Genealogy

Treasures from Another Era by Leslie

I posted this picture on Instagram yesterday and more than one person called it treasure. That is totally how I feel about it too. I love nothing more than vintage papers: cards, postcards, letters, certificates, diaries, etc... These are the things that tell our personal stories and document our lives in real ways. They contain the details. If I am ever in a second hand store or yard sale, that's where I go, to the paper. And anything I've ever found has been beautiful, but it has not told a story that I was a part of.

Until now. 

When my Grandma died, I didn't expect much, there was a stainless steel cream and sugar set that I loved and reminded me of her and a glass dish that my Grandma's dill pickles would be served in at Christmas time that I really wanted, but that was it. I spent some time at my Grandma's house with my Aunt, helping to sort through a lifetime of belongings and support my Aunt with the massive task of dealing with it all. There was a good amount of stuff, two small rooms full I suppose. I'm sure some people leave more things behind, but what really interested me was not the stuff. It was the paper.

I wondered if there were love letters between my Grandma and Grandpa and if she had kept a diary. What stories were hidden in the boxes and among the newspaper clippings? My Aunt and I found so many amazing things that day; cards, letters, baby books, cook books, calendars and more, but it wasn't until my Aunt emailed me a few weeks later that I got really excited.

She was going to give most of it to me.

I cried a little, at the responsibility of owning my Grandma's personal papers, but also at the amazing opportunity and privilege of being able to spend quality time with these things. You know that I will be photographing them, and sharing them with you. I'd love to make a book, to share with her family at the very least, but it might be an interesting enough portrait of a life lived in the 40's to share with a wider audience too. 

There is a sublime level of detail with all these things together. Along with my Grandma's marriage certificate from 1943 was a receipt for her wedding bouquet. It was $5.00. Her diary from 1942 details her courtship with my Grandpa. The first entry on January 1st tells about her family's New Year's turkey dinner and a dance she attended, in a black taffeta formal dress. She danced with ten men and the last one was my Grandpa. A defining moment that set in motion all the things that would lead to my own life. 

It's a strange feeling, looking at a single sentence in a seventy year old diary and wondering, without that sentence would I even exist? I felt like I was in the movie Back to the Future and without that sentence, my image would just slowly fade away from the picture. It's so weird.

That moment did happen though, and now here I am reading about it. Three weeks later there is an entry, "Saw Eddie downtown. Don't know whether he knew me or not" and then another week after that, "Eddie at the dance. He walked me home. Crazy!!" I can just feel her excitement and I wonder if he kissed her. My Grandpa starts showing up regularly after that. In September and October there isn't a lot written, but I did find this on Sept 23, "Letter from Ed today. No hope of seeing him for a time yet."

It's just awesome. Sweet, wistful and exciting.

Obviously more to come. Stay tuned!

Return to My Great Grandparent's Farm by Leslie

This summer, during our trip to Canada, we returned to my Great Grandparent's Farm so that I could take some more pictures and explore a little further. Our previous visit was in November and it was too cold to spend very much time there. This time it was a beautiful summer day, however the mosquitoes were the size of helicopters. You could literally hear them coming, they were so big. Milo got two bites, despite the bug spray, one on his jaw and one on his hand and they swelled so badly he didn't look like himself.

Besides that irritation though, I was able to spend a little more time looking at all the details on the farm and exploring the outer buildings and the machinery. I still didn't get to do everything I wanted, next time I'd like to take my tripod and some of the old pictures that we have and try to recreate some of them.

It's very interesting to me how things weather and age, what time does to things. I love chipping paint. The layers of colors and the textures are so beautiful to me. There is chipping and peeling paint everywhere here. Watching something decay and fall apart is so beautiful and sad at the same time.

I also love the haphazard way that things seemed to be patched and fixed at the farm. In the barn there are walls of different sized plywood and old wooden shipping boxes nailed together, and in the house there are patches of flooring nailed down in random patterns. Some of these things are revealed by things falling apart, but it is also how things were repaired back then. It didn't matter how it looked, as long as it did it's job.

Finding the details that remained at the farm was thrilling for me, I loved to slow down and look carefully. There are bits and pieces of beauty amid the mess. I was also able to collect a few items, which I cleaned and photographed on a white background. Taking some of these objects out of the context of the farm really elevated their status from garbage to artifact. Stay tuned for those soon.

I wish I had a better picture in my head about what life was like when the Farm was at it's peak. I wish I was able to watch a movie, where I'm looking at the decayed and crumbling kitchen and then it fades back in time to 1925 when the windows were whole and there was a pie baking in the oven. I try to imagine my great-grandmother in the kitchen of the main house cooking, sitting around the table and laughing. It's certainly the place that I am most drawn to. I'd even love to see that kitchen in later years, after the family had moved out and it was inhabited by just the grown sons and grandsons (my Dad). They were there for just the summer to farm the land, they slept on mattresses on the floor and cooked up a quick meal with garlic powder and salt. I think a lot of the things that were left behind were from the summers that the men were there farming.

I wonder if that is what it's like for my Dad to be there. Does he see a fade out of what the farm looks like now, to what he remembers from then? I'm so interested in the nature of passing time and nostalgia. I love to see what things were like then compared to now. There are great books that take pictures of New York City streets then and now, to compare how they have changed, or this fantastic series by David Dunlap in the NY Times that uses a slider function to swipe back and forth between perfectly lined up pictures of then and now. You can even buy vintage maps and take a tour of a European city noting what is the same and what is different. 

I especially love ruins and abandoned buildings, it's as if you are closer to the past than you would be if it were a fully restored and functional space. What I wouldn't give for a time travel machine to go back and spend just a few days with my great-grandparents, to sit at their table and tell them what the family becomes and grows up to be. I'd love to tell them about the new children in the family, about our successes and how their legacy has been passed down. Wouldn't that be the coolest? I wonder what they would think of me? 

Related Posts:

Canadian Homesteading: My Great Grandparent's Farm

My Collection of Personal Letters by Leslie

A few weeks ago I dove into my box of personal letters. Have you been following the theme around here lately? I'm digging in my past something fierce these days, revisiting the old family farm, asking questions about family genealogy and listening to my high school mixed tapes. All psychology aside, let's just say that I'm old enough now to have a past and be interested in it. It's a great place to visit for stories.

It made me feel good, to read these old letters and notes. People telling me they loved me, missed me, saying thank you for some such thing or another. I listen to those sweet sentiments all over again. I've kept a lot of the envelopes too and I love looking at the old stamps and postmarks. I wished I had some of the letters that I wrote and I've asked a couple people to see if they might have kept any of them. It would be cool to see the back and forth exchange.

A letter is a precious thing these days, with almost all of our communications happening in email or online. I wish there was a better way to archive our best emails, send them to a file automatically and once the file was full we could send it off to be printed. It seems so tedious to print out one at a time and sometimes it's a big waste of paper. But I would still miss the handwriting and little doodles and sketches and the fact that the person had touched it.

I call out to everyone: SEND MORE LETTERS!! I just missed January's Universal Letter Writing Week, but that's ok. I can still make an effort to send a few personal letters this year.

Nancy Hendrickson's Genealogy How-To has a great post about how old letters can be family treasures.

Do you have any old letters in your family? Do you keep the letters and cards that people send to you?

And, be sure to check out this amazing experimental video/film by Chris Milk featuring Arcade Fire's song "We Used To Wait". You need Google Chrome to try this, but it's really cool and nostalgic. The lyrics are all about writing letters.

We Used To Wait by Arcade Fire

I used to write,
I used to write letters I used to sign my name
I used to sleep at night
Before the flashing lights settled deep in my brain

But by the time we met
By the time we met the times had already changed

So I never wrote a letter
I never took my true heart I never wrote it down
So when the lights cut out
I was left standing in the wilderness downtown

Now our lives are changing fast
Now our lives are changing fast
Hope that something pure can last
Hope that something pure can last

It seems strange
How we used to wait for letters to arrive
But what's stranger still
Is how something so small can keep you alive

We used to wait
We used to waste hours just walking around
We used to wait
All those wasted lives in the wilderness downtown

 

Canadian Homesteading: My Great Grandparent's Farm by Leslie

In 1909, a fourteen year old boy from Tarutino, Bessarabia traveled with his Aunt, Uncle and sister (or cousin) by train through Romania, Austria, Germany and Belgium to Antwerp, where he boarded a converted freighter destined for Canada. He was on the ship for 2 weeks, with meagre facilities and no privacy. It was a difficult journey, but they landed safely in New Brunswick and boarded another train to take them into the heart of Canada, where the farm land was. Travelling through the Canadian Shield had them concerned about all the rocks and trees, but they were so relieved when we reached the flatter, fertile land in Manitoba. He arrived in Alberta in 1910, now fifteen years old. He worked for his cousins for two years and in 1912 he paid a $10 application fee and claimed an abandoned half section (320 acres) near Hilda adjoining his cousin's farm. Gustav was only 17 and The Dominion Lands Act of 1872 required applicants to be 18, but many immigrants like Gustav couldn't provide proof of age, so it wasn't strictly enforced. The Act also required that he erect a residence and cultivate a certain amount of land each year. He built a sod house where he would live for at least 2 winters and he borrowed farm equipment, in exchange for labor, to plant his first crop, 7 acres of wheat and 10 acres of flax. It was a hard life, but he was strong and young and he didn't mind. He dreamed of owning his own farm. He didn't have any money, but he could work hard. And he would, for his entire life. His name was Gustav.

The Farm, April 1943.

The Farm, November 2010.

In 1917 he married a widowed neighbor with adjoining land. She grew up in South Dakota and had also come to Canada in 1910, with her husband and a train car full of farm equipment, livestock, furniture and a sewing machine. She farmed with her husband for four years before he got sick with appendicitis in the fall of 1914. They returned to South Dakota for an operation, but he caught pneumonia in the hospital and died. In the spring of 1915 she returned to the farm with her parents and her 5 year old son Irvine (he may have been younger though, I don't have a birth date for him). Her father helped her put in her crop which turned into a bumper harvest. With hired help and neighbors like Gustav, she farmed for two years alone. I think Gustav might have admired her strength and determination and despite her success she didn't want to farm alone forever. They soon realized that they made a great team and whether or not they were in love, they certainly cared for each other and needed each other. Her name was Magdalena.

Left: Magdalena and Gustav on their wedding day in 1917. Right: On their 50th wedding anniversary in 1967.

They lived in her log house and in 1918 had their first son together, my grandfather, Edward. Soon after that, they built the big house and the barn. Gus purchased a large livery stable in Estuary for $2000, he dismantled it and packed up every board and nail. They probably floated it down the river and then moved it by horse cart to the farm about 40 miles south. They rebuilt the barn half the length of the original and with the rest of the lumber they built the big house. He straighten every nail by hand to reuse and he used only hand tools like a saw, a hammer and a ladder. I'm sure that Maggie was right there helping. She seems like that kind of gal. It was one of the most well appointed houses in the area, with stained glass windows, a coal furnace and flax straw insulation, plaster walls and a detailed interior paint job by a local craftsman. It was a fancy house, for a farm house, and while the windows are now gone, you can still see the remnants of the original paint on the walls.

They lived there for 25 years and raised their six children, one of whom, Raymond, died at four years old. I can't imagine. Irvine was the oldest, Edward was second and was my Grandfather, and then there was Otto, Victor and Leona. (Leona was kind enough to share these black and white photos with me.) After Gus and Maggie moved to Medicine Hat, Otto lived at the farm and raised his own family, until they moved to Saskatchewan in the late 50's. Gus continued to farm the land in the summers, with the help of his sons and eventually even with his grandsons, until about 1970, just a few years before he died. That's 60 years of working that land. He had plenty of other businesses and ways to make money; a gas station, a hardware store, delivering milk and construction, but it is the farm and those buildings out in the middle of the prairies that were a mainstay. The farm is his legacy, he built it with his hands and his heart and it is still there, defying time and weather. It still brings an income to the family, the land is leased to other farmers, and there is still a beauty there, an energy and stories of strong people struggling to succeed.

Victor, my Dad's uncle, is on the left. Magdalena in the middle and Gustav on the right.

When we visited during my recent trip home to Canada, the farm was literally in the shadows when we arrived. There was a cloud bank that had descended and covered everything in frost. It was cold and a bit uninviting. We rushed around, checking out the house and the rooms. I took a few quick shots in the house with freezing hands. The kids were restless, my Mom was shivering and we were supposed to continue on to see the Sand Hills. I couldn't leave though, I had come all this way and I needed more time. We took a break in the warm truck and had lunch. It helped, and everyone gave me permission to take my time. I really appreciated that. By the time we were done lunch, the sun had come out and warmed everything up. The sky eventually turned blue, the kids had some fun running around in the wheat field and I got to spend some time with my Dad, in the barn and the blacksmith shed, listening to him talk about his days on the farm.

The only other time that I visited the farm I was 13. To me it was a bit creepy and sad. I didn't like being inside the house. This time I was moved, I felt connected, I wanted to take something home. I found some glass pickle jars, a receipt book from the 40's that detailed the sales of the gas station that Gus owned in Hilda. I found a spool of thread, a broken yard stick, an old juice can. There are a lot of little things still at the farm. No one properly moved out, things were left behind, stuff like Garlic powder, a coffee cup, mattresses, boots. It's a bit apocalyptic actually, like all of a sudden everyone just left. The house was used for a long time as just a summer time place for the people that were there farming, almost like they were camping there, so the things that are there are not precious or personal things, just working things. One summer Gus must have been too old or sick to farm and I suppose that he always planned to come back, but he probably didn't. And I don't imagine Maggie did either. So it all just got left behind.

The house has been taken over by animals. The place is covered in pigeon droppings and nests. All the windows are broken, the shingles are gone off the roof and all the plaster has fallen from the ceilings. It is a matter of time before the house falls down, but right now it is still pretty solid. We walked everywhere except the basement, the second floor was intact and everything seemed straight and secure.

The other buildings are in worse shape. The barn is full of holes and the loft seemed treacherous. The blacksmith shed next to the windmill was leaning sideways at a crazy angle. We didn't have time to check out the other buildings but from a distance, they seemed to be in the same rough shape.

A strange thing happened while we were there. My Dad and I were trying to get into the blacksmith shed, the door was stuck in some dirt and grass and we were really yanking on it to get it to open. The windmill, which was right beside us, started to turn. And not just a little, as if the wind had blown it, but quite a few times and at a good pace. I don't remember it turning at any other time while we were there, it was pretty noisy and I think we would have noticed it. My Dad was surprised that it still worked. When it happened, my Dad and I didn't think it was weird. It seemed very normal that the windmill would be turning like that, but when we got back to the car, Chris asked us what we had done to make it start turning. When we told him nothing, he said it was so strange that it did that all by itself. From his point of view, being further away, it seemed eerie and unusual. Maybe it was simply a gust of wind, but I'd like to think that it was my Great Grandpa saying "Hello".

As I walked around with my Dad, he would remember things that he did while he was there and that his Grandpa had told him. He said that Gustav hid a .22 rifle somewhere in the blacksmith shed and that he used the porch of the house as a grainery after everyone moved out. My Dad remembered driving the tractor in bitterly cold weather, seeing the stars at night so bright that the Milky Way was plainly visible and sleeping on a mattress on the floor in an upstairs bedroom. He told me that my grandfather, Edward, was incredibly smart and made crystal radios from scrap parts. He also wired the farm with power from batteries before there were power lines. Once my Dad remembers a power outage when a plane trying to land at a nearby farm flew through the power-lines and took them out. Gustav and my Dad rushed to the crashed plane only to discover the pilot had died.  

There are so many stories! I'd like to write them all down, before they are gone. Our ancestral stories are so fleeting, they disappear so fast, and I am lucky that I still have a tangible place to see and connect with. By the time that we left that day, we all felt good. The sun had come out, I had spent enough time there and it was as if the farm had borrowed a little bit of our life force for a moment. There was a shadow there when we arrived and by the time we left, it had gone. 

I don't think my kids understood how cool it was to visit a place that their great-great grandparent's had built and lived in. I didn't really understand it until this visit. I will go back, next summer I hope, and do a little more work there. I feel like I should take care of the place, clean up a little in the big house, sweep up the plaster, throw out the old mattresses and line up the boots. My cousin talked about putting a new roof on the house, to fix it up so that the weather wouldn't do so much harm. I'm sure it's far too much work and expense but it's nice to dream a little. I also want to really explore all the buildings, see every inch of the place and take some more pictures. The spring of 2012 will be the centennial of Gustav's acquisition of the land. I'd like to do something to honor my great grandparents then too. It would be fun to have a big party there, under a big tent and with the whole family, but maybe at the very least we will just camp overnight by ourselves, see the stars, feel the energy and tell the stories to our kids so that we don't forget.

Related Posts:

Return to My Great Grandparent's Farm

Digging for Roots by Leslie

While sorting through old papers I came across a page on which I had written a few facts about my great Grandparents. It reminded me that I wanted to learn more about my family's history, but my memory is terrible and just hearing stories isn't good enough, so I started looking for software to help me organize all the data. I found a great product called Reunion and entered everything I know in just a few hours. The software is incredibly easy to use and once the data is in there, you can generate all kinds of charts, reports and even web pages. I'm looking forward to learning not only about my family, but also about history and geography as I trace people back to Europe.

The photos above are of my maternal Grandparents in Alberta in the 1950's.