tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-335069762024-02-27T21:59:49.891-08:00 Nordic BlueChery Kinnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08662778019834533118noreply@blogger.comBlogger193125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33506976.post-82689456269935020372020-04-30T21:27:00.001-07:002020-09-04T21:27:46.204-07:00Rediscovering the Personal in Vintage Art: Christine B. Fielding<br />
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<b>Art and Artifact as Family History </b></div>
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Over the past years I have collected a few small vertical watercolor or oil paintings made by hobbyists during the early part of the twentieth century. Most sales descriptions list these paintings as rustic or primitive, with a rural or scenic focus. Some are purely landscapes adorned with combinations of mountains, trees, water, snow, sunsets, or moonlight. Others also contain a building as a focal point, such as a cabin, church, or farmhouse. The overall effect is enchanting, rather like a compelling scene in a children's book.<br />
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The first time I really noticed one of these paintings was many years ago, while perusing an antique shop with my mother in Benicia, California. The imaginative scene that captured my attention (only 6-1/2 ins. by 11-1/2 ins, antique frame included) depicts a meandering stream flowing between snow covered banks, with bare trees rising to graduated red and yellow tones in an mottled evening sky. On one side of the painting an old gray farmhouse puffs smoke from a brick chimney, inviting the viewer to step inside the scene and become warmed by its nostalgia. My mother already had an old print something like it at home, and I knew that she loved similar scenes, especially those depicting old time cabins. Offering her the right of refusal, I said, "If you don't buy it, I will." She quickly collected the find to take home.<br />
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Fast forward through the years and I have inherited that little painting of the old gray farmhouse adorning a winter scene. I have acquired other vertical paintings since then, most of which are unsigned or have only initials painted in the lower corner. There is usually very little to go on when researching any of the artists, especially since they were often hobbyists and not well known. One of my latest purchases happens to be adorned with the artist's complete signature: "Christine B. Fielding." A date penciled on the back of the framed piece indicates it was completed on March 14, 1916. When presented with a fact or two on which to lay a foundation, I often become excited by the prospect of a "great information chase." I decided to try and learn what I could about the pair of hands responsible for this recent addition to my little collection.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqlhwaOPy_LN3wavQN6Ay0RnSJbl7p0RDVtci6NWsgalib0jcmyqAnM1O7rTQGoscTYbyRJYW1ygIib8QJhriO5A6UJAcdNIqcoJ7d96wfdDKRV7cHjiZKzUrzJLOcvBIV_-C6ng/s1600/Fielding+1916+B.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="675" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqlhwaOPy_LN3wavQN6Ay0RnSJbl7p0RDVtci6NWsgalib0jcmyqAnM1O7rTQGoscTYbyRJYW1ygIib8QJhriO5A6UJAcdNIqcoJ7d96wfdDKRV7cHjiZKzUrzJLOcvBIV_-C6ng/s640/Fielding+1916+B.jpg" width="267" /></a></div>
<b><span style="color: #274e13;"><i>This 17 x 8 watercolor (original frame) was created by Christine B. Fielding in 1916. The rural scene is of a stream banked by shrubs and birch trees, with a church steeple visible in the near distance. I purchased the painting from an antique dealer located in Minneapolis, Minnesota in 2018. </i></span></b><br />
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Enthusiasm for the art of watercolor took off in the United States after
the founding of the American Watercolor Society in 1866. Within fifty
years, close to the exact year Christine Fielding made the painting now
in my possession, the medium was widely practiced and celebrated as a
national form of expression. Most often, it was regarded as a means of personal accomplishment, bringing creative satisfaction to those who could practice the art well enough to create something pleasing. In an era when it was still difficult for women to find professional work, some with exceptional skills used watercolor art to enter
the field of decorative design, which provided employment in fields
like exhibition work and illustration, among others. (1)<br />
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Many of these paintings were made by women who had the desire to
create something beautiful and also possessed the means to add a leisure pursuit to their daily duties. Christine was not born into wealth, so her motive in learning to paint was not the
same as that of a debutante collecting accomplishments for the sake of
social climbing. We can attribute Christine's accomplishment to interest, youthful energy, and exposure to someone who could
teach the basic skills. Her father was a successful businessman, but after his death the nuclear family and in-laws grouped together for greater economy. Since Christine lived with other adults at the time she was working on her painting, responsibility for any day-to-day household chores was shared. Finding herself with a little time to spare upon occasion, painting could easily have become a Sunday-after-church pursuit.<br />
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Although I do not have a photograph of Christine, I imagine her seated beside a tall wood-framed window awash in bright, indirect light from newly fallen winter snow. Her fine hair is swept into a loose bun atop her head and held in place with multiple pins. Wearing a blowsy sailor-collared tunic with the hem of her long, straight underskirt at her ankles, an old linen dishtowel is spread across her lap to protect the skirt from dripping paint. After dabbing a brush into the earthy coloring on her palette, she lifts it toward the canvas and carefully considers the next stroke...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9ronV5HplXhZKnI1Cu08XS1V__xFiY8pFVQ-mLKwK1E4NDSLGiMWOPpzWjv6VQ5yWEo-Sw_qTprqhHqdQJAdu7bAb6LpNBoQG_sd7HL4G8gS5EmCXu2G2s22yPffDZBKGC_sDLA/s1600/Fielding+1916+crop.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1136" data-original-width="1600" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9ronV5HplXhZKnI1Cu08XS1V__xFiY8pFVQ-mLKwK1E4NDSLGiMWOPpzWjv6VQ5yWEo-Sw_qTprqhHqdQJAdu7bAb6LpNBoQG_sd7HL4G8gS5EmCXu2G2s22yPffDZBKGC_sDLA/s400/Fielding+1916+crop.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Christine B. Fielding": signature in the lower right corner of the painting.</td></tr>
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<b>Christine B. Fielding: Small Town American Girl </b></div>
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Who was Christine? Where and when did she
live, and how did this romantic and diminutive landscape come to be
preserved for my discovery over a hundred years later? I began my
research with what little I could accept as fact: a name, and one date.</div>
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With
the painting having been completed in 1916, I estimated Christine's
birth year to be between 1880-1890. Sometimes you just have to begin
with a strong hunch: wet fingers to the wind! Thankfully, Christine's
full name was rather unique for this time period. Using 1880 as a birth
year, plus or minus 10 years, an initial search on <i>Ancestry.com</i>
revealed that in 1910, Christine B. Fielding resided in Milbank,
Grant County, South Dakota. That year, other members of the household
included her widowed mother, Amelia Peterson, who owned the family home
on Milbank Avenue, free and clear. Also living within the same walls
was Christine's husband, Frank C. Fielding, who then delivered groceries
for a living, and their son, Herbert, aged two years. Christine's
older sister and only living sibling, Anna Louise (Peterson) Dougherty, was also at the residence along with her husband, Connie Dougherty, an
Irish teamster who operated a dray line. (2)</div>
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Christina Bergata Peterson (her name as recorded in 1900 census records), was a second generation Dane. She was born in Minnesota in July 1888, to Jens and Amelia (Bolsen) Peterson. Her parents immigrated to America from Denmark separately, then met and married in Minnesota in 1887. By 1894, the Peterson family lived in Milbank, Grant County, South Dakota, where Christine's father began a successful business career as a laundry proprietor.(3) Milbank, situated 10 miles west of the Minnesota border, was founded in 1880, following the arrival of the Chicago, Milwaukee, and St. Paul Railroad. The surrounding land was previously inhabited by Dakota/Sioux Indians. In 1900, a few years after the Petersons' arrival, Milbank's population was about 1,400.<br />
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Jens Peterson, Christine's father, was well-known as a Milbank business entrepreneur. After modernizing and building up a laundry business, he sold it in 1903. He used the capital to start other ventures that included the sale of general merchandise, and eventually opened an ice cream parlor, restaurant, bowling alley, and shooting gallery. A billiards hall and lodging house were also planned.(4) Due to Jens Peterson's prominence, the comings and going of the family were routinely reported in the local newspaper. While Christine had the good fortune to be part of a solidly middle-class family with regular income, there was nowhere to hide from prying eyes within their small town. She, her sister, and mother regularly participated in social events, even if they did not always care to.<br />
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<b>Wife, Mother, Citizen, Divorcee</b></div>
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On October 28, 1905, at the age of 17, Christine married Frank C. Fielding, who hailed from Illinois. Frank operated a store from within the Milbank post-office lobby that was rented by his father-in-law, Jens Peterson. There, he sold stationery and school supplies, tobacco and cigars, soft drinks, also newspapers and magazines. On September 10, 1907, Frank and Christine's only child was born. Herbert Jens Fielding suffered from infantile paralysis (polio) at a young age, but appears to have recovered enough to live a normal life.(5)<br />
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In 1916, the same year that Christine made her bucolic watercolor painting, a ballot in South Dakota included both prohibition and women's suffrage amendments. While the prohibition amendment passed, the suffrage amendment did not. This must have been a great disappointment to the women of her community. Polls indicated that only 10 percent of women in 45 counties of South Dakota were opposed to suffrage. Incorporated into Christine's painting may have been hope for a better world, where women's voices counted on the same level as men's. It would only be a couple of years until the Citizenship Amendment was passed in November 1918, and Christine, like all women of South Dakota who were U.S. citizens, earned the right to vote under the same terms as men. South Dakota was one of the original 36 states to ratify the 19th Amendment.(6) <br />
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As a young married woman and resident in a close-knit community, Christine was expected to do her part toward war efforts like the Red Cross luncheons that began to take place across the nation in 1918. The slogan for the effort was "Eat to Aid Red Cross." Ladies participated in putting on luncheons in order to raise funds. Christine, her mother, and sister opted to donate $1 apiece instead of entertaining at a luncheon. The reason may have been that Christine was undergoing divorce proceedings and chose to remain in the background.(7)<br />
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In an era when it was uncommon for women to seek divorces, Christine did just that. Her reasons are unknown, but if the marriage was initially successful, it did not last. The local Milbank paper published no fewer than four summons during April 1918, directing Frank Fielding, Defendant, to appear in court regarding a divorce hearing. Christine was granted her divorce. That same year, Frank Fielding enlisted in the U. S. Army, Infantry Division after being faced with the World War I draft. It was a stressful year for the Fieldings, on all accounts.(8)<br />
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<b>Spanish Flu Victim</b> </div>
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As a divorcee, Christine continued to reside with her mother and sister in Milbank. Both she and her sister took in sewing work, while their mother served as an in-home nurse. The census for that location in 1920 was enumerated during the month of January.(9) Less than a month later, Christine was dead. On February 13, the local paper announced: "The grim reaper called Mrs. Christine Fielding beyond after a heroic fight for the past four days."(10) At age 31, Christine received the sad recognition of being the first person within the community of Milbank to die from the effects of Spanish Flu, the influenza pandemic which claimed victims worldwide starting in 1918. Her death resulted from double pneumonia after suffering from influenza and a severe cold. Although larger metropolitan areas felt the effects of the pandemic early on, some outlying locations, like Milbank, South Dakota, were not affected until much later.<br />
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<b>Through the Generations</b> </div>
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What happened to Christine's possessions after she died? It is doubtful that the painting she created four years before her death was carried along through the years by her son, Herbert. Although he still resided with his grandmother and aunt at age 17, his life soon took a different turn.(11) He became a musician, first moving to Streator, Illinois, where his father resided, and then to Mason City, Iowa, where he performed as a part of the Gordon Leach Band, one of the city's historical musical organizations.(12) The talented ten-piece band played for the grand opening of the Figueroa Ball Room in September 1938, and was known for its "snappy" swing-style dance music. "Herb" Fielding played clarinet and saxophone and also performed with various other bands.(13)</div>
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Herbert was married in Galena, Illinois on September 26, 1931. The marriage ended in less than 7 years, when his wife Frances filed for divorce, citing cruel and inhuman treatment as grounds.(14). It seems that Herb's entertainment industry lifestyle led to excessive alcohol consumption, and perhaps other intolerable tendencies. After the divorce, he was arrested for driving under the influence. When pulled over by a deputy sheriff, a partly empty bottle of whiskey was found in the car. Herbert's blood intoxication level was 350 mg/dL, a potentially fatal level. He was sentenced to pay a fine of $300, and his driving license was suspended for a year.(15) In 1942, he was drafted into the U.S. Army. He served until October 29, 1945, with a year and a half of that in foreign service.(15) Herbert Jens Fielding, Christine's only child, died in Nobles County, Minnesota at age 50, on October 16, 1957.(16)</div>
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Herbert's father, Frank C. Fielding, remarried and started a second family in Streator, Illinois. Since Frank's divorce from Christine occurred two years before her death, it is highly improbable the watercolor painting went to Streator with him. </div>
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Anna Louisa (Peterson) Dougherty, Christine's elder sister by two years, remarried in 1930 and moved to Badus, Lake County, South Dakota. Anna and Christine's mother, Amelia Peterson Vander Elsen, having been widowed for a second time, was living with Anna and her new husband, Nicolas Volstad in 1940.(17) After Amelia died, Anna likely inherited her mother's personal belongings, including Christine's 1916 painting. Or, perhaps Amelia had gifted her youngest daughter's artwork to another relative by that time, possibly even her grandson, Herbert Jens Fielding? Another possibility is that the painting left Christine's household soon after it was completed--offered as a personal gift to a friend, or destined to be donated or raffled for some church or social cause. </div>
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This is where any trail of reasonable certainty goes cold; additional breadcrumbs are nowhere to be found. After Anna's death, the painting may have been kept by one of her in-laws (the Nicolai/Nicolas Volstad family), until it ended up in a Minneapolis antique store in 2018, by way of an estate sale. However it came to be there, it had endured a long journey that not even Christine herself could have predicted.</div>
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Now that I know something about Christine B. Fielding and the origin of her painting, I value it all the more. I love antiques in general, not just because they are representative of times gone by, but because of the significance the items once held for individuals. Although we cannot take treasured items with us when we go to the "great beyond," they can continue to resurface and add to the lives of others. Each time an item passes from hand to hand it brings new meaning, adding patina to its original finish. Over a century ago, Christine created her painting with patience and care. In spite of the real life struggles she encountered: a father's death, the illness of a child, a failing marriage, concern over women's right to vote, and threats of a world war and pandemic illness, while she was engaged in painting it offered peace and hope for the future. How can I not treasure the result, knowing how much of her heart went into this piece of art?</div>
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<b>Sources</b>: </div>
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<i>Special thanks to Librarian Extraordinaire (and friend), Lisa Oberg!</i> </div>
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--(1) "Women and Watercolor," The<i> Magazine Antiques</i>, https://www.themagazineantiques.com/article/women-and-watercolor/, March 3, 2017 (accessed April 27, 2020).</div>
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--(2) <i>Ancestry.com</i>, 1910 U.S. Federal Censu<i>s</i>; <i>Milbank Ward 1, Grant, South Dakota</i>; Roll: <i>T624_1480</i>; Page: <i>6A</i>; Enumeration District: <i>0198</i>; FHL microfilm: <i>1375493.</i></div>
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--(3)<i> Ancestry.com</i>, 1900 U.S. Federal Census; <i>Milbank, Grant, South Dakota; Page: 10; Enumeration District: 0155; FHL microfilm: 1241549; </i>"Jens Peterson Died," The<i> Herald-Advance</i> (Milbank, So. Dakota), March 5, 1909, p.1<i>.</i></div>
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--(4) The<i> Herald-Advance </i>(Milbank, So. Dakota), July 24, 1903, p.1; The<i> Herald-Advance </i>(Milbank, South Dakota)<i>, </i>September 18, 1903, p.4.<i><br /></i></div>
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--(5)<i> Ancestry.com</i>, South Dakota Department of Health; Pierre, South Dakota; <i>South Dakota Marriage Records, 1905-2016 </i>(Marriage of F. C. Fielding to Christine Peterson, November 1, 1905); The <i>Herald-Advance </i>(Milbank, So. Dakota), March 16, 1906, p.1, and March 30, 1906, p.1 (Post-Office lobby store);<i> Ancestry.com</i>, South Dakota Department of Health; Pierre, South Dakota; <i>South Dakota, Birth Index, 1856-1917 </i>(Herbert Fielding); The <i>Herald-Advance</i> (Milbank, So. Dakota), September 23, 1910, p.1 (infantile paralysis). </div>
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--(6) National Park Service, "South Dakota and the 19th Amendment," https://www.nps.gov/articles/south-dakota-women-s-history.htm (accessed April 29, 2020); "Suffrage Poll of Women," The <i>Herald-Advance</i> (Milbank, So. Dakota), July 28, 1916, p.2.</div>
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--(7) "Red Cross Luncheons," The <i>Herald-Advance</i> (Milbank, So. Dakota), February 8, 1918.</div>
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--(8) "Summons for Relief," The <i>Herald Advance</i> (Milbank, So. Dakota), April 5, 12, 19, and 26, 1918 (Christine B. Fielding, Plaintiff, vs. Frank C. Fielding, Defendant); <i>Ancestry.com</i>, U.S., Headstone Applications for Military Veterans, 1925-1963<i> </i>[database on-line]. Provo, UT, USA: Ancestry.com Operations, Inc., 2012 (Frank Carl Fielding).
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--(9) <i>Ancestry.com,</i> 1920 U.S. Federal Census; <i>Milbank, Grant, South Dakota</i>; Roll: <i>T625_1719</i>; Page: <i>3B</i>; Enumeration District: <i>159.</i></div>
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--(10) "Mrs. Christine Fielding Dies," The <i>Herald Advance</i> (Milbank, So. Dakota), February 13, 1920, p.1.</div>
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--(11) <i>Ancestry.com</i>. <i>S</i>outh Dakota, State Census<i>, </i>1925 [database on-line]. Provo, UT, USA: Ancestry.com Operations, Inc., 2014 (Herbert J. Fielding).
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--(12) <i>Ancestry.com</i>, 1940 U.S. Federal Census; <i>Mason City, Cerro Gordo, Iowa</i>; Roll: <i>m-t0627-01146</i>; Page: <i>4A</i>; Enumeration District: <i>17-23 </i>(Herbert Fielding).<i><br /></i></div>
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--(13) "Gordon Leach Band," <i>Globe-Gazette</i> (Mason City, Iowa), July 24, 1961, p.7; Kirk Hundertmark, "The Beginning of the Figuerora Ballroom 1938," http://www.livermoreiowa.org/documents/TheBeginningoftheFigueroaBallroom1938LivermoreIowa.pdf (accessed April 27, 2020); "Son of Local Couple Dies," The <i>Times </i>(Streator, Illinois), October 18, 1957, p.4.</div>
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--(14)<i> </i>"Frances Fielding Gets Divorce Decree From Herbert J. Fielding,"<i> Globe-Gazette </i>(Mason City, Iowa), October 29, 1941, p.7.</div>
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--(15) "Fined $300 on Driving Charge,"<i> Globe-Gazette </i>(Mason City, Iowa), April 18, 1938, p.11. </div>
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--(16) <i>Ancestry.com. </i>Iowa, World War II Bonus Case Files,<i><i> </i></i>1947-1954 [database on-line]. Provo, UT, USA: Ancestry.com Operations, Inc., 2014 (Herb J Fielding)<i>; Ancestry.com</i>. Minnesota, Death Index, 1908-2017 [database on-line]. Provo, UT, USA: Ancestry.com Operations Inc, 2001 (Herbert Jens Fielding).
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--(17) <i>Ancestry.com</i>, South Dakota Department of Health; Pierre, South Dakota; South Dakota Marriage Records, 1905-2016 (Anna Daugherty and Nicolay Volstad)<i>; Ancestry.com. </i>South Dakota, State Census<i><i>, </i></i>1945 [database on-line]. Provo, UT, USA: Ancestry.com Operations, Inc., 2014 (Anna Volstad).<br />
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<a href=”http://www.nordicblue.blogpost.com“>Nordic Blue</a>
</div>Chery Kinnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08662778019834533118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33506976.post-54278519418043927472019-03-28T14:23:00.007-07:002021-08-01T14:18:08.029-07:0052 Ancestors in 52 Weeks (Week 13): In the News<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">Judge Winje and the Curious Case of Mortification</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></h4>
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My great great grandmother Thibertine's second husband, Eric Larson Winje, was a self-taught attorney and served as a Municipal Court judge in Duluth and Detroit Lakes, Minnesota. Due to his high civic profile, there is more to be found about him in newspapers than many of my ancestors. One of the most unexpected things I have discovered involves an embarrassing mishap Winje suffered while riding on a train.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieKS0BFwrbKJtdgALLiEBYDkQpqba9g_PXV1CHzP2bqIy4d2mFeL6qi6-2ZFGJyxsi8PJ5gNU_Oo0rkfryvKVzHYq11w1mQWjBq_jqHnJ9SYlx8g7X9GmXi6bcw4UY1ZdolTPQhQ/s1600/ELW.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="403" data-original-width="302" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieKS0BFwrbKJtdgALLiEBYDkQpqba9g_PXV1CHzP2bqIy4d2mFeL6qi6-2ZFGJyxsi8PJ5gNU_Oo0rkfryvKVzHYq11w1mQWjBq_jqHnJ9SYlx8g7X9GmXi6bcw4UY1ZdolTPQhQ/s320/ELW.jpg" width="239" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Eric L. Winje, ca. 1905.</span></td></tr>
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In April 1904, Judge Eric L. Winje became the focus of an entertaining piece published in several Minnesota newspapers when he sued the Chicago, Milwaukee and St. Paul Railroad for $5,000. The case, concerning alleged mistreatment, was originally handled by the twelfth judicial court but was transferred to federal court. Earlier in the year, on January 16, he had boarded a train at Granite Falls in Chippewa County. Intending to catch some rest, he requested a wake-up call from the conductor. "It was 2:30 a.m. and Winje was soon sleeping the sleep of the man who gets up at that hour of the night to catch a train," a news article reported. He planned to disembark at Sacred Heart but no wake-up call was issued. He did not awaken in time and the train continued on. When it made the next stop at Renville, he tried to leave. The conductor, however, insisted that Winje owed another 21 cents for fare, even though his wake-up call never occurred. When Winje refused to pay, on principal, the conductor became verbally abusive and said, in part: "You are a thief and you are in the habit of stealing rides on trains. I could have you arrested!"<br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Winje declared himself humiliated and "damaged" by the strong language of the conductor and brought suit. The railroad company filed a counter claim for 21 cents. For some reason, Winje asked to have the case dropped, but the rules of the court were such that it could not be done with the intervening claim having been set up. Winje did not appear in court, possibly because of a conflict in his duties. When the case was called. the attorneys for the railroad demanded a verdict of 21 cents, which was approved. The news article indicated that Winje would institute another suit against the corporation.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">As one of the first Norwegian attorneys to come out of Chippewa County, Minnesota, Eric L. Winje was widely known as a responsible and credible person. He held the love and respect of his large family through both good and trying times. I can imagine how the unfairness of this incident piqued his determination to prove himself innocent and to formally refute the harsh treatment offered him by the conductor. It did not help that the news media caught wind of the trouble and published the story for his ancestors as well as his contemporaries to read. On this occasion, at least, Judge Winje had the misfortune to discover what it was like being on the wrong side of the bench.</span></span><br />
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Sources:<br />
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--"Duluth man would withdraw suit against Milwaukee Road," <i>Duluth Evening Herald</i>, April 6, 1904, p.1.<br />
--"Nap cost him 21 cents," <i>Minneapolis Journal</i>, April 21, 1904, p.13.<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<div class="blogger-post-footer"><p> © Copyright 2013 – All rights reserved </p>
<a href=”http://www.nordicblue.blogpost.com“>Nordic Blue</a>
</div>Chery Kinnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08662778019834533118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33506976.post-3599625026715675722019-03-23T20:41:00.001-07:002019-03-23T20:41:17.931-07:00Those Who Served in the Great War: Private Odin Johnson<br />
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<b>A Minnesota Doughboy in WWI France</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYIoyvBcGi2ULgGnNaha8n1p57RCUp79GmDqBGfw5ET-tjuL6Z2xHu7R6gf1m3qYvjK3d_yM8j6VCEe4_DR3JOKVZd-Jk27gukyZ_-9KOszWmORqxmOfKRZEEKS_wwAL5STKQhpA/s1600/OdinArmy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="973" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYIoyvBcGi2ULgGnNaha8n1p57RCUp79GmDqBGfw5ET-tjuL6Z2xHu7R6gf1m3qYvjK3d_yM8j6VCEe4_DR3JOKVZd-Jk27gukyZ_-9KOszWmORqxmOfKRZEEKS_wwAL5STKQhpA/s400/OdinArmy.jpg" width="241" /></a></div>
Odin Johnson, the fifth child out of ten born to Ole Martin Johnson and Malla (Larson) Johnson, was the only one among seven brothers who served in the U.S. Army overseas during World War I. Odin was a farm laborer when he was required to register for the draft. He was rather tall compared to others in his family, standing at just under six feet and weighing 180 pounds. The combination of his youth, single status, and lack of his own farm almost assured that he was chosen as a draftee. He served in the U.S. Army for fourteen months, and before he left home a farewell party was held for him at his old country schoolhouse near the town of Leonard, Minnesota.<br />
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Odin's two older brothers, Bennett and Ernest, were not chosen to serve during WWI even though they also had to register for the draft. Bennett was unmarried but did not own his own property at the time, and the government did not wish to reduce food supplies by shutting down farms. Ernest, my grandfather, owned a farm and was married. Of the younger brothers in the family, only Oral Johnson was old enough to register for the WWI draft, but he was not chosen primarily due to timing. The remaining brothers, Ruben, Carl, and Frank, were underage, but they were required to register for the WWII draft in later years. The early twentieth century proved to be a rough period for families with men being shipped off to war, many of whom never returned home, or returned home forever changed.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Odin Johnson in uniform (on the right), ca. 1918.</td></tr>
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Odin Johnson enlisted on February 23, 1918. Assigned the rank of Private, he was attached to the 30th Infantry Division, a unit of the Army National Guard, named the "Old Hickory" division in honor of President Andrew Jackson. Along with three other local men: John Huff of Shevlin, and Sidney Churness and Selmer Nelson of Clearbrook, Odin took the train from Bagley, Minnesota to Fort Dodge, Iowa, where they were stationed before the division headed to Europe in May 1918. From New York, the 30th Division shipped out to England before departing for the Western Front. Odin worked as an orderly in charge of equipment. After the war, he talked a lot about the time he had spent in foxholes, and how the French countryside was littered with huge holes where bombs had been dropped. During the war, the 30th Division participated in the Somme Offensive (1916), in which two American divisions broke the Hindenburg Line in the Battle of St. Quentin Canal, and the Ypres-Lys Offensive (launched in August 1918), Odin's regiment, the 117th Infantry, was at the top of the order of battle for the division.<br />
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Being away from home made Odin and his buddies very lonesome. While in France, Odin regularly received letters from his mother, Malla Johnson, written in Norwegian. When Odin was able to write home, he told about how he and two other men stayed with a French family in a civilian home for a while. One of the soldiers was from Brooks, Minnesota, a community known for its French settlers, and he served as interpreter. The French people were kind an friendly to the U.S. Army soldiers. A favorite meal of Odin's that the French served was hot milk with onions, which was made like soup.<br />
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When the war ended, Odin and his unit remained in France for a time, for peace keeping purposes. The second Camp Dodge detachment, 117th U. S. Infantry, 30th Division, departed St. Nazaire, France aboard the SS <i>Pocahontas </i>on March 16, 1919. The ship, which was built in Stettin, Germany, was seized at the port of New York when that country entered the conflict in 1917. It was interned by the United States and renamed, then put to use as a troop transport for the Navy. Overall, the ship carried 24,573 servicemen to Brest and St. Nazaire, and returned 23,296 servicemen to the United States, and all of them safely. It did face dangers, however. Less than a year before the USS <i>Pocahontas</i> returned Odin Johnson to the Americas, another group of service men returning home received a major fright when an Imperial German Navy submarine surfaced in the ship's path and fired upon her with 150 mm. shells. The USS <i>Pocahontas</i> was not quite in range, however, so she suffered no direct hits and suffered no casualties.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwCHrLNp4jwCKlTH2j0DtbuAH5dAn3MT5t0D8lYqrjyNI5sOpDkOmbJMEoijBrW8sfStImZpzUrUSw3LOeg9Xv-aQe7k97mijDMCqhHTpJKSBXsBpXBwDT9QK0MrmYRZjw4nhgNg/s1600/800px-30th_Infantry_Division_SSI.svg.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1261" data-original-width="800" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwCHrLNp4jwCKlTH2j0DtbuAH5dAn3MT5t0D8lYqrjyNI5sOpDkOmbJMEoijBrW8sfStImZpzUrUSw3LOeg9Xv-aQe7k97mijDMCqhHTpJKSBXsBpXBwDT9QK0MrmYRZjw4nhgNg/s200/800px-30th_Infantry_Division_SSI.svg.png" width="126" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shoulder sleeve insignia for the 30th Infantry Division.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">USS<i> Pocahontas</i> underway in 1910.</td></tr>
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After crossing the Atlantic Ocean to Belize, Odin Johnson and his unit boarded the <i>SS James Timpson</i>, bound for New York. Odin's unit was scheduled to be discharged after the ship arrived in New York. He was released from service on April 10, 1919. It was a happy time for Odin, and also for his mother and father and the rest of his large family waiting back home. The <i>James Timpson</i> was built by the G.M.Standifer Construction Company at Vancouver, Washington in 1919, to aid in the World War I effort. It was a fairly new ship when it transported Odin Johnson and his fellow soldiers home to American soil. The ship, based in New York Harbor, later foundered in a 1924 Caribbean storm and sank, but not before the ship's crew was rescued<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvSOFQcMxqp-Pimpf6o03aF4O8618SDTInJhTmb_2DztoKOPMqP9Aq3X59d0SB4sC-0dPx2lqfNoPPrVI-9YsfSPhF1HiA2ouoNFnIq5uB2XiAIqbBtfn3QSFLN7nLmr6ZLH1G4Q/s1600/mk_thumb.php.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="407" data-original-width="620" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvSOFQcMxqp-Pimpf6o03aF4O8618SDTInJhTmb_2DztoKOPMqP9Aq3X59d0SB4sC-0dPx2lqfNoPPrVI-9YsfSPhF1HiA2ouoNFnIq5uB2XiAIqbBtfn3QSFLN7nLmr6ZLH1G4Q/s320/mk_thumb.php.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">SS James Timpson, 1919</td></tr>
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By the time the 1920 U.S. Federal Census was taken in Dudley Township, Clearwater County, Minnesota, Odin was back home again, helping out on his parents' farm. When he returned home after the war, Odin's father, Ole M. Johnson, met him at the Leonard train depot driving a team of horses. It was Odin's wish that America would never have to go to war again. Though he was wounded in the leg during battle, his injury apparently healed well enough so that he was able to continue farming. He was one of the lucky ones...<br />
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Like so many young men returning home and seeking a new challenge and a sense of normalcy, Odin started a life of his own. In 1922, he purchased 160 acres of land in Sinclair Township, Clearwater County, within several miles of his parents' farm. The Red Lake Trail, which was still used by Indians going to and from the nearby reservation, was a short distance east of the farm. Sometimes, Indians would stop and stay overnight at the farm. In gratitude, the Indians would always prepare food and share it with Odin.<br />
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On October 26, 1923, Odin Johnson married Emma Charlotte Moen, who came from another large family in the neighboring town of Neving, in Sinclair Township. Emma's father passed away from typhoid fever when she was only four years old. Her mother worked as the neighborhood midwife, tending new mothers at the time of birth, then staying on to lend a hand where needed. Odin and Emma Johnson had four children: Arlie (1924-2004), Ardys (1928-), Duane (1930-), and Kermit (1933-1971), all delivered by Dr. Forest and aided by Odin's mother, Malla Johnson. The entire family worked together to make a living at farming. They raised grain, hogs, sheep, and dairy cattle, with the cream sold to the Leonard Co-op Creamery. Emma kept chickens and sold the egg--sometimes trading them for groceries at Strand's Store in Leonard. Odin hunted deer in order to provide venison, which was eaten fresh or preserved. Like most early farmers without the convenience of supermarkets, they kept a large vegetable garden and picked wild berries, then canned most of the produce for winter use. In 1931, Odin purchased his first car, a Model T Ford Coupe.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBcdR8rVwkXwpxFOwxGJI0Xh77u-fpHOuUrSJgtz1L_nvFNKNalaM5h1OvfC7aMiVEVUgKMZUWdvaG2Z9XbBsOYVQQsxfoBGJ0cPBf4zGOQtOJep-E44_IQfnc0QsJXo6sqfeinA/s1600/OdinAndFamily.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="445" data-original-width="332" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBcdR8rVwkXwpxFOwxGJI0Xh77u-fpHOuUrSJgtz1L_nvFNKNalaM5h1OvfC7aMiVEVUgKMZUWdvaG2Z9XbBsOYVQQsxfoBGJ0cPBf4zGOQtOJep-E44_IQfnc0QsJXo6sqfeinA/s320/OdinAndFamily.jpg" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Odin and Emma Johnson. with Duane, Ardys, and Arlie, ca. 1932.</td></tr>
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In 1933, Odin and Emma's farmhouse burned, and the family lost nearly all of their possessions. Until a new house could be built the following year, the Johnsons lived in a next door neighbor's granary, and then moved into a new chicken coop they erected on their own farm. During the fire, the letters that Odin had written and received while in France were unfortunately lost to history. But, with the help of his loving wife and family, Odin Johnson seemed to be successful in putting the horrors of war behind him as much as was humanly possible.<br />
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Sources:<br />
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"30th Infantry Division (United States)." <i>Wikipedia</i> (accessed March 19, 2019).<br />
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Johnson, Duane Truman, son of Odin and Emma Johnson.<br />
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New York, Passenger and Crew Lists (for Odin Johnson), <i>Ancestry.com</i> (accessed March 18, 2019).<br />
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"SS <i>James Timpson</i>, 1919," photograph: "Welcome to the Post of Vancouver USA Centennial Celebration," <i>Port of Vancouver USA</i>, http://www.portvanusa.com/centennial/uncategorized/welcome-to-the-port-of-vancouver-centennial-site (accessed March 18, 2019).<br />
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"Ship's Crew Rescued Just Before She Sinks; <i>James Timpson</i> of New York Founders in Caribbean--Storm Hits Punta Gorda." <i>New York Times</i>, October 21, 1924, p.8.<br />
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U.S., Army Transport Service, Passenger Lists, 1910-1929 (for Odin Johnson), <i>Ancestry.com</i>.<br />
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U.S., Department of Veterans Affairs BIRLS Death File, 1850-2010 (for Odin Johnson), <i>Ancestry.com.</i><br />
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"USS<i> Pocahontas (ID-3044).</i>" <i>Wikipedia</i> (accessed March 18, 2019).<br />
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"World War I Casualties." <i>Wikipedia</i> (accessed March 20, 2019). <br />
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p> © Copyright 2013 – All rights reserved </p>
<a href=”http://www.nordicblue.blogpost.com“>Nordic Blue</a>
</div>Chery Kinnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08662778019834533118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33506976.post-15085129834485445032019-03-23T20:08:00.001-07:002019-03-23T20:08:25.869-07:00Commemorating Family Members Who Served in the Great War<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnW1NLNYNIfiYjPhkCUol5_3HfRlJL2QPanOvHStf6c3XifRmD1a47CJiSl-8ARB-Xv4J1VM3GnBNXE_IpQ4U_e1oleYloPGsscLqwpBuQWzHaOsoTuNmDituszXCyY6WPW7fx2w/s1600/image_1000x684_from_221437_to_24891988.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnW1NLNYNIfiYjPhkCUol5_3HfRlJL2QPanOvHStf6c3XifRmD1a47CJiSl-8ARB-Xv4J1VM3GnBNXE_IpQ4U_e1oleYloPGsscLqwpBuQWzHaOsoTuNmDituszXCyY6WPW7fx2w/s320/image_1000x684_from_221437_to_24891988.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">WWI era newspaper photo from Smithsonian Magazine (public domain)</td></tr>
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It has now been more than 100 years since the end of the Great War, also known as the "war to end all wars." World War I (1914-1918) was a global conflict that resulted in 9-11 million military personnel deaths, 8 million civilian deaths--some related to famine and disease, and about 40 million casualties in all, making it one of the deadliest conflicts in human history.<br />
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Although the United States attempted to maintain a neutral stance in regards to European conflicts at the time, it became necessary to declare war on Germany on April 6, 1917. This was due to the sinking of American merchant ships by German submarines, but also because Germany encouraged Mexico to declare war on the United States. The American draft then went into action, although trained forces would not being arriving at the European front in significant numbers until mid-1918. The war and the draft would have a great impact on many young American men and their families.<br />
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The Selective Service Act, enacted on May 18, 1917, allowed the U.S. federal government to raise a national army to serve during World War I. In the beginning, all males between the ages of 21-30 were required to register for potential military service. In August 1918, the age range expanded to include men from 18-45. More than half of the nearly 4.8 million Americans who served in the war were drafted. There were five draft categories. How these were classified had an obvious impact on which of my ancestors were chosen to serve, while others were deferred or exempted, keeping in mind that some may have volunteered.<br />
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Here are the classes, paraphrased in some instances:<br />
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<b>Class 1) Eligible and liable for military service:</b><br />
Unmarried registrants with no dependents; married registrants with independent spouse or one or more dependent children over 16 with sufficient family income if drafted.<br />
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<b>Class 2) Temporarily deferred, but available for military service.</b><br />
Married registrants with dependent spouse or dependent children under 16 with sufficient family income if drafted.<br />
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<b>Class 3) Temporarily exempted, but available for military serivce.</b><br />
Local officials; registrants who provide sole family income for dependent parents or dependent siblings under 16; registrants employed in agricultural labor or industrial enterprises essential to the war effort.<br />
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<b>Class 4) Exempted due to extreme hardship.</b><br />
Married registrants with dependent spouse or dependent children with insufficient family income if drafted; registrants with deceased spouse or deceased parents who provide sole family income for dependent children or dependent siblings under 16.<br />
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<b>Class 5) Exempted or ineligible for induction into military service.</b><br />
State or Federal officials; officers and enlisted men in the military or naval service of the United States; licenses pilots employed in the pursuit of their vocation; members of the clergy or students preparing for the ministry on or before May 18, 1917; registrants who were medically disabled, considered "morally unfit" for military service, or those who had been convicted of a crime involving treason or felony. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwCopOl-Bs0xYtjwC-hxsTY9YRItlXvvHX-P7OJHDzPK3UJP_dCXEYUYEK_TVD6E_a1asYltWC1VWywpb57eJD1Oftg44250oIc7W6xXRAZT7zMxT_UNTVFfIUeF3fLxssYD7VFA/s1600/if_ye_break_faith_-_victory_bonds_poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="721" data-original-width="1000" height="287" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwCopOl-Bs0xYtjwC-hxsTY9YRItlXvvHX-P7OJHDzPK3UJP_dCXEYUYEK_TVD6E_a1asYltWC1VWywpb57eJD1Oftg44250oIc7W6xXRAZT7zMxT_UNTVFfIUeF3fLxssYD7VFA/s400/if_ye_break_faith_-_victory_bonds_poster.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Canadian poster, 1918 (Wikimedia Commons, public domain)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The red poppy became known as the "remembrance poppy" during World War I. This was in large part due to John McCrae's poem, "In Flanders Fields." An American professor, Moina Michael, started the tradition of wearing a red poppy to honor the soldiers who died in the war. She distributed silk poppies and campaigned to have the flower adopted as an official symbol of remembrance by the American Legion.<br />
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<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>In Flanders Fields</b></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
John McCrae, 1872-1918</div>
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<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #990000;">In Flanders fields the poppies blow</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #990000;">Between the crosses, row on row,</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #990000;">That mark our place; and in the sky</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #990000;">The larks, still bravely singing, fly</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #990000;">Scarce heard amid the guns below.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #990000;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #990000;">We are the Dead. Short days ago</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #990000;">We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #990000;">Loved and were loved, and now we lie</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #990000;">in Flanders fields.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #990000;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #990000;">Take up our quarrel with the foe:</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #990000;">To you from failing hands we throw</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #990000;">The torch; be yours to hold it high.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #990000;">If ye break faith with us who die</span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000;">We shall not sleep, though poppies grow</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #990000;">in Flanders fields. </span></div>
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<br />
A Canadian physician and teacher, John McCrae served in France during the war. He wrote "In Flanders Fields" after noting how quickly poppies grew around the graves of those who died at Ypres, The poem, written from the perspective of the war dead, speaks of their sacrifice and a command to the living to press on. McCrae initially discarded the poem, but it was rescued by fellow soldiers and eventually published, becoming the most popular and most quoted poem of its era. After several years involved the war effort, McCrae contracted pneumonia and died on January 28, 1918.<br />
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Following the widespread scourging of Europe and other areas of the world, the war officially came to an end on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month of 1918, when Germany signed an armistice agreement with the combined Allied forces. This article kicks off a <i>Nordic Blue</i> blog series about the World War I veterans in the main branches of my family: Basgaard, Berge, Johnson, Larson, and Strand, and honors their individual experiences and sacrifices.<br />
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<br />
Sources<br />
<br />
"How the Poppy Came to Symbolize World War I." <i>Smithsonian.com</i>, https://www.smithsonianmag.com/smart-news/how-poppy-came-symbolize-world-war-i-180960836/, October 20, 2016 (accessed March 20, 2019).<br />
<br />
"In Flanders Fields." <i>Wikipedia</i> (accessed March 20, 2019).<br />
<br />
"Selective Service Act of 1917." <i>Wikipedia</i> (accessed March 21, 2019). <br />
<br />
"World War I." <i>Wikipedia</i> (accessed March 21, 2019). <div class="blogger-post-footer"><p> © Copyright 2013 – All rights reserved </p>
<a href=”http://www.nordicblue.blogpost.com“>Nordic Blue</a>
</div>Chery Kinnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08662778019834533118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33506976.post-83570859456734115202019-03-21T11:08:00.000-07:002019-03-22T11:08:15.731-07:0052 Ancestors in 52 Weeks (Week 12): 12<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>12 Reasons Why I Love Genealogy and Family History</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQfS9N6cNq5dP3yWR5kAjZscv_U9T3HDuSSo7HHu6resEyYmcpTEDGXM5tTJHSs12M_ESjbkNpFcs9vwt0N0PnTGWTlhV_TjcA-MQnecuLALFKAjbnfykKUpaDK4HnNydiGjhLXg/s1600/istockphoto-903400560-612x612.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="612" data-original-width="539" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQfS9N6cNq5dP3yWR5kAjZscv_U9T3HDuSSo7HHu6resEyYmcpTEDGXM5tTJHSs12M_ESjbkNpFcs9vwt0N0PnTGWTlhV_TjcA-MQnecuLALFKAjbnfykKUpaDK4HnNydiGjhLXg/s200/istockphoto-903400560-612x612.jpg" width="175" /></a></div>
I am an occasional list maker, and this topic ("12") lends itself to just that. Oh, genealogy and family history, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways... there are <i>at least</i> twelve!<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>1. Perpetual Learning</b></div>
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Family history has opened up various avenues for creativity and study. There are endless learning possibilities, whether it is keeping abreast of ever-changing software, databases and other resources, or honing computer and research skills, in general. Wanting to know more caused me to enroll in a year-long Genealogy and Family History certificate program at the University of Washington. It also led to participation in three years of seminars dealing with history writing and research methods. I continue to learn from my own investigations, and from conferences, online sources, and also friends involved with genealogy who provide inspiration and comraderie.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>2. Building Expertise</b></div>
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Perpetual learning associated with genealogy naturally leads to increased knowledge. Through this process I have become more organized in my research, improved my writing skills, gained experience in both publishing and self-publishing, and have even given presentations at a few different venues (who woulda thunk it?)<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>3. Thrill of the Hunt</b></div>
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Anyone who is truly passionate about family history is familiar with the "happy dance" that occurs inside (and sometimes manifests itself physically), whenever a tempting tidbit of information is finally located. The results are even better if you have had to chew on a mystery for some time, and wait patiently for further inspiration or a chance detail to present itself from somewhere in the ether. Solving problems in genealogy is like the best Easter egg hunt ever! Or, wait... maybe it is more like finally discovering what Santa has left you on Christmas?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4-9CwtrUtsbGv7ZG-qMNaCEbFzb047396acsESnuJu-NgsyS8Nm5L1NQ_6BhFo-ddKBXjv3WzZZeXehn7f00owcP268kmexuycUozQdwoKmlLfxWkCIY2Szhv5cFp72KlwjxJdw/s1600/family-tree-with-hearts-clipart-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="229" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4-9CwtrUtsbGv7ZG-qMNaCEbFzb047396acsESnuJu-NgsyS8Nm5L1NQ_6BhFo-ddKBXjv3WzZZeXehn7f00owcP268kmexuycUozQdwoKmlLfxWkCIY2Szhv5cFp72KlwjxJdw/s200/family-tree-with-hearts-clipart-4.jpg" width="152" /></a></div>
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<b>4. Answering My Own Questions</b></div>
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I began genealogy research at about the time I completed a long-desired college degree. A first trip back to my mother's childhood home in Minnesota combined with suddenly having "spare time" no longer needed for studying, propelled me into the wonderful world of family history. There were questions for which the answer was not readily available, such as: what was Great-Grandpa's Norwegian name, and where in Norway did he come from? When I purchased my first computer and acquired a few initial answers from a cousin, the gong sounded. The journey to discover my origins had begun.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>5. A Sense of Connection</b></div>
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Little did I realize how profound the sense of connection with my ancestors would turn out to be as I began discovering their personal histories. Some of the information available was more than I ever would have expected, while some remained frustratingly sparse or out-of-reach. But, overall, the experience of genealogy research has provided me with a bigger picture that gives not only perspective but added meaning to my life.<br />
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<b>6. Discovering Social History</b></div>
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Have you ever wished you could go back in time and experience an era for yourself? I mean, taking it a step beyond admiring those vintage photographs or drawings and the curious fashions and hairstyles. Studying the customs and events that your ancestors lived through, when combined with the details of their personal lives, is as close to entering a Time Tunnel that you will experience. Researching social history has helped me to understand why my ancestors engaged in certain activities (like relocating or changing jobs), and offers a broader perspective on the actions of those who can no longer speak for themselves.<br />
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<b>7. Satisfying a "Need for People"</b></div>
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As an introvert, genealogy fits right in with my need for a solitary sort of a hobby. I can go as slowly as I like, or run in wild abandon, and I don't have to worry too much about pleasing anyone but myself. According to the Myers-Briggs personality assessment (which I have taken three times), I am an INFJ type (Introversion, Intuition, Feeling, and Judging). Experts say that this is the rarest of sixteen personality types, making up less than one percent of the population. The short story is that while I am a tried and true introvert, I need people more than other introverted types. But, that need is specifically for meaningful relationships, as opposed to just social contact. I value close friendships, family, and a sense of belonging most highly... I love being married, for example, but I hate the dating scene. Researching family history provides a similar but equally valuable connection with others that I can access any time I wish.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxbsoG6u7mcKUPPJoydS72fZJn-cBUGe0UNq338NPrlOkxpNH0NOuI0XF0B85FfL504qE70gCvgra6S3yqOYICviWAGsY6Nr4QVfLnIDKzss1R8nLI27sVOd3af5tbIew_jr3M5w/s1600/tree-heart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1556" data-original-width="1600" height="194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxbsoG6u7mcKUPPJoydS72fZJn-cBUGe0UNq338NPrlOkxpNH0NOuI0XF0B85FfL504qE70gCvgra6S3yqOYICviWAGsY6Nr4QVfLnIDKzss1R8nLI27sVOd3af5tbIew_jr3M5w/s200/tree-heart.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<b>8. Appreciating the Past</b></div>
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When I was in the seventh grade, if someone had told me that I would one day major in history in college, I would have laughed. History??? Only the most boring class ever... full of meaningless dates and details to memorize. Boy, was I wrong. It took genealogy to help me see the light, and I did indeed get my degree in history. Thanks to the personalization that family history has brought to the larger topic, I now have an appreciation of the past in a way I never could have imagined as a school girl.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>9. Understanding Human Nature</b></div>
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Everyone has secrets, and in today's high tech world with DNA tests offering few hiding places, it becomes more likely that certain secrets will no longer stay in the shadows. When interpreting the actions of those who are no longer alive to defend themselves, we must tread carefully. By studying the social, cultural, and even family expectations of the times, it is easier to determine possible reasons for behaviors and events. Human nature is complicated, and extenuating circumstances are almost always involved. I appreciate how studying family history has encouraged me to think on broader terms and enabled me to avoid putting someone "in a box" as far as expectations go.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>10. Preserving Stories</b></div>
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I love biography, and fortunately, I love to write. As I uncover the bits and pieces of my family's history, I can think of nothing better than to give new life to nearly forgotten stories. Through compiled data, social history, photograph identification, oral history, and other methods, I try to build an unbiased and mostly accurate impression of someone's experiences. Each life contains a library of information and inspiration just waiting to be rediscovered!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6DzohiFjcf66akbh7kLtqk_BFwDOTNOCzMQwLqYC-GMwMNcPBXF2xMQqfROorcG8DBnMX_aXDtC3EGiWgmuwZUW8mHoyOQozIWmfTZkpuCpx8ICZkZSdcoJaOD9L1_hKW_Crm4w/s1600/tree-with-heart-white-background_7000-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="338" data-original-width="338" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6DzohiFjcf66akbh7kLtqk_BFwDOTNOCzMQwLqYC-GMwMNcPBXF2xMQqfROorcG8DBnMX_aXDtC3EGiWgmuwZUW8mHoyOQozIWmfTZkpuCpx8ICZkZSdcoJaOD9L1_hKW_Crm4w/s200/tree-with-heart-white-background_7000-3.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>11. Making Connections</b></div>
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If you blog it, they will come. It's true! I have met many cousins thanks to my family history blog, a dedicated Facebook group, and my online trees--many more than through DNA results alone. If someone is searching for information on a particular family member that I happen to have written about, I inevitably get contacted. It is always nice to meet family, whether virtually or otherwise.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>12. Sharing With and Helping Others</b></div>
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I have never understood why some people will go to the trouble of creating an extensive family tree on <i>Ancestry.com</i>, for example, and then keep the information private. Knowledge is for sharing--spread the love! I am more than happy to share or discuss information with interested parties if asked. All I want is to be given proper acknowledgment and have copyright concerns respected (especially when it comes to photographs) if material I provide is used elsewhere. If we could search into the past far enough, we would find that <i>we are all cousins</i>. What a lovely thought. Why not help each other toward the same goals?<div class="blogger-post-footer"><p> © Copyright 2013 – All rights reserved </p>
<a href=”http://www.nordicblue.blogpost.com“>Nordic Blue</a>
</div>Chery Kinnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08662778019834533118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33506976.post-29146194516841451962019-02-25T16:08:00.000-08:002019-03-07T10:01:43.942-08:0052 Ancestors in 52 Weeks (Week 9): In the Courthouse<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Where There's a Will Book, There's a Way:</b></span></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: small;">Ole M. Johnson and an Unexpected Guardianship</span></b></div>
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Most of my American family history research centers around Minnesota, but I have lived on the west coast all of my life. During the summer of 2004, I managed to spend a glorious five hours at the Minnesota Historical Society Library in St. Paul. For those who also find traveling out-of-state for research a challenge, you can appreciate just how special this visit was for me. How much research can you accomplish with the clock ticking down? Ready... Set... Go! Talk about pressure... Nonetheless, a pleasant surprise awaited me. In addition to carrying out some planned research at the MHS Library, I happened to find an early will book for Chippewa County--the very county where all four sets of my maternal 2nd great grandparents lived during the 1870s, and where their children formed marital relationships that helped to result in me!<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh29CvxZWWgKuAIvk-ZwzkWLFV4VnvGqGc6dLGs6o0h7yD79XyrmCKcm9T7gIsf5kfdgBHRbT1pG2kzGxmJBjucP5kjPG8IBUB7U_UQyzIQj14h6ijW4q5BCB1PmJbs9-HIIJ292A/s1600/img129.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh29CvxZWWgKuAIvk-ZwzkWLFV4VnvGqGc6dLGs6o0h7yD79XyrmCKcm9T7gIsf5kfdgBHRbT1pG2kzGxmJBjucP5kjPG8IBUB7U_UQyzIQj14h6ijW4q5BCB1PmJbs9-HIIJ292A/s400/img129.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ole M. Johnson, ca. 1872, Montevideo, MN.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The will book revealed a bit of family history that I did not previously know about, and I doubt any other living relative did either. It showed that my great-grandfather, who lost his father while still a minor, had his interests protected legally by a courthouse document. When Ole's widowed mother, Bertina Johnson, decided to remarry, it was to Eric L. Winje. Eric, who was born to a Norwegian immigrant father, studied law on his own and became one of Chippewa County's first Norwegian-American attorneys. Bertina agreed that Eric should serve as the administrator for her late husband's (Baard Johnson's) estate. Eric Winje was intent on doing everything correctly when it came to his ready-made family, so he secured a legal guardian for his stepson, Ole, who stood to inherit his birth father's homestead when he became of legal age.<br />
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The guardian chosen for young Ole Johnson was nearby landowner Ole P. Anderson, one of the earliest settlers in the Granite Falls area of Chippewa County. He was born in Norway and served in the Civil War before settling near Granite Falls in about 1869. He also served the assessor for Granite Falls Township for five years, and also held offices as supervisor, town clerk, and county commissioner. Anderson was obviously a well-respected local man whom Eric Winje and his wife Bertina (Johnson) could trust.<br />
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In 1882, after Ole M. Johnson became legal age, he acquired ownership of his father's homestead in Granite Falls Township and began farming. His mother and stepfather moved with their children to the nearby town of Montevideo, where Eric was serving as Clerk of Court, a Chippewa County official. The discovery of this legal action was unexpected. How fortunate Ole was to have a stepfather who was looking out for his best interests!<br />
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<br />
Sources:<br />
<br />
Neill, Rev. Edward D. <i>History of the Minnesota Valley, Including the Explorers and Pioneers of Minnesota</i>. Minneapolis: North Star Publishing Company 1882.<br />
<br />
<i>Will Book I</i>, Chippewa County, Minnesota, 117.D.15.7.B, Minnesota State Historical Society. Court document regardin Ole M. Johnson as a minor (Eric Winje as legal administrator for the estate of Baard Johnson, and Ole M. Johnson's guardianship).<br />
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p> © Copyright 2013 – All rights reserved </p>
<a href=”http://www.nordicblue.blogpost.com“>Nordic Blue</a>
</div>Chery Kinnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08662778019834533118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33506976.post-54603667252495284382019-02-18T08:29:00.003-08:002019-02-18T08:31:37.766-08:0052 Ancestors in 52 Weeks (Week 8): Family Photo<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The Girl Inside My Mother</b></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHd76GEf6r4PfQXS4WHJkajKGDqcWCREKEUNCuh8WXkgzfRkKpaSPXSsQ1bJGT2RCddOrYmR-VqNC-k7PY_a4t67g70FjHBjEZ2Ywf5Z-28xPezXgUgRyWXi0Z-JHsjR0b5Pnohg/s1600/Mom66037.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1344" data-original-width="1349" height="396" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHd76GEf6r4PfQXS4WHJkajKGDqcWCREKEUNCuh8WXkgzfRkKpaSPXSsQ1bJGT2RCddOrYmR-VqNC-k7PY_a4t67g70FjHBjEZ2Ywf5Z-28xPezXgUgRyWXi0Z-JHsjR0b5Pnohg/s400/Mom66037.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My mother, Doris (right), with her Aunt Stella in March 1969. El Cerrito, CA.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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I recently ran across a photo I had not seen in many years. My mom, Doris, kept it tucked away in a small album that contained mostly photos of garden roses and cacti or succulent plants she had nurtured to astounding size and health (she had a green thumb). The photo dates back to March 1969, and it is of Mom sitting at our dining room table with one of her maternal aunts. A special birthday cake made around the torso of a doll is displayed on the table in front of them. It is a simple image, made with the early color film that ended up fading too easily, shot with a prized possession of the 1960s, a Kokak Instamatic camera.<br />
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What is special about this photo is the completely relaxed and happy look on my mother's face. The cake was in honor of her 49th birthday which occurred that St. Patrick's Day. Mom was shy and reserved. She was always a worrier, and never felt totally comfortable being on the receiving end of a camera. But, this special moment meant so much to her that we can just see her appreciation spilling over in that smile. It is the same living-in-the-moment happiness she certainly experienced as a child growing up on a farm. This carefree contentment did not show on her face very often, but it did manage to get captured in a few photos over the course of her lifetime. At the time this photo was taken, her happiness was about more than just birthday cake. It had to do with being next to the woman on her right, my grandmother's youngest sister, Stella (Berge) Schuster.<br />
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In early 1969, Mom's Aunt Stella traveled from Minnesota to the Bay Area for a rare visit, along with another aunt, Clarice (Berge) Gunzberger, and her husband, Sol Gunzberger. It was the first time and only time I ever remember meeting any of my grandmother's siblings. It was a mild March in the Bay Area--the sun was shining and the lovely Saucer Magnolia tree in our front yard was in full bloom, with large whitish-pink petals scattered about the lawn.<br />
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My maternal grandmother, Esther (Berge) Johnson, passed away in Minnesota from tuberculosis before my mother turned two years of age. It was a devastating loss for Mom and her sister, Phyllis. Although the little sisters were well cared for by family members, they grew up without a mother to nurture and defend them. The girls were sent to live with their paternal grandparents, and since Esther's family lived in another town, Mom did not get to see the maternal (Berge) side of her family very often.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_UputM0rmolX1-sMXZj8hS-z39RWrhSSQMNO1SE7_TJY0cJizhu7vzAwu_LkNmFumnhkwYNCXgRt4QOyM4M30hyfMBW5DQXQwXhrs3rlKMMX0VK5EAd2ywdyvnwGzMb4tlJaSpg/s1600/EstherDoris.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="420" data-original-width="299" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_UputM0rmolX1-sMXZj8hS-z39RWrhSSQMNO1SE7_TJY0cJizhu7vzAwu_LkNmFumnhkwYNCXgRt4QOyM4M30hyfMBW5DQXQwXhrs3rlKMMX0VK5EAd2ywdyvnwGzMb4tlJaSpg/s320/EstherDoris.jpg" width="226" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Esther Johnson with her baby, Doris, in 1920.</td></tr>
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When Mom became an adult and left her paternal grandparents' farm, she moved in with her Aunt Stella in St. Paul, Minnesota and found a job. Shortly after, she followed other relatives to California, although truth be told, she would rather have stayed in Minnesota. She enjoyed living with her maternal aunt in St. Paul and getting to know her better. One time, I asked Mom who of her relatives she thought I was most like, and she said it was Stella. I was flattered, since Stella, who had worked as a nurse, was quiet, kind, and sensitive. She was the type of aunt that I, too, wished I could have spent more time with.<br />
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Is it any wonder that this particular photograph captures Mom's face in a rare moment of unfettered happiness? Stella and Clarice brought along so many pleasant memories and feelings to the reunion. They were close blood kin to Mom's own mother, and it was almost as if Esther had come along, too. Through the eyes, voices, and arms of her younger sisters, Esther returned to Earth once more to reassure her baby girl--my mother, Doris.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><p> © Copyright 2013 – All rights reserved </p>
<a href=”http://www.nordicblue.blogpost.com“>Nordic Blue</a>
</div>Chery Kinnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08662778019834533118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33506976.post-43296987173414684082019-02-14T19:00:00.000-08:002019-02-15T10:28:57.942-08:0052 Ancestors in 52 Weeks (Week 7): Love<br />
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<h2>
<b>Old-Fashioned Love and Apple Pie</b></h2>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYLHAl1x-NeuNDCwTi7_c1KhbGQUsj3ZMGHJPIpK5JFSr7zdQ3ZqT5eET1qZmZ8kubo2yC3F_W4uCvIF4wbPFi2n0KT0bLsp7ZP2AUzq60SXvX86R10jRJQHtsmADC2YQktOCQIA/s1600/Ole+and+Malla%2527s+wedding.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1143" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYLHAl1x-NeuNDCwTi7_c1KhbGQUsj3ZMGHJPIpK5JFSr7zdQ3ZqT5eET1qZmZ8kubo2yC3F_W4uCvIF4wbPFi2n0KT0bLsp7ZP2AUzq60SXvX86R10jRJQHtsmADC2YQktOCQIA/s320/Ole+and+Malla%2527s+wedding.JPG" width="228" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ole Johnson weds Malla Larson, Feb. 28, 1886.</td></tr>
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When I realized I would be writing about love for "52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks," the first thing that entered my mind was the type of relationship experienced by more than one long-married couple in my mother's immigrant farming family. We're talking about love that runs like an invisible thread connecting everything and every moment together. According to the stories told me by my relatives, my great grandparents, Ole and Malla Johnson, had more than just a marriage. They had a foundation of bedrock... of trust and understanding.<br />
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I recently had the good (and timely) fortune to hear a sermon on the subject of real love: In "Love Like This," our pastor asked his congregation to consider what real love looks like. What are some of the characteristics of real love? Spoiler Alert: it is not candy, hearts, or turtle-doves... and it is certainly not lust. Any type of real love, romantic or otherwise, is messy, irregular, and requires determined commitment to keep it running like clockwork. Here are six qualities of real love as they were experienced by my maternal great grandparents, Ole and Malla Johnson.<br />
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<h4>
<b>"Real love is hard work"</b></h4>
<h4>
<b> </b></h4>
Malla Larson was 19 years old when she married Ole Johnson, a young and capable Norwegian immigrant farmer who had inherited his father's homestead near Granite Falls, Minnesota. Aside from the continual physical labor she engaged in to keep her household running, Malla also acquired the work of learning about her new husband. Raised on a farm herself, she understood most of what was expected of her in the sense of putting food on the table, tending to chores, and being a helpmate. But, she also knew that learning to love involves anticipating someone's elses unspoken needs and accommodating them without always being asked or thanked.<br />
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Ole, too, had to learn to understand the particular challenges faced by his new wife. An amusing example concerns apple pie. Ole particularly loved <i>warm</i> apple pie. Apples were a rarity on the Johnson farm. The fruit could not be grown properly in northern Minnesota due to extreme temperature changes. Over the winter holidays, Ole would buy a few of boxes of apples, and Malla or one of their girls willingly made pies from them. They were not able to keep the pies warm until Ole came in from the fields for dinner, however, because the big cast iron cookstove was needed for a host of other things. Ole never complained about the pies being cold. He knew that Malla could only do what she could do. Instead, he put <i>warm</i> apple pie at the top of his agenda whenever he had the opportunity to eat at a hotel restaurant in a neighboring town. Part of the real work of building a loving relationship means exercising patience and understanding, in spite of one's own wants... even when it comes to pie.<br />
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<h4>
<b>"Real love will sometimes make you unhappy</b>"</h4>
<h4>
</h4>
When the actions of someone you love do not live up to your expectations, then it is up to you to change your expectations for the sake of your commitment. There were probably times when Malla privately questioned actions Ole took to increase the famly's prospects. She may have been taken aback when he wanted to move away from a community she had grown comfortable with... not once, but twice. The first time was when Ole sold his father's homestead property and moved the family to Fosston in Polk County so that he could have a chance at dairy farming. The second time was when he chose to leave Fosston for a different farm near Leonard in Clearwater County. It is not known if Malla was fully on board with these decisions. In the end, she was supportive of Ole's dream. In return, he provided for her specific needs to the best of his ability.<br />
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<h4>
<b>"Real love will cost you</b>"</h4>
<h4>
</h4>
Love also involves fear, anger, and even pain and loss. Loving someone is risky; it will cost you time, energy, and worry. It will claim pieces of yourself as you learn to share openly and be responsible for another person's well being. Love will cost you effort, and above all, patience. Ole and Malla Johnson were a team. The actions of one affected the other, and vice versa. If one celebrated, so did the other. If one suffered, the other could certainly not go on unaffected. Real love tucks coins into the bank on sunny days in anticipation of stormy days that will surely come. For Ole and Malla, the satisfaction they felt after a day's honest work was often reward enough for their journey together, with Ole reading his paper in front of the fire, Malla knitting a new pair of socks, and both surrounded by their children making popcorn for an after-dinner treat.<br />
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<h4>
<b>"Real love is tough, rugged and strong</b>"</h4>
<h4>
</h4>
Ole and Malla's relationship flourished only because both cared enough to make it a priority. For early farming folk, it was exactly this type of teamwork that could determine a family's success or failure in the world. They were both physically strong indiviuals, also emotionally mature and capable of putting the needs of others before any thoughts for themselves as individuals. Their love was made stronger by the daily demands of providing for the needs of their children.<br />
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<h4>
<b>"Real love is courageous</b>"</h4>
<h4>
</h4>
Whatever was to come, Ole and Malla were in it together. They were fortunate in that they did not lose a single child to disease or accident. The reality was that most families before the modern era did suffer irretrievable loss. It was not uncommon for an epidemic to claim several members of the same family. Ole and Malla continously faced this possibility while raising their ten children to adulthood.<br />
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<h4>
<b>"Real love means dying to self</b>"</h4>
<h4>
</h4>
There were seemingly insignificant but poignant ways the bond between Ole and Malla was observed by family members. For example, Ole never referred to his wife by name. Malla was always "she" or "her," but never "Malla." This may seem odd, but think of how odd it would have been for Ole to continually refer to himself as "Ole" to others. He felt it unnecessary to call Malla by her name, since he knew exactly who she was. She was an intrinsic a part of him, just as if God had come along and removed one of his ribs in order to create her. Their real love meant that they were an inseparable part of each other's heart, mind, and soul.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihdlcjby8Ira66a8DwgOVkMUnJaMWzokclAYog62GH9j2AadxsHgkbQNFg0rN6mNC2hQCm4yCdtgp51ammk4PqZKzDml5nV4UwFbzx1hxYOfCZgUMyMEu5kpjYsKBioz4pgyKJgA/s1600/50635717_127039611229.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="612" data-original-width="816" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihdlcjby8Ira66a8DwgOVkMUnJaMWzokclAYog62GH9j2AadxsHgkbQNFg0rN6mNC2hQCm4yCdtgp51ammk4PqZKzDml5nV4UwFbzx1hxYOfCZgUMyMEu5kpjYsKBioz4pgyKJgA/s320/50635717_127039611229.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
A final proof of the strong connection between Ole and Malla Johnson is the unexpected manner in which both of their lives came to an end. At age 87, Ole took ill while he was out chopping wood--a chore he actually enjoyed. He was hospitalized and diagnosed with advanced stage prostate cancer and heart disease. He was not expected to live long, and over the next few weeks, relatives came from near and far to pay their respects. Malla welcomed all visitors into her home, and while working extra hard to ensure their comfort during the cold spring weather, she contracted pneumonia. She may have also suffered a stroke. Malla was taken to the same hospital where her husband had lain ill for an extended period, but she passed away within a few hours of being admitted. One of their daughters, Thea, had the task of telling her father the sad news. Ole was hard of hearing, so Thea got close to her father's ear and said, very simply: "Ma died today." Within sixteen hours, Ole also succumbed. Years later, one of their grandsons shared that it was as if Ole had been waiting for Malla to come along.<br />
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Ole and Malla Johnson were buried together in a joint service in East Zion Cemetery, a small community Lutheran cemetery in Dudley Township, Clearwater County, just across the road from the farm they spent years building up. Together in life, they experienced real love in all of its varied and challenging forms. Together in death, they serve as a reminder of love's continuing possibilities, and above all, its enduring commitment.<br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Sources:</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Craig Laughlin, Pastor. "Love Like This," Sermon, Generations Community Church, Marysville, Washington, January 29, 2019. </span><br />
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p> © Copyright 2013 – All rights reserved </p>
<a href=”http://www.nordicblue.blogpost.com“>Nordic Blue</a>
</div>Chery Kinnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08662778019834533118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33506976.post-13125246232441242722019-02-04T08:27:00.002-08:002021-08-01T14:29:35.919-07:0052 Ancestors in 52 Weeks (Week 6): Surprise<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The Girl Who "Lived" in a Teacup</b></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hattie Christine Winje, ca. 1887/88</td></tr>
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Some of our ancestors led preciously short lives. Sadly, this was the case with a few of my great great grandmother's children, including Annie Jorgene Winje, born in 1885, and <b>Hattie Christine Winje</b>, born in 1883. Although Hattie's name and vital dates were previously known due to official records and my visit to a family cemetery, how her photograph was located came as a bit of a surprise.<br />
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Hattie was an adorable five-year-old girl with fine features, a cleft chin, and long auburn hair--the same color as her mother's. Soon after the youngest sibling, Annie, was born to Eric and Thibertine "Bertina" Winje, the family moved from Chippewa County in Minnesota to Duluth, near the Wisconsin border. The girls' father, Eric Larson Winje, was a self-educated Norwegian immigrant attorney--one of the first in Chippewa County--where he served as County Clerk and Justice of the Peace. A career opportunity led him to the shores of Lake Superior. In Duluth, he began working as an attorney and later became a municipal court judge. The family exchanged their life on the prairie for new experiences within the urban environment of a growing city. Different opportunities, including modern amenities and more advanced schooling for the children, were suddenly available. After leaving the homestead, there was no longer any back-breaking plowing or gathering of fields to be done, and no cold and hungry farm animals to tend each morning. The individual energies of family members could then turn to other things, and the sky became the limit.<br />
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Even with increased possibilities presented, city life offered little protection from some of life's constant dangers. Before immunizations became available, disease was an inescapable concern in both rural and urban settings. Wherever there was human contact, deadly diseases were a common occurence. During the spring of 1888, Eric Winje lost his only brother to diphtheria back in Chippewa County. Before he could even receive notification of the event, some of his children had also contracted the same disease, even though they were counties removed from their old home. The bustling growth of Duluth typified the burgeoning social progress of the late nineteenth century, when changes in infrastructure became necessary in order to handle increasing populations. Of major concern in Duluth was the antiquated water system, to which upgrades did not occur until the 1890s. Before then, the city drew its water supply directly from Lake Superior, where the unscreened intake pipe was too close to shore and frequently became clogged with a build-up of dead fish, animal skins, and other unsavory things. In spite of City warnings to residents to boil their drinking water, diseases usually spread quickly.<br />
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As her parents and older siblings looked on helplessly, on May 30, 1888, Hattie Christine Winje died from the ravages of diphtheria. It is a disease caused by a bacterium that causes a thick covering at the back of the throat, sometimes cutting off air supply to the lungs. Three days later, on June 2, her younger sister, Annie, also succumbed. In later years, their eldest sister, Julia Johnson Larson, would shake her head sorrowfully when remembering the little girls. "Stakkars liten" (poor little ones) she would say, recalling the sensless loss.<br />
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Many decades later, when I first began doing genealogy research, I held little hope of learning more about the youngest Winje girls, Hattie and Annie. As I connected with new-found cousins across the United States, I sent them a "wish list" of things I was hoping to locate, including photographs. One Larson cousin who lived near Lake Tahoe, California (far removed from Minnesota) sent me a packet of things to look over. Much to my surprise, included in the batch of items was an old, very small and dark tin-type image of a young girl who looked to be about five years old. On the back was written "Hattie Winje." <i>The</i> Hattie Winje??? Yes, indeed! Dare I hope that an image of little Annie Winje also existed? Perhaps my cousin had overlooked it.<br />
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I immediately wrote back asked my cousin where she got the tin type. The reply came: "Oh, it's been sitting in a teacup that used to belong to my grandmother (Julia Johnson Larson); it's been tucked away in my china cabinet all these years." This one-of-a-kind image survived for 117 years until it came to the attention of the family historian (me), and may actually be all that remains of a brief but cherished life.<br />
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It seemed doubtful that Annie would also be located, if an image had been taken of her during her two short years on Earth. In modern days, we are challenged with a dearth of print photographs due to an explosion of quickly available digital options. In the past, taking the time to have print copies of images made was too expensive and time consuming, so families tended to divide and distribute collections, often in unorganized ways. I tend to think that Annie may have ended up in another undetermined family member's teacup. But, thanks to persistent networking, an inherited piece of china, and a concerned cousin, Hattie's sweet face can still be seen, and her family can continue to imagine the laughter of a beloved little red-haired child who was called to her heavenly home much too soon.<br />
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Sources:<br />
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--Winje family marker, Scandia Cemetery, Duluth, Minnesota.<br />
--Death register for "Winje, Hatty C.," #102, 1888, St. Louis County, Minnesota Death Records Index (online).<br />
--Chery Kinnick, <i>A Long Way Downstream: The Life and Family of Thibertine Johnson Winje, Norwegian-American Pioneer</i>, Nordic Blue Press, 2008.<br />
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<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p> © Copyright 2013 – All rights reserved </p>
<a href=”http://www.nordicblue.blogpost.com“>Nordic Blue</a>
</div>Chery Kinnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08662778019834533118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33506976.post-56226803501064834792019-01-23T13:16:00.000-08:002019-01-30T09:05:17.500-08:0052 Ancestors in 52 Weeks (Week 4): I'd Like to Meet<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I'd Like to Meet: Julia Johnson Larson</b></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYxToIHZC5bRneE-Zp7N9tv0WcUaZz_i4sdpNENit4BGwj9Mbm0ixNekyE1ia9KhTMgP7lnQsV_rer3WfaLlGEmTuCLYlgWgjOSieYHiPfvuT3WLGSccJUtEzVWeiswizU0-gDRQ/s1600/img135.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1303" data-original-width="846" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYxToIHZC5bRneE-Zp7N9tv0WcUaZz_i4sdpNENit4BGwj9Mbm0ixNekyE1ia9KhTMgP7lnQsV_rer3WfaLlGEmTuCLYlgWgjOSieYHiPfvuT3WLGSccJUtEzVWeiswizU0-gDRQ/s400/img135.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Julia Johnson Larson, ca. 1885</td></tr>
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I cannot think of an ancestor I've researched who I have not been curious to know more about. I wish I could bring each one of them "back to life" using stories. But, since I must choose one now, I'll pick my maternal great grandfather's only full sister, <b>Julia (Johnson) Larson</b>, as someone I'd like to meet. One reason is that I did not know she existed until I began to dive into genealogy about eighteen years ago. By networking with newly discovered cousins, I managed to collect little info bits that tempted my curiosity for more. What really intrigued me is that Julia lived a life similar to Laura Ingalls Wilder, of <i>Little House on the Prairie</i> fame.<br />
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Julia's birth name was Elen Julie Baardsdatter Lassemo. She was born on November 29, 1862, to Thibertine ("Bertina") Olsdatter and Baard Johnson (hence the patronymic surname of "Baardsdatter"), on the farm called Lassemo near Grong, Nord-Tr<span style="background-color: whitesmoke; color: #181a1c; font-family: "source sans pro" , "helvetica neue" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">ø</span>ndelag, Norway. In Norwegian, the name "Julie" is pronounced more like "Juli-eh," so adopting the American spelling of Julia made sense. After the family arrived in America, they ceased using patronymic last names and consistently used the surname of "Johnson."<br />
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Arriving in America at age three and a half, Julia possibly retained a few early memories of her homeland, and perhaps of the challenging voyage across the Atlantic. In 1868, after her family began homesteading in Chippewa County, Minnesota, she settled into her new role as a prairie girl. I picture her as a youngster being a trifle too silly at times, and suffering admonishments from her serious older brother, Ole. I also envision her taking the time to visit each farm animal on summer days, wearing a straw hat to protect her face from the strong sun. But, the pioneer way of life was not all sunshine, kittens, and wildflowers. Although we enjoyed the television series, the Laura Ingalls Wilder character was oblivious to much of what had to be going on in real life. Let's face it: pioneer life was many things, but it was usually not light-hearted, and never easy.<br />
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I think that Julia must have had a rambunctious side when young, or she may have been a bit too fun-loving or willful for what protocol often allowed. One day at school, a teacher cuffed her on the ear for some unknown infraction, and the blow affected her hearing for the rest of her life. Another time, while wading in a nearby creek with some classmates after school, she slipped and fell into a deep spot and nearly drowned. A neighbor girl saved Julia by pulling her from the water just in time. When Julia was taught how to knit at a young age, using precious strands of yarn that could hardly be spared, her understanding but practical mother became miffed when Julia announced that she was making socks for the barn cat.<br />
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Julia's early years on the tall grass prairie were never boring. During the 1860s-1870s, Native Americans, probably of the Chippewa Tribe, would often come to the door of her parents' homestead cabin and offer fish in trade for some bread or coffee. Sometimes they stayed to have a helping of whatever was warming on the cook stove. Julia's children would later recall hearing local Indian children playing a game on the river ice each winter, yelling something like "Inchee, Kinchee, Kin-ah-nee!" as they slid on the ice in bare feet.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnugv7ecGZ831Mqsya9hWssuGR-57DPIIAGPOebAHtP8rC5wIs4En9rzH3VsffLHa0dSeCNuBQdnNWXP7PQ4BU37vwlfVOl0hDCM4EvqD_Nmv-GMivEycYicyod0-hlCrq_F5hog/s1600/JuliaLarson1919.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="885" data-original-width="1600" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnugv7ecGZ831Mqsya9hWssuGR-57DPIIAGPOebAHtP8rC5wIs4En9rzH3VsffLHa0dSeCNuBQdnNWXP7PQ4BU37vwlfVOl0hDCM4EvqD_Nmv-GMivEycYicyod0-hlCrq_F5hog/s400/JuliaLarson1919.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Julia Johnson Larson with two of her grandchildren and a canine friend. At the Larson farm near Granite Falls, Minnesota, July 1919.</td></tr>
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At age 22, Julia married Ole Eriksen Larson (Vigesaa) on December 10, 1884. Ole was the second eldest son of neighboring farmers, Erik and Kjersten Larson (Vigesaa). The Larson family emigrated from Bjerkreim, Helleland, Rogaland, Norway, and originally settled in Coon Valley, Wisconsin. Ole used to say that his parents relocated to Minnesota because their Wisconsin farmhouse turned out to be haunted. At night, it sounded like chains were being dragged back and forth across the roof. One has to wonder if this is a story that Ole liked to tell his children in order to watch their eyes grow wide with wonder and fear. Knowing that Julia also had a fun side, she probably did not object to her husband's tale. She married a man of unusual talents. Ole E. Larson was adept at blacksmithing, but was known to have a healing touch with animals (sort of a "horse whisperer"). He was usually boarding an extra animal or two that he was trying to cure of some ailment. He was also one of those unique individuals who could find water by using the forked stick method, and he could play the fiddle "by ear."<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX9-oEufDgA_wJqZCw3cCdoYo5vZQIY6wz7T6Se_-3TPzk2qzuAoMCPkPd42ya5Fai03j2YBx4dXqzld2hcuNvYII_3ylv738Umz81mqWffMqfIc1l3w49sU6gXhLbOuTthlYoeA/s1600/img009010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1105" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX9-oEufDgA_wJqZCw3cCdoYo5vZQIY6wz7T6Se_-3TPzk2qzuAoMCPkPd42ya5Fai03j2YBx4dXqzld2hcuNvYII_3ylv738Umz81mqWffMqfIc1l3w49sU6gXhLbOuTthlYoeA/s400/img009010.jpg" width="276" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Julia (Johnson) Larson, in 1940.</td></tr>
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After the wedding, Julia joined her husband on his parents' 71-acre farm near Granite Falls in Chippewa County, Minnesota. By 1878, the property was improved to include a stable, a granary, and a well, with 200 forest trees and about a dozen apple trees set out. In 1866, Julia's older brother, Ole Johnson, married Ole E. Larson's younger sister, Malla Larson. The children born to both couples were, therefore, "double cousins," with both sets of parents providing similar sets of genes to their respective offspring. Between 1885-1904, Ole and Julia Larson had seven children: Christine (who lived to the age of 103); Ben (born two weeks after the disastrous "Schoolhouse" or "Children's" Blizzard that hit the northern Great Plains on January 12, 1888); followed by Emily, Thea, Emma, Josephine, and Oddie.<br />
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My mother recalled meeting her great aunt only once. It happened during a trip she made back to Minnesota in the winter of 1947/48. Mom's grandfather and Julia's brother, Ole Johnson, was hospitalized and not expected to live. At the time, Julia had already sold her farm, having been a widow since 1918. She was living with a daughter, Josephine (Larson) Knutson, and her family in a rental house near Montevideo. Mom hardly got to visit with her great aunt, because Julia preferred to keep busy in the kitchen. As a girl on the prairie, Julia had been well-taught how to make do in the kitchen with practically nothing, and she considered cooking her specialty. Mom would never have another chance to see her great aunt, for Julia passed away at the age of 86, about a year and a half later.<br />
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One of Josephine's daughter's remembered that her grandmother tended to spoil her and her siblings, much to their mother's dismay. Whenever the granddaughter offered to help with the dishes after a meal, Grandma Julia would tell her: "Go out and play--you will have plenty of time to work when you are older." Julia was described as a strong-willed woman who was never faint-of-heart. She had been brought up to always be busy with something, and it was a habit she engaged in throughout her life, whether making lefse (a traditional Norwegian flatbread made from potatoes, flour, butter, and milk or cream), knitting mittens, or making doll accessories. She passed along a love of gardening to her granddaughters. Although Julia encountered plenty of challenges during her life, she always managed to keep a twinkle in her gray eyes--a constant reminder of the curious and adventurous prairie girl still hidden within.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Sources:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-small;">--Dorothy Knutson Joseph and Margjorie Knutson Skrukrud, daughters of Josephine Larson Knutson, letters to Chery Kinnick, 2005.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">--Norway, Select Baptisms, 1634-1927, "Elen Julia Baarsdatter," <i>Ancestry.com</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">--Land Entry File, Cert. 4668, "Larson, Erick," "Homestead Application," March 28, 1871, NARA, Washington D.C.</span><br />
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<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p> © Copyright 2013 – All rights reserved </p>
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</div>Chery Kinnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08662778019834533118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33506976.post-28534510788700023932019-01-07T18:00:00.000-08:002019-01-12T19:49:13.324-08:0052 Ancestors in 52 Weeks (Week 1): First<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>First</b></span> </div>
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<span style="color: #660000;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The challenge for the beginning week of Amy Johnson Crow's 2019 "52 Ancestors in 52 weeks" has to do with "firsts," appropriately enough. The inspiration that immediately came to mind was to write about my first relative on this Earth: my mother, Doris.</span></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggzxpC2DU-ztbzj-hlT-8SxIlYrGwi4pLvlzpHgr3_J3EO04B8h2KKCuEvGHp9tkht52S0mO3IFGGi5m6VMpsRbM68HLT7TscYo67tHojeeZh7xlA-admVaifrw3SHEiK0fRSbeQ/s1600/Doris_and_Chery.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1142" data-original-width="707" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggzxpC2DU-ztbzj-hlT-8SxIlYrGwi4pLvlzpHgr3_J3EO04B8h2KKCuEvGHp9tkht52S0mO3IFGGi5m6VMpsRbM68HLT7TscYo67tHojeeZh7xlA-admVaifrw3SHEiK0fRSbeQ/s400/Doris_and_Chery.jpg" width="246" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Doris with Chery (age 2)</td></tr>
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This is so important for me to write, yet so difficult. I went through life never being able to accept that I would one day lose my mother. In March of last year, she was hospitalized with a flu virus. Although she recovered, she passed away from the complications of vascular dementia on August 3rd. She lived a long life, spanning ninety-eight years, but I will never be one to say that it was long enough. I feel like there were still so many firsts that we had yet to experience together, in addition to repetitions of comforting habits and traditions. Out of necessity, I have gone through many "firsts" over the past months, including the first time I have helped a loved one through the end-of-life process; the first time I have spent my birthday, as well as Thanksgiving and Christmas, without a mother to share in them; my first up-close and personal experience with profound loss and deep grief, and more. So many heartfelt and lonely firsts. No matter how much loving support you have at times like this, you must navigate certain dark waters on your own.<br />
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As Mom's eldest child, I provided her with many of her own "firsts": a first pregnancy; the first worrisome ride to the hospital for delivery; the first pains of motherhood (childbirth was only the beginning!); the first time she ever had to care for another individual "24-7"; the first time she ever heard the word "Mama" spoken to her; a first case of measles, a first day of kindergarten, the first time she had to begin letting go of a child who had become an adult, a first grandchild, and so on.<br />
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Mom grew up on a Norwegian-American farm near the small town of Leonard in northern Minnesota. She cherished her rural upbringing and never wanted to leave. But leave she did, as circumstances required. At age twenty-five, immediately following the end of World War II, she reluctantly made her way to the west coast with an aunt. The train was so crowded with military personnel that the only place they could sit was next to the bathroom, atop their suitcases. As might be expected, during the last weeks of her life she often returned to the little farm of her youth, reliving the best parts of her memories.<br />
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It is in large part thanks to Mom that I appreciate history, genealogy, and family history. As I grew, she took the time to share stories about the people and places of her childhood. It was much like being exposed to sporadic installments of a historical novel. Together with the family photos, letters, and cards that appeared in the mail on holidays or birthdays, these stories deposited themselves inside a mental treasure box that I did not find the key to open until I became older.<br />
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My mother was always the first to anticipate my fears and worries, and also my particular joys and abilities. She was the first to correct, guide, comfort, and defend me. She understood me. And, she will always remain <i>first</i> in my heart.<br />
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<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p> © Copyright 2013 – All rights reserved </p>
<a href=”http://www.nordicblue.blogpost.com“>Nordic Blue</a>
</div>Chery Kinnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08662778019834533118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33506976.post-50389564274486131432019-01-06T11:17:00.000-08:002019-01-08T11:27:39.677-08:0052 Ancestors in 52 Weeks: Start<br />
My blog and I need a shot of adrenaline, so this year I will be participating in Amy Johnson Crow's "52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks" challenge. The spirit of this event hearkens back a decade or so ago, to when I was part of an online Genealogy Blog Carnival that also offered writing and research challenges. Like "52 Ancestors," the event generated interest and team support among family historians of all experience and knowledge levels. If you've ever considered participating in a group writing challenge as a way to organize or share your research, try it! There is nothing like it for motivation and camaraderie, especially within the family history community.<br />
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<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p> © Copyright 2013 – All rights reserved </p>
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</div>Chery Kinnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08662778019834533118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33506976.post-39790395497649275232018-05-23T20:00:00.000-07:002018-05-24T11:55:56.979-07:00A Family Historian Blinded by ScienceMy family and friends know how passionate I am about genealogy and history, especially Norwegian-American and pioneer history. But, there are other topics that also manage to get my heart jumping in a joyful pitter-patter. I confess--I am not just a family history nerd, but a bit of a science nerd, too. I have <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00SMSV6H8/ref=asc_df_B00SMSV6H85482634/?tag=hyprod-20&creative=395033&creativeASIN=B00SMSV6H8&linkCode=df0&hvadid=232542207102&hvpos=1o2&hvnetw=g&hvrand=14469723133723318872&hvpone=&hvptwo=&hvqmt=&hvdev=c&hvdvcmdl=&hvlocint=&hvlocphy=9033309&hvtargid=pla-385749042369" target="_blank">Moon in my Room</a> on a wall in my house, and I have been known to buy calendars with nothing but photos of Albert Einstein gracing the parade of months.<br />
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Like many, I can trace an avid interest to a pivotal time or moment during my youth. I was in junior high school when a perfect storm of events catapulted me into a lifelong long interest in astronomy and science-fiction. Many years later, it led to a relationship with my husband. Well, sort of. Before me, he had never met a woman who appreciated classic science-fiction. When we met at a dance many years ago, he asked what my favorite movie was. I responded that it was <i>War of the Worlds</i> (the 1953 version produced by George Pal), which was one of my all-time favorite confort movies to watch and rewatch. His face lit up and he asked: "Will you marry me?" While he said it in jest <i>then</i>, he meant it more a little later on!<br />
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Today, I have limited time and energy to keep up with all the news on the science front. But. I will never forget the sequence of events that began in the eight grade, opening my mind and changing my outlook on the universe... forever.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix0wxNTMp1PHlz9NAwps9VyMU0ElnyspyQQDURPywF73FyTKitcJng_oo_89t9-eAOFk_KglrYlCLwwJHk7iDz7hn0llnf61CQ-LBVDID0sS_YEhWxGDFRSAeEAlANLj4Oq5gVrw/s1600/theatre_planetarium_de_-montreal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="336" data-original-width="441" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix0wxNTMp1PHlz9NAwps9VyMU0ElnyspyQQDURPywF73FyTKitcJng_oo_89t9-eAOFk_KglrYlCLwwJHk7iDz7hn0llnf61CQ-LBVDID0sS_YEhWxGDFRSAeEAlANLj4Oq5gVrw/s320/theatre_planetarium_de_-montreal.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A traditional planetarium with an ant-like Zeiss projector never fails to get me twitterpated.</td></tr>
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During the autumn of 1966, the first episodes of a new television series, <i>Star Trek</i>, aired, and the lunch-time crowd I hung around with at school was obsessed by it. While I was becoming enamored of Mr. Spock on TV, I was also invited to join a Camp Fire Girls group. The first outing I participated in was an educational visit to the old <a href="http://www.lafterhall.com/Chabot_Observatory_Mountain_Blvd_Oakland_CA.html" target="_blank">Chabot Observatory and Planetarium</a> on Mountain Boulevard in Oakland, California. Within the domed and darkened planetarium, the tall, bespectacled astronomer dazzled us with images of a breathtakingly starry night sky. We also experienced sunrise and sunset, the Aurora Borealis, constellations rotating through the seasons, and we did not even have to go outside.<br />
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For Christmas that year, I was given a book on astronomy and a modest-priced telescope. It was a refracting terrestrial model that was better suited for marine landscapes and bird watching, but I didn't care. I was "over the moon" to have it, and it felt like the mysteries of the universe were at my fingertips, waiting to be caressed. Later on, I added star charts and a subscription to <i>Sky and Telescope</i> magazine to my hobby supplies.<br />
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I began haunting the science-fiction section of my local library for novels and stories to read. When I learned to drive, I explored library holdings all around Contra Costa County. My favorite destination was the Pleasant Hill Library, which meant a scenic 20-mile drive from my El Cerrito home along a rural county highway. I discovered so many other-worldy worlds within the library stacks thanks to: Isaac Asimov, Robert Heinlein, Andre Norton, Ray Bradbury, Arthur C. Clarke, and more.<br />
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Then came <a href="http://www.bobwilkins.net/creaturefeatures.htm" target="_blank">Creature Features</a>--a program that aired weekly in the Bay Area, with dry-humored, cigar-smoking Bob Wilkins as the host. There were a lot of campy, low-grade horror movies watched on those Friday nights, but once in a while, the program delivered a classic of the type I appreciate to this day. Included in these gems were the original <i>Day the Earth Stood Still</i> (1951), and the innovative <i>Forbidden Planet</i> (1956)--known for its Robby the Robot character and often considered to be the best science-fiction film of all time. I was then on the hunt for more films of the same caliber. Carl Sagan's <i>Contact</i> is one of the more modern sci-fi films that speaks to me in a poignant way.<br />
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A school friend of mine, Margot, had a father who belonged to the Bay Area Science-Fiction Club. Through his membership, he hob-knobbed with some of the local authors whose work I had been selecting from library shelves. When I was asked to join Margot and her father at a couple of science-fiction conventions, you had better believe that I lobbied my mother with all my might to be able to go. Luckily, she did not find any reason to keep me at home.<br />
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One of the events we attended was Baycon (1968)--the 26th WorldCon (World Science Fiction Convention). After presenting our admission tickets, Margot and I were let loose inside Berkeley's Hotel Claremont to discover things for ourselves, while her father went about on his own agenda. There were exhibits of science-fiction art like I had never seen before. There were hidden rooms down long hallways where authors, including the highly respected Ray Bradbury, and others in the publishing business, gave talks or had discussions. In an area near the lobby, a panel of people sat behind a length of tables. Margot pointed and said, "There's Gene Roddenberry!" The screenwriter and producer of <i>Star Trek</i>, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gene_Roddenberry" target="_blank">Gene Roddenberry</a>, was being honored by authors in a field where television was little recognized at the time. What we were witness to, but could hear little of due to the massing crowd, was Robert Silverberg's presentation of a <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hugo_Award" target="_blank">Hugo Award</a> to the relative newcomer, Roddenberry:<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<u><b>Robert Silverberg</b></u> (popular science-fiction author and toastmaster of the Baycon Hugo Awards Ceremony, 1968): </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"W<span style="font-size: small;">hat shall we do next? We have such a long, long list of events. I’m standing, I have</span><span style="font-size: small;"> my shoes off, it’s quite comfortable up</span><span style="font-size: small;"> here. Let us give out another of those little</span><span style="font-size: small;"> plaques now. There, that shiny one down there. Is there a <span class="highlight selected">Roddenberry</span> in the</span><span style="font-size: small;"> house?</span><span style="font-size: small;"> I have here a<span style="font-family: inherit;"> plaque with long pointed ears. This is National Kiss an Executive</span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Producer of Star Trek Week–Harlan [Ellison], kiss him for me... This object says “To Gene Roddenberry for Producing Star Trek, 1967, presented by the Baycon Committee September 1, 1968.”</span><b> </b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><u><b>Gene Roddenberry</b></u>:</span> </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Thank you so much. I’m touched. I am also thankful to Harlan for his response." </span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://www.thehugoawards.org/content/pdf/1968HugoAwardsCeremonyTranscription.pdf" target="_blank">(Baycon Hugo Awards ceremony)</a></div>
</blockquote>
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All I can say is "Wow"--that I, as a 14-year-old girl, should have been so lucky. Margot and her father also took me along to the Bay Area Science-Fiction Club's private release showing of the 1968 movie, <i>2001: A Space Odyssey</i>, at a theatre on Market Street in San Francisco. For the time, the movie was nothing less than jaw-dropping.<br />
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My budding interest in science turned more than just skyward. Margot's mother took us to explore the Lawrence Hall of Science in the hills above the University of California Berkeley campus. The view of San Francisco Bay from the parking lot was something to behold in itself. But, the main thing I remember about the Hall in those early years was the large and dark lobby with many lighted cases where mineral spheres of all different sizes, colors, and patterns were on display. They were mesmorizing. My favorite pages within the <i>Encyclopedia Britannica </i>had always been the color photographs of gem and mineral specimens. Lined up like smooth and precious marbles, the spheres hinted at a story deep in the Earth that I longed to know more about. Sadly, the geology class I later took in college did not stimulate the romance I was looking for.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicSQTAIe88XOTGGK9KdxTQJmcaVEyPH36MAFXARXT0C2FPFzflVgNvKbBYcoMNMmc1zyL_3jjzow5z8dm6dDFV9MLCz6eae0skegyDHoC9MiNE2vqF-t5Yz42J0r67TzGKDr-vqA/s1600/2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="380" data-original-width="600" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicSQTAIe88XOTGGK9KdxTQJmcaVEyPH36MAFXARXT0C2FPFzflVgNvKbBYcoMNMmc1zyL_3jjzow5z8dm6dDFV9MLCz6eae0skegyDHoC9MiNE2vqF-t5Yz42J0r67TzGKDr-vqA/s400/2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lawrence Hall of Science in Berkely, California (postcard view).</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Oz2keeoeC-V0sGwCFLccMycEcH1Ko0gfXi-BtdmSBSLIzGmQtnDxZhZH6EshlPBPNMWX1ES5TYZTaZH1kZuQ3fiOzD4dPInE7mije0ivovf4NLEmBM0wC-TpbA9DfreoOFXOsw/s1600/SpockPoster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1455" data-original-width="1146" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Oz2keeoeC-V0sGwCFLccMycEcH1Ko0gfXi-BtdmSBSLIzGmQtnDxZhZH6EshlPBPNMWX1ES5TYZTaZH1kZuQ3fiOzD4dPInE7mije0ivovf4NLEmBM0wC-TpbA9DfreoOFXOsw/s320/SpockPoster.jpg" width="251" /></a><br />
As I continued to pursue interests sparked by the influence of some
special friends during my middle school years, I attended several <i>Star Trek</i>
conventions. I have autographed souvenir photographs of cast members
as proof. I did not actually meet Leonard Nimoy ("Mr. Spock"),
however, until many years later, when he gave a talk at the University
of Washington campus while promoting one of his books. As I reached the
head of the line of people waiting for an autograph, he looked at me
expectantly. Suddenly I felt like I was in the eighth grade again. I
was so nervous that all I could do was smile bashfully. Did I just lock
eyes with <i>Mr. Spock</i>? The historic moment did not fully sink in
until later. Spock was second in a short timeline of childhood crushes,
preceded only by the "cute" Beatle, Paul McCartney.<br />
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When I lived in the Bay Area, I took every opportunity to visit the Morrison Planetarium in Golden Gate Park, San Francisco. Morrison was one of the largest planetariums in the nation. It has been modernized and is now a digital planetarium, but when I visited it was still operated by aprojector. Attending evening planetarium shows when the California Academy of Sciences building was closed to the public meant lining up in a roped off area alongside towering models in the hall of dinosaurs--an added treat. Also in the direct pathway of the line-up was the museum's famous Foucault Pendulum. The pendulum's heavy bob, a hollow 16-inches in diameter brass ball, is suspended by aircraft control wire of a carefully determind length, and anchored to the ceiling. As the bob swings across a wide pit, the Earth's rotation causes the direction of swing to "precess," or turn clockwise above the floor. With so many cool things to look at within the building, and freedom from daytime crowds, I loved waiting in line and anticipating the planetarium show as much as the show itself.<br />
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Another experience I consider to be a highlight of my life were trips to Lick Observatory and its Summer Visitors Program. As the world's first permanently occupied mountain-top astronomical observatory, Lick Observatory is reached by a well-constructed mountain road winding eastward from San Jose, California and the Silicon Valley, or by a much longer way around--south along the Mines Road from the backyard of Livermore. From 1888, the observatory has been under the guidance of the Regents of the University of California. The <a href="https://www.ucolick.org/main/visit/info.html" target="_blank">Visit Information</a> website has a video of Lick's mountaintop location that was filmed by a drone, offering unique views.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij9foGKURaPAzhfheejvYJbdOQ4Qa7ZBSXZFFGjid-4JPr98785lRfegtQV2XxbfURxh3-f3IMtG5zi265m7JK3xxtB1pFsA2aP-NFSYRVpZpAfzSbg1G9Mr7o5IKgL1Dz014V9g/s1600/Lick+Observatory.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="318" data-original-width="500" height="253" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij9foGKURaPAzhfheejvYJbdOQ4Qa7ZBSXZFFGjid-4JPr98785lRfegtQV2XxbfURxh3-f3IMtG5zi265m7JK3xxtB1pFsA2aP-NFSYRVpZpAfzSbg1G9Mr7o5IKgL1Dz014V9g/s400/Lick+Observatory.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lick Observatory, Mount Hamilton, California</td></tr>
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The Summer Visitors Program has been active for decades. Once you reach the mountain top location, be prepared for a long evening. Ticket-holders can enjoy the scenery of the Santa Clara Valley below and have time for a picnic dinner before the doors are opened. After perusing the exhibits and gift shop in the main building, you can attend a lecture on a selected astronomy topic. Visitors then have the opportunity to view the 120-inch <a href="http://www.ucolick.org/public/telescopes/shane.html" target="_blank">Shane Reflector Telescope</a> from behind a glass window inside its domed building, or look through one of two other telescopes.<br />
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The most popular event of the program is the chance to get up close and personal with the instrument the observatory is best known for: the 19th-century <a href="https://www.ucolick.org/public/telescopes/36-inch.html" target="_blank">36-inch Great Refractor</a>. A select number of people are allowed inside the big dome at any time. Stepping up and over the track where the dome turns atop the base of the building, you find yourself on a catwalk that hugs the inner curvature of the dome, but made safe by a railing. Then, in even smaller numbers, visitors are allowed to step down onto the wood floor and position themselves near the earth-end of the monster telescope. But, instead of using just a stepladder to reach the eyepiece, the operator pushes a button to raise or lower the entire floor to bring the eyepiece in alignment with your eye! I will never forget my first glimpse of the universe through that huge and historic refractor. Within the dark view field sparkled Messier 13 (M13)--the Great Globular Cluster in the constellation of Hercules. It was discovered in 1714 by none other than Edmond Halley, of Halley's Comet fame. With a linear diameter of 145 light years, the Globular Cluster shone like a scattering of diamonds on a black velvet cloth.<br />
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Over time, there have been many other events that have fed my interest in science, especially astronomy. Not least was the documentary series <i>Cosmos: A Personal Voyage</i>, and its charismatic host and writer, astronomer Carl Sagan, with his penchant for explaining "life, the universe, and everything" in digestible, yet utterly fascinating, snippets. And, let's not forget the launches of Voyager I and II, and years before those--the memorable day when humankind first set foot on the surface of the moon: July 20, 1969.<br />
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Oh, and did I mention that I once took a drive to a comic book store some distance away from home, just to see a life-size paper mache model of the Martian made for the 1953 <i>War of the Worlds</i> movie? I told you--a science and science-fiction nerd!<br />
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You may wonder what a post of this kind is doing in a blog that is all about Norwegian-American family history. Since I am part of my own family's story, perhaps some of my tales are worth telling, too. This is exactly the kind of detail that I often wish I knew about many of my departed relatives. What did they find interesting or challenging? What did they cherish the most? What did they look forward to on a day-to-day basis? What fueled their dreams and aspirations?<br />
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Have you thought about what sets your own heart to beating faster? You have an opportunity to tell your story and eliminate a lot of guess work later on. You never know who, present or future, may be listening!<br />
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p> © Copyright 2013 – All rights reserved </p>
<a href=”http://www.nordicblue.blogpost.com“>Nordic Blue</a>
</div>Chery Kinnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08662778019834533118noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33506976.post-5442164060605588592017-09-14T20:05:00.000-07:002017-09-16T07:00:06.708-07:00The "Secret" Adventures of Tugboat Billy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
It was not until I seriously began researching my adoptive father's genealogy that I found something unexpected among original records and documents. <i>He was a tugboat cook!</i><i> </i>This was surprising to me, not only because my sister and I never heard about his maritime adventures, but because he never showed that much interest in boats, or the sea, in general. Dad did like to fish upon occasion, but he did not go frequently. He did not even swim very much, as far as I know. So, never in a million years would I have guessed that my dad, William "Bill" Robert Wheeler (1922-1975), served on at least two tugboat runs in Pacific Northwest waters. Perhaps it was a folly of his youth, or, perhaps he was challenging himself to try and raise a sum of money for a certain purpose.</div>
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The "Seattle Passenger and Crew Lists, 1882-1957" database on <i>Ancestry.com</i> reveals that he made two border crossings from Canada to the United States, well before he emigrated from British Columbia in 1948.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl_E8Scn3R_6Mz8Wt3EHPPxHIz-s1hT0_aLyiwXAOMhY4PTZYELHPKxzZvxNwnsUd8L04xngpFYPGX77Ms2PsQAbAtLuEstdjIYvVk-akBVFAS7e_beDhPCPxAQJT-Fyho3J5o_A/s1600/imgsvr.ashx.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="476" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl_E8Scn3R_6Mz8Wt3EHPPxHIz-s1hT0_aLyiwXAOMhY4PTZYELHPKxzZvxNwnsUd8L04xngpFYPGX77Ms2PsQAbAtLuEstdjIYvVk-akBVFAS7e_beDhPCPxAQJT-Fyho3J5o_A/s200/imgsvr.ashx.jpg" width="157" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: x-small;"><b>Bill Wheeler, in 1947/48 (age 25 or 26). This image</b></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: x-small;"><b>was probably used as a passport photo.</b></span></span><br />
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<b>Voyage of the <i>Le Mars</i></b><br />
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The first document, a "list or manifest of aliens employed on the vessel as member of crew," shows that Dad was on the British <i>MS</i> <i>Le Mars </i>on July 20, 1940, when the tugboat made a port of call at Port Angeles, Washington, in the U.S., arriving from Vancouver, B.C. There were eight crew members on board: Stephen Carlson-master, Charles Plister-mate, Christopher Beaton-1st engineer, Oliver Wellman-2nd engineer, with Lawrence Leslie, Rodney Mayall, and James Bavester as "A.B." (able-bodied seamen). Dad (William Wheeler), was signed on as cook. Carlson and Wellman were longtime mariners with thirty years experience apiece. Charles Plester had fifteen years of service under his belt, with eight years held by Beaton. Leslie, Mayall, and Bavester each had a year's service accumulated, but Dad, only eighteen years old at <span style="font-family: inherit;">the time, showed a length</span> of service of "zero." Obviously, it was his first trip out. He was described on the manifest as being of "Scot" descent, with Canadian citizenship; he was 5 ft. 5 ins. tall and weighed 160 lbs, having no "outstanding physical marks, peculiarities, or disease." He was definitely of Scottish descent, as his mother had been born and raised in Edinburgh, Scotland, and came to British Columbia only after marrying his father.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7yJ7rGis8zCoCJYlvNDNsmCEibMsIxg79YAeGFQqKchtB-kNdL1lrshSbE0JIt36s8hpYicJ12mQhlBMgHGDzyi9yhnwNs1H8VPdcMznmtj6bCHGMoaiZVoacyOLExtcrWiV4qg/s1600/Capt.%252BAndrea%252B-Andy-%252BMcDonald%2527s%252BExcaliber%252B1908%252BTugboat%252BJuly%252B2009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="612" data-original-width="792" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7yJ7rGis8zCoCJYlvNDNsmCEibMsIxg79YAeGFQqKchtB-kNdL1lrshSbE0JIt36s8hpYicJ12mQhlBMgHGDzyi9yhnwNs1H8VPdcMznmtj6bCHGMoaiZVoacyOLExtcrWiV4qg/s320/Capt.%252BAndrea%252B-Andy-%252BMcDonald%2527s%252BExcaliber%252B1908%252BTugboat%252BJuly%252B2009.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #0b5394;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>A modern-era photo of the <i>Le Mars</i>, more recently named <i>Excaliber</i>, ca. 2011</b>. (</span><a href="http://forum.woodenboat.com/showthread.php?104894-Seattle-CL-Tugboat"><span style="font-size: x-small;">http://forum.woodenboat.com/showthread.php?104894-Seattle-CL-Tugboat</span></a><span style="font-size: x-small;">)</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The <i>Le Mars</i>, 93 ft. long, was built in 1908, at the Wallace Shipyard in Vancouver, British Columbia. Originally a steam powered tug, it was later modernized and refurbished with a diesel engine. The tug had many names over the decades, including: </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Osprey VII</i>, <i>S. S. Langston Hughes</i>, and <i>Illene</i>.</span> It towed under the names of <i>Le Mars</i> and <i>Excaliber</i> for several companies. (source: </span><a href="http://retiredtugs.org/oldsite/newsletter/newsletter0201.pdf">http://retiredtugs.org/oldsite/newsletter/newsletter0201.pdf</a>)<br />
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For further information about the <i>Le Mars</i>:<a href="https://www.blogger.com/%3Cbr%3E%3Ctable%3E%3Ctr%3E%3Ctd%20align=center%3E%3Ca%20href=%22http://www.shipspotting.com/%22%3EShipSpotting.com%3C/a%3E%3C/td%3E%3C/tr%3E%3Ctr%3E%3Ctd%20align=center%3E%3Ca%20href=%22http://www.shipspotting.com/gallery/photo.php?lid=2069257%22%3E%3Cimg%20src=%22http://www.shipspotting.com/photos/small/7/5/2/2069257.jpg%22%3E%3C/a%3E%3C/td%3E%3C/tr%3E%3Ctr%3E%3Ctd%20align=center%3E%C2%A9%20Kyle%20Stubbs%3C/td%3E%3C/tr%3E%3C/table%3E%3Cbr%3E" target="_blank"> Excaliber ("Le Mars")</a><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTpEr5VYHJXhyphenhyphenEEjp9v-NmtOTi8aaVbyFc31H5L6GRxqdQiIlSKztdQwbCYCN-ynC8mADWTe2HR4iNnrIL0yRO-JAydwxe19uunyT76g9Nq-QXUWTkGQn6KW1cDPhw8mUFuV_ShQ/s1600/Le+Mars.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="677" data-original-width="1600" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTpEr5VYHJXhyphenhyphenEEjp9v-NmtOTi8aaVbyFc31H5L6GRxqdQiIlSKztdQwbCYCN-ynC8mADWTe2HR4iNnrIL0yRO-JAydwxe19uunyT76g9Nq-QXUWTkGQn6KW1cDPhw8mUFuV_ShQ/s400/Le+Mars.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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Ancestry.com, "Seattle Passenger and Crew Lists, 1882-1957."</td></tr>
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<b>Voyage of the <i>Goblin</i></b><br />
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Dad's second tugboat voyage was aboard the British <i>MS Goblin. </i>It traveled from New Westminster, British Columbia, to a port of call at Bellingham, Washington, arriving on January 26, 1942. The <i>Goblin</i> was a smaller tug than the <i>Le Mars</i>, and Dad was one of only five crew members. At this point, he had accumulated one month service at sea. The master of the <i>Goblin</i>, John Lowry, was an Irishman with twenty-three years maritime service. Robert Kinkaid, the engineer, topped at twenty-five years service, with Maurice Sjoquist, mate, and Norman Lowry, deckhand, having six and three years experience, respectively. Dad was still a relative greenhorn, even though a year and a half had passed since his employment aboard the <i>Le Mars</i>. Why did he make no further voyages between the recorded <i>Le Mars</i> and <i>Goblin</i> runs?</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIuASR0HJOrbZEmyAeQFkGKSvVjQoN2u35FpYld7KT_oUFsUU2rRFpiZn1PxboWvHPoQj_jU10zcF3Hde-ueVZPjb73ShKehaebs93t45eguNgDg5yjzkqB8tDPYrZYGdssn_iMQ/s1600/Goblin_with_barge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="604" height="351" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIuASR0HJOrbZEmyAeQFkGKSvVjQoN2u35FpYld7KT_oUFsUU2rRFpiZn1PxboWvHPoQj_jU10zcF3Hde-ueVZPjb73ShKehaebs93t45eguNgDg5yjzkqB8tDPYrZYGdssn_iMQ/s400/Goblin_with_barge.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>MS Goblin</i>, towing a barge.<br />
(http://kleamanmarine.com/conversion_stories.htm)</td></tr>
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A strong possibility for Dad's short length of service, overall, was because of a health issue he faced during that time of his life. After serving as cook aboard the <i>Le Mars</i> in 1940, his physical description changed somewhat in 1942, on the <i>Goblin</i> manifest. On the <i>Goblin</i>, he was twenty years of age, and at the same weight (160 lbs.), but his height had decreased a couple of inches, from 5 ft. 5 ins., to 5 ft. 3 ins. He was also listed as being "crippled--left hip, and lame." Is this the same William Wheeler, you might ask? Well, yes... there is very little doubt in my mind.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFbmSJS3bfREeG-hFG8px2MUOUgKZLvFd93pFrIEOsVZ0PIY7s0PdUuNlaisZWbl1jANzLR0DEalqsTeVLUQ2yHxz-ycgOvqwqRTTtu9nVSJJzUkDh0mE-lxT4iFUSXCLTkXCYBQ/s1600/Goblin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="520" data-original-width="1600" height="127" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFbmSJS3bfREeG-hFG8px2MUOUgKZLvFd93pFrIEOsVZ0PIY7s0PdUuNlaisZWbl1jANzLR0DEalqsTeVLUQ2yHxz-ycgOvqwqRTTtu9nVSJJzUkDh0mE-lxT4iFUSXCLTkXCYBQ/s400/Goblin.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
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<i>Ancestry.com</i>, "Seattle Passenger and Crew Lists, 1882-1957." </td></tr>
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With Bill Wheeler being my dad, I'm fairly certain about his appearance, vital statistics, and other particulars. He was Canadian by birth, but emigrated from British Columbia to the United States at the age of twenty-six (his age is listed incorrectly as twenty-three on the border crossing document, although the birth date is correct). Intending to become an American citizen, he crossed the border at Blaine, Washington by automobile on July 14, 1948. The record lists his uncle's name and address in Oakland, California as his ultimate destination. It correctly describes him as being 5 ft. 3 ins in height (the same as on the manifest for his voyage with the <i>MS</i> <i>Goblin </i>in 1942), and having brown eyes, brown hair, and two large linear scars on the front of both hips. Yep, that was Dad. But, how can we be sure that it is the same man, with the slightly different physical description, aboard the <i>Le Mars</i> on July 20, 1940?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmfVQkQPmF4IPRm8gJlhu8XoWJtmqnBHu8dEdhB8_UFID_unMxwp9lBoA1bP5NtPG3DRgF2Z0jGDRoU7SX9O8gX86ISZkeuU732MNxs4CNOqM2yWBukrpU6bntHegxWB2jfTgk7g/s1600/41253_B124244-11970.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1149" data-original-width="1600" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmfVQkQPmF4IPRm8gJlhu8XoWJtmqnBHu8dEdhB8_UFID_unMxwp9lBoA1bP5NtPG3DRgF2Z0jGDRoU7SX9O8gX86ISZkeuU732MNxs4CNOqM2yWBukrpU6bntHegxWB2jfTgk7g/s320/41253_B124244-11970.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ancestry.com, "Border Crossings: From Canada to U.S., 1895-1956"</td></tr>
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Dad was born with congenital hip dysplasia. He suffered through dozens of operations during his childhood at a Vancouver, B.C. orphanage. But, hip surgery in the early twentieth century was not as advanced as it is now. The best the surgeons could do, in the end, was to add steel plates in place of some of his hip bone and remove some of his femur. After a couple of inches of bone were removed from his left leg, he walked with a pronounced limp. This all happened years before my mother met him. Based on varying physical descriptions of Dad: on the<i> Le Mars </i>in 1940 (5 ft. 5 ins., with no scars or discerning marks); as opposed to the 1942 <i>Goblin</i> voyage (5 ft. 3 ins., with hip scars), it is apparent that the physically-altering surgery was done in about 1941, between his two stints as tugboat cook.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ8Xg4IbR1RN9zyeeFqZK7C97GnjVHhILpLisWeFj2xqkdyrrNwJ1GaXiR0Ynv5RK-s7XIWSms6QdAZfFs82WED29gGbPr1TbH2JL2nu0Jq95Hm4jcuqyswTL1hWsFiCn-0OWufg/s1600/imgsvr2.ashx.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="389" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ8Xg4IbR1RN9zyeeFqZK7C97GnjVHhILpLisWeFj2xqkdyrrNwJ1GaXiR0Ynv5RK-s7XIWSms6QdAZfFs82WED29gGbPr1TbH2JL2nu0Jq95Hm4jcuqyswTL1hWsFiCn-0OWufg/s400/imgsvr2.ashx.jpg" width="257" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: inherit;">Bill Wheeler, 1953/54. In this image, he shows off his catch, but you can also see evidence of his compromised physical condition. With his left leg shorter than the right, following major hip surgery, he had to stand with his full weight on the left leg, and bend the longer right leg in order to accommodate his stance.</span></span></b></span><br />
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Could Dad have signed on for the atypical job of tugboat cook in order to obtain funds for his constructive surgery? It's possible. Though he made his second sea voyage aboard the <i>MS Goblin</i> in early 1942, following the surgery, he apparently never made another excursion after that. Perhaps the second trip earned him enough income to finish paying necessary (hospital?) bills. Or, perhaps he found that last trip a bit too much to handle. Steaming down to Washington State aboard the <i>Goblin</i> in winter would have given a fuller effect due to choppier waters, especially as it was a smaller tug than the <i>Le Mars</i>. Early tugboats did not offer very safe or comfortable accommodations, and it would have been no fun at all having to cook for the crew, if he could hardly stand the sight of food due to sea sickness!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisjNqNc4mdcZSEpoaUQA79M2wUui_sWOLdXFuiKtLJDJ-rBqMhXFoBx1cjnibUg2yf6HSOwUnnIzBrtJac2jneYY2RP7xIag9LaGXzpkCcrISciWDHSusKA6Hdw57kVXHq_KKCjg/s1600/tilted-anchor-hi.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="598" data-original-width="528" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisjNqNc4mdcZSEpoaUQA79M2wUui_sWOLdXFuiKtLJDJ-rBqMhXFoBx1cjnibUg2yf6HSOwUnnIzBrtJac2jneYY2RP7xIag9LaGXzpkCcrISciWDHSusKA6Hdw57kVXHq_KKCjg/s200/tilted-anchor-hi.png" width="176" /></a></div>
Whatever reasons Dad had for taking on employment aboard the tugboats, it seems he intended it to be a temporary involvement. He later worked in warehouses in Vancouver, before leaving British Columbia permanently. After moving to California, he met my mother while they were both employed at the Bell Packing Company in Berkeley.<br />
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Hip dysplasia was not the only condition he struggled with. He also suffered from Type I diabetes for much of his life. But, even with significant health issues, he continued to work full time in packing and manufacturing plants for many years, engaged in physically demanding duties. He would usually arrive home at the dinner hour, quite spent, but I do not remember hearing him complain about the cards he had been dealt.<br />
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When I was young, I could never fully appreciate the day-to-day difficulties and discomforts he faced. My discovery of his "Tugboat Billy" adventures reveals more of the determination and stamina he was able to summon in the face of significant challenges. Dad has been gone for many years now, and I was not old enough to be able to interact with him on a fully adult level before he died. If I could, though, I'd like to tell him, "Dad, thanks for keeping at it from day-to-day as long as you possibly could, and for taking such good care of your family, in spite of the odds. I love you."<br />
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I wonder what other adventures Dad may have had, that I have yet to discover?<div class="blogger-post-footer"><p> © Copyright 2013 – All rights reserved </p>
<a href=”http://www.nordicblue.blogpost.com“>Nordic Blue</a>
</div>Chery Kinnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08662778019834533118noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33506976.post-35405691339990690162016-08-25T21:26:00.000-07:002016-08-27T23:44:13.770-07:00Ten Things I've Learned in Ten Years of BloggingI can hardly believe it, but it was 10 years ago on August 28th that I began <i>Nordic Blue</i>. My efforts for an unseen audience began tentatively, nervously--prompted by the stellar example and success of a respected writing seminar classmate (have you ever heard of <a href="http://www.footnotemaven.com/" target="_blank">FootnoteMaven</a>?)<br />
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From the blog's first baby steps, I had hopes of growing it into a burgeoning collection of family history material, gleaned from wherever on earth I could dig up data and stories, and maybe swiping a bit from the stratosphere, as well. This blog, in part, represents the ebb and flow of my life over the past decade. There have been discoveries along the way, and if you have tried blogging, I'm sure you have experienced much of the same revelations as those I list here, and perhaps more.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNsgMbmgPUWGXhdX_5z_gG9yIcHkwfbTLOJwHNvlm7HWrc5wfTTqpQxBvZTp0jD4zjEeJT9XZKfyQO5U67EQPhR3OZbzLvQtdcTo5G6au3AgFJYTLe9UWYjg_IB7-ZhDIB-6qtGQ/s1600/img279.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNsgMbmgPUWGXhdX_5z_gG9yIcHkwfbTLOJwHNvlm7HWrc5wfTTqpQxBvZTp0jD4zjEeJT9XZKfyQO5U67EQPhR3OZbzLvQtdcTo5G6au3AgFJYTLe9UWYjg_IB7-ZhDIB-6qtGQ/s400/img279.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chery in a contemplative mood, some years ago.</td></tr>
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<b>1. If You Write It, They Will Come (Eventually) </b><br />
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...Distant cousins and interested parties, that is. More than a few times I have been pleasantly surprised when a relation finds pertinent information on <i>Nordic Blue</i>. If I am contacted with questions or a request for further sharing, and/or offered appreciation for the information I have made available, it makes blogging worth the time and effort.<br />
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<b>2. It's Okay to "Dabble"</b><br />
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Lisa Louise Cooke of <a href="http://lisalouisecooke.com/" target="_blank">Genealogy Gems</a> was a keynote speaker at the Northwest Genealogy Conference earlier this month in Washington State. One of her memorable pieces of advice was that it is perfectly okay to "dabble" in genealogy. We do not always have to be full steam ahead in research to enjoy both the hobby and the challenge. Sometimes dabbling, or just keeping our feet a little wet in the sea of family history, is satisfying enough for the time being. Each person should feel free to go at his or her own pace. Family history should not be not a contest, but a pleasure!<br />
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<b>3. Sometimes, the Laundry Has to Wait</b><br />
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There are moments when a story starts spinning inside my brain, and the reel of thoughts unwinds so quickly that I fear it will get away from me. I know then that I must sit down and write out the main points before all is lost. Better yet, I need to get to a computer to type out a blog post draft before the dots connecting before my eyes begin to fade and float out of reach. "Use it or lose it" is the motto under such circumstances. Those moments of high creativity are never equal to any forced attempts at a later date.<br />
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In addition to important obligations like employment, commuting, and taking care of hearth and
family, I can find dozens of reasons why I should not sit down to work on a blog post at any given moment. And summertime? Oh, don't get me started! Summer in the Pacific Northwest is a colorful palate of possibilities: long walks, berry picking, farmers' markets,
canning and preserving, craft fairs, craft projects, antiquing
excursions, country drives, picnics, outdoor concerts, gardening, staying in touch with family and friends, and just settling in
the yard with a cold gluten-free beer to watch the trees grow.<br />
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Breathe... it's okay. It's called "life."<br />
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4. <b>Sometimes, the Laundry <i>Can't</i> Wait</b><br />
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Although I occasionally engage in the guilty pleasure of turning my back on the laundry, cleaning, shopping, etc., to do more enjoyable things like family history, everyday life is a distraction that will not be ignored for very long (thank goodness!). My genes are full of farming blood, and my ancestors would all turn in their graves if I were to ignore my responsibilities on a regular basis. So, when I come home after a 12 or 13 hour day of working and commuting, my first thoughts usually do not settle on blogging. Dinner needs to be pulled out of thin air, family members need to update me on their latest needs and thoughts, and yes, sometimes there really is laundry, too, or plants to water, dishes to clean, and on and on. Plus, if the dog pulls one of those "poor me-you've been gone all day-look at my sad brown eyes" routines (bless his little pea-pickin' heart), then he and all of these other obligations must certainly come before any of my hobbies. Last time I checked, I did not have a clone that I could implore to write blog entries, while the other me focuses on the world spinning 'round. <br />
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<b>5. Get Refreshed</b><br />
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Just like getting some new clothes for the body once in awhile, the creative mind needs to be refreshed--even the mind of a family history blogger. When was the last time you attended a genealogy conference, signed up for a writing class, listened to a podcast, joined or started a group, gave a presentation, bought a new book or CD about things genealogical, or even set a new research goal? There is no time like the present. <br />
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<b>6. Upgrade Your Tools</b><br />
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The right tool for the job, so they say. Are yours a little dusty or chipped around the edges? Perhaps you could use some new ones. I still have so much to learn, and the genealogy conference I just attended convinced me that Evernote and Google Earth Pro are tools I might not be able to live without in future. Digital storytelling looks like a whole lot of fun, too. Now I just have to make the time to learn to use them well. <br />
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<b>7. Strive for Improved Organization</b><br />
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Guilty, guilty! I am a family historian who laments the lack of proper identification on vintage family photographs, but who is sloppy about doing the same for my own, more contemporary ones. It hurts to admit that, but it is true. Though once in awhile I make an effort to corral files on my laptop, do backups, and even look for duplicate photos stored online, there are certain things I procrastinate over. None of us is perfect, but we can always make an effort to do better, especially when it comes to organization.<br />
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<b>8. Flex Your Family History Muscles</b><br />
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You can build your knowledge base and increase the resources available to you in many different ways. Some ideas are: join a genealogical society, and actually attend meetings; go to a library or archives--be bold and ask the reference staff some questions; plan out a research trip to somewhere you have never been before; volunteer time on a genealogy project, like photographing grave markers, transcribing data, or doing good deed lookups for others. And yes, you can even start another blog. <br />
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<b>9. Stay Open to Inspiration</b><br />
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Inspiration is all around us. Yes, it's in that DNA test you just had done, but also in that little idea a friend just shared. It's on display in a store window, tagging alongside on a field trip, and waiting inside your morning shower. You can find it if you look hard enough. Sometimes, a cup of good strong coffee helps you to see more clearly. <br />
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<b>10. Blogging Should Not Be a Chore</b><br />
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Blogging would not be so popular if it were not rewarding. By all means, have a good time. Try something different: tell a new kind of story, make a few jokes, use your senses and imagination, but most of all, be <i>you</i>.<br />
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I'm looking forward to at least another ten years of blogging about family history. I hope you will share in the <i>Nordic Blue</i> adventure, and allow me to share in your adventure, too!<br />
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<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p> © Copyright 2013 – All rights reserved </p>
<a href=”http://www.nordicblue.blogpost.com“>Nordic Blue</a>
</div>Chery Kinnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08662778019834533118noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33506976.post-82397146735816085842016-06-08T13:48:00.002-07:002016-06-08T13:51:28.762-07:00Show and Tell for PosterityMany family historians, myself included, take the necessary time and energy to track down every detail possible about their ancestors, but make very little time for recording their own lives and experiences. Who would not rather learn about an ancestor through his or her own writings: stories, letters, notes, and diaries? Let's face it, though vital, census, and other genealogy records are useful in many regards, they lack personal perspective. Like cocoa without sugar... hmmm, something's missing!<br />
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<i>Family Tree</i> magazine recently published an article with guidelines for answering some basic questions your descendants will probably want to know the answers to: "<a href="http://blog.familytreemagazine.com/insider/2016/05/31/16ThingsToWriteDownAboutYourselfForPosterity.aspx?utm_source=newsletter&utm_campaign=sft-dha-nl-160602&utm_content=850402_FTI160602&utm_medium=email" target="_blank">16 Things to Write Down About Yourself for Posterity</a>." Diane Haddad, the author, states: "We forget to preserve information about our own lives. Thus, in 100 or 200 years, our children, grandchildren, nieces and nephews will be struggling to understand our lives and what we were really like." To make matters worse, most modern day correspondence is done digitally, through texting, e-mail, and social media, from which the data is not likely to be preserved. We are less likely to find printed documentation generated by persons alive now within the archives, libraries, and depositories of the future, unlike the paper trail of previous generations. <br />
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So, what if you would like to leave a personalized record of your life experiences, but are not much into writing about yourself? You have heard the saying that, "one picture is worth a thousand words." A way to organize and preserve family history that I thoroughly enjoy is by designing photo books. You can create them using many online vendors, including: Costco Photo, Shutterfly, Snapfish, Walgreens, and others. There are <a href="http://photo-book-review.toptenreviews.com/" target="_blank">review websites</a> than can help you determine which vendor to use. Or, just pick one and dive right in!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXZwbwFNHNj7aDolKBQtAYQfaF-j2HpaUEojvPwZNdUgQNC0kpbcW_iSBM5enhqn6DtSBz7fevc_van7BT1BA0B0t1y_9UVHDB_AnUsD7eiCa3yJIdHwBvKONK0qYvpvOQ7MPGFA/s1600/AAEAAAD_____AQAAAAAAAAAGAQAAABczNDRcNTg3XDQ4M1w3NTBcNjQ4XDk2Mgs1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXZwbwFNHNj7aDolKBQtAYQfaF-j2HpaUEojvPwZNdUgQNC0kpbcW_iSBM5enhqn6DtSBz7fevc_van7BT1BA0B0t1y_9UVHDB_AnUsD7eiCa3yJIdHwBvKONK0qYvpvOQ7MPGFA/s1600/AAEAAAD_____AQAAAAAAAAAGAQAAABczNDRcNTg3XDQ4M1w3NTBcNjQ4XDk2Mgs1.jpg" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4hUf0KjXgQE2vjD0E8gkgzpcXZWGF1HsjqJpwqUXATvVigICKKNiP0vLCR5NQ0oaFTSMi4klud2Jpkih_sy7ajB2EwzGxHdDusdOG_LA1mxKOZU83YkokhsWXi7l7EY0oxno60g/s1600/AAEAAAD_____AQAAAAAAAAAGAQAAABcxMDVcMzM4XDc0MVwwMDJcOTI3XDExMws1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4hUf0KjXgQE2vjD0E8gkgzpcXZWGF1HsjqJpwqUXATvVigICKKNiP0vLCR5NQ0oaFTSMi4klud2Jpkih_sy7ajB2EwzGxHdDusdOG_LA1mxKOZU83YkokhsWXi7l7EY0oxno60g/s1600/AAEAAAD_____AQAAAAAAAAAGAQAAABcxMDVcMzM4XDc0MVwwMDJcOTI3XDExMws1.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Covers from a couple of photo "memory" books I created.</td></tr>
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At this point, I have completed a half-dozen photo books, some that contain vintage family photographs, and others that serve as memory books (think "scrapbook"). I have plans for more, because they are fun to create, and the recipients really enjoy them. Also, the books are "print-on-demand"; you can have just one printed at a time, or multiples. Your book stays on the vendor website, protected by your log in and password, and it remains available to edit or print whenever you like. As far as content goes, you could even address the "16 things to write down about yourself" by carefully selecting photographs, and then including names, dates, places, and other interesting information in the captions. I scanned various memorabilia to add, as well: cards, letters, childhood drawings, notes, and especially, genealogy and DNA charts. I also created "favorites" collages using online images; these collages are based on the preferences of the person who is the subject of the memory book.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPUrM1Ka1xIq_cdMTcx-ok_Pg6CYz6zaqhQ38RfyJXcjsP1neh2xHlZimJbvBTXeyG3zoIVhhRlg0N0kAw5drmLfiRqhzyY0IlTJk-YFLBuuO2YAN4O-BRk5YDq2kK9-uIgh-zfw/s1600/Kinnick602.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPUrM1Ka1xIq_cdMTcx-ok_Pg6CYz6zaqhQ38RfyJXcjsP1neh2xHlZimJbvBTXeyG3zoIVhhRlg0N0kAw5drmLfiRqhzyY0IlTJk-YFLBuuO2YAN4O-BRk5YDq2kK9-uIgh-zfw/s320/Kinnick602.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A "favorite things" collage.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgndBykxGb13iAKaAB-ZgAuKCsImS_9OLjEOFzz9XS-PPPkd1iuWLDQga9zcayZ5Z7St9QDWsP_w72pcQB9iX4nusdFEXZ8UVdic__9pWADNcJcKgY5YXO23gefWKqez1X4YGLupg/s1600/Kinnick506.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgndBykxGb13iAKaAB-ZgAuKCsImS_9OLjEOFzz9XS-PPPkd1iuWLDQga9zcayZ5Z7St9QDWsP_w72pcQB9iX4nusdFEXZ8UVdic__9pWADNcJcKgY5YXO23gefWKqez1X4YGLupg/s320/Kinnick506.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Television shows that had a personal impact.</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #351c75;"><b><i>A Useful Tip </i></b></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75;">Since photo book vendors can only accept certain file extensions when images are uploaded</span><span style="color: #351c75;"> </span><span style="color: #351c75;">(.jpg, .tif, .bmp, and .png), you may have to work around this a bit. To create collages, I used a word processing program (Microsoft Word). Then, I printed the finished pages
out and scanned them as images, in order to create the
correct file extension for uploading to the vendor's software. There may be other methods to achieve the same result, but it is not as hard as it sounds--only a few extra steps are required.</span></div>
</blockquote>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik3kkcEoy4_smGoVOIlWbdGpwkPvDQ7TjDYPofSdyGRchEt6AteTSj-31mJBYrCQajfLzVXo9u9sMsJIxQW7wYOYHQolkJ-sJEMKd2Cq2_1HlhbudpBsFMeUbRCA9CdUYGXPVQJQ/s1600/Xmas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik3kkcEoy4_smGoVOIlWbdGpwkPvDQ7TjDYPofSdyGRchEt6AteTSj-31mJBYrCQajfLzVXo9u9sMsJIxQW7wYOYHQolkJ-sJEMKd2Cq2_1HlhbudpBsFMeUbRCA9CdUYGXPVQJQ/s400/Xmas.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A couple of photographs from my childhood along with a letter sent by Santa Claus (aka, my dad), mailed from North Pole, Alaska, of course!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgspAp249yBRxeh3dLkcZ88EF748eU9D23d8dGk7RJY1nGRFCbGXcyzFPPVw9PYKG72pHqIQVhB1ugWqeAgVrraWXZTf4jMyuaLEDCZV3Q1biaIHxwQ8Sda3xONUwG0-6-3sB74FQ/s1600/PWard.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgspAp249yBRxeh3dLkcZ88EF748eU9D23d8dGk7RJY1nGRFCbGXcyzFPPVw9PYKG72pHqIQVhB1ugWqeAgVrraWXZTf4jMyuaLEDCZV3Q1biaIHxwQ8Sda3xONUwG0-6-3sB74FQ/s400/PWard.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A U.S. Army veteran's World War II memories.</td></tr>
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As you can see, the possibilities are endless with photo books, either for your own story, or for someone else's. They are fairly quick to self-publish, and there is no end to the ways you can be creative. Once you get going, I think you will find it hard to stop.<br />
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<div class="blogger-post-footer"><p> © Copyright 2013 – All rights reserved </p>
<a href=”http://www.nordicblue.blogpost.com“>Nordic Blue</a>
</div>Chery Kinnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08662778019834533118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33506976.post-10235544195987413292016-06-07T15:35:00.002-07:002016-06-07T15:37:42.537-07:00Geneabloggers.com InterviewI was pleasantly surprised to meet Tessa Keough recently, who prepares some of the "May I Introduce You to..." articles on the Geneabloggers.com, an online genealogy-based community created by Thomas MacEntee. I was even more surprised when Tessa wanted to interview<i> me</i>, even though I was previously interviewed in 2010. She indicated that she wanted to address how a blogger's participation changes over time--how blogging, as well as focus and inspiration, evolves. You can read the "<a href="http://www.geneabloggers.com/may-i-introduce-to-you-chery-kinnick/" target="_blank">May I [Re-] Introduce You To: Chery Kinnick</a>" interview on the Geneabloggers site. Thank you, Tessa and Geneabloggers.com!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIZmp4siGHmMA9MNIolmr-L9-82bfe_PtStjGyLw-6-nn6zq-sVcRQwi_zZV1iXGBDiWuWVwV44RRCqCoRCYezLNSV6RcadFgZNJJoGER-Yehy4NE-Anslk6FBOke_929HO1Ox9g/s1600/KINNICK-Chery.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIZmp4siGHmMA9MNIolmr-L9-82bfe_PtStjGyLw-6-nn6zq-sVcRQwi_zZV1iXGBDiWuWVwV44RRCqCoRCYezLNSV6RcadFgZNJJoGER-Yehy4NE-Anslk6FBOke_929HO1Ox9g/s400/KINNICK-Chery.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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</div>Chery Kinnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08662778019834533118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33506976.post-38411965386334646982016-06-05T20:43:00.000-07:002019-03-09T16:18:59.265-08:00Elmer Strand, Norwegian-American Bachelor, ContinuedAs a child, I was delighted by the distraction of new adults entering into my sheltered world. They came through the front door, often smiling, and left behind new sights, sounds, and stories. Blood relatives or relatives by marriage, and even my mother's friends from "back home" in Minnesota would sometimes land in our living room for a few hours. They always left our house fully-fueled. My Mom's ingrained habits would not have permitted her to allow a guest to leave without being offered the usual round of coffee, sandwiches, cookies, and fruit, or whatever we had on hand. As a quiet and cautious youngster, I did not ask many questions, but I had a great curiosity about family connections and how my parents came to know these visitors.<br />
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I clearly recall Elmer Strand as a lanky and laid-back older gentleman. Our visit with him during the summer of 1965 included the experiencing a new location outside the comfortable and familiar surroundings at home. The summer before I entered middle school, Mom asked Dad to drive the four of us (Dad, Mom, my 6 year-old sister Becky, and me) to Sonoma County to visit Elmer. We had just moved from our house in Richmond, California (San Francisco East Bay), to nearby El Cerrito. After all the work involved in moving and setting up a new household, Mom was looking for a little rest and recreation. Back then, driving to Sonoma County from the San Francisco Bay Area was the equivalent of a pleasant day trip into the country. Sonoma County, part of the beautiful Redwood Coast area in California, is also wine country, and has long, meandering two-lane highways that climb, dip, and roll gently past vineyards and farms, toward the rugged Northern California ocean beaches I knew and loved as a youngster.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: x-small;">Elmer Strand with his family, to that point (left to right): Thomas (father), Theodore, Elmer, Arthur, and Regina (mother), ca. 1895, Chippewa County, Minnesota.</span></b> <br />
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When I asked my mother who Elmer Strand was, she said that he was a longtime friend of my grandfather's. Elmer, who was the eldest of his siblings, had never been married, and my maternal grandfather, Ernest Johnson, had been a widower for many years. The two men were close in age to one another. Elmer Strand was born on March 4, 1890 in Sparta Township, Chippewa County, Minnesota, and Grandpa (Ernest) was born on January 23, 1889 in nearby Granite Falls Township. Elmer eventually moved to California from Minnesota as an adult, as did Ernest. When Ernest Johnson retired in the early 1960s from the Ford Motor Plant in Milpitas, California, he sold his house in Campbell and took an extended vacation on the southern Oregon coast. Elmer Strand went along. The two men lived in Ernest’s trailer for a few months and did a lot of fishing. It must have been old Norwegian bachelor heaven!<br />
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It was not until many years later, after I began genealogy pursuits in earnest, that I found out Elmer Strand was actually a cousin to Grandpa. Elmer Strand's parents were Thomas Einersen Strand and Berthe Regine "Regina" Winje. Regina (see post entitled <a href="http://nordicblue.blogspot.com/2008/02/duty-fate-and-beauty-immigrants.html">Duty, Fate, and Beauty</a>), was a younger half-sister to Grandpa's father, Ole M. Johnson. Elmer was the oldest of a large family of siblings. His brothers included: Arthur (1892-1967); Theodore (1894-1973), Lambert (1897-1969), and Thomas Raymond (1899-1981). A sixth boy, name unknown, did not survive birth. After giving birth to Thomas Raymond in 1899, Regina died unexpectedly, leaving a widowed husband with five young sons. When Thomas E. Strand married Beate Matilda "Tilda" Nelson in 1902, Elmer was further blessed with eight half-siblings: Alvin (1902-1989), Isella (1904-1908), Noel (1906-1959), Gerda "Sylvia" (1908-1994), Stella (1910-1910), Olaf (1910-1982), Maude (1912-1968), and Margaret (1915-2003). One of his half sisters died as an infant, and the other lived only to about four years of age. Elmer headed a list of Thomas E. Strand's offspring that numbered three girls and eight boys that survived to adulthood. Perhaps this large number had something to do with Elmer eventually striking out on his own and never marrying and raising his own family.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRC9HFsmlHJrZZ80kuu-5SQpdGYFAUZ59kg0NBA61rlZPvqVu-XZMLf3D2odhyiEI_nCyPUS54OsI-DjwZPti_QgrDquhFNzFniPGBJEB1mm2SPDH4g1khG0XKnV4Exdaq_j9j5A/s1600-h/Elmer+young+man.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203794115409187298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRC9HFsmlHJrZZ80kuu-5SQpdGYFAUZ59kg0NBA61rlZPvqVu-XZMLf3D2odhyiEI_nCyPUS54OsI-DjwZPti_QgrDquhFNzFniPGBJEB1mm2SPDH4g1khG0XKnV4Exdaq_j9j5A/s320/Elmer+young+man.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt;" /></a> <br />
<b><span style="font-size: x-small;">Elmer Strand as a young man, ca. 1918. Detroit Lakes, Minnesota.</span></b><br />
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Elmer was confirmed at Saron Lutheran Church in Chippewa County, Minnesota on October 15, 1905. His WWI and WWII draft registration cards indicate that he had black hair and light blue eyes--a striking combination. Judging by the photo to the left (cropped from a family portrait), he was an attractive young man. He was 5 ft. 8 ins. tall, and at age fifty-two, he weighed in at a lanky 120 pounds. His main work was as a farm or ranch hand, and it appears he traveled around for various jobs. In 1910, at the age of twenty, he was still helping out at his father's farm in Sparta, Chippewa County. After leaving home, he boarded on Foster Ave. in Baltimore, Maryland, and by 1920 was working as a reamer at the shipyards. In 1930, he was renting a place on his brother Theodore's property in Stony Run, Yellow Medicine County, Minnesota. He applied for a Social Security card in the state of Illinois before 1951, and may have even worked in Canada.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: x-small;">Elmer Strand (center) with Ernest Johnson, and my mother, Doris Johnson. Photograph was taken ca. 1948 in the front yard of the flourplex where Ernest's sister, Mabel Johnson, and his daughter, Doris, lived in Richmond, California.</span></b><br />
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In Elmer Strand’s later years, he was employed as a ranch hand in Sonoma County and was still quite lively at the time my family visited him in 1965. Elmer lived simply, in a trailer on the ranch owner’s property. At the time of his death on October 29, 1985, he was a resident at the London House Convalescent Hospital in Sonoma. Though raised a Lutheran, Elmer became a member of the Swedenborgian Church in San Francisco. It is thought that the ranch owners converted Elmer to their church since he had the opportunity to ride along to services with them each Sunday. After Elmer's death, his ashes were scattered in the Pacific Ocean just beyond the Golden Gate Bridge in a communal, clergy-led ceremony aboard The Neptune Society’s yacht, the <i>Naiad</i>.<br />
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Related posts on Nordic Blue:<br />
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<a href="http://nordicblue.blogspot.com/search/label/Elmer%20Strand" target="_blank">Elmer Strand, Norwegian-American Bachelor</a><br />
<a href="http://nordicblue.blogspot.com/2008/02/duty-fate-and-beauty-immigrants.html" target="_blank">Duty, Fate, and Beauty</a><br />
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<i>Ancestry.com</i> sources:<br />
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--Border Crossing: From U.S. to Canada, 1908-1935.<br />
--California, Death Index, 1940-1997.<br />
--Social Security Death Index.<br />
--U.S., Evangelical Lutheran Church of America, Records, 1875-1940.<br />
--U.S. Federal Censuses for 1910, 1920, and 1930. <br />
--U.S., World War I Draft Registration Cards, 1917-1918.<br />
--U.S., World War II Draft Registration Cards, 1942.<br />
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p> © Copyright 2013 – All rights reserved </p>
<a href=”http://www.nordicblue.blogpost.com“>Nordic Blue</a>
</div>Chery Kinnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08662778019834533118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33506976.post-28307550812371825352015-05-06T19:22:00.000-07:002017-08-11T13:17:52.532-07:00635 Souls Missing: A Story of the SS Norge Disaster.<b>Story updated and reposted from 2013.</b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBQbxtFQKuFgARrvQ3AZ1716_xaeGSUA7iXgUsM_qtZHwTHosR58XEi_KCcMfQ5Q7bFsDT4mHvWqoKZjti3Q15rhFV1frlLvtF17T3rqvwemLYPhqpI9HoRnpa-GGHg5Gd2P82GA/s1600/SS_Norge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBQbxtFQKuFgARrvQ3AZ1716_xaeGSUA7iXgUsM_qtZHwTHosR58XEi_KCcMfQ5Q7bFsDT4mHvWqoKZjti3Q15rhFV1frlLvtF17T3rqvwemLYPhqpI9HoRnpa-GGHg5Gd2P82GA/s320/SS_Norge.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">SS <i>Norge</i>, ca.1890-1900. The ship's capacity was 800 persons. (Library of Congress Prints and Photographs, digital ID def.4a15903)</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Titanic's Predecessor</span><br />
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Nearly eight years before the sinking of the RMS <i>Titanic</i>, another maritime disaster occurred that should have signaled significant changes needed within the ship building industry. On April 15, 1912, and after, the news of the <i>Titanic</i> sinking was predominate in media coverage and popular culture, in part because of the catastrophic loss of souls (over 1500) in the frigid waters off Newfoundland, but, also by virtue of its many wealthy and well-known passengers, who had been aboard the largest, most "sea-worthy" vessel to date.<br />
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In late June 1904, the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/SS_Norge" target="_blank">SS <i>Norge</i></a>, a Danish iron-clad passenger liner, boarded passengers at ports of call in Copenhagen, Oslo, and finally Kristiansand, Norway. The steamship, which was full of mostly poor European emigrants (Russians, Scandinavians, Germans, Britons, and a few Americans), was bound for New York. On June 28, under calm skies, the <i>Norge</i> ran aground at <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hasselwood_Rock" target="_blank">Hasselwood Rock</a>, the upper portion (cone) of an extinct volcano near Rockall, off the coast of Scotland, and sank rapidly. Of the 727 passengers and 68 crew, many of the 635 who died were lost at sea in an area where no mariner in his right mind would attempt a rescue.<br />
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<iframe frameborder="0" height="350" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="https://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=en&geocode=&q=Kristiansand,+Norway&aq=0&oq=kristiansand,+norway&sll=63.109669,7.734375&sspn=2.137003,7.1521&ie=UTF8&hq=&hnear=Kristiansand,+Vest-Agder,+Norway&ll=58.150937,7.996193&spn=4.866254,14.304199&t=m&z=6&output=embed" width="425"></iframe><br />
<small><a href="https://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=embed&hl=en&geocode=&q=Kristiansand,+Norway&aq=0&oq=kristiansand,+norway&sll=63.109669,7.734375&sspn=2.137003,7.1521&ie=UTF8&hq=&hnear=Kristiansand,+Vest-Agder,+Norway&ll=58.150937,7.996193&spn=4.866254,14.304199&t=m&z=6" style="color: blue; text-align: left;">View Larger Map</a></small><br />
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<iframe frameborder="0" height="350" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="https://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=en&geocode=&q=Rockall&aq=0&oq=rockall&sll=57.596667,-13.688611&sspn=10.148339,28.608398&g=Rockall&ie=UTF8&hq=&hnear=Rockall&ll=57.596667,-13.688611&spn=19.882087,57.216797&t=m&z=4&output=embed" width="425"></iframe><br />
<small><a href="https://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=embed&hl=en&geocode=&q=Rockall&aq=0&oq=rockall&sll=57.596667,-13.688611&sspn=10.148339,28.608398&g=Rockall&ie=UTF8&hq=&hnear=Rockall&ll=57.596667,-13.688611&spn=19.882087,57.216797&t=m&z=4" style="color: blue; text-align: left;">View Larger Map</a></small>
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Does the greater number of souls lost on the <i>Titanic</i> warrant greater attention and empathy than the fewer numbers aboard the <i>Norge</i>? It is useless to compare, and even more difficult to understand loss when dealing with such large numbers. The tale of human suffering is told with greater clarity when considering one soul at a time. Among the lives lost at sea aboard the SS <i>Norge</i> that summer's day in 1904 was a 15-year-old Norwegian girl named Josefine. She had just departed her homeland in order to join her parents and siblings in Buzzle, Beltrami County, Minnesota, where they had settled the year before. When Josefine began her journey, excited about what life would bring in her new homeland, she could not know that her adolescent dreams would end nearly as soon as they had begun.<br />
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Family Lore</span><br />
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When I initially began researching the genealogy of my Johnson family line with a publication in mind, I paid a visit to cousin in Oregon I had not seen in some years, who was the only son of Carl and <a href="http://nordicblue.blogspot.com/2013/03/a-tribute-to-great-aunties-johnson.html" target="_blank">Thea (Johnson) Humberstad</a> (Thea being one of my paternal great aunts). I learned something about the Humberstads, her husband's family, that I had not known before. Carl Rafinus Humberstad emigrated from Davik, Sogn og Fjordane Norway to Minnesota in 1903 with his parents, J<span style="font-family: inherit;">ø</span>rgen Simon and Anne Martinsdatter Humberstad, and his sister, Oline. Another of Carl's elder sisters, Josefine, left Norway after the rest of the family. I was told that her passage had been booked on the ill-fated <i>Titanic</i> voyage, and that she never made it to America.<br />
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Who would not be intrigued with the possibility of a <i>Titanic</i> tale among the relations? Being a self-appointed family historian, I knew I had to get to the bottom of this story, even if it was not about a blood relative. It was too intriguing to leave alone, and in truth, any Norwegian-American experience appeals to the overall community of affiliated researchers. So, I went back home to the Seattle area and began researching Norwegian census records and other appropriate sources, and I was able to verify that "Josefine Karoline J<span style="font-family: inherit;">ø</span>rgensdatter Humb<span style="font-family: inherit;">ø</span>rstad" did exist, in Norway. But, after reading <i>Titanic</i> passenger lists forwards and backwards, and checking U. S. census records, I simply could not find anything relating to her fate. I called my cousin to say I was not having any luck proving the information, and asked if he was certain his young aunt had been on the <i>Titanic</i>. But, he did not know anything other than what he had already passed along to me.<br />
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If I have learned anything from years of doing genealogy, it is that success can often be achieved by giving a problem a good rest and revisiting it later on. Sometimes the wait can produce additional internet sources, and sometimes it is simply a fresh approach that helps most. This is exactly what I did when I recently decided to do more keyword searches on the Titanic passenger list and Norwegians. Of the links that popped up was one with a description containing the phrase: "Titanic's predecessor," and this caught my attention immediately. I found other references to the SS <i>Norge</i> disaster, but also to a British diving expedition in 2003 that discovered the exact location of the shipwreck in time for the centennial of the sinking. There was mention of a passenger list. The SS <i>Norge</i> event was significant enough to the lives of many Norwegians that I was hopeful my new search would be fruitful.<br />
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When I located the emigration list for the SS <i>Norge</i> on the Norwegian records database, <a href="http://www.arkivverket.no/eng/Digitalarkivet" target="_blank">Digitalarkivet</a>, there was no mistaking Josefine among the names listed. As expected, she was not among the few survivors; her fate was listed as <i>omkom</i> (dead, or lost). So, my cousin's young aunt had not been on the <i>Titanic</i>, after all, but on a <i>Titanic</i>-like shipwreck.<br />
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More to come on Josefine Humberstad, her family, and her fate, in the next post:<br />
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<a href="http://nordicblue.blogspot.com/2013/04/635-souls-missing-story-of-ss-norge.html" target="_blank">http://nordicblue.blogspot.com/2013/04/635-souls-missing-story-of-ss-norge.html</a><br />
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</div>Chery Kinnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08662778019834533118noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33506976.post-66465086911235458292015-05-06T19:20:00.000-07:002017-08-11T13:18:14.046-07:00635 Souls Missing: A Story of the SS Norge Disaster, Part II<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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Story updated (with new photos) and reposted from 2013. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Josefine Jorgensdatter Humberstad, with an unidentified young
man--perhaps someone she intended to marry. Photo taken in Bergen,
Norway, possibly just before boarding the <i>S.S. Norge</i> for America, ca. June 1904. Courtesy of Karen Terrien.</td></tr>
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Words cannot describe the anxiety that stirs within a mother and father anxiously awaiting the safe passage of a young daughter from halfway across the world. It is true now, and was probably even more so in times past, when long-distance travel often meant potentially hazardous sea voyages across thousands of miles of unpredictable ocean. </div>
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One can only imagine what new American immigrants J<span lang="NO-NYN" style="font-family: inherit; mso-ansi-language: NO-NYN;">ø</span>rgen and Anne Humberstad experienced when, during the summer of 1904, they were notified that their daughter, Josefine Karoline, never made it to the shores of America from Norway, as planned. Not only that, but her body was one of over 600 lost at sea in the most catastrophic sea disaster to date. Even more tragic was that it had been an entirely preventable occurrence, if only the captain had adhered to the stringent guidelines of his maritime training.<br />
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J<span lang="NO-NYN" style="mso-ansi-language: NO-NYN;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">ø</span></span>rgen Simon Humberstad (April 4, 1845-October 16, 1916) and his wife, Anne Martinusdatter (July 17, 1854-April 23, 1941) left their home parish of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Davik" target="_blank">Davik</a>, Sogn og Fjordane, Norway in 1903, and settled on a farm in Buzzle, Betrami County, Minnesota. [1] Accompanying them on their voyage were their daughter, Oline, and son, Karl (Carl) Rafinus Humberstad. Their older daughter, Josefine Karoline, remained in Norway with family friends or relatives until the following year, in order to complete her confirmation within the Lutheran Church. For Norwegian Lutherans, confirmation as a sign of becoming an adult in the eyes of the church was extremely important. So, it is not surprising that the timing of Josefine's confirmation encouraged her parents to agree to postpone her emigration until the following year. [2]<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU-PjZj-t4ZaofG49dHGnOyAOTqVwWRVaSqtyYVWfWdkRry3nUJ0VUrbI0Bcm7jaVe9RLX5f2vEaaDEhbCcu51-Egv1rxyuMDjyYwfPvXaPjS-Kfe_x7gDOswkXBZW-g8UuHNG-Q/s1600/SFFf-100057_111180.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU-PjZj-t4ZaofG49dHGnOyAOTqVwWRVaSqtyYVWfWdkRry3nUJ0VUrbI0Bcm7jaVe9RLX5f2vEaaDEhbCcu51-Egv1rxyuMDjyYwfPvXaPjS-Kfe_x7gDOswkXBZW-g8UuHNG-Q/s400/SFFf-100057_111180.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Map showing the municipality of <a href="http://www.sffarkiv.no/sffbasar/style_sognogfjordanekulturnett.asp?p=result&db=dbatlas_leks&art_id=18010&spraak_id=2&ptype=single" target="_blank">Davik, Norway with the 1905 boundaries</a>. <i>Sogn og Fjordane Fylke</i>, 1920.</td></tr>
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It appears that young Josefine did not depart Norway on her own. Another family residing in Davik, Sogn og Fjordane registered for passage on the SS <i>Norge </i>the same day as Josefine (June 18, 1904). Mikkel Pedersen <span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="NO-NYN" style="mso-ansi-language: NO-NYN;">Tø</span>mmerst<span lang="NO-NYN" style="mso-ansi-language: NO-NYN;">øl</span></span> (58), his wife, Anna Mikkelsdatter <span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="NO-NYN" style="mso-ansi-language: NO-NYN;">Tø</span>mmerst</span><span lang="NO-NYN" style="mso-ansi-language: NO-NYN;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: inherit;">øl</span> </span></span>(61), and their 15-year-old daughter, Rasmine Andrea Mikkelsdatter, were headed for <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lead,_South_Dakota" target="_blank">Lead, South Dakota</a>. The Tømmerst<span lang="NO-NYN" style="mso-ansi-language: NO-NYN;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: inherit;">øl</span> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">'s eldest daughter, Anne Martine, also traveled with the family, but she was bound for Dagen, North Dakota.</span></span> [3] No doubt, the Tømmerst<span lang="NO-NYN" style="mso-ansi-language: NO-NYN;">øls</span> planned to see Josefine Humberstad safely to her family in Buzzle, Minnesota before proceeding to South Dakota. In a sad turn of events, the entire <span style="font-family: inherit;">Tømmerst<span lang="NO-NYN" style="mso-ansi-language: NO-NYN;">øl family perished along with Josefine Humberstad during the wreck of the SS <i>Norge.</i> On the <a href="http://digitalarkivet.uib.no/cgi-win/webcens.exe?slag=visbase&filnamn=NORGEP&spraak=e&metanr=2362" target="_blank">passenger list</a> each person's destiny is listed as <i>omkom</i>, or lost.</span></span><br />
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What happened during the voyage of the SS <i>Norge</i> in June 1904 that caused so many people to perish? The first news of the disaster appeared in major newspapers on July 4, about six days after the sinking. Here is what the <i>New York Times</i> published on its front page on July 5, 1904:<br />
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<span style="color: black;"><b>AWFUL DEATH PANIC AS THE NORGE SANK<br />Men, Women, and Children Fought for Life.<br />ASLEEP WHEN SHE STRUCK<br />Captain Went Down with Ship But Came Up and Was Saved.<br />Probably 646 Drowned<br />Off 774 Persons on Board Only 128 Are Known to Have <br />Been Rescued-Tales of the Survivors</b></span> <br />
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<span style="color: #990000; font-size: x-small;">GRIMSBY, England, July 4.-A lone pile of granite [Rockall], rising sheer out of the Atlantic 200 miles from the Scottish mainland, is now a monument to almost 650 dead. Bodies wash against the rocks or lied in the ocean bed at its base. Near by, completely hidden in the water, is the Scandinavian-American liner Norge, which was carrying nearly 800 Danes, Norwegians, Swedes and Finns to join relatives or friends in America. Of these only 128 were saved, so far as is known...</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJU7133vJrInVJegkxkBr6gb62aLVxk5VT0T-jbiz7NdALi6gmdpd2V-fQBGewc4wyXEjhWtRs74TGu5-2KKO_Pp4-pJ0GXdxCpUtUg2Q97e-YA8hzzPIAWOI7QFYUxw66MXreXQ/s1600/Rockall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJU7133vJrInVJegkxkBr6gb62aLVxk5VT0T-jbiz7NdALi6gmdpd2V-fQBGewc4wyXEjhWtRs74TGu5-2KKO_Pp4-pJ0GXdxCpUtUg2Q97e-YA8hzzPIAWOI7QFYUxw66MXreXQ/s320/Rockall.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A newspaper image of Rockall from 1904</td></tr>
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As time progressed, the numbers of those who survived versus those lost would change until a final count had been determined. What was fairly clear to all from the beginning was the turn of events. On the morning on June 28, 1904, the SS <i>Norge</i> was navigating over St. Helen's Reef near Rockall, a 20-meter high, uninhabited, remote rocky islet in the North Atlantic Ocean, when it ran aground on Hasselwood Rock. The area near Rockall, about 300 miles west of the Scottish coast, was a well-known hazard to mariners. The ship had been taken off course willfully by its captain. His decision had far reaching consequences, which he would pay little price for, compared to his passengers. <a href="http://www.shipsnostalgia.com/guides/index.php?title=Passenger_Ship_Disasters_-_Part_9&diff=7506&oldid=7505" target="_blank">Ships Nostalgia</a> website contains an explanation for the variation in the ship's course, which resulted in the tragedy: <br />
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<span style="color: #990000; font-size: x-small;">The normal route from Kristiansand to the North Atlantic was through the Pentland Firth and north of Rockall. As the weather was calm, with good visibility, Captain Valdemar Johannes Gundel, elected to take Norge south of Rockall. Although the southerly route was considered more hazardous, because of stronger and unpredictable currents, Captain Gundel had used it many times<span class="diffchange">, </span>as it postponed his ship’s entry into the Gulf Stream, with its often confused seas and restricted visibility.</span><br />
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The following is an excerpt of an abstract regarding an article published on February 7, 2004 in London's <i>Daily Times</i>: [4]<br />
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<span style="color: #990000; font-size: x-small;">As the [SS Norge] steamed out into the Atlantic, one of the passengers, student Herman Lauritsen had no parental responsibilities and was enjoying the new experience. He marvelled at the expanse of sky and sea during the endless midsummer daylight. The morning of June 28 was calm, and as the morning sea mist drifted round the 3,000-ton vessel, he slept soundly. A newspaper report the following week gave his account of what happened next: 'I awoke suddenly when the ship ran aground and I ran onto the deck where there was an indescribable fear and commotion. A struggle for life was ravaging the ship like a storm and a voice from the bottom of the ship cried "Throw my children up on deck." The sight on the top deck was awful. People stood in front of the pile of life vests but they were not able to attach any of them because the ropes were rotten.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #990000;">The ship was leaning upwards and people sliding downwards into the sea and a crazy man clutching a bundle of paper money just leapt from the top. As we row away from the ship everyone is swimming after us.' One of the five seaworthy lifeboats had picked up the man responsible for the catastrophe, Captain Valdemar Gundel, who had decided to let his passengers see the isolated pinnacle known as [Rockall] at close hand. He lived to face charges of criminal negligence but the ensuing court case was a farce. Both he and the shipping company were cleared of any responsibility for 653 deaths and the incident was airbrushed out of history until Orkney-based diver and historical researcher Kevin Heath located the exact position of the <span class="hit" style="background-color: #f4e99d; color: black;">Norge</span>. He is now heading the British contingent in a memorial expedition to HUSBANDS mark the centenary of the disaster.</span> </span><br />
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Herman Lauritsen's story is but one told by survivors. Others describe an even more harrowing situation, as related by "Phlebas" in a posting of a letter written by his grandfather, Hans (a survivor of the SS Norge disaster) to relatives back in Norway: [5]<br />
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<span style="color: #990000; font-size: x-small;">We had beautiful weather the whole time [...] The first three days people were quiet, walking forth and back on the deck and talking to each other. The day before the terrible tragedy, people began to enjoy themselves, dancing on the deck, laughing and having a good time. At 10:00 I went to bed and slept all night, only to be awakened early I the morning by a terrific crash. I rushed out of bed to find my clothes, but someone had taken mine by mistake. I heard water rushing under [?] and everyone was up on deck. I was the last one below. I found the stairs from the lower deck broken, so I had to climb to the middle deck. It was crowded at the exit, everyone wanting to be first. I finally got through and saw a terrific sight. The deck was full of adults and children half-dressed and running and crying and calling to each other.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">...I went over to the side of the ship and it stood still. I saw it had started to sink some and I saw the ship’s crew coming with life belts on. I knew it was grave, so I ran down to find a life belt and some clothes, but the water was already up to the bearths and I had to get back on deck. Three sobbing elderly ladies asked me to find them a life belt. I ran down again, not finding anything. Now the water was coming up so fast, suitcases and other debris were floating all over. I came back up without anything and they were desperate. I stood and looked at the people. I could not realize that we all should die now. Many were on their knees praying and crying, others were wringing their hands in despair....</span><br />
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Hans managed to jump into one of the lifeboats that had first turned upside down while becoming caught in a tackle, but was freed afterwards by cutting the ropes with an axe. He continued:<br />
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<span style="color: #990000; font-size: x-small;">...The Norge should have been sailing north of the area, when it hit the Rockall Bank in the Atlantic Ocean. We could see the ship was sinking fast and the water was rushing over the front deck, then the stern part of the vessel went down. The people had crowded together, but we didn’t hear any crying because the wind took the sound away. Soon we could not see the ship anymore. Slowly, the stern came up and it went under again with about 650 people. It was a sad moment, and everyone in the boat wept. One had his mother, seven sisters and one brother. And others had relatives on board. Now we could wait no longer, the ones who could, began to row.</span><br />
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These are just a portion of the personal memories available in the recounting of events during the <i>Norge's</i> sinking. And what of Josefine Humberstad's story? As a non-survivor, we will never hear her words or impressions of that day in June 1904, when so many lives were lost to the sea. Were she and her traveling companions awake and awaiting breakfast when they heard and felt the first danger sign, like so many others? Were they able to keep together as they struggled upward to the deck to assess the situation, or did they become separated and face the end without a friend or family member to cling to? Although her fate and that of many others aboard the SS Norge are known, their experiences can never be fully imagined.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSpYE-KEdG9E7Q3nRVlCS7sFk71FNanMrtf3HeoZ5T2jZ33Tp8w6OKNjI846fX1h87i29pEFMwRdM-QKvsCuxyf6e3FiBBleKLGQwv1iruAh9sLXhvpg4NOW_ZKeKsM3MLzOdS0A/s1600/51R63P5AP5L__SY300_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSpYE-KEdG9E7Q3nRVlCS7sFk71FNanMrtf3HeoZ5T2jZ33Tp8w6OKNjI846fX1h87i29pEFMwRdM-QKvsCuxyf6e3FiBBleKLGQwv1iruAh9sLXhvpg4NOW_ZKeKsM3MLzOdS0A/s200/51R63P5AP5L__SY300_.jpg" width="136" /></a></div>
The Norwegian author, Per Kristian Sebak, also had many questions about the wreck of the SS <i>Norge</i> and the experiences of its passengers. Sebak did extensive research on the shipwreck and related events and wrote <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Titanics-Predecessor-Norge-Disaster-1904/dp/8299677904/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1365035969&sr=1-1&keywords=titanic%27s+predecessor" target="_blank">Titanic's Predecessor: The S/S Norge Disaster of 1904</a></i> (Seaward Publishing, February 29, 2004). You will find many additional stories in Sebak's book.<br />
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There are also many websites containing information about the SS Norge disaster. Here are just a few:<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Access My Library: <a href="http://www.accessmylibrary.com/coms2/summary_0286-21789718_ITM" target="_blank">How the SS Norge and 600 lost souls were eclipsed by Titanic</a></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Comhairle nan Eilean Siar: </span><a href="http://blogserver.cne-siar.gov.uk/wp-archivist/?p=1909" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Friday photo: survivors of the SS Norge</span></a><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Divernet: Book & Video Review: </span><a href="http://www.divernet.com/other_diving_topics/160214/titanics_predecessor_by_per_kristian_sebak.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Titanic's Predecessor by Per Kristian Sebak</span></a><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">NoLimitsDiving: </span><a href="http://www.nolimitsdiving.dk/nld/projekter/norge/norge_pr%C3%A6sentation_uk.htm" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Project SS Norge, 1904-2004</span></a><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Norway Heritage: </span><a href="http://www.norwayheritage.com/articles/templates/great-disasters.asp?articleid=119&zoneid=1" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The Sinking of the Norge</span></a><span style="font-size: x-small;"> <i>and</i> </span><a href="http://www.norwayheritage.com/articles/templates/great-disasters.asp?articleid=123&zoneid=1" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The S/S Norge disaster-newspaper reports</span></a><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Tasglann: </span><a href="http://www.tasglann.org.uk/en/collections/image-galleries/sinking-of-the-ss-norge" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The SS Norge Disaster: June/July 1904</span></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Part I of "635 Souls Missing: A Story of the SS Norge Disaster":</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://nordicblue.blogspot.com/2015/05/635-souls-missing-story-of-ss-norge.html" target="_blank">http://nordicblue.blogspot.com/2015/05/635-souls-missing-story-of-ss-norge.html</a></span> </b></span><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpxz_KS-IaiKGNJhU5g3UO4YD17udPEBeOwuVg7dvP7_imQaXb0VK7eTEkKEHzdhS91jov8UlcpegFK4NIVzCxBOfWxqth9WrrPRdiY0IWha_R7YQy7nquU4xCa4-c8ujRDPuqPw/s1600/Jorgen,+Anne,+Maria+and+Carl+Humberstad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpxz_KS-IaiKGNJhU5g3UO4YD17udPEBeOwuVg7dvP7_imQaXb0VK7eTEkKEHzdhS91jov8UlcpegFK4NIVzCxBOfWxqth9WrrPRdiY0IWha_R7YQy7nquU4xCa4-c8ujRDPuqPw/s1600/Jorgen,+Anne,+Maria+and+Carl+Humberstad.jpg" width="303" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Jorgen Humberstad family after the death of Josefine. Jorgen and
Anne are in front, with children Marie and Carl in back. Daughter Olene
is not present. Photo was most likely taken in Beltrami County,
Minnesota, ca. 1905/06, after Marie, the last family member to immigrate
to North America, arrived from Norway. Courtesy of Karen Terrien.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Sources</b>:</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">[1] Vital statistics from tombstone inscriptions at Aure Immanuel Cemetery, Beltrami County, Minnesota; Humberstads' immigration year from 1930 U. S. Federal Census for Buzzle, Beltrami, Minnesota; Norway residential information from Digitalarkivet (<a href="http://www.arkivverket.no/digitalarkivet">http://www.arkivverket.no/digitalarkivet</a>), 1900 Norway census, Davik, Fjordane, Norway; U. S. residential information from 1910 U. S. Federal Census, Place: Buzzle, Betrami, Minnesota; Roll: T24_690; Page: 2A; Enumeration District: 0023; FHL microfilm: 1374703 (Jorgen and Anne Humberstad, with son "Rafenus," age 14).</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">[2] Digitalarkivet (</span><a href="http://www.arkivverket.no/digitalarkivet"><span style="font-size: x-small;">http://www.arkivverket.no/digitalarkivet</span></a><span style="font-size: x-small;">). Digitized parish records for Davik/Davik, Confirmation Records, September 27, 1903, </span><span style="font-size: x-small;">Josefine Karoline Jorgensdatter</span><span style="font-size: x-small;"> (born at Humb<span lang="NO-NYN" style="mso-ansi-language: NO-NYN;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">ø</span></span>rstad farm).</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">[3] Digitalarkivet. <a href="http://digitalarkivet.uib.no/cgi-win/webcens.exe?slag=visbase&filnamn=NORGEP" target="_blank">Passenger list for the June 28, 1904 expedition of the SS <i>Norge</i></a>.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">[4] Gourlay, Kath. "Death on the rocks; How the reckless captain of a ship unfit to sail killed 653 people in search of a new life... and how their bitter legacy was ignored." <i>Daily Mail</i> [London (UK)] 07 Feb 2004: 36.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">[5] <a href="http://s10.zetaboards.com/The_New_Coffee_Room/topic/374936/1/" target="_blank">The New Coffee Room</a>; post by "Phlebas" regarding a letter by his grandfather, Hans, a survivor of the SS <i>Norge</i>.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"></span><br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p> © Copyright 2013 – All rights reserved </p>
<a href=”http://www.nordicblue.blogpost.com“>Nordic Blue</a>
</div>Chery Kinnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08662778019834533118noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33506976.post-15853952379366382232015-05-05T20:29:00.000-07:002015-05-06T12:37:37.680-07:00A Stitch in TimeSome years ago, my husband and I were visiting my mother in Salem, Oregon, when a cousin-in-law called and asked us to stop by. Wilma Moen had been widowed a few years earlier, and when we arrived at her door she said, "I'm planning on selling the house soon, and I have something I thought you might want." She took us to the master bedroom and pointed out an old rotary sewing machine sitting at the side of the bed. The oak cabinet with three small drawers on each side was in near perfect shape, and opening the lid revealed a gleaming black machine with gold decals with the name "White" across the front. The old treadle machine had belonged to one of my great aunts, Cora Johnson Moen, who passed away on 28 May 1975, at age 83. I suspect that the machine had not been put to much use for a few years before that, since she suffered greatly from Altzheimers late in her life.<br />
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Fast forward to the present, and that same White Family Rotary sewing machine sits at the end of my upstairs hallway here in Snohomish County, Washington. Although its history is much appreciated, it has continued to sit virtually untouched. So, at this point, the machine has been been retired for about as many years as Cora made steady use of it: some 44 years of productive use, followed by the same number of years of not much happening. The present being a halfway point or anniversary of sorts for this important but silenced family tool and artifact, I decided it was time to change all that.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-8GXv4FBbWYcQv9SvcF-ITxmJQI6Hou519vEj4FSQPoY0bcXggpfN9pfFFBhV2CKj3CK_bcPyMmz3XR8DLvI3IUjUo3MuYOOO5deNWmPy55Ll8YzsebsgWGSrBPGUuhAZfclEFw/s1600/econ1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-8GXv4FBbWYcQv9SvcF-ITxmJQI6Hou519vEj4FSQPoY0bcXggpfN9pfFFBhV2CKj3CK_bcPyMmz3XR8DLvI3IUjUo3MuYOOO5deNWmPy55Ll8YzsebsgWGSrBPGUuhAZfclEFw/s1600/econ1.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"The 'Economy,' Sears Roebuck's first rotary model
introduced about 1920. Manufactured by the
Standard Sewing Machine of Cleveland, Ohio, it was replaced
by the White 'Franklin [<i>Family?</i>] Rotary' about 1926." <a href="http://www.ismacs.net/sears/sears.html" target="_blank">Sears Roebuck: The Company and Its Machines</a> (ISMACS International--International Sewing Machine Collectors Society).</td></tr>
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To start, I sent an e-mail to the company that holds the White
manufacturing records. The White Sewing Machine Company was founded in
1858, acquired by Electrolux in 1986, and finally, bought by Husqvarna.
Husqvarna Viking responded promptly after looking up the serial number
FR 3209480: "Your White Family Rotary was manufactured 1926 in
Cleveland, OH."<br />
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Pleased to make your acquaintance,
White Family Rotary from Cleveland! It had traveled from Ohio to
Minnesota to Oregon, and then to Washington. My inherited sewing
machine now also had a birth date and a birthplace, and the rest is...
well, family history.<br />
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I was anxious to place the date of manufacture for Aunt Cora's sewing
machine not just because I am appreciative of antiques, but because the
information gives a little insight into how and why it was acquired in
the first place. The manufacture date of 1926 is a little too late for
it to have been purchased as a wedding present for Cora. I can only
assume that as a young wife and new mother with few funds to spare, she
must have saved up for this domestic "work horse" on her own. Perhaps she tucked away a little cash under the mattress now and again, or dropped extra coins into an old canning jar with determined reverence
after taking the eggs to market. Finally the exciting day arrived when
she ordered her brand new treadle sewing machine from the Sears Roebuck
catalog, which was a treasure trove for farm wives east, west, and midwestern. <br />
<br />
Cora
(Johnson) Moen was born on 15 July 1891 in Granite Falls Township, Chippewa County, Minnesota. She
was one of ten siblings who grew up as part of an early 20th Century
Norwegian-American farm. As the eldest daughter, she must have had a
daily chore list that would make your head spin. Many photographs of
her as a young woman show her either staring with
grim resignation, or scowling. Even so, when my mother was growing up, she counted
Cora as a favorite aunt, because she was maternal and caring in spite of
the serious attitude that served her best in her youth.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjnu0La5aVqnLUqAE0fh74rOtX2H15xlXA35ULLZ_xRf5yVlU2lHN-jR8DAxCDjIxuyn9UAFobfQtQ6zBSBWBydFGws7xlYB6BL1xUydXV36x9QDjrWt744jxRop5koWWYKCfNNg/s1600/creat0001_196.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjnu0La5aVqnLUqAE0fh74rOtX2H15xlXA35ULLZ_xRf5yVlU2lHN-jR8DAxCDjIxuyn9UAFobfQtQ6zBSBWBydFGws7xlYB6BL1xUydXV36x9QDjrWt744jxRop5koWWYKCfNNg/s1600/creat0001_196.jpg" height="320" width="244" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cora Johnson Moen with her husband, Emil, and their son, Harvey; photo taken ca. 1930 on their farm in Dudley, Minnesota.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
When Cora purchased her new White Family Rotary machine, she was living
with her husband, Emil Moen. Cora married Emil in 1923, and the couple
had their only son, Harvey, the year following. It was likely the
challenge of keeping the family clothed that prompted the purchase--her
farming husband, and in particular, their young lickety-split son, who
was all rough and tumble boy. Cora may have been replacing an older,
worn machine, but in any case, a farm wife could hardly be without a
means to make her own clothing, bedding, and household furnishings, especially during the Depression years. <br />
<br />
According to my mother, Aunt Cora made heavy use of her White Family Rotary. She was always sewing something to use, to wear, or to give as gifts. With a large extended family that included parents, six brothers and two sisters and their spouses, and a growing number of nieces and nephews, she probably used her sewing machine nearly every day for decades. I like to think that the flowered dark dress she wears in the 1930 photo above was made on the very same sewing machine that sits in my home today.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ88UZjesPOSHRTAfRbl7lW47n55cPenfmR2r3tyR-1sA374RcqwDfpfw6rZeH6X_iqsCvPe_KBFsamQPvGqv7JFdaJf9jKeFIn9B8VRAwoi-PxQ79byQUPWo7L4KC4xC0A57nEg/s1600/creat0001_198.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ88UZjesPOSHRTAfRbl7lW47n55cPenfmR2r3tyR-1sA374RcqwDfpfw6rZeH6X_iqsCvPe_KBFsamQPvGqv7JFdaJf9jKeFIn9B8VRAwoi-PxQ79byQUPWo7L4KC4xC0A57nEg/s1600/creat0001_198.jpg" height="320" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cora Johnson Moen in about 1960, posing with her son, Harvey, and daughter-in-law, Wilma, in Salem, Oregon. See, Aunt Cora was indeed capable of smiling!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p> © Copyright 2013 – All rights reserved </p>
<a href=”http://www.nordicblue.blogpost.com“>Nordic Blue</a>
</div>Chery Kinnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08662778019834533118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33506976.post-24888252692346688032014-08-20T06:00:00.000-07:002016-06-06T15:18:22.652-07:00New Museum in Maynard, Minnesota Collecting Memorabilia<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNOSi0xP_29BYCo-9OQ9YbLnOfMY8MD52IrV6EQPtQMyXcBtK0Tk_nRivgMnznc5GZAtBLg3Cs-wlrpm7d8GLbhqAv1r2ck54UrJ7IjrweeqG5D50Or1eIoxahssA4BKjKzYd6OA/s1600/Bank_museumSM(1)_Web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNOSi0xP_29BYCo-9OQ9YbLnOfMY8MD52IrV6EQPtQMyXcBtK0Tk_nRivgMnznc5GZAtBLg3Cs-wlrpm7d8GLbhqAv1r2ck54UrJ7IjrweeqG5D50Or1eIoxahssA4BKjKzYd6OA/s1600/Bank_museumSM(1)_Web.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
The town of <a href="https://www.google.com/maps/place/Maynard,+MN+56260/@44.905235,-95.4679595,15z/data=!3m1!4b1!4m2!3m1!1s0x52cac935a8ed9d77:0x2eabc8ab8823194f" target="_blank">Maynard, Minnesota</a> in Chippewa County has a little piece of my heart, being the longtime home of my Norwegian-American great grandparents, Ole B. and Anne Marie (Sloan) Berge, and their children. I was recently contacted and asked if I had any photographs, stories or memorabilia to help the collection efforts of this new museum, and I'll be doing my part. Here's a shout-out to my Berge relatives and others with family history in Maynard who can also help.<br />
<br />
Please visit the information page for the new <a href="http://www.maynardmn.com/index.asp?Type=B_BASIC&SEC=%7BC8199834-7E26-454E-84F4-ED209D7BF8EB%7D&DE=%7B122D6C56-E441-4D00-8AC5-69E477A85DE6%7D" target="_blank">Maynard Museum</a>.<br />
<br />
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p> © Copyright 2013 – All rights reserved </p>
<a href=”http://www.nordicblue.blogpost.com“>Nordic Blue</a>
</div>Chery Kinnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08662778019834533118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33506976.post-17934076724005343322013-12-22T12:34:00.001-08:002016-06-06T15:20:03.337-07:00Wish Books and Hardwood Floors<span style="color: red;"><i><span style="color: black;">Edited and reposted from December 19, 2007</span></i><b> </b></span><br />
<br />
<br />
In the early 1960s, shopping was such a special occasion for my family that we went on purposeful expeditions only several times a year. One<b> </b>time was during the inevitable "back to school" rush, and another always happened several weeks before Christmas.<br />
<br />
My sister and I were never under the care of a babysitter, so on the chosen Friday night we waited for Dad to arrive home from work with great anticipation. We gulped a dinner of something like macaroni and cheese with canned green beans. Afterward, Mom struggled to get a coat and hat onto my fidgety little sister, and then checked for a third time that the shopping list was actually in her purse. Finally, we piled into Dad's red and white '57 Ford Ranch Wagon for a drive into town.<br />
<br />
Becky sat sandwiched in the front seat between Dad and Mom, while I held on tight in the back seat and pressed my nose to the window, watching as headlights, taillights, and streetlights whizzed by. The color and sparkle of nighttime and festive lights, magnified through rain drops on the window glass, added to my holiday spirit.<br />
<br />
We lived in the Richmond Annex along Carlson Boulevard, which consisted of homes built on landfill during the post World War II building boom. Woolworth's on Macdonald Avenue was the store of choice when Mom came out to Richmond from Minnesota in 1945. Department stores quickly became popular in the post war years, though Macy's was a little too expensive for Mom's taste. Once in a great while, we ventured into Oakland to visit the tall Sears Roebuck building, mostly to pick up catalog orders.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwB6sL-uZ8H8T3PwyIg8H2sqGBdYPUL-UU8lsC2yQowB4TRkDfvIxqJd75AVVgUCoOJP-qK_5pG_Yz2v14GdeBxYtjos6q968Kmyks6QVjcFo5yxXYmNe4BdrSAwx5DaIFb3UDBQ/s1600-h/Richmond+at+night.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142400795893400162" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwB6sL-uZ8H8T3PwyIg8H2sqGBdYPUL-UU8lsC2yQowB4TRkDfvIxqJd75AVVgUCoOJP-qK_5pG_Yz2v14GdeBxYtjos6q968Kmyks6QVjcFo5yxXYmNe4BdrSAwx5DaIFb3UDBQ/s400/Richmond+at+night.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px;" /></a><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: 85%;">Macdonald Avenue at night, Richmond, 1959. <a href="http://eastbayhistory.com/richmond_street_scenes.htm">Richmond Street Scenes</a></span></b><br />
<br />
<br />
For us, Christmas gift-buying usually meant driving through the rain and the dark into downtown Richmond to shop at Montgomery Ward. After Dad found a parking spot, we climbed up the few short steps to enter the store and get out of the rain. Inside, the overheated department store immediately made us feel uncomfortable: our wool coats began to steam and smell, and our wet shoes clicked and slipped against highly polished hardwood floors. The foreign sounds of elevator bells and far-away voices on the intercom captured my attention as we wove around islands of neatly piled clothing, as well as other shoppers. At the back of the store was a special area set up for Christmas, and we made a beeline for that before my sister's attention span had a chance to wane.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY9ilMo8NaCELxKjMORArf1zAMufY58ZEuB-XhyCAYXILEKZbQIj6B3X-DsQjfnqD68J27p1aL_dsWem4OE1dcWM8rjtAqWhEFAY_T3d39Q_L5ccTvmfQPprmnhzxeUUzB4CGhvw/s1600/MWWishbook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY9ilMo8NaCELxKjMORArf1zAMufY58ZEuB-XhyCAYXILEKZbQIj6B3X-DsQjfnqD68J27p1aL_dsWem4OE1dcWM8rjtAqWhEFAY_T3d39Q_L5ccTvmfQPprmnhzxeUUzB4CGhvw/s320/MWWishbook.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
<br />
Mom had been formulating what to buy for weeks, but she always took my sister and I to have a look at some of the things we'd been drooling over in the catalog, known as the"Wish Book." Though tempted by what we saw, we never begged--we were taught restraint. Even so, my active little sister found it difficult to keep from touching all of the glittery treats among the displays, because she loved everything. But, greedy or entitled? Never! We could point and sigh and smile and hope, and that was all we ever needed<br />
to do.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div align="justify">
<span style="color: #990000;"><i>After World War II, Montgomery Ward had become the third-largest department store chain. In 1946, the Grolier Club, a society of bibliophiles in New York City, exhibited the Wards catalog alongside Webster's dictionary as one of 100 American books chosen for their influence on life and culture of the people. The brand name of the store became embedded in the popular American consciousness and was often called by the nickname "Monkey Wards," both affectionately and derisively.</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #990000;"><i></i></span></div>
<br />
<div align="justify">
<span style="color: #990000;"><i>In the 1950s, the company was slow to respond to general movement of the American middle class to suburbia. While its old rivals Sears, J.C. Penney, Macy's, and Dillard's established new anchor outlets in the growing number of suburban shopping malls, the top executives thought such moves as too expensive, sticking to their downtown and main street stores until the company had lost too much market share to compete with its rivals. Its catalog business had begun to slip by the 1960s...</i></span><br />
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<span style="color: #990000;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">--Wikipedia: </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Montgomery_Ward"><span style="font-size: 85%;">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Montgomery_Ward</span></a></span></div>
</blockquote>
<br />
Santa was in the store, of course, but after several unsuccessful attempts to get my sister to sit on his lap, Mom gave up. Becky was terrified by certain things, and one of them just happened to be Santa. Santa Claus in storybooks was a grand idea, but the reality of Santa-in-the-flesh was just too unsettling for her. I am reminded of a time when Becky was about three years old and Mom came home with new, dark-rimmed glasses. Oh, how Becky screamed and screamed - she was inconsolable! Poor Mom had to schedule another appointment and select something a bit less scary. You would never think that my sister, as a grown woman, would be into horror movies and collectibles, now would you?<br />
<br />
When the tour of the toy department was completed and any grumbles had been quieted, Mom took us to look at clothing--a huge, dubious wasteland that made up most of the department store. That was Dad's cue to sneak back to the toy area and buy what Mom had instructed. I always knew what was happening, but it was more fun to pretend that I didn't.<br />
<br />
Mom struggled to keep my sister in tow while searching for the perfect flannel shirt for Grampa, the tights Becky needed to match her cute holiday dress, or linens for Aunt Mabel. After the shopping was completed--or everyone had reached their tolerance limits--we all piled back into the station wagon for the drive home, grateful to be in the cool evening air once again. The purchased gifts were secretly stowed in the back of the wagon, safe in the dark from prying eyes and distanced from curious fingers.<br />
<br />
While Mom and Dad recovered from sticker shock and the stress of another holiday buying expedition, the family headed home to the little white stucco house with red wood shutters in the Richmond Annex. We all anticipated another happy Christmas, but, we had made Montgomery Ward even happier, I'm sure.<br />
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</script><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p> © Copyright 2013 – All rights reserved </p>
<a href=”http://www.nordicblue.blogpost.com“>Nordic Blue</a>
</div>Chery Kinnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08662778019834533118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33506976.post-82487295273940367432013-10-31T11:47:00.000-07:002013-11-24T21:58:13.686-08:00Halloween Memories from 1987<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Na3KIu0m5W6gmPxHVTNQ8U85k5PBAJ-JKjxdKd9KE0o_GxhZS3gDOx8YQKGQW3RSZVQgQmckK53_bBTR242pQA3fXJl9bCDmAez-zPZRQeoEDgQadpTWVl2lkm3UG05tM23TQw/s1600/img006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Na3KIu0m5W6gmPxHVTNQ8U85k5PBAJ-JKjxdKd9KE0o_GxhZS3gDOx8YQKGQW3RSZVQgQmckK53_bBTR242pQA3fXJl9bCDmAez-zPZRQeoEDgQadpTWVl2lkm3UG05tM23TQw/s400/img006.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our beloved Kippers on the back deck with a cat Jack-O-Lantern pal.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b> <span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Happy Halloween!</span></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="color: #783f04;"><i>from 26 years ago...</i></span></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="color: #783f04;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">Go out and make some memories</span> </i></span></b></span></div>
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<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJbCMKOknvzMixMPWj-IP8s7_-N7IaiT-SUkcx9zPbCxQXyg0N7oNl6d_l8ZZ1YEYjy_d9mRq0b6yyhvIdo1lIVSZYH-bCjyaVyGioI4g7d_YMKMXDFLtLduz8XFoFowg4ppOtzw/s1600/img007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJbCMKOknvzMixMPWj-IP8s7_-N7IaiT-SUkcx9zPbCxQXyg0N7oNl6d_l8ZZ1YEYjy_d9mRq0b6yyhvIdo1lIVSZYH-bCjyaVyGioI4g7d_YMKMXDFLtLduz8XFoFowg4ppOtzw/s400/img007.jpg" width="281" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An impressive ghoul and a fine old fashioned lady (Ian and Courtney), both sensibly dressed for the occasion in athletic shoes.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p> © Copyright 2013 – All rights reserved </p>
<a href=”http://www.nordicblue.blogpost.com“>Nordic Blue</a>
</div>Chery Kinnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08662778019834533118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33506976.post-81805704337698066672013-10-25T21:25:00.002-07:002013-10-28T13:55:30.177-07:00As I Remember ThemI just finished reading <i>The Distancers: An American Memoir</i>, by Lee Sandlin, which is an extremely well written account of the history behind his great grandparents' old house in southern Illinois. The author gradually unfolds the personalities and lives of the elder relatives who lived there, many of whom were a regular part of Sandlin's life as a youngster. What struck me most was the realistic portrayal of the attitude children often have toward their elders: not questioning, but simply accepting who their family members are at face value, with all their faults and idiosyncrasies, while any strengths or aptitudes are usually taken for granted. Questioning, reasoning and approaching an understanding of our elders' choices and actions usually comes later in life, and it often happens too late for us to be able ask the relatives themselves about their experiences or intentions. And, that is what family history is all about: piecing together the purpose and meaning of our ancestors' lives in order to better understand them and ourselves.<br />
<br />
I was never fortunate enough to experience living with my great aunts and uncles (or grandparents, for that matter), for extended periods of time. But, I always looked forward to Dad's two week vacation in August when the old Ford Ranch Wagon was packed up with suitcases and a twin mattress in the back for my sister and myself to sleep on. Almost yearly we traveled from the Bay Area to Salem, Oregon, where we stayed at Aunt Phyllis's house and made the endless round of visits to my grandfather and his many brothers and sisters, as well as a few cousins.<br />
<br />
Everywhere we went, modest dining room tables groaned with coffee and milk, sandwiches or pastries, wonderfully diverse jello or pasta salads, and best of all--homemade doughnuts. As a child, I too was content to observe and wonder, never asking questions of my elders. If I had, I might have been ignored, or at best, received a thinned-out version of the truth for an answer, or worse--been teased for asking in the first place. We children knew our place! So now that these elders are gone, I am left to piece together their lives out of a desire to know how they coped with everyday problems, and where they reaped their rewards. I also want to know simply because I care.<br />
<br />
The following photograph of my grandfather (front and center) and six out of his
nine siblings was taken in in 1967, following the funeral of their
sister, Thea (Johnson) Humberstad. Thea was the first of the ten
siblings to pass on. They are all departed now, the last being Oral Johnson in 1996. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz0YVbfTftFKFsD8eLwQQ3A0s1mVo9ClewxDt2T0YhQNYVuG1ls4xEQBb5IldkQlWa-BTnoaEde4EiISS0wREjfY-fyOTb2N6oR9SB09SpusadV5B0tW5-RpJEqWiTcct7s5mbbQ/s1600/Theafuneral.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="390" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz0YVbfTftFKFsD8eLwQQ3A0s1mVo9ClewxDt2T0YhQNYVuG1ls4xEQBb5IldkQlWa-BTnoaEde4EiISS0wREjfY-fyOTb2N6oR9SB09SpusadV5B0tW5-RpJEqWiTcct7s5mbbQ/s400/Theafuneral.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(Left to right), Front row: Cora (Johnson) Moen, Ernest Johnson (my maternal grandfather), and Mabel Johnson. Back row: Carl Johnson, Frank Johnson (the youngest of the siblings), Oral Johnson, and Ruben Johnson. Missing from the photo are Bennett Johnson (the eldest) and Odin Johnson, both from Minnesota, and of course, Thea (Johnson) Humberstad, who was buried that day. The photographer was one of their neices, either Doris Johnson Wheeler or Phyllis Johnson Rice. Although the photograph is dated with the printing date of May 1967 on the border, it was taken shortly after Thea Humberstad's death in February of that year.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
As Sandlin stated in his memoir: "all stories of the past are sad." This
photo is sad, too, not just because of the event that created it (a funeral), but because of the
shared anguish among close family members after the loss of a loved one, and having to come face-to-face with the harsh reality of their own mortality in the process. The shell-shocked look on many of the faces--my grandfather's especially--continues to haunt me.
Still, I cherish the photo because it represents my grandfather with most of his brothers and sisters together in one place, with everyone appearing exactly as I remember them during the
mid-1960s.<br />
<br />
The
photograph was shot with a Kodak Instamatic camera, which was all the rage in the
mid-1960s. The subjects posed inside my great aunt Mabel Johnson's living room,
on Ellis Ave. NE in Salem. I cannot fail to recognize the vintage dark
red upholstered chair that Mabel always kept by the front door, and I owned it
for a time after her death in 1983. Grandpa must have been given the only seat for the portrait because he was the eldest sibling present.
Most of the family lived in Salem, Oregon or the surrounding area, but three of the brothers, Bennett, Odin, and Oral, lived in Minnesota. Only Oral
Johnson was able to make the trip to the west coast for the funeral. Thea, the departed, lived in West Salem with her husband Carl Humberstad
in a tiny and immaculate white clapboard house with baby pink trim.<br />
<br />
The people in the photograph were a
big part of the backbone of extended family that I knew and loved as a youngster. I miss them all, and if I could have one more chance to see them, there would be a thousand questions for each and every one. All stories of the past may be sad in some way, mostly because they are from a time that is irretrievably lost to us, but that does not mean they should be ignored or avoided. The reason why some of us spend so much time researching family history is to rediscover the experiences of those who paved life's road ahead of us, winding through all of its mysterious peaks and valleys. Though their time has passed, there is joy and honor to be celebrated from their journeys.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><p> © Copyright 2013 – All rights reserved </p>
<a href=”http://www.nordicblue.blogpost.com“>Nordic Blue</a>
</div>Chery Kinnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08662778019834533118noreply@blogger.com2