Valentines for Eternity: Eric and Bertina Winje

Ancestry.com recently published a Valentines Day feature, Discovering True Love. 

There’s a story behind that marriage date. But unless the tale has been passed down through family lore or you’re the proud owner of a collection of torrid love letters, you’re never going to get it, right?

Don’t give up so easily. Turns out that story of true love could be hiding in a yearbook or a census record. Or it may be waiting in a document or photo that you’ve already found, viewed, and saved … just waiting for you to take a second look.

This Ancestry.com article inspired me to write about a love story from among my own ancestors.  Although Eric and Bertina Winje are not the only examples of loving and lasting relationships from among my mother's ancestors, the challenges this particular couple faced never cease to amaze me.  Theirs was a relationship that weathered much of the spectrum of life and was still as strong as ever in its final moments.  But, in many ways, it is just another "everyday" love story from among our courageous immigrant ancestors.



Eric L. and Bertina Winje, 1915.

As anyone who has ever loved knows, love is not all sweetness and light.  Real love includes many bumps along the way:  give and take, up and down, light and shadow, and so on, plus plenty of personal sacrifice.  My great great grandmother, Thibertine (Johnson), or "Bertina" as she was called, with her second husband, Eric L. Winje, encountered great joy, inescapable tragedy, and everything inbetween during their time as a couple.  The point is that they encountered everything together for 56 years, and the bond made them even closer.

Bertina was the petite, good-natured, auburn-haired wife of an immigrant farmer, Baard Johnson.  The Johnsons arrived in the U. S. in 1866 from Nord-Troendelag, Norway, along with their two children, Ole M. and Ellen Julie, and began homesteading on prairie land in Chippewa County, Minnesota.  When Baard died from typhoid fever in 1872, Bertina found herself quite alone with two underage children, an 80-acre farm to manage, and a homestead contract that had not yet met the government requirements of five years working and living on the land.  She could have lost everything if the right man had not come along in time.

Lars and Ragnild Winje, Norwegian immigrants who homesteaded near to the Johnsons, had a grown son named Eric.  In 1872, Eric was 21 years old, which was ten years Bertina Johnson's junior, and at 5 feet 11 inches, he was more than a foot taller.  Eric was a good looking young man with brown hair, gray eyes, a smallish mouth, and an "ordinary" nose, according to his passport application of 1895.  The two began a relationship in the months following Baard Johnson's death.  Being of the same community, the pair had initially met at the local Lutheran Church or other gathering.  Perhaps Bertina had even hired Eric Winje to help out on the farm during the weeks of her husband's illness or after his death.

Eric Winje and Bertina Johnson quickly decided that togetherness was a good thing.  They began living together as common-law spouses and had a baby girl in 1873 (Berthe Regine, or "Regina"), but were not married until March 15, 1874.  The delay in the marriage date was planned in order to protect the legal interests of Bertina's eldest son, Ole M. Johnson, who stood to inherit his father's property.  If Bertina had married Eric Winje before the homestead requirement was completed under her first husband's name, they would have had to begin anew under Eric Winje's application.  The delay of the marriage, as well as protecting his stepson's interest in the land ownership, was definitely a sacrifice for love and honor on Winje's part.

Winje was an intelligent man who was driven to better himself and his family's situation.  While working as the county clerk for Chippewa County in Montevideo, Minnesota, he read for the law in his spare time and passed the bar exam.  He also worked as a Justice of the Peace and even officiated at his stepson's wedding.  The Winjes then gave up the family homestead in Granite Falls Township to Bertina's grown son, Ole M. Johnson, and moved into a house in Montevideo to accomodate their growing young family.  Their children would eventually number eight in all:  Regina, Louis, Lena, Emma M., Emma Thalette, Edward, Hattie, and Annie.

After the first son, Louis, was born to Eric and Bertina in September 1874, the couple gave their one-year-old daughter, Regina, to be raised by Eric's parents.  In Norwegian families, children were often placed where it made the most sense.  Perhaps the grandparents had admired the little girl so much that the couple offered her up as company and a helpmate for Lars and Ragnild Winje's elder years.  It is most certain that Bertina helped come to this decision, but it had to be a loving sacrifice on her part to give up her beautiful little daughter to Eric's parents, even if they were close enough to see her on a regular basis.  In 1878, Eric and Bertina lost their fourth-born (Emma M.), to diphtheria, while she was still a baby.

In 1887, Winje accepted a position as attorney in Duluth, and the family moved across the state.  Duluth was an up and coming port town during those years, and Eric's professional urban career afforded the family a new social stature, as Bertina and the children began to adjust to city life and its amenities.  Eric increased his community involvement and was elected Municipal Court Judge.  Several of the Winje children attended and graduated from Duluth Central High School.  By then, Bertina could probably not believe the difference between her prior life as a poor immigrant homesteader and her new life as the wife of a Duluth judge.  The couple, though still not rich by any means, purchased a steam launch and entertained family and friends on the waterways surrounding the city.  They also attended many local cultural and campaigning events.

Tragedy struck the Winjes a few short years later when a diphtheria epidemic in 1888 took their two little red-haired daughters, Hattie (5), and Annie (2), the youngest members of the family.  Meanwhile, back in Chippewa County, Eric's younger brother had also succumbed to the same disease a few days earlier.  But, even these occurences were not the last of bitter sadness for Eric and Bertina.  In 1893, their eldest son, Louis, drowned during a boating accident on their steam launch, the Ellida.  Louis had been studying law at Minnesota University in Minneapolis, and the promise of the future generation rested upon his shoulders.  Louis, who was said to be the epitome of his father in intelligence and character, was expected to bring to fruition all of Eric and Bertina's immigrant dreams.  But, it would never be.  During an August evening, Eric Winje was piloting the steam launch without running lights during the hours of dusk on Lake Superior, headed home with his son after a long day's excursion.  The weather conditions at the time are unknown, but the steam launch went unseen by a passing ferry and a collision resulted.  Eric somehow remained on the sinking launch and was rescued by ferry personnel, but Louis either jumped or fell off the launch during the collision and drowned.  His body was not recovered for several days.  How Louis's death must have weighed on Eric's conscience throughout the years, whether he could have helped the situation or not.  And, how many times must Bertina have called upon the grace of God to give her understanding and forgiveness, trying all the while not to hold her husband responsible for their son's untimely death.

A few years later, the Winjes' eldest daughter, Regina, died at the age of 25, a week after giving birth to her fifth son.  Following Regina's death, Eric and Bertina had three living children remaining out of the initial eight.  In an example of "what goes around, comes around," they took Regina's newborn child, Thomas Raymond Strand, to raise as their own, just as Eric's own parents had taken Regina to raise as a young girl.  Regina's four older sons continued to be raised by their father with the help of a housekeeper, whom he later married.

By this time, Eric's law career in Duluth seemed stalled by his inability to get re-elected as Municipal Court Judge.  Change called out to the couple and they left Duluth for Renville County, Minnesota, which was closer to their original home in Chippewa County.  Eric Winje summoned up the ideals and aspirations of his youth and ran for the State Senate through the Democratic party, but withdrew before the election in favor of another candidate.  The Winjes' next move was to Detroit Lakes in Becker County, where their lives settled into cautious comfort once more.  Winje again served as a judge for Detroit Lakes.  Their daughters, Lena Marie and Emma Thalette, continued to live with them during their elder years, while their son Edward sought new adventures as a homesteader in Canada.  Lena taught school and eventually became a school superintendant, while Emma Thalette, also a teacher, eventually chose to teach piano from their home while caring for their parents.

The couple's last loving sacrifice came during a period when Eric Winje's health began to fail.  Their daughter, Lena, wrote in a letter to her half-brother, Ole M. Johnson, that "Father has tried everything he could to make [himself] well, but it was of no use."  Bertina, who was by then suffering from dementia, developed pneumonia while bedridden.  In early 1930, when Eric passed away at the closest hospital in Fargo, North Dakota, Lena and Emma were not sure if their mother had even been aware of their father's illness.

Science has determined that even an unconscious mind is somewhat aware of what is going on nearby.  I believe that with everything the Winjes endured together, how could Bertina not miss the sound of her husband's voice or his presence about the house, even if she did not appear to be aware of any change?   When Eric's absence became apparent to Bertina, perhaps communicated through the sadness of a daughter's touch, she may have taken comfort in the promise of their wedding vows of so many years before:  "...in sickness and in health, 'til death do us part."  On February 15, 1930, the day after Valentines Day, Bertina followed her loyal companion to the grave.  After having given one another a lifetime of growth, fulfillment, and loving support, the Winjes were buried next to each other at Scandia Cemetery overlooking Lake Superior, near several of their children.

The 95% Baard Johnson

In an earlier post, "In Defense of Character:  Writing With Caution," I wrote about the difficulties of trying to find more information on one of my great great grandfathers, Baard Johnson.  Baard emigrated from Nord-Trondelag, Norway in 1866, with his wife, Thibertine (Bertina), and their two children, Ole Martin and Ellen Julie (Julia).  On July 28, 1872, Baard died from typhoid fever at age 37, a couple of years before fulfilling his homesteading requirements in Granite Falls Township, Chippewa County, Minnesota.  For as long as I've been researching this family, and throughout the process of writing the Johnson family history, I have lamented the empty spot on the family tree where Baard's image should have been.  Perhaps I need lament no more, because I believe I have found, at last, an image of my g g grandfather, or, the "95% Baard Johnson," as I like to call him. Any reasonable doubt can be relegated to about 5%.


 

Likely photograph of Baard Johnson (carte-de-visite size), ca. 1870.
Verso below.

To my early Norwegian-American family, having a likeness of each family member was important due to the uncertainty of life, in general.  During the mid-19th century, photography--the new art--was taken quite seriously.  As surely as family members had their birth and death dates religiously recorded in the family Bible, new photographs were commissioned whenever changes in family size or other milestones dictated the need.  Newly married couples, small groupings of the latest-born children, or entire families would dress in their Sunday finest and sit for the local photographer.  In addition, many Norwegian emigrants had their likenesses taken at their point of departure in Norway, in order to send mementos to anxious family members and neighbors.  Others waited until they had chosen the spot where they wished to establish residency in the U.S., and then proudly commemorated the occasion with a photograph.  So, where was Baard?  Why did no one in my extended family have any photographic evidence of his existence, when even his young wife had a photograph taken of herself in the early 1870s?

The verso of my suspected g g grandfather's likeness shows that "A. Brandmo" was the photographer.  Andreas Brandmo worked out of Montevideo, Minnesota beginning in the 1870s, and he was part owner of the Brandmo and Lodgaard Studio from 1886-1896.  Montevideo was next door to many of my ancestors' homesteads in early Chippewa County, and the photographer's distinctive name shows on the verso of many family images passed down through the decades.  Though A. Brandmo's decorative stamp changed slightly over the years of doing business, this particular verso appears to contain one of the oldest stamps, by virtue of its simplicity, when compared to Brandmo's other stamps.  The paper copy of the verso has a faded pink tint, which barely shows on this online copy.

One dismal, wet afternoon several months ago, while sitting at my desk engrossed in genealogy, I was perusing a stack of small carte-de-visite (2-1/2 x 4-inch) photographs and suddenly felt a figurative light bulb switch on over my head.  I had obtained the photos through a cousin, after having seen them for the first time several years before.  When I began sorting through the stack, I was intrigued that many of the card-like photos were taken by the same early photography studio (Brandmo) in Montevideo, Minnesota, very near to where Baard and Bertina Johnson had set up their homestead.  None of the photographs had identifying markings other than the photographer's stamp.  Yes, my ancestors were guilty of the same lack of foresight as yours:  they knew the people in the photos, so why did they need to label them?  The first time I sorted through the stack, several years earlier, I had quickly picked out the earliest known photograph of my great great grandmother, Bertina Johnson.  It was easy to recognize her distinctive face from other photos of her as an older woman.  Due to her apparent age in the photograph and her residence at that time (near Montevideo, MN), I estimated the photo to be dated between 1870-1875.  None other among the mostly male sea of faces made any impression on me at all, and I assumed most to be neighbors and friends of my Johnson relatives at that time.

However, this particular winter day brought a revelation.  Perhaps it was because I had been studying other Johnson family photographs at the time, and certain facial features were burned into my short-term memory.  Perhaps I was "in the zone," while indulging in one of my favorite hobbies.  Perhaps it was something about the soft light of a gray day filtering the images on the cards in a way that opened my mind to new possibilities.  Whatever the cause, as I held up a photo of one young, blond gentleman, I sensed something very familiar.  (I've learned to not ignore intuition until facts prove otherwise.)  It was also interesting, and unusual, that there were two copies of the same photo:  one in very poor condition, and the other in quite good condition.  I knew for certain that the stack of small photographs had once been in the possession of Ole M. Johnson (my great grandfather, and the son of Baard).  It made sense that if the photo in question was truly Ole's father, then one photo likely would have been displayed or kept in a frame, and thus, became faded over time, while one copy had been put away for safe keeping.  This was probably the missing Baard Johnson!

The first thing I did was to line up the candidate photograph of Baard Johnson with his two children, Ole Johnson, and Julia (Johnson) Larson, along with his wife, Bertina Johnson, in order to compare facial features.  I found that as a young man, Ole had the same fine, lank hair as did the suspected photo of his father, Baard.  The clinker, however, was comparing it to the photo of Julia Johnson (the daughter):  both Julia and the "95% Baard Johnson" had the same bold, squared jawline, combined with a strong chin.  Even their ears were shaped the same!  Convinced, I shared the photographs with some Minnesota cousins who had actually known Ole M. Johnson (Baard's son) personally, and asked them to give me feedback on family likenesses between photos of Ole, his sister, Julia, and the newly discovered photograph of "95% Baard Johnson."  I'm pleased to say that I received several thumbs up.

Although there is no way that I know of to completely prove the identity of the man in the photograph in question, my usually-reliable intuition tells me that the search for my missing great great grandfather has ended.  I'm posting photographs of the entire family here, so that others may judge for themselves.

No matter what the brick wall, there is always hope that it will crumble!


[Photographer information source: Minnesota Historical Society, Directory of Minnesota Photographers, http://www.mnhs.org/people/photographers/B.htm]

Baard Johnson? (father, ca. 1870)





Julia Johnson (daughter, ca. 1888)




Ole M. Johnson (son, 1886)





Bertina Johnson (mother, ca. 1870)

Elmer Strand, Norwegian-American Bachelor

Summer brings to mind the town's old Norwegian bachelor farmers, stolidly harvesting wheat with their antiquated, clattering six-foot combines. The Norwegian bachelors were not impressed by modern 20-footers. Sure, you got done faster, but that just meant waiting longer till it was time to go to bed...

- Garrison Keillor, Radio Humorist
(Lake Wobbegon Days)

In 1965, during the laziest part of July in the San Francisco Bay Area, my mother suggested that Dad drive us all up to Sonoma County in the '57 Ford Ranch Wagon. She wanted to pay a Sunday visit to Elmer Strand, whom she had not seen in quite awhile. I had no idea who Elmer Strand was, but I was always up for a drive to someplace new.

Mom said that Elmer had been a pretty good friend of my grandfather's ever since their younger farming days in Minnesota, and he continued to stay in touch by sending Christmas cards. Grandpa (Ernest Johnson), a long time widower, and Elmer, a dedicated bachelor, even took a sabbatical together. A few years before, they had lived in a trailer on the Oregon coast and fished for a stretch one summer. It was Grandpa's treat to himself after retiring from the Ford Motor Company--a once-in-a-lifetime vacation tucked in between his move from Campbell, California to Salem, Oregon, where his eldest daughter and a few siblings lived.

Elmer Strand stayed in California and accepted a job as a caretaker on a Sonoma County ranch in the Valley of the Moon. The name of that valley, once the home of author Jack London, conjured up all kinds of romantic visions for a 12-year-old like myself. Unlike the lush, fantasy-inspired fern-filled forest that I envisioned, the valley turned out to be mostly rolling plains of dry, yellow grass, and was quite sparse of trees.  The land was spotted with vineyards instead of unicorns.  But, I'm sure that watching a full golden moon rise and set over that thirsty landscape, accompanied by a cricket symphony, would have been very nice indeed--especially for Jack London.

Elmer Strand, Doris Wheeler, and Becky Wheeler, along the main road to the ranch house, Sonoma County, California, July 1965.

Elmer Strand was aging but slim and spry, and as far as I could tell, he was a well-mannered gent who chose his words carefully. He wore a long-sleeved shirt and overalls and was in the habit of standing with a hand in his pocket, or resting it on an nearly non-existent hip. Elmer's trailer was spartan and devoid of many possessions or character, even when compared to my grandfather's bachelorized home, where documents of eventual interest to genealogists (like a confirmation certificate) shared a shelf in the garage alongside the motor oil.

Men like Elmer Strand and my grandfather spent decades without feminine input or interference: life was work and work was life, and an old Norwegian bachelor did not need "stuff" cluttering up his spare time. For recreation, there was always visiting, fishing, hunting, napping, or simply cooking up a big pan of bacon and eggs with hotcakes.

Our visit turned out to be on a very hot day, so Elmer offered Mom, my younger sister, and I some refreshments in his trailer.  Dad was off somewhere talking with the ranch owner.

"I don't have much around these days, but let me see," Elmer said. He had contracted Type II diabetes and was doing his best to eat properly. Though Elmer lived in the trailer, he took his meals up at the main ranch house and did not keep much in his cupboards. He turned to Mom: "I have this drink I mix up for myself sometimes. Would you like to try some of that?"

Mom was too polite to question what was being offered, so she agreed.

Elmer fixed up a big batch of the pale drink in his mixer, then poured it into a tall glass and handed it to Mom. My sister Becky was as hot and bothered as any fidgety six-year-old could be at this point, so she was offered the first drink of cooling liquid. She placed her small hands over Mom's as they steadied the glass together. As soon as my sister took an exploratory sip, her face quickly contorted into a grimace. "Ugh!" Mom offered Becky another chance at a sip, but my sister would have nothing to do with it.  Instead, she did a few little hops and began to whine.

Mom offered the glass to me instead. "She won't drink it, so you have this one. I'll get her something later."

The liquid inside the glass looked like a vanilla milkshake, and I could not imagine what Becky hadn't liked about that. Having patiently waited my turn, I eagerly took a drink.

The stuff almost didn't go down my throat.  It tasted and felt like liquid chalk!  I waited until Elmer was out of view and then timidly tried to give the glass back to Mom.  I whispered in her ear that I just could not drink it.  "Chery, we're not going to be impolite!" she scolded quietly and frowned, refusing to take back the glass.

Judging by the look on her face, I knew that I somehow had to finish the drink--no argument accepted. I steeled my resolve, held my breath, and gulped the whole thing down quickly, but not without feeling a little queasy afterwards. The worst part was that it did not even quench my thirst. The last thing I wanted to do was irritate my elders, but, this was above and beyond the call!

It was Mom's turn when Elmer handed her a glass of her own. She took a small taste and her eyes flew open wide. "Oh!" She set the glass down and reached for a handkerchief from her purse in order to wipe her mouth. She looked at me in sympathy and said, "Oh, Chery... I'm sorry." Then to Elmer: "I'm sorry, I can't drink this."

Elmer took the news very graciously and had halfway expected it, I'm sure.  "It's soy. That's pretty much all I have between meals these days," he said.  Soy?  Wasn't that some mysterious substance used by hippies? Whatever it was, it tasted like raw cement and went down about as well. I put it on my "don't try this at home" mental list.

I think I earned a little extra respect from my mother that day, and perhaps even surprised myself.

And, Elmer? Well, all that soy must have done him some good because he lived another twenty years, to the ripe old age of ninety-five. It was not until years after his death I discovered that Elmer was more than a family friend. His special connection to our family was not known, even by my mother.

In addition to being the only one to get that horrid drink down, I was also the one who rediscovered the family link between Grandpa and his "good friend," Elmer Strand.  Elmer was actually a half first cousin to my grandfather, and they shared the same grandmother, Thibertine Johnson Winje.

Dearest Grandma: Hyggelig å møte deg?

The topic for the 41st edition of the Carnival of Genealogy is: If you could have dinner with four of your ancestors who would they be and why? Would you have dinner in the present day or in one of their eras? Would you dine out or opt for a home cooked meal? What would you discuss at the dinner table? What would you most like to share with them about your life?


After reading about the next Carnival topic, I came to the quick conclusion that I would have to get together with all four of my mother's Norwegian-born great grandmothers. I actually got tears in my eyes on the drive home that day while thinking about meeting them. It will never really happen, of course, but I feel a little closer to it by fooling myself with my own imagination.

Why so much emotion? Some of it might be attributable to mid-life hormones, who knows. But, you see, I've never had a grandmother, and the thought of meeting four at once is pleasantly overwhelming. My own grandmother passed away when Mom was less than two years old, and her presence in our lives has been sorely missed.

But first, let me introduce you to my maternal great-great-grandmothers: four Norwegian immigrant pioneer women who sacrificed all for the benefit of their families. (The child that is my great grandparent is in brackets.)

Thibertine Johnson Winje

Thibertine (Bertina) Johnson Winje

Born: Thibertine Olsdatter Lassemo,
Grong, Nord Trondelag, Norway; 8 Jan. 1841.
Died: Detroit Lakes, Becker CO., MN; 15 Feb. 1930 (age 89).
Spouses: Baard Johnson (1835-1872); Eric L. Winje (1850-1930).
Ten children: [Ole M.], Julia, Regina, Louis, Lena, Emma M., Emma T., Edward, Hattie, and Annie.
Immigrated to Goodhue County., MN in 1866.

Kjersten Vigesaa Larson

Kjersten Vigesaa Larson

Born: Kjersten Olsdatter Stromstad,
Helleland, Rogaland, Norway; 15 June 1823.
Died: Granite Falls Township, Chippewa CO., MN; 28 Jan. 1917 (age 93).
Spouse: Erik Vigesaa Larson (1808-1891).
Seven children: Severine, Karen, Louis, Ole, Andrew, Ivar Ludwig, and [Malla].
Immigrated to La Crosse County, WI, in 1862.

Karen Bue Berge

Karen Bue Berge

Born: Karen Olsdatter Bue,
Faaberg, Oppland, Norway; 19 Aug. 1839.
Died: Yellow Medicine CO., MN; 4 Sept. 1914 (age 75).
Spouse: Gulbran Olsen Berge (1835-1882). Seven children: Othilie, [Ole Benhart], Gunda C., Gunda Caroline, Bertha, Jorgen, Sophia.
Immigrated to Chippewa County, MN in 1869.

Anne Vaterland Sloan

Anne (Slaaen) Sloan

Born: Anne Thorsdatter Vaterland,
Faaberg, Oppland, Norway; 20 May 1833.Died: Chippewa CO., MN; 11 Jan. 1918 (age 85).
Spouse: Hans Thorsen Slaaen (1826-1898). Six children: Thor H., Mathia, Karen, Thorvald, John T., and [Anne Marie].
Immigrated to Coon Valley, Vernon County, WI in 1853.


I selected these ladies for several reasons. Having lived in Norway, they would have a living memory of people and early conditions there--the "old ways." They would also be able to tell stories about the risk-filled, eventful transatlantic journeys aboard disease ridden sailing ships and reveal trials and successes they encountered once on American soil. And, if I did skip over the chance of meeting my great grandparents in favor of the next eldest generation, I would still learn about them because my g g grandmas would certainly be willing to talk about their own children. Also, if no men are within earshot during our visit, they might even reveal a few foibles about their husbands and brothers, too.

I would choose to go back in time to about 1900, when each tippoldemor (great grandmother) was old enough to have lived a pretty full life, but young enough to be vibrant and clear in their memory. Why not bring them into the future? Because the object is to get to know them and their ways, and not to scare them silly.

We have seen more change over the past few decades, since my parents first marveled at "I Love Lucy" coming through our old Packard Bell television set, than our pre-20th century ancestors experienced over centuries of rural living in Norway, with the exception of perhaps the steam engine. Malla Larson Johnson (daughter of my g g grandma, Kjersten Larson) was actually afraid of electric lights when they finally arrived on her Clearwater County, Minnesota farm in the mid-1940s. Power lines were a long time in coming because it took many years for work crews to dig holes for all the necessary light poles in rural areas. Can you imagine the intense stimulation and fear someone from the past would feel if dropped into our century, especially an elderly person? I have to close my eyes and grimace at the thought.


Dearest Grandma, Hyggelig å møte deg? (how are you)?

This is a phrase I might never be able to use, since I would choose to learn about my little grandmas by blending into their time period as much as possible. Sure, I would probably mangle my masquerade as a good Norwegian-American pioneer girl, but let's give it a whirl.

Chippewa County, Minnesota is the location where my four g g grandmas eventually all settled with their husbands and family. Thank goodness, or my great grandparents would never have found each other. I have always loved the transitional feel of September, when the lowering afternoon sun shines like fire through tree branches, and the mornings are misty and mild. A Sunday in mid-September would be perfect. Though summer was the busiest season of year on a homestead, it was also the time that farming families could enjoy good weather and make rounds of visits with friends and relations.

I would invite each grandma to kaffe on a Sunday afternoon when they are more relaxed than normal, let's say, Sunday, September 16, 1900. Scandinavian-Lutheran pioneer women aspired to keeping the Sabbath holy, since the other six days of the week were sure to include endless rounds of back-breaking work. I'm not sure how they succeeded, but that was the general goal.

For the first meeting, I would put on some comfortably-worn blue calico, pull my hair back, and remove all of my jewelry. I would pretend to be a distant cousin who is, surprisingly enough, related to all of them through an ancestor who left Norway many years before they did. Due to my lack of the appropriate accent, I'd probably have to say that I was born in the wild west... which is the truth, come to think of it.

Do you think they would buy it? I'm sure they would be skeptical. They would be stiffly polite at first, but sweet, and they might ask a few indirect questions. I think they would at least be curious to see what this newcomer has to say, and whether or not she is full of herself and should be avoided in future (now, there's an interesting thought).

My mother grew up on a Minnesota farm belonging to her Norwegian-American grandparents, and although she did not personally know the generation of which I am writing, she had a few pointers for me on how my g g grandmothers might react. You bet I'm going to take advantage of her as a resource! Mom says that if the ladies are shy, like most Norwegian farm women she ever knew, they would probably not accept an invitation from a stranger, even if I claimed to be related.  I surmised that the invitation would have to be extended by a mutual friend of theirs, perhaps someone they went to church with.

Dear Mrs. [Berge],

Would you be so kind as to join me and several other ladies for coffee on Sunday, September 16, at 2:00 p.m.? A relation of yours will be staying with my family for a few days, and I am hoping to introduce you to her. Please r.s.v.p. to me through the post office, or at church next Sunday.

Respectfully yours,

Mrs. Lars Petersen

Surely there must have been a "Mrs. Lars Petersen" somewhere in Chippewa County. At the home of Mrs. Petersen, I would set a buffet table with some offerings a Norwegian might expect to find, including some of the following: vafler (waffles) with lingonberries, goat cheese, hard-boiled eggs, lefse, breads, ham, herring, fruit salad, and Norwegian cookies and cakes, including fattigmann and krumkaker. Oh, and plenty of kaffe, of course!

On a separate table, I would lay out all of my old photographs in the hope that some unknown persons might be identified. The photos could also serve as props for conversation. The problem is that coming from the future, these photographs are bound to look a little worn. This might lead each of my grandmas to raise an eyebrow ever-so-slightly and sneak glances at one another, wondering how I could take such poor care of my belongings. "Strike One" for the wannabe Norwegian-American pioneer girl.

You may notice that all four of my g g grandmas look quite similar. I'm sure they were similar in their ways, as well. They were all Norwegian, all about the same size (around five feet in height), and all of a quiet, measured countenance... shy, even. They all wore their hair pulled back with the part in the middle, as was the practical custom for Scandinavian females in the 19th century. They lived hard lives, and it showed in their faces. They owned no cosmetics, used no fine lotions, had no botox treatments, and consumed no vitamins or fortified drinks to help protect their health. They spent countless hours outdoors in the wind, sun, rain, and snow. Caffeine may have been their only vice, since Norwegian-Americans learned at an early age to love coffee. It was a luxury seldom available in Norway, but it was easily attainable in the United States.

Pioneer living was especially hard on women, and even though it colored every nuance of their physical expression, it does not mean that Bertina, Kjersten, Karen, and Anne were not capable of great warmth, generosity, and even humor when appropriate. But, when they were motivated to set things right and see the work done, they could probably also be a bit critical, aloof, or demanding. They had 24-7, never-ending jobs in caring for their children, feeding and clothing their families, and supporting their husbands, neighbors, churches, and community: all from scratch. There was no "time out" for good behavior, no day at the spa, no weekend with the girls, no new spring wardrobe, and sometimes, no shelter or food either. What they had in abundance was know-how, determination, strength, faith, and sheer resilience.

I would want to hear what my grandmas have to say about their lives and families--telling their stories with those wonderful rolling accents and funnily adapted Norwegian-English phrases--and take my cues from there. Firing off questions like a reporter would be taken as prying, and I'm supposed to be a good Norwegian-American pioneer girl, remember?

I'd like to hear from Bertina about her transition from homesteader's wife to town life as the wife of an attorney and judge, and how she managed to keep on going after the loss of so many children. Karen would, no doubt, tell me of her husband's wild and woolly experiences aboard the Hannah Parr, the emigrant ship he sailed on from Bergen to Quebec in 1868. The ship was devastated in a storm and had to limp back to Limerick, Ireland for month-long repairs. Aside from the near catastrophe, this was a rather jolly stopover for some of the Norwegian travelers. You can read about it in The Irish Adventure of the Hannah Parr, my 8/10/2007 blog entry. Kjersten's life in America began in a La Crosse area sod house around the time of the southwestern Minnesota Indian massacres. Whenever her husband had to make a trip into town, some of the children would sit on the roof to watch for hostile Indians. She would have plenty of early homsteading stories, I'm sure. And, last but not least, Anne, about whom I know the least, can tell me what it was like to give birth to my great grandmother in a covered wagon as the family moved from Wisconsin to Minnesota. She would also have a lot of information about one of the earliest Norwegian settlements in the midwest: Coon Valley. I can tell right now that it's going to take longer than one afternoon!

Not too long ago, I had the experience of meeting some of my Berge cousins for the first time. I have not met many relations from this family line, and before a word dropped from our mouths, I felt like I knew them. I am hoping that this same sort of genetic attraction will take hold and draw my little grandmas into feeling immediately at ease with me. Then, I can come to know a bit about their world and how it fits into the perspective of history, but also how it fits into the here and now, and with who I am--a crumb of truth and understanding sought after by all genealogists and family historians.

When all the kaffe is gone, and everyone has had their fill of pastries from the floral china platters, how successful do you think my masquerade might have been? My guess is that my little grandmas might be willing to meet with me again.  In the meantime, they would spend hours discussing my spotty Norwegian sensibility, as well as the mysterious family connection. I can hear them now: "Ja, she was nice enough... but, goodness, how nosy!"