Tag Archives: Family

2026, Family, home, Kids, Uncategorized

New Digs

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It was fun to be in Brookings this past week. Brookings is the home of South Dakota State University. Both our son and DIL work for the University, he as a mental health counselor and she, in a new position, as a Freshman student advisor.

Classes started on Monday. Last weekend Son helped students move into their dorm rooms. Golf carts were involved, and Son also helped direct campus traffic. DIL helped students rearrange and tweak schedules. Though they can’t and didn’t give us any individual details, both stated the incoming students were pretty anxious.

I started at Concordia in Moorhead in 1976. I had never lived away from home before. A band trip to Europe that summer seemed to have cured me of any homesickness. As an only child it was rather disconcerting to have to share a dorm room with someone, though. I was in the oldest dorm, Fjelstad Hall. My roommate was tolerable enough, but a local girl and more interested in her hometown friends than she was in developing a relationship with me. I quickly found friends on other floors.

Concordia had very strict rules for students. Freshmen and Sophomores had to live on campus. The school openly acknowledged taking an in loco parentis role with students. You couldn’t have a vehicle if you lived on campus. That meant taking the Fargo-Moorhead transit system around town. There was, of course, a total ban on alcohol in dorm rooms. (All that meant was that people got really sneaky.)

I wish all the first year SDSU students well. I am glad they have my son and DIL for support.

What were your first digs like when you moved away from home? Ever live in a dormitory?

2026, Family, home, Uncategorized

Is That Smoke?

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Our son’s dishwasher has been making the most dreadful noises all summer. He was hoping to wait until September to get it looked at by the appliance repair folks.

We are currently staying with our son and Dil looking after our grandson. Yesterday I started the dishwasher after I had finished making some Franzbrotchen, a Hamburg pastry. The dishwasher made its usual grinding noises. Not too far into the cycle it stopped and a warning signal began beeping and a special code popped up on the display to indicate what the trouble was. Husband and I were the only adults home. We contacted our son and he sent us the on-line information of what to do in this circumstance with this particular warning code. It said to unplug the dishwasher for 5 minutes, then restart it.

I followed the instructions. After I restarted the machine it no longer made the awful noise. Then, however, I noticed that something that looked like steam but had a burning, electrical smell was wafting out of the top of the door. I checked, then double checked and decided it was actual smoke. I immediately turned off the dishwasher and unplugged it. I removed the bottom access plate to see if anything was burning under the machine, felt all around on the floor and cupboards to see if anything felt hot, then checked the ceiling in the basement where the dishwasher was perched. It was ok.

For some reason when I woke up yesterday morning I distinctly remember thinking that Son needed to get that dishwasher replaced because the awful noise it made could mean it might start a fire. How weird is that? PI never have had a premonition, but this is pretty close. We helped him choose out a new dishwasher late yesterday afternoon.

Ever had a premonition? Any memorable appliance fails?

2026, Family, Games, Kids, Uncategorized

Gaming

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Since my retirement in October I have been increasingly addicted to online games. Most are from the New York Times. I play them on my phone.

I play Wordle, Strands, Connections, and Spelling Bee. The other games on the NY Times are a little frustrating and I don’t care much for them. I like word puzzles better than visual puzzles.

Wouldn’t you know that the New Yorker, to which I also subscribe, has a crossword puzzle in every magazine, as well as other word puzzles online. Husband has become addicted to those, and we played the online ones every day.

Grandson loves word puzzles, and I plan to play them with him when he is here this week. He always asks me to play puzzles.

What are your favorite games?

2026, animals, Family, Food, History, home, Kids, Uncategorized

Time With Oma And Opa

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Our grandson is spending a few days with us this week while his daycare is closed. We plan to take him swimming and to the local library. I also plan to bake with him and we will make Franzbrotchen, a Hamburg pastry. I want him to learn about where his ancestors came from. He loves to bake and cook and is an excellent sous chef. We will have Pasta Carbonara, one of his favorites. We also will enlist his help with some gardening. He loves to grow things. We are Oma and Opa, to distinguish us from his Grandma and Grandpa on his mom’s side of the family.

I spent time with both sets of grandparents in the summer. My father’s parents lived on a farm outside of Magnolia, MN. That grandma was a great lover of cats and had a regiment of them. She loved to feed them buttered sweetcorn cobs after we were done eating the corn kernals. I would help her collect eggs and work in the garden. The hens pecking at my arms as I took their eggs were scary. I liked talking to the cows and pigs. My grandfather was partially paralyzed from a stroke. He had a wonderful library of history books, and we would talk about his recent read and the history discussed in the book. He really liked talking about Napoleon, someone who had such an impact on his family in northwest Germany.

My maternal grandparents lived on a farm close to Hatfield, MN, a small town with a notorious dance hall, near Pipestone. That grandma (who we called Omie) and I would bake sweet rolls and cook wonderful suppers together. She was a great story teller and related lots of reminiscences from her childhood in Hamburg, Germany and her teen years in New York City. Grandpa was a really quiet guy who kept busy helping my uncle on the farm. His English was somewhat limited and we didn’t talk all that much. He was kindly and gentle.

I hope our grandson has positive memories of his time with us. We have books, a garden, fancy food, terriers, cats, a library, and a really nice swimming pool. What more does a kid need?

Who were your most memorable older relatives? What did you learn from them?

The Baboon Congress

Baboon Redux – About The Barn

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This guest Blog by Madislandgirl was first posted in 2010

I love digital cameras, because you can just shoot and shoot and not worry about wasting rolls of film that when developed show a nice out-of-focus art shot of the back of someone’s head. My son prefers taking shots of interesting images as opposed to the documentary shots I grew up with (“here we are at Mount Rushmore!”).

A little while back, discussion on the Trail was about wabi sabi. There had also been a bit of talk about old barns and how they are disappearing from the landscape. This got me thinking persistently about what once was my grandfather’s farm.

Grandpa’s Barn

And so it was that one weekend, the son and heir and I headed out to Scott County with the express purpose of taking pictures of my grandpa’s old barn. I figured this might be our last chance, as the family who currently own the place will be selling in a year, and I feel certain the barn will be coming down at that point. An electrical fire destroyed the farmhouse about 5 years ago, so this abandoned barn is what remains of “the farm” as I remember it.

A Tree Grows Through the Fence

The teenage son of the current owners was in the yard when we got to the farm, which solved my quandary about asking for permission to roam around the barn. He acquiesced to our request to take pictures in a way that made it clear that he thought we were nuts, but probably harmless.

I was seldom allowed near the barn as a child, I’m sure it was considered too dirty and dangerous for a “town girl”. My son wanted to go inside. It looked pretty stable, so I let him. We both managed to resist the siren song of the ladder into the hayloft, barely.

The Beckoning Hayloft

We had a great time shooting that barn, trying to figure out how some of the old equipment must have functioned when this was a working farm. My nostalgia for a past I could never recover lifted. This was An Adventure!

We were on a roll, so I decided I would try and find an old family cemetery on the other side of town. It is a corner of a cornfield and completely unmarked. I had been there exactly once before, 10 years ago with a toddler and I was not driving. Still, I was feeling cocky.

We headed out-of-town on what I thought was the right highway. I kept scanning the landscape for something that “felt right”. We came to a little town that I remember hearing of as part of the family lore and took it as a good sign, but had we gone too far? Kept driving. As we were driving, I thought I saw a little gravel track at an odd angle to the road-maybe? I decided to turn back and give it a try. The track was pretty well washed out. I parked near the highway and decided to hike in. If I got stuck out there on a fool’s errand, I would never hear the end of it.

My son elected to stay in the car with the cell phone to call the authorities if the farmer who had posted all those No Trespassing signs decided to mistake me for a pheasant-I had 20 minutes to get there and back or he was calling 911!

I hiked around the bend, thinking this was nuts, when I saw up ahead a small grove with something in it.

I had found what I was searching for.

Sellnow Cemetery

What vanished place do you wish you could go visit?

History, The Baboon Congress

Hummel, Hummel-Mors, Mors

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Today’s post comes from Renee in North Dakota

Clyde’s recent posts about DNA and birch logs made me think about these little carvings I have that came from my mother’s family from Hamburg, Germany.  

The crabby water carrier and the farm animals and other figures were in my house all throughout my childhood.  Mom would never let me play with them. I think some of them were children’s toys. Mom said she thought that some of them were sent from Hamburg by family in thanks for the food packages my grandma sent them during the war.  She was pretty vague about it.  She couldn’t even tell me  how long she had them, or why she had them instead of my grandmother or other family members.  

She also couldn’t tell me much about the water carrier. She said he had something to do with Hummels. I always thought she meant the porcelain  child figures designed by the nun, Sr. Maria Hummel.  

Well,  That isn’t quite the whole story.

I now know that the water carrier figure was a real person who worked as a water carrier in Hamburg in the mid-19th century and who was noted for his nasty temper. He was given the nickname “Hans Hummel”.  The word Hummel sometimes is used to refer to a bumblebee. Hamburg children would follow him through the streets as he carried water, yelling “Hummel Hummel” and he would respond with “Mors Mors” which is low German slang for “Kiss my a**”.  

People from Hamburg often greeted each other this way long after Herr Hummel went to meet his maker. The water carrier is a popular symbol for Hamburg.  Now, why didn’t my mom tell me this? How did those cute child figures get mixed up with this?  I don’t even know if mom knew the whole story. If that is the case, why didn’t her mother or her grandparents tell her the story?

Since my parents have both died I find I have lots of questions that I will probably never get answered. I wish I could go back in time and ask my great grandparents and other ancestors just what is up with all this stuff.  Husband and I are tentatively planning a May trip  to Bremen and Hamburg, so maybe I will find some answers.

What question would you ask your ancestors?

History, The Baboon Congress

Timber! To an Era

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Today’s post comes from Clyde of Mankato

My last guest blog asked you to look closely at grass. This time I want you to examine two slides taken by my mother in 1954. They capture an end of one era in the forest and the beginning of another.

First I apologize that the horse’s head is at the semi-exposed end of the roll. Adeline and I long bemoaned that bad luck. We both recognize the photograph has family and larger significance. Today the ratty right end strikes me as appealingly quaint.

End of one era: the horse for one, which you probably realize. In 1955 it was rare to see horses used for logging, but more than my father were still using them. However, the images also show the tail-end of old growth trees in northeastern Minnesota. Look at the size of the those birch logs! How long had they lived? You perhaps think they were sawed into birch lumber. In 1954 it simply was not done. Birch was then a difficult wood to manage as lumber. Today those logs would be worth as fortune.

I feel an affinity for those logs. First because they are birch wood, as am I, being a German birchwood. Secondly because I spent the next eight years using pieces of the logs as chopping blocks, before which I spent many an hour swinging an axe. I was well acquainted with that birch tree before it was felled. Its grandeur appealed to me. For my father it was a massive temptation to cut down. Because of the girth of the stump, he did not attack it, not having a proper two-man whip saw to do the task. Then along came that yellow chunk of steel in the other image.

Logging 1

Beginning of another era: our nearest neighbor Floyd (man on your left) was a full-time time lumberjack (cutter of trees for lumber) and gyppo (cutter of trees for pulp wood). He was a famously surely tough old bastard, older than he looks in this photo. A couple years later while cutting pulp by himself in the Superior National Forest, he broke his back when a widow-maker fell on him. He had to crawl out to a road to get help, which took two days and nights. Three months later he was back in the woods alone. His personality made working solo a necessity. Being a bachelor, Floyd could not have made a widow.

A few days before these pictures were taken, he stopped at our house to show us his new prized possession, the chain saw. They had been around, but now they were mass-produced at a level that made them affordable for professional cutters. Also, they were dependable. They were still very heavy, nothing like today’s light-weight wonders. Yet even at that weight, a new era swept the woods, for one thing allowing old birds like Floyd to earn real money cutting alone.

The moment my father saw the chain saw before him, he pictured that birch tree. And down it came, my mother coming along, after the fell deed, it seems, to photograph the results.

What you see are only the two bottom lengths of the trunk, minus the two butt pieces on which I am standing, which became the chopping blocks. It took several loads to bring up all of that tree. My father knew how to coax every piece of firewood out of large trees. How long it must have cooked our meals and heated our house! You may wonder by what means the logs made their way onto the sled. My father and I did it alone. How that is done, I will leave a mystery.

If you had those birch logs today and could pay the cost, what use would you make of them?

The Baboon Congress

So Fine A Saddle

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Today’s post comes from Cynthia in Mahtowa

 

grandadIn the mid 1970s my grandfather, my father’s father, gave me his beloved saddle that he had bought in Montana in 1913. He was in Montana to work for his uncle who had homesteaded in the Judith Basin southeast of Great Falls. My grandfather had hoped to settle there as well, but he was engaged to my grandmother, who refused to move to Montana. So he brought his saddle, he had bought from an out-of-work cowboy, back to Minnesota. The saddle was custom-made by Hamley & Company, maker of “the finest saddles man could ride.” No matter where he lived and farmed, my grandfather had horses and his saddle.

number_stampRecently, I researched the saddle. Hamley & Company is still a thriving business in Pendleton, Oregon. An identifying number is stamped on the back of the cantle, and the saddle also bears the imprint of a lost brass plate that had indicated who it was built for and by whom. With this information, I asked Hamley to search their records. They were kind and helpful, but unfortunately all records prior to 1918 had burned in a fire. They could, however, confirm by the number that it was built in or about 1913.

Mack_PattersonAttached to the back of the saddle cantle, a leather bag with a metal plate is engraved with the name, “Mack Patterson.” Mack is likely the cowboy who sold the saddle to my grandfather. Doing research on Mack, I found his draft registration from Bozeman, Montana in 1917. He died in 1944 in South Carolina, where he was born. I wonder if he ever had so fine a saddle again.On_horseback

Saddle_drawing

For one of my grandfather’s birthdays in the late 1970s (he was born in 1891 and lived to 91), I gave him my ink drawing of his saddle.

What family heirloom do you treasure?

The Baboon Congress

A Very Happy Birthday

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Today’s post comes from Jacque.

I found my perfect communication medium when I discovered texting. I was not an early adapter, but once I tried it, the medium became mine. It is succinct and I can look at it when I want to and respond (well maybe, usually). That is all I want from most communication, especially when simple things are involved.

And then there are the emoticons. I realize that many folks abhor those little ditties, but I adore them. This morning I saw a girl wearing a T-shirt displaying emotion-identifying emoticons labeling the emotions in French. How engaging! And clever. And sappy, but I don’t care. I love them.

Back to texting, though.   I am the first to admit that texting is not worthy of communicating about more complicated matters. The issue of more nuanced conversation set aside, the following text sequence between my son and I occurred recently (backstory—he has ADHD and struggles with organization. If asked to do so, I will help):

Son: I would like to rent a car for a week. Are you available to help me out tomorrow evening? I also need help with the upcoming move. Need a mover and cleaner.

 Me: My birthday is Friday. If I do this then I want LOTS of attention, a very large gift acknowledging that I am the world’s best mother, as well as undying gratitude and my say forever. Those are my terms.

 Son: Sounds reasonable enough.

 Time passes. Said services are arranged.

Thursday afternoon at 2:00 pm there was a knock on my office door. When I answered it standing there was this:

Balloons

The balloon bouquet is 8 feet tall accompanied by the following card:

Note

I was happy. He was happy. Texting rules.

What is your favorite mode of communication which does not occur in person? (Hint: Alpine horns, Scottish pipes, smoke signals, yodeling and drums all count).

The Baboon Congress

Toddlerhood

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Today’s post comes from Barbara in Robbinsdale.

I was helping my mom clean out her bedroom closet the other day, and we came upon an envelope with pages she had jotted down in pencil between 1949 and 1951. I was the elder child, and “got her to myself” for four years before I was de-throned, and she had time to do this:

Autumn 1949 (age 1½)

Sang “Ho Ho Ho” (Up on a Housetop) when she heard Mother singing. Puckered up lips till she looked like a fish.

Heard soap opera [on radio] in which someone was crying “Oh, No, No!”, so she had to say “No No” for about two minutes straight.

Her first movie “Adventure in Baltimore” when actress said “up there” emphatically. Barby thought she was saying “upstairs”, so she said it too (ah-dee).

First time she attended church service, good for the first half hour, then started crawling under the seat. Began to dance to the organ music when we walked in.

Runs along behind me and laughs when I’m wiping off clothes lines.

Found a wash cloth and started dusting the furniture with it, wood, upholstery and all. I thought it was plenty smart of her till I picked her up and she wiped my face with it.

One day when I took her upstairs for her nap, I put her in the rocking chair while I changed the sheet on her crib. When I was almost through she jumped out of the chair and walked downstairs as fast as she could, chuckling all the way.

Threw her toy doggie down the basement stairs, then went down after him, saying all the way “Hi Dizzie.”

Winter ’49-’50 (20 months)

Found her down on the floor saying “Hi” to a box-elder bug.

After watching me peel potatoes one day when she pulled a chair up to the sink, she tried putting the peelings back through the peeler.

Decided a graham cracker cookie tastes better if she pulls it apart, licks off the frosting and throws the cracker on the floor.

Winter 1950-51 (age 2½)

Asked where Grandma Sterling was, and when I said “In Sioux City” she said “No, she’s in da picture”. I guess Grandma can’t be both places at once.

Her prayers at age 3: “Now I lay me… God bless Mommy and Daddy and Grampa and Grandma Britson and Grampa and Grandma Sterling and all da people in da world, and da babies and da chickens.”

Sings and plays: “do-re-mi-fa-sol-la-ti-do”. Her repertoire: nursery rhymes, Christmas songs, Frosty the Snowman, Here Comes Peter Cottontail, I Love You a Bushel and a Peck, Zing Zing Zoom Zoom My Little Heart Goes Boom.

An oldest child may also find more photos of themselves than the younger children.

What evidence or memory (yours or someone else’s) exists somewhere that you were a toddler?