Family Matters

I received an email from my aunt this week -- she received a wonderful gift from her granddaughter entitled “Grandma Tell Me Your Story.” This is a familiar book about family history. Unfortunately, my aunt was number 10 of 12 and by the time that her solid memories were formed, her father was in the VA hospital after suffering a stroke. Her memories of him were through a glass window, as her mother told her to wave to him. He never came back home and with a family that size, survival was their highest priority. Children married, had children, moved away and gathered together for baptisms, confirmations, and funerals. My mother's family lived in Detroit and for us, the trip was an infrequent affair.

My aunt was plagued with easy questions like what her father did for a living, when did he come here from Germany, what were his parents names? Easy questions you might think, but how often are we given the opportunity to hear their stories and miss? If I think back at my missed opportunities, I have to admit that there were very many. As usual, I was probably more concerned about what was going on now, instead of what happened way back when. However, one time, while driving through Rockfield (WI) my father remembered about the German POW's that were housed at the canning factory! What? I wished I would have asked more questions because years later I learned from my uncle that my grandfather and great-grandfather were crew chiefs for these POW's that worked in the fields. He didn't remember if my father worked with them also but did remember reading the paper (in German) to the prisoners over the fence. What a story! What a story I missed. Dad, what was it like to be so close to these people from a foreign country? Did they tell you how much they missed their families and were frightened for their safety?

Life stories live on within our traditions, thought patterns, and personalities. I know that my sense of adventure is from my father's ever inquirying mind -- he never passed a brochure without picking it up and saving for a time when he'd be able to visit the obsecure sites. My emotions -- yes, my mother. Before she became ill she was a loving woman, ready to take in any stray (two and four-legged). But what do I know about their lives, how they found strength through their struggles, how they celebrated their successes? Mom, how did you get over missing your mother?

I've pieced together some of the puzzle through Ellis Island archives and other online genealogical sources, and found that my grandfather traveled to the US in steerage with $257 in his pocket. He settled in the Detroit area and when World War I broke out he joined the US Army to secure his citizenship. How he met my grandmother is a mystery, as she arrived from Poland at the age of 2 with her mother and brother (her father had immigrated earlier) and lived in the Pittsburgh area. How did she get to Michigan and meet my grandfather?



It's too late to ask them questions now, in any form other than in prayer but perhaps for those of you that are reading this, you'll be inspired to ask your parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles what was life like when they were growing up.

Social Networking

When I grew up we would often visit my father's aunts and uncles on their farms after church on Sundays. Dad would be sure that we'd arrive in time to help with the chores (we were young enough to think that was fun) and then we'd wash up for a good old farm meal with more varieties of fresh vegetables than you'd see at the grocery store, and a yummy dessert that was promised to us once we cleared our plates. After dinner the women-folk would begin the dishes, the kids would turn on "Lassie" and my dad would head out on the porch for some farm talk with one of his uncles. Often times I'd sneak out to the porch and listen to the news they shared of the pig prices and new calfs; who bought a new tractor and who's selling out; how well this year's harvest was and what's going in the fields the next year; which farm family is doing well and which one is struggling. This was his link to the community of farmers that he'd grown up with. I think Dad really missed that link, and Sunday was the day that he got his "farm fix."

Dad left the farm shortly before he met my mother and they purchased a home nearby the manufacturing company that he worked for. If he needed assistance with something at the house he'd call up one of his relatives and they'd soon arrive with the perfect tool or someone that they knew who could handle the repair. That was his network -- the farm community.

Thanks in part to my daughter, this is my network: Blogging, Facebook, and Goodreads. I've reconnected with school friends, gleamed strength from their encouragement, and followed others through their journeys. I've had the opportunity to watch my nephew grow through pictures and comments made on his mother's FB page; I've met new friends and learned more about my current friends. So, one could say that my Blog, FB, and Goodreads have become the 'porch' to my community.

Before Christmas I received an email from a man in Scotland who had read the reviews I'd written for the Friends of Plum and Pilot Islands newsletter. He'd noticed that I'd read books of his contemporaries and asked if I'd review his self-published book. Well, of course I accepted the challenge, not thinking that he'd actually send it! I was quite surprised when it arrived and I eagerly read the memories he wrote of being a lighthouse keeper on the lights of Scotland. The book was wonderful, other than some grammatical errors that he's in the process of correcting. So, think of it . . . here's this keeper in Scotland that connects via social networking to little old me in Wisconsin -- how cool is that?? I now have a 'friend' in Scotland that thinks my life in Wisconsin is quite interesting.

So, as Dad pursued his social network out on the porch, I'm pursuing mine -- on the computer. Come to think of it, thanks to my wireless router I could be sitting on the porch too . . . when it warms up!