Posts Tagged ‘history’

Celebrating my Immigrant Roots

February 21, 2012

Grandma came to America in 1929.

She was 23 years old.

Picture of grandma when she was still single.

She came to America with a girl friend.

They, like thousands of others, came by ship…

Grandma second from the right

She told me later, she never saw her father again and didn’t see her mother until after the war. She moved to  Chicago, but came west to  visit her Aunt and Uncle on the farm near Scotch Grove Iowa.  Her aunt and uncle were her sponsors.

Grandma sitting with her Aunt and Uncle Fred and Hannah Otten  shortly after coming to America.

While visiting them  she met my grandpa.  A big strapping farm boy who spoke low German and English.

Side note…Grandma spoke both High and Low German.  She was a city girl from

Wilhelmshaven, Germany  a port city on the North Sea

His parents were good friends with the Ottens….and the rest as they say is history. :-)

Grandpa told me his friends made fun of him for marrying a “city girl”

He said, “What’s it to them???   They could just  to go to….@%#&” .

Grandma  learned how to milk cows (by hand) .  Grandpa told me he got grandma  a couple of hundred chickens “so she could have her own egg money.”

Dad was born at home, (I’m pretty sure on the kitchen table)

Those had to be tough years..

Here’s a picture of grandma and my dad:

Here’s a song  that reminds me of grandma….

and finally, here’s a picture of me….all decked out in my German leterhosen.

To Hell with it, let the story begin….

February 13, 2012

“How does the creative impulse die in us?  The English teacher who wrote fiercely on the margin of your them in blue pencil: “Trite, rewrite,”  helped to kill it .  Critics kill it, your family.  Families are great murders of the creative impulse., Particularly husbands.  Order brothers sneer at younger brothers and kill it.  There is that American pass time known as “kidding” – with the result that everyone is ashamed and hangdog about showing the slightest enthusiasm or passion or sincere feeling about anything.”  Brenda Ueland

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I have been sitting on a mother load of raw material for another book for 4 years,  every bit as interesting as the Little House On the Prairie or  Janette Oke’s Love Comes Softly series, and yet I’ve done nothing with it.

Saturday  Steve stopped by  for coffee.   He asked me (again )  “Well, how’s the book coming?”

“I’m stuck,” I said.. “I have writer’s block”…(I thought to myself….in good measure because of you:-)

(Hi Steve!  I know once in a while you stop by the blog..so just in case, I know you mean well ;-) )

Tonight I picked up my favorite book on writing by Brenda  Ueland  “If you Want to Write.”

And  it felt like someone was stirring the coals down in the furnace of  my soul. .  She  is the type of  friend we all long for…a friend who can speak grace into our timid souls.  I love her, even though  I never met her and she’s been gone since 1985 @ the ripe old age of 93.

Brenda encouraged me to write  ” Bold, Free, and  Truthful.”…

and on that note, I thought I would give the book another try….

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Introduction

On The Trail Of Lyman Dillon

 “I can still see that man …had a dam rod as thick as my arm over his arm…he was laying there, couldn’t move.  Both engines were laying in the ditch.  Then the Doctor hollered. “Does anybody got some whiskey???  Come on get some!  If you got nothing, get some!  We’ve got to have whiskey for this guy.”  They poured the whole pint in him.  He was suffering….  It took all day and all night… It was 35 to 40 below.  You don’t ever forget those things….

Grandpa  recalling the train accident South of his farm in 1929

One afternoon   May of 2007 , on a lark I  listened to a  tape I’d made of my Grandpa  from 1999.  He retold several stories from his youth.

After  the tape finished , I got on line  and did a search of Iowa History –    The February 21st 1921 edition of The Palimpsest came up.

The article described the journey of Marcus L. Hansen and John E. Briggs retracing the route of Old Military Road September of 1920 as they came into my home town.  They  imagined  who else had  traveled the   road….Concord stage coaches,  circuit riding preachers,  dragoon soldiers, immigrant wagons  by the hundreds, even Lyman Dillon, who was famous for  plowing  a furrow to mark the original route in 1839.

As I read Hansen and Brigg’s account 87 years after their walk, it stirred something deep within me-

     As far as I knew, no one else had ever retraced the route on foot since Hansen and Briggs, and if so,  it wasn’t well-known.   I said to my wife, “I think it’s time someone does it again.” 

      That set in motion a series of events.

  The Palimpsest article mentioned Mr Lyman Dillon-

   “In 1839, 147 years ago, Lyman Dillon plowed a furrow from Dubuque to Iowa City.  Reportedly it is the longest furrow ever plowed- almost 100 miles.  Using a prairie breaking plow and five yoke of slow, lumbering, stubborn oxen…”

I tried to imagine Dillon with a breaking plow and 10 oxen cutting a furrow through virgin prairie.  Tall grass prairie  ten feet high- you could loose a man on a horse in it.  black bear, wolves – not to mention Native Americans being crowded off their land.

Hanson and Briggs had retraced Old Military road in 1920.  As far as I knew, no one had done it since, so I said to my wife, I think it’s about time someone does it again…..I chose September of 2008 to retrace  it myself.

I was curious to know what the landscape would have looked like, if any of the original road still existed, and what significant events might have happened along the route.

I became a student of   early Iowa history….

to be continued….

The Winter of 1831 When We Ran Out of Salt

January 13, 2011

     The following is a must read.  

I (DM)   alluded to this true account put to verse  last week.  

Lines written on the circumstance of my children going to Chicago for salt in the year of thirty-one, in most bitter cold weather.

“My brother Jacob charge me,

 And told me not to let them go,

Across those wide prairies, In the winter, on the snow.

For he said, “The snow kept blowing

And drifting all around,

 My children might get lost

And perish on the ground.”

He said, “You must prepare for winter,

 Get your salt and bread and meat,

 And all things else accordingly,

 That you may want to eat. “

And when the winter comes,

Don’t let them go far away,

 Not much farther than the ravines,

To make rails on a good day.”

 Our salt was in a gum,

And was standing on the loft,

 But met with a bad accident

When the cover got shoved off.

I had some in a box,

That was standing down below,

Not enough to last till spring,

And we knew not where to go

 A man had been selling salt,

 That lived up at Marseilles,

But when I saw the man

He said his salt had failed

. I asked him when he’d have some,

He said, “Never, as I know,

If I go for salt I’ll freeze to death,

 And perish in the snow.”

I said I had fat oxen

That were able then to go,

 But my children had the ague

And were unfit to try the snow.

When I got home, I told my children

 What the man said,

Then William said, “I’ll go myself

And take that big old sled.

“Mother, do not be uneasy,

 None but lazy people freeze,

 Because they will not exercise,

They are so fond of ease.

“There is no fear for me, Mother,

 I will jump and kick the sled,

 I will keep myself in exercise,

 Run, and kick the wagon bed.”

 The sled roller was so low

That the gopher hills it hit,

Then they’d have to stop, hitch on behind,

And haul it back a bit.

 And take another course,

So they might get along;

Their team was good and active,

 All four year olds, and strong.

With an axe he had along,

When he could, he chopped them down,

 And that did save the trouble

To unhitch and drive around.

 When at the mouth of the Fox

They did take off their team,

For the river was frozen over,

And very smooth did seem.

Squire Cloud and George E. Walker

 Helped them over with their sled,

“For the cattle had enough

 to do To keep their feet,” they said.

Then they hitched on their team

And drove on out of sight,

That first day they got lost,

 And lay out all that night.

It was most bitter weather,

 A terrific, freezing night,

The Good Lord did protect them,

They did not freeze one mite.

 And when the child got lost,

 He drove till late, he said,

Then chained his oxen on

 To the hind part of his sled.

 Where he gave them corn and hay;

 After the team was fed,

 The next thing to be done

Was to creep down in his bed.

 And that good dog was at his feet,

His brother at his side,

He said he slept most sweetly;

The Lord doth still provide.

When he awake next morning

 He saw a man in sight,

A riding very fast,

Soon after it was light.

 He called and did inquire

 Where he might find the grove.

He point out the course

 And then on did move.

His boots were very tight,

 And his socks were very thin,

 And his feet were still a growing,

Made long before they’d been.

And they hauled frozen people

 From day to day, they said;

People that were traveling,

 Glad to get in their sled.

 A lady lately told me

That when he asked to stay,

 He turned about immediately

And put his team away.

 She said, “When the men came in,

They came to the fire to warm,

Leaving out their teams

Standing hungry in the storm.

“But that manly little boy,

Went back and fed his team,

 And when he came to the fire,

 He not much cold did seem.”

 A man called for spring water

 And said his feet were froze,

 And as the boy came in,

 Said, “I must lose two of my toes.”

He saw six toes upon each foot,

And he replied, so grave,

“You will have as many left

As other people have.

” No one had taken notice

 That he had so many toes,

 Then they took a hearty laugh,

Though some of them were froze.

His little brother had come in,

 His eyes looked black and bright,

And those children cheered the company

All the forepart of the night.

The weather was extremely cold

All the time that they were gone

 Hard freezing day and night, 

 could but sigh and groan.

 And of those dear lost children

I hardly could make mention,

I could not sleep, my heart was full

 Of direful apprehension.

 When they came to the mouth of the Fox,

 Come to the other shore,

Those kind gentlemen did meet them,


And again did help them o’er.

 

 Then it was after night,
Though it was not late,
When they brought over their sled,
But sometime after eight.

And came with them through the timber,

 Perhaps more than a mile,

 For fear he might get lost,

 That they might help the child.

 At length the tedious week rolled round,

And on the appointed night

Those children did come stepping in

, O, it was a joyful sight.

 On that same night a young man stopped,

That day he was some froze,

 He was riding upon horseback

And froze his cheeks and nose.

 We all set by a good log fire,

Talking of those poor boys,

 When we heard the front door open,

In the entry, heard some noise.

The room door quick flew open,

 In stepped those precious boys,

I never shall forget that hour,

 It was so full of thankful joys.

Their cheeks they looked so red,

 And their eyes they looked so bright,

 O, I was one glad mother,

 And my heart, it felt so light!

The distance more than ninety miles,

To Chicago, where they went

And brought us back six barrels of salt,

And but one week they spent

. Its thirty-one years now

 Since those children went away,

Twenty-seventh day of November,

 They started on that day.

The little one was seven years old,

His brother was fifteen,

The little one rode in the sled,

The other drove the team.

He said he had not ague

 From the day he went away,

 His health was still improving,

He grew stronger every day.

 He took three yoke of oxen,

 As sound as might be found,

To bring six barrels of salt,

 If the snow should leave the ground.

 But that was not the case,

 The snow was but too plenty,

And did lay upon the ground

Till January Twenty

. That salt prove quite essential,

Bought corn and apple trees,

Although predicted by the neighbors

The little boys would freeze.

For we had hogs and cattle,

 And all the horses still,

Except the one that killed herself

 A grinding in the mill.

And some we got the cash for,

 And that went near Lacon,

When my brother came to visit us,

It was my brother John.

I should be very thankful

For so much mercy given,

 O, grant me, gracious Saviour,

But the lowest seat in Heaven.

E.S.A.

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Question for you to ponder

What was the big deal about salt in 1831?  

Loosing what today might have the same implications in our lives?

Let me know if you’d like to hear any more of these accounts.  (all 6 regular readers to my blog)  :-)

 There are several more poems  where this came from.  DM

Sarah’s Reader

January 7, 2011

    Or     “Why I love local  history ”

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Pretend  for a moment,  you were a crew foreman for 10 years.

Then  a new job  takes you out-of-state. 

 25 years later  you  step back into your old  position  at the same company and  realize things have really gone down hill  in the time  you ’ve been  gone. 

There are new faces on the crew. People  are padding their time cards, leaving work early to go  road drinking…and worse,  most of the crew think this is normal.

What do you have that the rest of them don’t have? 

Perspective

And it is this perspective that gives you the confidence to stand up for what you know is right.

(That’s been my experience the past month, if you’re curious , you can read more at   this link)

Hang on to that word…perspective.  I’ll come back to it in a minute.

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Last weekend  I  grabbed an old school reader off  my shelf published in 1833.  I noticed for the first time, the name  Sarah Ann ______ dated 1838 in the inside cover.

  On a lark I did some checking on the Internet to see if she was mentioned anywhere at all. 

 I hit a gold mine. 

I found her mentioned several times.

 I’m not going to give you too many details of her life just yet.. :-) but I will tell you  this…Between Sarah Ann, her husband Will and her mother-in-law, there is enough raw material  to write a whole new  Little House on the Prairie series….anyone want to help me????

 Getting back to Sarah…

Sarah Ann marries when she is  just 17.    Her and her husband  Will   owned a hotel that entertained this young man  on several occasions:

  I wondered what it was about their story that stirred me so?

 Was it just the thrill of discovery?

 A lust for knowledge?

 It wasn’t until yesterday that I was finally able to connect the dots and put a name to my inner angst.

Their story gives me Perspective.

When I read about Sarah’s mother in law  with 7 sons carving out a livelihood in 1831, dealing with Indians  on the rampage murdering neighbors it gives me perspective on how good I have it.

When I read about harsh midwest Winter storms dumping 2 feet of snow and ice  and  young families  trying to keep warm in a 24 by 16 ft log cabin and all they had to eat was corn dodgers, salted pork and coffee  it gives perspective on how comfortable I have it.

 When I read about how a  families meager salt  supply  runs low so a mom  is forced to let her 15 yr old son and his  7-year-old brother travel 90 miles with 3 yoke of ox to get salt in the dead of winter, it gives perspective on  worry and anxiety.

When I read  about an economic bubble popping   in our nation in 1837 which plunges our country into 5 years of  extreme deprivation, it brings perspective in these uncertain economic times.

    Found a quote on history that  also speaks to me:

     The writers of history seldom give more than the rise and fall of nations, biographies of great men, kings and princes, and but little or nothing of the common people - a matter of far more importance, and more interesting.

To know the intelligence, opinions, tastes, amusements, method and means of living, routine of every day life, the hopes and fears, which swayed and controlled a people, would be far more interesting than the life of a prince socially far removed from and having no feelings in common with the masses”

So what do you think? 

 What would you do if  the electrical grid were to go down for a month? 

   What if  we experienced the popping of another economic bubble and all the wage earners in your home were suddenly out of work…long term

  Would you (and I) have what it takes to survive? 

It really does come down to our perspective.  (attitude)

As always, thanks for taking the time to read my stuff.   DM

The White Wolf

June 5, 2009

     Johnson County Iowa 1850- A creature resembling a large  white  wolf,   said to stand  over four feet tall, with tracks as large as a lion,  had been raiding  local  farms.   It  was carrying  off 200 pound sheep  with perfect ease,  and something had to be done. 

     At one point, Jonathan Talbott caught the beast in a trap.    The creature was so powerful, it ran with the trap several miles before loosing a toe.   

     Imagine you are a farmer, you wake up in the morning  to discover something has killed another one of your  ewes    This happens off and on for several months.   

      If you’ve ever raised animals, or been attached to a  pet, then maybe, you can relate to the anger that rises up in your heart.    You get to the place where you would kill this marauder with your bare hands if  you could. which is kind of how the rest of this story shakes out  ;-)

     As I retraced Old Military Road this past Fall,  this is one of the stories dancing around in my head.

     I am starting to work on the manuscript of  my next book.   I have the title : “On The Trail Of Lyman Dillon” , and think I have the intro to the book about finished.  The next step is to organize  the rest of the book.

    As I researched early  Iowa history in preparation for my walk, I came across stories like the one about the white wolf,  the thing is, these stories are not just in once source.  You find them in old diaries, county history books, old magazine articles, etc.

     My intention in writing this book,  is for the next person who wants to retrace my steps (either on foot or in a car)   to  know what life  would have been like 150 yrs ago along Old Military Road

      The drama, excitement and suspense  I came across rivaled any movie you would see today.   The difference  is, these things really happened, right here where I live. 

     It’s  like I feel the spirits of these people crying out to be remembered…their  stories are buried in  musty out of print  books.   Their grave stones are no longer remembered.   Their  children,  grand children and great grand children are gone.

      If you have any suggestions/ questions/ or thoughts about this book project, don’t be shy.  I’d love  to hear your thoughts.


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