Recollections: Not the Beginning or Middle
I have noted in many blog posts of writing about my life's history in order to lead readers up to the beginning of this blog, five years ago. I opted not to start at the beginning of my time, although that is important to write about at some point; childhood memories, family happenings and the like. But, not today.
I debated about starting at the middle of my life which would peg me at 27 years of age, as I turn 54 this year. At that point in time, I gave birth to my third child, had been married for 7 years and was a "stay at home mom," raising the kids and that first husband. Despite the importance of that year in my life, I didn't want to start there today either.
I chose not to start at the beginning nor the middle, but at a pivotal time in my young life; age fifteen. It was the year my mother uprooted me from my family and hometown in Minnesota to move across the country to Washington state. This seemed like a foreign land to me of which I knew nothing about. I felt like her decision was for no particular reason other than a whim and her desire to live somewhere other than the Midwest. I was the only child of nine still living at home, which made her choice easier. In later years, I learned her thinking also rested on the fact that since I was to start high school and leave my beloved elementary school behind, it wouldn't be any worse to start high school somewhere else all together. At least to her, it was good timing.
In order to share the impact of these moments, I need to describe in brief detail about the circumstances of this pivotal day; of leaving Minnesota and the farmland of the state.
Each one of my brothers are framed in a 6" to 6"6' stature. All four of them had farming in their blood. Chores were routine and hard work was a rule of thumb. Driving a tractor at age six was commonplace, plowing fields or bailing hay at age ten was expected and re roofing the chicken coupe as a preteen was normal. Pride was worn by each of them like a shirt with a good nature and respect for thy family and neighbors sewn on. They were sons, brothers, fathers. They were the stand ins for my dad since he died a week prior to my birth.
My four sisters range in height from 5'6 to 5'10".They are a nurturing bunch who also knew chores, but of a different nature. Gender bias was still prevalent during their youth and while the men worked the fields, the women worked the garden, the child rearing and the household; from cleaning and cooking to serving the men, including taking lunch to them during the hours in the fields. Three full meals were always available at the appropriate times: breakfast, lunch and supper. These meals were prepped from scratch and generally with meat and produce either raised or grown on our own land.
These years were noted for housewives being as pride ridden as the men because they took care of everyone. A working woman outside of the home was a strange concept, but due to my father's death, my mother was forced to step into the working world at age 53, which left my four sisters to be surrogate moms. Loyalty was the key to us all.
Due to the circumstances of life, my family was very close knit. It was common to have Sunday supper at that old farm. My mom would work from morning until serving the houseful of family that came by. As some of the older siblings were married and raising their families, they'd each bring a dish of good food to share. Food was plentiful and mom cherished her children and all of the grand kids the Lord blessed into her life.
On this hot August day in 1976, my mother was taking me away from all that I knew and loved. She was tearing me away from all of these people who helped raise me. My sister Mary, her husband and two sons were going to take me with them to their home in California, until mom set up house in Washington. When mom stabilized her job and house for us, Mary was to drive me up to Washington and deliver me to this unknown state. It was the day after my youngest brother's wedding. My eldest brother and his family hosted a family picnic on their farm in celebration of the newlyweds and to say good bye to family before they journeyed back to their homes, especially to say good bye to their mother and littlest sister. We celebrated Paul and Cheri's wedding, laughed and shared stories, as always, until the time came.
When the announcement came that it was time to leave and mom and the baby sister would go across country, she on her journey's leg and mine with my sister, I could not believe my eyes. I started crying and every one of my tall, prideful brothers came one by one to hug me...and they were crying like I'd never seen before. Not small tears or not trying to override the situation with pride, but full blown tears and sobs. Each one of my sisters and sister in laws were choked with tears and wetness splashed their faces, my nephews and nieces couldn't stop crying due to loosing their favorite aunt and grandma. This ordeal lasted a long time and no one wanted the hugs to stop. But they did when I crawled into the back seat of my sister's car with my nephews. My sister and I still crying, we pulled away and started the travels to the Western USA.
I debated about starting at the middle of my life which would peg me at 27 years of age, as I turn 54 this year. At that point in time, I gave birth to my third child, had been married for 7 years and was a "stay at home mom," raising the kids and that first husband. Despite the importance of that year in my life, I didn't want to start there today either.
I chose not to start at the beginning nor the middle, but at a pivotal time in my young life; age fifteen. It was the year my mother uprooted me from my family and hometown in Minnesota to move across the country to Washington state. This seemed like a foreign land to me of which I knew nothing about. I felt like her decision was for no particular reason other than a whim and her desire to live somewhere other than the Midwest. I was the only child of nine still living at home, which made her choice easier. In later years, I learned her thinking also rested on the fact that since I was to start high school and leave my beloved elementary school behind, it wouldn't be any worse to start high school somewhere else all together. At least to her, it was good timing.
In order to share the impact of these moments, I need to describe in brief detail about the circumstances of this pivotal day; of leaving Minnesota and the farmland of the state.
Each one of my brothers are framed in a 6" to 6"6' stature. All four of them had farming in their blood. Chores were routine and hard work was a rule of thumb. Driving a tractor at age six was commonplace, plowing fields or bailing hay at age ten was expected and re roofing the chicken coupe as a preteen was normal. Pride was worn by each of them like a shirt with a good nature and respect for thy family and neighbors sewn on. They were sons, brothers, fathers. They were the stand ins for my dad since he died a week prior to my birth.
My four sisters range in height from 5'6 to 5'10".They are a nurturing bunch who also knew chores, but of a different nature. Gender bias was still prevalent during their youth and while the men worked the fields, the women worked the garden, the child rearing and the household; from cleaning and cooking to serving the men, including taking lunch to them during the hours in the fields. Three full meals were always available at the appropriate times: breakfast, lunch and supper. These meals were prepped from scratch and generally with meat and produce either raised or grown on our own land.
These years were noted for housewives being as pride ridden as the men because they took care of everyone. A working woman outside of the home was a strange concept, but due to my father's death, my mother was forced to step into the working world at age 53, which left my four sisters to be surrogate moms. Loyalty was the key to us all.
Due to the circumstances of life, my family was very close knit. It was common to have Sunday supper at that old farm. My mom would work from morning until serving the houseful of family that came by. As some of the older siblings were married and raising their families, they'd each bring a dish of good food to share. Food was plentiful and mom cherished her children and all of the grand kids the Lord blessed into her life.
On this hot August day in 1976, my mother was taking me away from all that I knew and loved. She was tearing me away from all of these people who helped raise me. My sister Mary, her husband and two sons were going to take me with them to their home in California, until mom set up house in Washington. When mom stabilized her job and house for us, Mary was to drive me up to Washington and deliver me to this unknown state. It was the day after my youngest brother's wedding. My eldest brother and his family hosted a family picnic on their farm in celebration of the newlyweds and to say good bye to family before they journeyed back to their homes, especially to say good bye to their mother and littlest sister. We celebrated Paul and Cheri's wedding, laughed and shared stories, as always, until the time came.
When the announcement came that it was time to leave and mom and the baby sister would go across country, she on her journey's leg and mine with my sister, I could not believe my eyes. I started crying and every one of my tall, prideful brothers came one by one to hug me...and they were crying like I'd never seen before. Not small tears or not trying to override the situation with pride, but full blown tears and sobs. Each one of my sisters and sister in laws were choked with tears and wetness splashed their faces, my nephews and nieces couldn't stop crying due to loosing their favorite aunt and grandma. This ordeal lasted a long time and no one wanted the hugs to stop. But they did when I crawled into the back seat of my sister's car with my nephews. My sister and I still crying, we pulled away and started the travels to the Western USA.
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