Why do some people get the genealogy bug, and others don’t? I’ve been thinking about this a lot since two of my Aunts, my mom and one of my cousins have taken a trip to Canada to research the origins of my Grandma’s Father. All I know of the situation is that Great Grandpa came to America either with Great Grandma or met her here in Canada. At any rate, they got married, and my Grandma was born in Regina, Saskatchewan. When my grandmother was 12, they moved to Wisconsin (they think) and then finally to St. Paul, Minnesota.
If genealogy provided stories about their lives and/or funny antidotes, I would maybe be more enthused, but I just can’t get into it, but feel as if I should. I loved nothing more than to sit with Grandpa Tschida and coax stories out of him about his childhood and young married life. Those images came to life in my head far more vividly than genealogy research can stimulate my imagination.
Don’t get me wrong, I am forever grateful for the info that others have worked hard to unearth, but I just don’t want to go to the work of doing it myself! I hope that Mom, Aunt Barb, Aunt Marge and Mary find everything they are looking for plus much more. I am also hoping that they actually find the house my Grandma lived in and take a photo, but I don’t even think it’s on their agenda. Maybe the house isn’t even there anymore. Those are the things that fascinate me. Where did my Great Grandfather work? Is the place he worked still there? A photograph would be awesome. What did Great Grandma do? Did she take care of things at home?
Back in those days, photography was more of an extravagance than it is today. Imagine how much info overload our future generations will have. We’ve made it incredibly easy for future gens…but maybe it will have taken all the fun out of detecting…hmmm.
Grandpa Tschida & Mark
Another vivid memory of Christmas occurred when we were maybe 5 and 9, or thereabouts. We were both pretty sick with the flu and/or a cold and we were resting down in the basement while watching television with Mom and Dad. The phone rang and of course in those days there were no cordless phones, so Mom ran upstairs to answer. She was on the phone a long time, which was certainly not unusual, so we didn’t really think much of it. Eventually she came back down and we finished watching tv. At some point, Mom exclaimed that it was time for bed. As we walked upstairs to bed, we just happened to look in the living room and WOW….Santa had visited while we had been downstairs.
Another place we always went without fail was to Grandpa & Grandma Tschida's house and all my Uncles, Aunts and cousins would be there. It was a full house! My grandparents/Aunt went to a lot of work to ensure that each of us kids got a gift or two. They didn't have to do that, especially when it had to cost a ton, since there were about 18 of use kids. I always truly appreciated it. My grandparents and Aunt Marge gave to us way more than we could ever hope to give back.One of the last memories I have of Christmas and Santa was again at the farm. Dad asked us if we wanted to go out for a late evening ski through the fields. I was always game for skiing; especially up at the farm. The quiet swishing of the skis as they broke trail across the freshly fallen snow always seemed mysterious and enchanting. The farm was also usually pretty dark which added to the mystique, but on this particular evening I remember the moon was glowing brightly. (I looked it up and there was a full moon on December 25, 1977) There is nothing better than skiing across open fields with the silvery light of the moon shining down on the sparkling white snow. As we got to the end of the mile long driveway, Dad turned towards the farm and said “Hey, did you see that? I thought I saw some lights in the sky near the farm.” We were at an age that we were starting to get wise to Dad’s joking around. So of course, I remember us both saying “Yeah, right Daaaaddddd.” I know that he continued to be pretty persistent about what he saw, but we kept on with the “Sure Daaaddddd.” The joke was on us. Once we got back to the farm and unbundled all our outdoor clothes, we walked into the living room and guess what? Santa had struck again. Dad’s only words, “See? I told you!” He must have loved that moment.
There are so many wonderful memories of Christmases past. Looking back, I realize that we had it sooooo good in comparison to others. I will forever be grateful for all the wonderful memories we were given.
I remember sometimes my Mom would argue it, but Grandma would INSIST upon our having cookies, and there was no arguing with her. We loved that part of the visit. They were always unique cookies as well… (Store bought). At home we made our cookies from scratch to save money, but Grandma and Grandpa always had the yummy store bought kind, like; fig newtons, oreos, vanilla sandwich cookies, or my personal favorite wafer cookies (see picture below). If that wasn’t enough, there was always the endless supply of candy that was within easy reach.
The place that we hung out when visiting my Grandparents was always the kitchen. My Grandma’s kitchen must have been at least 20 x 20 and I am not exaggerating. She had an old oil burning oven/stove as well as your standard electric stove, a fridge and a huge kitchen table. Oh sure there was a dining room and living room along with three bedrooms, but the place to be was the kitchen.
The farm, while the best place on earth to be during the day, took on a foreboding and scary feel at night. You could literally hear the walls whispering evil things...footsteps and small shuffles wafted through the air into our little ears while we lay shivering under the covers.
Winters were the worst because it would get dark so early (even earlier than in the city) and stay dark much longer. I remember one never ventured upstairs alone, it was always done in pairs. And then one poor soul had to reach way up high into the darkened stairwell to pull the string for the hall light to come on. What nerves of steel that took each and every time. If you ever woke up in the middle of the night, may God have mercy on your soul.
It was so bone chillingly dark that you could put your hand in front of your face and not see anything more than an inky blackness that seems to breathe and waver as if alive. It didn’t help at all that the room between the two bedrooms (ours and my parents) was a dark, dank, spooky attic. It was a Jumanji type of attic with shadowy what-nots and unexplained shadows that seemed to quiver and shake as if taunting us. There was one window in this room that was always cobwebby and grimy from years of neglect, giving little light to the spooky attic, but rather making things seem even more scary and treacherous.
There was a single step up to the attic with an old skeleton key that always stayed in the keyhole, but in the locked position on this painted white door. The room was always locked, and I never ever had the courage to ask why. Upon entering this gloomy, spiderwebby room, the floorboards would creak with every footfall, warning whatever monster was deep in the shadowy recesses that you had now entered no-man's land and thus considered "fair game." Even in broad daylight, one never went into the attic alone. It just wasn’t done.
I don’t remember any one particular event that evoked such fear in our hearts and minds, but we were always afraid of that farmhouse at night. Even in adulthood, when the farmhouse was discussed between my brother and me, it was always done in a low voice with deep respect and awe.
My mom claims it’s the stories my Dad told, but I really don’t remember any particular stories at all, until we were much older and already had our fears embedded into our psyche. To this day, I can still feel the sheer terror of spending time alone there. During the summer my cousin was dying, I spent well over a month there alone and refused to sleep upstairs. I just used the pullout couch in the living room, which held a whole new host of "scary" because there was a floor vent pass through that looked directly into the upstairs bedroom. I usually slept with the light on each night.
My grandparents worked hard their whole lives. Even when they should have been retired, they continued to work at the turkey plant near their farm and tend to the animals they raised. Chickens for the eggs and geese (I don’t want to know what for), but my Grandma always told me it was for pets. I have a sneaking suspicion she lied. Especially after one particular Christmas dinner. She cooked all day and then put the goose onto the table. I asked what it was and she told me. I refused to eat it and cried the entire meal. If this isn’t a surefire way to upset a Grandma, I don’t know what is. She never ever served goose again.
I spent one summer helping my Grandma incubate, hatch and raise the goslings from the time they left the shell. I remember that I accidentally spoiled one of the goslings and he would cry at the top of his lungs in the middle of the night. Grandma looked at me and said “You spoiled him; you get up and feed him.” Little did she know I absolutely treasured that time and would have done it anyway. Geese are very smart creatures and are often not given the credit they are due. They are conniving, clever and manipulative. They are also loving and loyal until the day they die. That particular gaggle that I helped raise always remembered me and would run to the fence whenever I came back to the farm.
One particular summer that Michelle and I spent together, we were old enough that we could fit into her mom’s old 50’s style skirts and dresses. We would walk up and down that long gravel driveway. We felt so special, beautiful and important. Too bad there were ZERO guys around to enjoy the show. My favorite skirt was a yellow taffeta skirt that would rustle and shimmer when I walked. I also favored a pale lavender skirt. I wish I could remember what Michelle’s favorite skirts were, but I have a total block. Maybe she had the same favorites.
I was an avid reader all through my childhood but when Michelle and I were together on the farm alone, I never once touched a book, nor did I desire to read at all. I don’t know what we talked about or laughed at, but I remember we never fought and our love was deeper than any love I’ve ever felt for anyone. That summer as she lay dying in a hospital bed in Fargo ND, I stayed at the farm to be nearby. My mom stayed with my Aunt to support both my Aunt and Michelle during this time. It had become inevitable that she would be leaving us.
I read a lot that summer more than likely to take my mind off of that dark shadow of death flirting with all of our peripheral visions. The book I remember most clearly was “Watership Down.” I had just finished the book and was immensely sad. I was wandering around the farmhouse while my Grandparents were out doing chores. I felt an overwhelming despair and sadness at that moment. In that moment, the farm phone rang and I just let it ring and ring. I knew without having to answer that it was bad news. A phone can ring differently when it’s a harborer of bad news, you have to listen very closely, but the tune is decidedly different. I finally couldn’t take it anymore and picked it up. It was my Mom and she prepared me as best as she could. She told me to go get my Grandma and I refused. I remember distinctly arguing with her that I would not, as if somehow my not getting my Grandma would allow Michelle to live on. Finally I went and got her. I don’t remember any more of that day; except that I never saw my Grandparents shed a single tear. I realize now that it was just their way. If I thought I was stoic, they surpassed that stoicism to an all new level. Maybe it was because they lived on a farm. I have noticed that a lot of farm people have a different outlook on life and death. They seem to accept it more naturally than city folk. But as a 14 year old child, I didn’t understand this lack of compassion and feeling. After all I was the one that had lost my very best friend and blood sister. Oh yes, we had cut ourselves and melded our blood together just like the cowboy and Indian shows we’d seen on television. I don’t remember anything else from that point on except the ride back home from Detroit Lakes to the farm after the funeral and burial. I felt an overwhelming sense of loss, and just at that moment the clouds parted and the sun shone down through the recently departed clouds and formed sunbeams. God had welcomed another angel into Heaven. I remember being straight pissed though.
Michelle's death occurred the summer of 1980. This was the year I would be starting high school. It was an extremely sad time...and new school certainly did not help. Who knew that Michelle's death would seem like a cake-walk in comparison to what was to come 22 years later.
I remember when Michele was first diagnosed with Leukemia. It was a summer morning and the phone rang, and since I was closest, I picked it up. I was in our family TV room. It was Grandma and she was very nice and said hi and asked what we were up to. Then she gently asked if she could talk to my Mom. At the time I was about 12 I believe. My Mom picked up the kitchen extension and for some reason I stayed on the line. I had never and never again after that day listened in a conversation my Mom was having, but for some reason I just knew something was not right. I heard her tell my mom and I didn’t understand what Leukemia was, but knew it couldn’t be good. I gently hung up and sat in the TV. room pondering. Just like me, Mom knew I had heard, so she came in and gently explained what was going on. That day I grew up a lot more than any girl of 12 should have to do.
Where do I begin with the story of my cousin Michelle. She was born a year after me. I remember her always being there. My blood sister. We grew up together. We could sit in a room together and know what we were thinking without saying a word. We spent a lot of weeks together at the farm. It was such a sense of freedom, and yet we were perfectly safe. We both spent tons of time at the Pine tree, walking the woods and just talking.
Not many can remember a time without indoor plumbing. I only remember a couple of occasions having to use this primitive fixture. In the summer it was the scariest and smelliest. Large spiders lived within these four small walls. There was no dilly-dallying. You went in, got it down and got the hell out. Sometimes…you even had to leave the door cracked a bit, so as to be able to breathe just a little bit. The winter, while cold as all get out, provided a safe place to land your bum. No fear of spiders and horrid imagined bugs, but also there was less smell. So, while it may have been 20 below, you felt a sense of relaxation and calm and you most certainly felt less hurried. I was about 5 or 6 when my Dad and a couple of others (I think Bob Abbott) decided it was time for the ol’ farmhouse to have indoor plumbing. There was a perfect room that could be converted and it happened to also be along the same wall where the well was located. It was a pretty easy job from what my Dad says. I remember it was a really neat thrill for my Grandma, and the rest of us as well. No more forays out to the outhouse in the dead of winter, the hot humid heat of summer or the middle of the night…a fate worse than death. In the picture above, I am walking across a deep hole (where the well is). I distinctly remember my mom telling me not to do it. See how well I listened? Things haven’t changed.
What farm isn’t complete without a “farm” dog. From the time I was born they had a dog named Lassie (German Shepherd). When she died, we didn’t think my Grandparents would replace her, but oh did they ever replace Lassie! One weekend we went up to the farm for a visit and a small little fuzzy ball of fur greeted us. We were thrilled beyond words especially after Grandma informed us that we could name him. So we tossed around a bunch of names, but finally ended up with Rusty, because he had such reddish orange hair. One of the first times Rusty and I bonded was when he was probably about 12 weeks old and I must have been about 9 or 10. I was lying on my stomach to steady my aim while shooting a rifle at the tin can target. Rusty jumped up on top of me and sat looking over my shoulder, with his cute little head cocked to the side as if to help me to make the perfect shot. I did hit the can, even with dog on my butt. It was at that moment, that I knew this dog was special and a rare bond and close friendship formed with Rusty and me. At night he slept below my bedroom window and whenever I went hiking in the woods, he was my faithful companion. During some of these walks he would occasionally disappear and flush out a skunk. The skunk usually won that round, and Rusty would reek of skunk. At those times, we would refuse to have anything to do with him and so he learned quite quickly that he didn't like this lack of attention. To this day, no one has any idea how this dog did it, but he would disappear for about an hour and come back smelling fresh as a rose. Those are the lengths this dog would go to in order to be near us. We assumed he rolled around in something to neutralize the odor.
I remember one particular summer I spent a couple of weeks with my Grandparents. They were in the chicken coop and I was in the house when I heard a car drive up. I went outside to find out who it was. Rusty came flying from somewhere and stood sideways in front of me. Everytime the man tried to get out of the car, Rusty would growl really deep and bar his teeth. No matter what I did, he refused to let me out from behind him. The man had to finally go away and said he'd come back another time. That dog was my protector and the most loyal friend I’ve ever had.
One of the first things I wanted to do after Tim and I started going out steadily was bring him to the farm and introduce him to my Grandparents and Rusty. At the time, Tim owned a Ford Escort. As we turned off the highway onto the gravel road that led to the farm, I warned Tim to not get out of the car until I said so. I think Tim was a little more than skeptical about my concerns. As we drove down the long narrow gravel driveway to my farm (about 1/4 mile long), the anticipation built to monumental proportions. As we pulled into the main drive area, Rusty came galloping up to the car with his head at par with the top of the car window. Tim took one look at me and said “I didn’t think you were serious!” I got out and Rusty bounded over to meet me with big dog hugs and slobbery kisses. I then told Tim to come out and Rusty greeted him in a friendly manner, knowing that Tim was okay. That weekend Tim and I took many walks in the fields and woods near my Grandparents farmhouse and Rusty was always at our side. I remember one particular walk across the fields, we were walking along when Rusty paused and started digging in the dirt. Tim and I kept going. Soon enough, Rusty was trotting along side of me with the addition of a distinct crunching noise. Tim asked what that was, and I speculated that it was probably a mouse or some other crunchy critter. Hey, the boy dog needed a snackie!I plan to use this blog to relive some of my childhood memories. I am afraid of forgetting them, and with no brother to reminisce with, I will be doing that here. :-)
There isn't any one specific memory that sticks out the most about my Grandparents, but rather many different memories, smells, sounds and feelings about the farm. I have always loved the outdoors and to be able to wander freely and listen to the birds and hear the sound of the wind as it ripples through the pines. The wide open space so vast that you can look for miles and miles with obstacles or hi-rises, just the occasional farm houses, barns and silos dotted across the rolling fields of green, tan and browns.
Another memory stands out strongly about the farm. I had to verify this with my Dad, because it seemed so vivid that I thought maybe I was mistaken. I must have been about 4 or 5 and my grandparents still had some milking cows and I distinctly remember walking down to the “crick” with my Dad to bring the cows back up. Not sure how my Mom allowed it or felt comfortable with it. It's more likely that my Dad didn't ask just took me with him and figured he would deal with the consequences after the fact. All I know is that I remember not having any fear of these big beasts that were four times my size. All I saw were gentle giants with long purplish tongues. Maybe I had no fear, because I was with my Dad and he wasn't afraid. Who knows.~~~ Lizzy ~~~
Here it is...I actually did it! This was by far much more difficult than it sound.
- I would prefer to live on a farm.
- My most prized possession is my Grandma's Depression Rose luncheon set.
- I'm afraid of the dark.
- I love pine trees.
- I am addicted to coffee.
- I can make my own lattes and they are just as good, if not better than coffee shop lattes.
- The older I get, the less tolerant I am with cold Minnesota winters.
- I have found out that I love to write.
- There is nothing more beautiful than a Utah blue sky day.
- When I truly capture a good picture, I know it in my soul.
- I love my jeep wrangler.
- You can't choose your family, but you sure can choose your friends.
- I love God.
- I thoroughly enjoy Facebook.
- I like to watch people.
- Losing a loved one sucks to the max.
- The smell of fresh country air makes you realize how alive you are.
- There's more to life than work.
- Dolphins are the only mammal besides humans, that have sex for the pleasure of it.
- I still miss my Grandparents farm.
- I love tent camping, especially if it's raining at night. Nothing better than the sound of rain tapping against the tent walls.
- The best shower is one that you take after three days of backcountry hiking/camping.
- Fruit tastes the very best after a long, strenuous hike up a 900 foot ascent.
- Smells can invoke the most intense memories.
- A picture is worth 1,000 words.
- I love my iphone.
- Working in a cube farm is depressing and very un-motivating.
- The grass isn't always greener on the other side...
- Music does speak to my soul.
- A dog's love is unconditional
- It snowed on my birthday in 1984 --- April 29th!
- Technology is a blessing...and a curse.
- You are only as old as you feel.
- As of today, I have been married 21 years! (Back to blessings and curses LOL)
- My brother was born on my on my fourth birthday.
- My brother died 15 days after he turned 32.
- Weather fascinates me.
- I am a huge Garth Brooks fan.
- Coming up with 100 Truths is much easier said than done....
- Aunt Marge is extremely important to me.
- I hate wearing socks.
- I love ripped jeans.
- The older one gets, the faster time flies.
- I was a girl scout.
- Grandpa Douglass was a beekeeper.
- It makes me very sad when friends don't communicate with me.
- Sunflowers and daisies are my favorite flowers.
- My closest cousin died when she was 13. I was 14.
- My Grandma had Parkinson's Disease. My Uncle has it now too.
- There are stupid questions.
- When I was a kid I loved touring old Navy ships .... still do.
- I love the smell of sharpie markers.
- I still feel 22 inside.
- Most men in cowboy hats are handsome.
- I love facial hair on men (within reason).
- No snowflake is the same.
- Mosquitoes suck (LOLOL)
- I always have vivid dreams and remember them most of the time.
- I would rather be too cold than too warm.
- I hate kayaking.
- Chocolate and caramel are awesome combinations.
- Martinis are tasty.
- I have milked a cow before.
- Sunsets and sunrises are beautiful to watch.
- I don't like the feeling of lotion on my hands. Unfortunately it's a necessity in the winter, but I still hate the feeling.
- I don't like to touch public door handles, elevator buttons, or staircase railings.
- I am ambidextrous.
- I love hats.
- The Grand Canyon is awe-inspiring.
- America is the best country in the world.
- Thunderstorms are awesome.
- Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
- Laughter is the best medicine.
- I have a thing for tents. We have 5....Always looking for more.
- I still miss my Grandpa Tschida.
- I love good food.
- I have a massive sweet tooth.
- A successful marriage requires compromise.
- I hate spiders.
- I love snakes.
- I had ice cream for dinner last night. Seriously...
- Shiny things fascinate me.
- Hawks, Ravens and Eagles are my totem.
- I have driven a tractor.
- I love office supplies....a lot!
- When I was 17 I put my baby up for adoption. He is now 24 and we talk almost every day.
- My brother played the guitar and sang....very well....
- My grandma had wild raspberries at her farm. I used to love to help pick them...and eat them. Nothing better than sun warmed fresh raspberries.
- In all my years of camping, the first time I ever saw a bear was a year ago and the bear was crossing the highway as we flew past in the car!
- I used to help score for my brother's Little League team.
- My brother and I biked home in the middle of a tornado warning. It was very scary.
- We threw a battery into a campfire once and it shot out of the campfire and narrowly missed my Dad's head. He didn't know what had happened.
- I live next to a US Marshall.
- I get really grouchy if I go too long without food (or caffeine).
- I would like to live in a treehouse.
- Food that others cook for you always tastes better.
- I have never dyed my hair. I have always like the color it is.
- The sound of a person using an emory board on their nails is as bad as fingernails on the chalkboard to me.
- I saved 11 of Annabelle's baby teeth.
- My favorite place to be is Zion National Park.
This is my first entry in this blog. I have another blog, but that is primarily dedicated to my Pudelpointer Annabelle. http://www.pudelpointer-annabelle.blogspot.com/.
This new blog, "Life in Lizzy's Eyes" will be all mine.
Today, I spoke with one of my very good friends, Gabbi, and she posed a challenge. Write up 100 Truths about yourself or anything at all. In theory, it sounds rather simple, but after I started to make the list, I came up with just two before I was stuck. I had to ask her for a couple of suggestions so that I knew if I was even heading in the right direction. So, I will take her up on her challenge and start writing. Look for the list very soon!