sausage before heading to a late candlelit service. Very traditional, year after year, it brings comfort to know the story hasn't changed after all these years. Jesus was born to save us all from sin.