Showing posts with label Hammer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hammer. Show all posts

Friday, January 15, 2021

Maybe It Shouldn't Have Been Surprising After All...

It started with a piece of paper I'd found in the bottom of a box.  It looked like a bill of sale for something that my grandmother, Lisa Klungseth Hammer, had purchased.  It had a date and a location to send it to.  I knew she was near Trondheim in 1946, and this piece of paper documented it. 

But in looking at it more closely, I saw this receipt was for a book - the author's name and the title were listed.  The books a person reads says a lot about them, so I decided to see if I could find this work in the stack of books she'd left behind - and about halfway down the pile, there it was.  "Friheten," by Nordahl Grieg.  It was all in Norwegian, so I decided to see what I could find about this book and the man who wrote it.

Nordahl Grieg was born Nov. 01, 1902 in Bergen and died Dec 2, 1943 in Kleinmachnow (near Berlin).  He is described as a controversial man, a long-time member of the Communist Party, and a "poet, novelist, dramatist, journalist and political activist."  Wait ... what?  My grandmother was buying and reading materials written by a controversial Communist political activist??

Grieg had been a member of the Norwegian Communist Party for a long time, and called a "Stalinist" by his enemies.  It was his empathy for the underprivileged that caused him to join the Party.

Interestingly, he was studying in Oslo the same time my Grandmother, Lisa Klungseth Hammer, was attending the Teacher's College there.  

During World War II when the Germans invaded and occupied Norway, Grieg broke away from his support of Stalin.  Communists were being urged to stay neutral, and this invasion changed things for Grieg.  He was passionately opposed to the Nazis and considered himself a Norwegian patriot, and intended to oppose them every way he could.  Grieg did military service in the Norwegian Army in 1939-1940 in Finnmark (Lisa was also in Finnmark at this time).  He escaped the country in 1940 on the same ship as the Royal family of Norway and the National Gold reserves.

His fight against the Nazis continued from Britain, both on the radio and in his writings.  He traveled, speaking with Norwegian soldiers and getting their experiences in his work as a war correspondent.  He took part in various military missions, which was common for a war correspondent at that time.    He was with the Royal Australian Air Force on an allied raid on Berlin, a very risky and dangerous undertaking.  It was during this night-time mission on Dec. 2-3, 1943, that he was killed along with many others. He was and is considered a hero in Norway for his stance on the Nazis and all he did to oppose them, and his anti-fascist poetry is still popular today.

"Friheten" ("Freedom"), the book Lisa had purchased, was a collection of Grieg's war poetry published in 1945.  She, too, was emotional about the Nazi invasion when she first told me about it 30 years afterward. Now it was all starting to make sense.  Perhaps it wasn't so unusual that she was interested in a controversial, political activist after all.


Information on Nordahl Grieg's life from:
Wikipedia  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nordahl_Grieg
Ally Poetry https://allpoetry.com/Nordahl-Grieg

Wednesday, January 13, 2021

Home Economists Newsletter - Lisa Hammer's Presentation




South Dakota Home Economics Association Newsletter Volume 5, December 1958, Number 1

HURON BRANCH 
     
The Huron Branch of Home Economists in Homemaking have chosen as their yearly program foods and customs of foreign countries.  By doing this they plan to have guest speakers who have either visited or lived in another country. 

Mrs. Adolph Hammer, a native of Norway spoke at the October meeting.  Wearing a Norwegian dress which is only worn on special occasions, she told of Norwegian customs, displayed table linen and explained table setting for different occasions.

Thursday afternoon during SDEA the Huron Economists in Homemaking entertained at tea the Homemaking teachers in the Huron Homemaking department.  Miss Imogene Van Overschelde, Pierre and Mrs. Ross Davies, Huron, were at the silver services.

In connection with Huron College Career Day, the Huron Home Economists also take an active part.  For the past three years the group has had Mrs. Cleo Treadwell as their representative.  Seniors from Huron high school and towns in the surrounding territoy [sic] are invited to meet various representatives of professions and colleges in the state.

The group is continuing a project begun several years ago.  This is to help furnish materials for the
interest centers in the Homemaking Department of Huron High School. Officers this year are president: Muriel Simmons (Mrs. Irvin) and secretary, Jessie Chaffee (Mrs. George).






Wednesday, December 30, 2020

Overseas Club

 From the Huron (South Dakota) Daily Plainsman, unknown date

Overseas Club Anniversary: Members of the Huron Overseas Club are shown at their 15th anniversary meeting at the home of Mrs. James Kaiser who made the anniversary cake held by Mrs. Orval Collins.  Front row left: Mrs. Gustave Guthmiller, Huron; Mrs. Carlisle Peterson, Huron; Mrs. Collins, Huron; Mrs. Clifford Voss, Huron; Mrs. Ralph Schniedewind, Ree Heights; middle row left, Mrs. Duane Picklapp, Huron; Mrs. Desmond Van Zee, Rockham; Mrs. Keith McMillan, Huron; Mrs. Vern Baker, Huron; Mrs. George Streifel, Huron; Mrs. Gilbert Hofer, Huron; back row left, Miss Gabriella Rose, Redfield; Mrs. Adolph Hammer, Sr., Huron; Mrs. Kaiser, Huron; Mrs. Henry Peters, Huron; Mrs. Chester Liedtke, Wessington; Mrs. Harold Steichen, Woonsocket; Mrs. Edwin Forst, Alpena; Mrs. Albert Rose, Redfield.


The Huron Overseas Club enjoyed its 15th anniversary meeting Feb. 10 at the home of Mrs. James A. Kaiser, 429 Idaho Ave. S.E.  Mrs. Albert Rose, Redfield, won the hostess gift among the 20 members present.

Mrs. Kaiser baked and decorated the anniversary cake for the occasion.

Officers elected for the new year are: Mrs. Ralph Schniedewind, Ree Heights, president; Mrs. Clifford Voss, Huron, vice president; and Mrs. Orval Colllins, Huron, secretary-treasurer.  A vote of thanks was extended Mrs. Gustave Guthmiller and Mrs. Carlisle Peterson, outgoing officers.

The next meeting will be March 9 at The Inn with Mrs. Adolph Hammer, Sr., and Mrs. George Streifel as co-hostesses.

Friday, November 11, 2016

Something's Fishy...

It was a Christmas eve just like every other one in our family, except it was the first Christmas dinner I remember sitting  up at the table with the rest of my cousins, most of whom were a year or two or three older than I.  We little cherubs were all dressed in our holiday outfits, and my cousins Bobby and Brian were running their fingers through the candle flames and singing the naughty versions of Christmas carols while the adults were visiting.  Grandma was in the kitchen, stirring the rice pudding and keeping the tray of lefse and krumkake filled.

Photo courtesy of Jonathunder
But soon Grandma came out of the kitchen to see who wanted lutefisk.  One by one, she worked her way around the kids’ table and got everything from a polite “No, thank you,” to noses wrinkled up at the mere thought of it.  I had no idea what this lutefisk stuff was, but if my cousins didn’t want it, neither did I.  As she made her way closer and closer to me, I began to get a guilty conscience.  I wasn’t sure if she was getting her feelings hurt, or if she was genuinely perturbed at this sorry bunch of little Norwegians before her.  As she got closer to me, a sick feeling grew in the pit of my stomach.  Finally, she said, “Karen, do you want lutefisk?”  Silence.  I looked around the table, and all eyes seemed to be on me as the silence grew.  I looked over at my cousin Brian, whose face was still contorted at the mere thought of it.  I looked up at Grandma, gulped hard, and said, “Yes,” but it must have been a tiny, quiet little “yes.”  Again, she asked if I wanted lutefisk.  I looked around the table and my cousins were all wide-eyed and slack-jawed, waiting for me to actually repeat it.  “Yes,” I said a little louder.  She called me a Good Little Norwegian and went off to the kitchen to fetch the lutefisk, whatever that was.
 
My Grandma Lisa
The next thing I remember was a lovely gold plate with a wiggly, slippery looking parcel on it, being placed in front of me.  Grandma took a big ladle of melted butter and poured it over the top of the aromatic heap.  Every time I looked at that thing on the plate, it seemed to get bigger.  Grandma gave me another small word of encouragement about being a Good Little Norwegian, so I coaxed a jiggly piece of it onto my fork and struggled to keep it there.   I felt everyone in the room was watching me as I put the fork to my mouth, although I’m sure they probably weren’t.  The texture was like nothing I had ever experienced, and I noticed the slab of lutefisk on my plate suddenly looked huge.  Again, I gulped hard.  “Put some salt on it,” Brian mercifully whispered.

My delighted grandma reappeared from the kitchen and asked how I liked it.  Apparently I did not look as green as I felt.  “Good,” I recall saying, although nothing could be further from the truth.

Thank goodness for salt.

Eventually that lutefisk thing on my plate was gone and the taste (and memory) was replaced by the other delicious Norwegian goodies she served.  And after that night I didn’t give lutefisk another thought.

Until the next Christmas eve.

The cousins took their places at the table, running their fingers through the candle flames and singing naughty versions of Christmas carols.  And Grandma said, “Who besides Karen wants lutefisk?”

And so it went every Christmas eve while we were blessed enough to have Grandma with us.  And every year, eating the lutefisk was less and less of a chore.  I actually developed such a taste for it that I cooked and ate it voluntary a few years after my grandma had passed away.

This year, I’m going to serve it to my granddaughters.  They’ll hate it, but that won’t stop me.  Perhaps with a little persistence and a good old fashioned guilt trip, one of them might someday decide she likes it.

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Lutefisk photo attribution:
By Jonathunder (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0) or GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html)], via Wikimedia Commons

Thursday, June 23, 2016

Run For Your Life - A Story of Strength from World War II

Many of our ancestors faced situations that required every bit of strength and courage they could muster.  But few of those situations could compare with running for your very life from the Nazis.

My grandmother, Lisa Hammer, had a life that repeatedly required strength, from the time she was a toddler pining away for the home and mother that she'd never return to, to teaching and ministering to the poorest children in Norway, and much more in between.  But the astounding story of her fortitude during World War II shows what she was made of.   At the time of this story, she was a teacher in Kjøllefjord, Finnmark in northern Norway. I can't tell the story like Lisa could, so I will let her do it.  Keep in mind as you read the story that she got terribly seasick on boats, and that the Nazis had mined the waters.  Also please keep in mind that English was not her first language.

With that, may I introduce my guest host for this posting, Lisa Hammer.

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In 1940 the World War II broke out and lasted five years.  There was very little food around.  We fed the kids oatmeal soup and cod liver oil in the school and when the weather was bad, the fishermen stole the fish they had sold the day before.  The kids were not fed the way they should be and many times it was a lot better to give them a bath and teach them history and something else.  After the war I got a year off and went to a garden school.

The country was neutral but in big trouble because the Germans took the food for the soldiers.  For three weeks at the school we ate sour rhubarb jam with no butter on the bread.  The people were often put in camps because they didn't join the Nazis and they were starving to death.  The farmers in the south smuggled food in in empty garbage cans.  We could not write to our mothers because all mail was opened up and every telephone call taped.  All radios were taken away and nobody knew for sure who the next man was so we never dared to talk freely.  I stayed with one of the teachers at the school and had a very good year with them.  We made a lot of potato flour to take home and we bought a lot of caraway seed for tea.

Kjollefjord, 1928.  Original source of photo unknown.


In 1945 the Germans lost the war but before they left they burned the country and they evacuated us to the southern part.

We heard the news about the burning but did not know how serious the situation was before we saw the smoke come rolling over the mountain from Kjøllefjord.  We came together for a meeting and decided that all the men should go home and pack and all the women should bake bread so we could take it with us the next day.  It was in November and still no snow on the ground.  I lived alone but neighbors helped and we all worked together.  I went to bed and slept to 5 A.M.  Somebody knocked on the door and asked if I would go with my friends who had an old mother and were leaving.  I said no because I was sad and there were many who needed help.  I slept again until 7:30 A.M. and had another knock on the door.  This time the Germans were on the harbour, shooting down the pier and coast light.  I took the bike and my valuables up in the mountains to a small lake where we had water.  The Germans threw hand grenades in all the houses and that evening, not one house was left.  We had bought coal for heating for winter and all was burned up.  They put us in a fishing boat and said go to the south.  They were sure we would be bombed on the way but the first night the weather was so bad we couldn't go to the boat.  We made a big fireplace outside and fried sheep meat and drank beer.  We roasted the sheep and ate them.  The cows were running wild around; we milked them before we left and took as many pails with us as we could.  Of course we were to have food for three days.

Lisa's home in Kjollefjord


It was early Sunday morning the Germans come and they threw the grenades in the houses and we were all up to and before evening came, there wasn't one house left from all the places where we had the winter coal saved for the next year.  And we went down there and tried to find ourself but we couldn't find it because it was too dark and I was wondering where my map was at and all my papers and I couldn't find it and one of the neighbors who was born there, she came with a lantern and she said you follow me and I will find it, and she found it up in the rocks that night.  We had big bowls of sweet stuff, the cranberries, the blueberries and the snowberries we had saved for the winter, we dug them under the sod in the fence of the graveyard.  When we saw we couldn't take it with us we sat and ate out of the crocks.

It was very bad weather that night so we couldn't enter the boat - it wasn't possible to come to the boat so we were a mess.  We roasted some sheep, fried them on the fire and we drank some beer.  Milked some cows, packed silver in the shoes and boots so we could take as much as possible and next morning we went to the boat.  It was a fishing boat - we were laying in the bottom of the boat.  One man got crazy but we had a basket that was made up ready to go to the hospital if somebody should be sick.  Of course it was far away to the hospital.  So we tied him up in that basket, it was the only thing to do.  And every place we went by that day there was burning and burning and burning.  We tore apart sheets and bedspreads and washed the kids and one woman got her pants filled up screaming what should we do and throw it in the ocean, no, no, no we can't afford to do that, but there was nothing else to do.

So, for three days we went south and the Germans were sure we would all be bombed and died.  But later the weather got beautiful, we didn't see a plane.  We came to a city Phlocea.  They backed us into some cattle wagons with no windows, just one door, no lights and the rest room outside.

So we came down to a city called Mansus.  That is a side road going down to my home country and I took two families and we ran away in the dark.  The rest came south and I come home to my mother and my father with my two families.

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Lisa eventually went back to Finnmark and continued on to build up a fine school district from virtually nothing, and 30 years later she left it all behind for a new life in the United States with my grandfather.


Many thanks to Elizabeth O'Neal for hosting the Blog Party

Friday, January 24, 2014

Ole Mattis Brevik Frendahl, Looking for the Rest of the Story

I looked a good, long time for Uncle Matt, as I’d heard him called.  My Aunt Mary and I would have some enjoyable conversations about family history, and we did a lot of wondering about him.   He was Aunt Mary’s maternal uncle, and a bit of a mystery.
Matt Brevik.  He left Norway at an early age and never looked back.  His sister, Agnes Brevik, had married my grandfather Adolph in 1921 and had come to the United States in 1923.  Matt would disappear and resurface again periodically, Aunt Mary said.  He had red hair, and was a lot of fun – the kids loved him.  The last time she saw him she was seven years old.  She speculated he was “in trouble with the law.”  Mary said she thought that her father and my father had made contact with him, and visited with him sometimes in the 1960s.
I was thrilled to have a clue!  My father confirmed that he, my mother, and his dad went to Iowa, where Uncle Matt was working on a farm.  Dad thought he was married to the woman who owned the farm, but he could not remember where in Iowa they lived. I searched every census I could find from 1920 onward for him.  I searched Ancestry.com and every other database or forum I could find.  I looked for any sign of Matt Brevik in Iowa, or anywhere else, but I found nothing.
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Meanwhile, across the ocean, a descendant of Matt and Agnes’ brother was trying to find out whatever had become of them.  She found Agnes’ son’s obituary, and made contact with our family.  What she told me about Matt was a game changer.
She told me that he had left Norway and severed ties with his parents over some matter that was apparently very serious.  They never heard from him again.  She was surprised that Agnes had used the name Brevik – Agnes’ father had used it at one time, when they lived on the Breivik farm, but after moving to Frendahl, they took that surname.  She also said that Matt’s given name was actually Ole Mattis.  Armed with a new name to search for, I started again, and this time successfully.  The Social Security Death Index gave me a “last residence” for him, and the rest is history.
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Ole Mattis Frendahl was the son of Justin Meyer Frendahl and Oline Marie Evensdotter, born 01 May 1902 in Norway.  He left Norway for good on March 23, 1923 aboard the Frederick VIII, and arrived at the Port of New York on April 4, 1923.  He was headed for South Dakota to his brother-in-law, but the man he lists was actually his brother-in-law’s brother.  He is described as 5’9”, fair-haired, blue-eyed, with a “fresh” complexion.  He is listed as 18 years old, when he actually would have been 21.  There is little doubt this is him, as he also lists his father’s name as “Justin Brevik Frendal.” 
Between Dec. 6, 1923 and Nov. 10, 1930, the name “Mathis” or “Mathias” Brevik appears on numerous “List or Manifest of Aliens Employed on the Vessel as Members of Crew.”  The earliest manifest lists Mathis Brevik, 24 years old, 5’5” as a sailor.  He is said to have 7 years’ service at sea.  The final manifest I could find, Nov. 1930, lists Mattis Brevik’s age as 30.  Our Ole Mattis would have been 28.  There are enough similarities to our Ole Mattis to make me wonder if this is him, but a few discrepancies, particularly with age.  However, Ole Mattis had a tendency toward inaccuracies in his documents, even when he gave the information himself.  In some cases, he flat out lies. And our Uncle Matt seemed to have dropped off the earth between April of 1923 and 1932.

He appears next in Palo Alto County, Iowa in 1932, according to his obituary, where he would spend the remainder of his life.  He was married for the first time in 1938, and would have four wives before his death from cancer on Christmas Day of 1976.  He had no children.      
Various newspaper articles would indicate that Ole Mattis had his demons and difficulties.  Despite them, he was said to have been a good carpenter, building homes and furniture.
His obituary, as well as his death certificate, state he was born in New York.  Perhaps “re-born” in New York would be more appropriate, considering his split with his parents and his past in Norway.   I believe that in order to understand him and his life, it would be imperative to know what happened in Norway.  Regardless, I hope he was able to make peace with it all.


Sunday, January 19, 2014

Andreas Larsen of Hundhammer

This blog post was inspired by Amy Johnson Crow 's "52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks" challenge.  Learn more at her blog.

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I had scanned hundreds of photos that evening, most of them with no identification, and most so small it was hard to see much without scanning.  My eyes were tired.  My back was aching.  I had two piles for the completed photos - the Unknown pile and the Known pile, depending on what, if anything, was written on them.  The Unknown pile was heaping, and I feared most of the little photos in the old trunk would end up there.  My grandmother had moved to another town, and did not want these mystery photos, nor did she want to go through them.  My father, knowing my affinity for family history, grabbed the beat up rusted old trunk from her pile of things to go to the trash. 

I scanned the little photo of a headstone, and as the scan came up on the screen, I had the photo halfway to the Unknown pile.  I did a quick look at the name, and was ready to move on when something stopped me.

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I was pretty sure I would not know most of the people in those photos.   My grandmother, Lisa, was technically my step-grandmother, and these photos were hers. She married my grandfather, a widower in the United States, when she was 50 years old and had come here from Norway at that time.  Much of her life had been in Norway with her own friends and family, and I didn't know any of them.  After hours of scanning, this little epiphany was enough to make me want to quit wasting my time and go to bed.

And then I scanned the headstone photo.

Lisa had grown up on the Klungseth farm next to my grandfather's family's farm at Hundhammer.  As a child she played with my grandfather and his siblings.  And she had known my great-grandparents.  Their names, she had told me, were Andreas and Anne Larsen.

I nearly fell off my chair when I saw that the headstone photo was that of my great grandparents.  I knew so little about them, and here they were, right in front of me.


From that point on, I learned more about them rather quickly.  Andreas was a farmer, and the area where they lived was exceptional for fishing, so he built a boarding house to rent beds to fishermen, and did a brisk business.  Anne took care of the house and the animals.  Lisa told me she was an incredible storyteller, and would entertain the children with her tales.

Then, an uncle produced a photo of them, and cousins in Norway that I had met had photos to share as well.

Andreas and Anne Larsen

Andreas and Anne, with my grandfather Adolph, who was the baby of the family.  Photo courtesy of Ivar Wiik.












Their farm at Hundhammer.  Photo courtesy of Tove Fagerhøi.

Steine Kirke, their church and cemetery, is just minutes from their farm.  Photo courtesy of Iren S. Flasnes.



I'm so glad I did not give up on all those tiny photos.  There were a few other gems hidden amongst the unknown photos as well, but none like the headstone photo.

Tuesday, October 8, 2013

My Second Favorite Thing to do with my Ancestors


I love to do research.  I've been known to work on other peoples' ancestors when I hit an impasse on my own.  But I also love to see the fruits of my labor in my home in the form of photos, and particularly photo displays.  I'm not sure if my family shares my enthusiasm for this sort of decorating, but no one has complained.  Then again, I'm not sure they realize that not everyone decorates in Early American Ancestor!

I like to find common themes in grouping photographs.  This simple grouping to the right is of three brothers - the three sons of Earl and Mary Seeman.  Earl died young, and two of his sons died in middle age.  Here, they are pictured "together."

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The next display is a "mother and child" theme.  The top photo is my great-great grandmother, Alfhilde Monsen with her oldest child, daughter Gabriella ("Ella.")   Alfhilde's husband, Gabriel, was a fisherman in Bergen, Norway.  One day he went off to sea, and a storm erupted.  He never returned, leaving Alfhilde to raise her three children alone, struggling to provide for them.

The middle photo is Ella and her oldest child, daughter Lillian.  Ella came to the United States at age 17 to find a better life, later sending for her mother.  She married a Danish immigrant who owned his own bakery, and they raised five children on the plains of South Dakota.

The bottom photo is Lillian with her oldest child, daughter Betty, my mother.  Lillian married a farmer, and they had four children.

If I only had another frame to match, I could have added my mother holding me, her oldest daughter.  But here, the pattern ends, regardless of how many frames I could come up with.

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I love to find unusual frames, which means hunting flea markets, thrift shops, and garage sales.  Most of the time I have no idea what I'm going to do with my finds, until just the right idea presents itself.  This grouping is one of my favorites.  This standing frame holds only three photos.  I found it at a thrift shop several years ago.  The photos are of my grandmother - as a teenager, as a middle-ager, and finally, in her senior years.  I like the "snapshot" it gives of her life, and the frame itself looks like something she would have had in her own home.





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With the displays above and below, I wanted to give a "nod" to our ethnicities.  Above are pictured my husband's family's generations, starting top left with an aerial photo of the family farm in Schleswig-Holstein, and below that, immigrant Hans Seemann, and moving toward right each man's son.  At top is the current generation.  I made one of these for my husband, and one for each of our sons, and I made a similar display for my husband's brother.

Below, I pay tribute to my Norwegian ancestors.  I also learned how hard it is to frame a silk flag squarely!  At the top are my great-grandparents, Andreas and Anne Larsen, pictured in an oak frame made by my father (these were his grandparents.)  To the left is their son, my grandfather Adolph, with my grandmother Agnes.  They left Norway for South Dakota in 1923, with one child and another on the way.  Agnes died at age 48, and Adolph then married his childhood friend in Norway, Lisa, and she joined him in the United States in 1952.  The are pictured at right.  This display honors both of my "grandmothers."



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I had two wedding frames, and wanted to put the black and white wedding photo of my in-laws in one, but was at a loss about how to use the other one.  I decided to print a black and white copy of one of our wedding photos, in as similar a pose as I could to that of my in-laws.  This is the result. 



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This is a common type of frame - the Tree.  I wanted to do something different with two of the tree frames I have, and I printed pictures of all of the "Grandmas" for them.   I am using these "Grandma Trees" to teach my granddaughters about the women of their heritage.  The five year old knows most of their names, 13 in all, and a little snippet of something interesting about each one.  

I had another tree frame that was reversible, and I made a gift for my daughter-in-law.  Her photo was at the top of the tree, with her mother below, grandmother, great-grandmother, and great-great-grandmother after that.  The reverse side held photos of each of her five children.


I hope you've enjoyed these ideas, and I would love to hear (and see) what you've done with your old family photos.  If you have blogged about this, please put the URL in a comment box below. 






Saturday, November 3, 2012

Infusing a Passion for Ancestors in the Next Generation

"Tell me that story again, Grandma," my four year old granddaughter Alyssa pleaded.  "Which one?" "The one about the boy who fell in love with the pretty girl," she replied.  Oh yes, that would be the story of how my grandfather, Adolph, met my grandmother, Agnes, in Norway.

Agnes and Adolph
She loves the story about how this 14-year-old boy and his father, Andreas Larsen, went inland to grind their grain, and were caught in a bad storm.  They sought refuge at the farm of Justin Frendal, and it was then that Adolph first met Justin's beautiful daughter, Agnes, and could not get her off his mind.  Some time later, Adolph accompanied his father to the Frendal sawmill to cut timber, and caught Agnes' attention in return.  As was the custom at that time in Norway, Agnes was hired out to another family to help with the household work, and oddly enough (or maybe not so odd), she ended up in the household of Andreas Larsen, and the rest is history - family history.

Thanks to the remembrances of uncles, aunts, and distant family overseas, we are fortunate to know some of the personal stories and events that breathe life into the bare facts of this couples' existence.

Like most little girls, Alyssa loves the wonderful romantic element that is the core of the story, but without realizing it, she is learning something of Norwegian geography and customs.  After telling her this story several times, we looked at pictures of the fjords; we looked at maps showing where the Larsen farm was in relation to the Frendal farm and the sea that separated them; we learned what Agnes' life was like as a girl growing up in a different land.  She learned what the immigration experience was like as Adolph and Agnes left their families and homeland, and the simultaneous hope for the future and the sadness that Agnes would not see her family again.  She has seen pictures of the Oscar II, the huge ship that carried the young couple to the land we call home today.

But the best part for me was watching her eyes open wide when I told her that her Grandpa Wally, whom she knows well, was their little boy.  Suddenly the fairy tale prince and princess became quite real, and best of all, they became HERS.

In all this, we need to be careful to keep it truthful.  I have to admit, there was some disappointment when I discovered that my German ancestral grandfather Nicholas, did not meet his beautiful French bride Dorothea Francine, while fighting in a war in France.  Nicholas, in fact, had no military experience - he was a widower with two young boys, and "Dorothea Francine" was actually Franken Dorothea, a poor German woman with a little girl.  However, they had their own stories of adventure, determination and struggles with the German government, and building "something" from "nothing."  Looking at their lives and challenges in the context of what was happening in their personal lives, their country, and in the world, makes for an interesting story in itself.  There is no need to embellish the facts to make their story an interesting one.

Of course, not all family stories are going to appeal to all children, but hopefully the realization that Adolph and Agnes were Alyssa's people, and they have an interesting story, will lead her to wonder about her other ancestors as well - Martin Adams, the Revolutionary War Patriot who was a drummer just like her grandpa; Rebecca Lair, the poor widow with nothing who ended up being a landowner; John Adams, the gold miner in the California Gold Rush; Grandma Lisa, who experienced the Nazi invasion of Norway firsthand, among others.  Knowing that these were her people, and their blood flows through her veins will hopefully create a thirst in her for more.

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

The Short Life of the Unpopular Bonnie Posy

16
The year was 1965.  Yes, that’s me, with my new Christmas present, Bonnie Posy.  Despite the obviously pleased look on my little face,  I have no recollection of ever owning that doll.  Don’t remember playing with it.  Don’t remember picking it up off the floor.  Don’t remember what ever happened to it.

I’ve had a lot of luck learning about old toys through Google and eBay, most impressively through the Ugly Baby posts.  I never thought I’d know so much about that doll.  But for some reason, Bonnie Posy is proving to be a more difficult subject.

The only information I was able to find on this doll was through a couple of newspaper ads, circa 1964-65, one of which appears below:

Ad

The above advertisement was from the Milwaukee Journal, December 4, 1964, courtesy of Google News.  While it vaguely resembles my doll, it’s obviously not the same; but the doll in the ad is the 1964 version, and mine made her appearance the following year – perhaps a newer model.  At any rate, with Cootie games (remember those?) selling for ~$1.50, the $4.99 price tag on this doll would suggest that it was a much-coveted item on the wish list of little girls of that era.

So why don’t I remember this doll?  The only other ad I found was for these dolls on “clearance” in 1967, so perhaps Bonnie Posy was a “flash in the pan.”  Apparently mine was!

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

Wednesday, April 25, 2012

Friday, April 6, 2012

Burials in Norway

DIS-Norway pretty much dominated my morning.  And that's a good thing!

I was unaware of their website, at http://www.disnorge.no/gravminner/global1.php, until the kind folks at Ancestry.com notified me that they may have burial information for my great-great grandmother, Olea Ganesvik, pictured at left.   I clicked the link, and for the next several hours was engrossed in searching for all of my Norwegian ancestors.  I was able to find burial information, among other things, for many of them.

The database, something on the order of an early Find-a-grave, exists to aid genealogists in locating the burial sites of their ancestors, and has received grants from the Norwegian Arts Council to aid in their work.    The bad news is, the site is in Norwegian.  The good news is, you can get an English search page at  http://www.disnorge.no/gravminner/index.php?language=engelsk    The bad news is, other pages on the site don't offer an English option.  But the good news is, if you use Google Chrome, the browser will offer to translate for you.  The bad news is, nothing is infallible, including Google's translation.  "Olea Ganesvik" translated to "Olea Gane Deceit", so proceed with some caution and perhaps consider keeping the Norwegian version open in a separate browser tab for easy comparison.

The information available on the site may differ from one ancestor to another, but typically, name, date of birth, date of death, date of burial, cemetery name, and location within the cemetery are typically given.  I would assume the database is far from complete.

Another piece of good news - the database does allow for corrections to be made.   In the table of search results, the right-hand column contains an icon that when clicked, whisks you away to another page containing the same data, but with columns for corrections/additions, and also a place to add comments, along with your name and email address.  Whether or not the comments and contact information will be added to the website is anyone's guess, but it wouldn't hurt to try, and you never know - it could result in making contact with a distant cousin.  In addition, source information can be found on the correction page.  The primary source of information for my ancestors was the website of The Norwegian Church at  http://www.kirken.namdal.no, where photos of some of the churches and graveyards could be seen.  I was very glad to see  photographs of Steine Church and cemetery, where my paternal great-grandparents are buried, a beautiful place that I will probably never be able to visit in person. 

Something initially confusing was the date format - for instance, a day of death is written as "0805" which is 08 May, NOT 05 Aug.  One other thing that I eventually figured out is that the search box will take more information that simply names.   For common names, adding a birth or death year, if known, might save you from looking through page after page of results.  And, since  only 10 results can be viewed at a time, if you have hundreds to go through, this will save you many, many mouse clicks. 

All in all, I was delighted to find this website, and very grateful for the information gleaned from it.  Check it out when you have a few hours!


Saturday, December 18, 2010

Terror and Glory

Our cold, South Dakota Christmases were always warmed up by the excitement of gathering with our large family of cousins at my grandmother’s house on Christmas eve.  Besides a multitude of squirrely children of all ages, there were wonderful Norwegian treats such as krumkake and lefse, and a dinner consisting of lutefisk smothered with melted butter.  And every year, after dinner and before opening presents, one of the granddaughters would be selected to read the story of Christ’s birth from Luke, Chapter 2.
nativity
There was a cluster of granddaughters within four of five years of age of each other, of which I was the youngest, and then a few more younger than I.  And every year I watched as one of the older ones was hand-picked by Grandma to read the Bible story.  What an honor!  I watched in awe as Sheila flawlessly read the verses; and the following year it was Julie’s turn, and again, I was so struck by what a beautiful job she did, and how “grown up” they both were.  Then, it was Cheryl’s turn; Cheryl was a little closer to my own age.  Cheryl did a wonderful job too, but I was a little miffed that I hadn’t been selected myself.  The following year, Cindy was the chosen one.  Of all my cousins, I was closest to Cheryl and Cindy.  So I was mad.  Really mad.  I’m sure they both managed to shine beautifully in their moments of glory, but I never noticed, because I Was Mad.  Of course, I didn’t realize at the time that Grandma had started this tradition with the oldest granddaughter, and was working her way down.  But I suspect I would have been mad anyway.
After Cindy finished her reading, Grandma approached me and gave me the honor for the following year.  I went from mad to terrified almost instantly!  I fretted for a few weeks, then put it out of my mind until the following Thanksgiving, when my anxiety began anew.   And, a few weeks before Christmas, when I took a look at the passage in the Bible, and saw words like Cyrenius, Judea, and a lot of others I couldn’t pronounce, I was ready to leave the country and come back after the holidays were over!
But my moment of honor came, and I did fine.  I really don’t remember who got The Nod for the following year, or the year after that.  Once my feelings of adoration, anger, terror, and glory came and went, who did the reading didn’t seem all that important anymore.
Christmas
Despite the mix of emotions I had over this tradition, two years ago I decided to revive it within my own granddaughters.  I’m up to three of them now, although only two can read.  And I sincerely hope that as the years go on, none of them get jealous or angry or stressed about it.  Because this is the unparalleled story of hope and redemption for all people, and that, after all, is something to celebrate. 
Have a Blessed Christmas! 

Graphic courtesy of Atlantic Fish

Sunday, October 10, 2010

Mystery Monday – What Am I??


item

This … umm… “item” belonged to my grandmother, Lisa Hammer, who came to the United States from Norway in the 1950s.  I suspect it had something to do with making lefse, or some other Norwegian treat, but I’m not at all certain.  It’s relatively heavy, and would make a great weapon!
Has anyone seen an item like this?

Saturday, May 8, 2010

Lefse – Breakfast of Champions


lefse

lefse
I don’t usually blog about my food.  But anytime lefse is made, eaten, or even passes through my mind, I think of my ancestors – I can’t help it.  As I’m rolling out the paper-thin sheets of potato-based dough, I wonder if my grandmothers through the generations have felt that ache in their upper arms, before remembering that they probably did this much more frequently than I!


As I put each round sheet onto the griddle to cook, I wonder if my grandmothers were fascinated by the characteristic brown splotches created in such a haphazard pattern.  My guess is, if I were able to ask them, they’d look at me like I was crazy.  Making lefse, to them, was probably in the same category as doing laundry or sweeping the floor. 

I wonder how they served their lefse – if it was a part of their evening meals, as we use bread; or if they enjoyed it for breakfast, as I often do, or how they prepared it.  Plain?  Brown sugar?  Butter and cinnamon-sugar?

acollage1

Whether I’m making lefse or eating it, it’s the one time that I feel very close to the Norwegian women who have come before me.  No amount of genealogical research compares to doing what they did, and having made it a part of my family’s lives.  It’s as if my grandmothers, Agnes, Lise, Anne Johanne, Marie, and Alfhilde, are somehow there with me as I do the work and savor the product.  A little part of them lives on.

acollage2

Lori, of Genealogy and Me, wrote a great post this week about interviewing the old folks – I’d like to take it a step further, and suggest you learn the customs and family traditions as well.  If not for my grandmother, Lisa, who took the initiative to talk about these things, even when I was too young to really appreciate it, and my Aunt Mary, who taught me to make some of the treats she enjoyed as a child, these traditions would be nothing more than a vague memory for me, and non-existent to my children.  This Mother’s Day, let’s be the women who pass down our traditions.

Sunday, April 11, 2010

Tombstone Tuesday – a “What?!?!” Moment…

Headstone_AndreasAnneLarsen
It was the first speechless moment I’d had in a long time – and I’m rarely lost for words…
My father had a huge trunk full of loose photos that had belonged to my grandmother, Lisa, who immigrated to the US from Norway in her 50’s, to marry my grandfather.  Very few of these photos were labeled, and I had sat up late for several consecutive nights going through them, and scanning the many extremely small photos that must have been quite popular back then.  I had to scan and enlarge them just to get a good look at the faces and places, all of which still went unrecognized.  About halfway through what was seeming like a very un-fruitful job, I picked up this tiny little photo, scanned it, and to my amazement, recognized the names on the stones as being my grandfather’s parents in Norway.  I knew little about them besides their names at that point.  Seeing this very tangible proof of their existence brought them to life immediately for me.  I would love to have yet another speechless moment, paying my respects in person, if someday possible.