Life and Death, Inextricable

A few years ago, I stood at the window in a hospital room watching traffic. Outside was life, inside was illness and eventually, death.

Life and death are, were, and continue to be inextricable. Many of us try to ignore this fact -- until we can't.

Death is woven throughout Sigrid's letters, here it takes her neighbor's children. Even so, life stubbornly persists.

"We have a new neighbor, namely, Sander Lofthus. They came this spring and bought a quarter of land. They have now built a house and moved in. Margit was with us two weeks. They now have one daughter left. Their two sons died right after they came here this spring, that was sad for them, and the people are kind to them. They have gotten three calves and Knud Lokken (or Turke Knud) feeds them three months for nothing. That was worth a lot of money to them. And still he gave them a calf and helps them in many ways, so they say they like it here, so I suppose they do."

Images of Home, 1893

The table where Sigrid wrote letters still sits in her house, in front of a south-facing window. When I read these lines, I imagine her there with the photos fanned out in front of her, smiling.

October 24, 1893

Dear Father!

Because yesterday I had the big satisfaction to get a letter from you I will send some words back to you in return. I thank you heartily for the letter and all the pictures. It was so much fun for us to see everybody again, Anna and I had often wished we could have pictures and now we got that satisfaction too. I hardly know my brothers again they have gotten so big and handsome men since I saw them.

Yes, dear Father, I got to know you now the way you are. I often thought of you as an old gray-haired man but now I see you are as young and handsome as you can be. Old age hasn’t gotten hold of you yet. It is so good to see you this way.

The Kids Are Alright; 1892 and 1893

Like other women on the plains, Sigrid worked nonstop. Finding time to write letters wasn't easy. When she had a few minutes, she got right to the point.

October, 1892. " Theodore will now be one year the 4th of November. He is so big and fat, everybody who has seen him says they have never seen such a fat baby child. He doesn’t walk yet but crawls around everywhere.

Birgit and Clara have found pen and paper to write to grandfather but it probably won’t be finished before tomorrow. Anna is now almost as big as I am. She can use my clothes. She is good. This summer she had to help with the haying and people from town came out and asked her to work for $3 a week. But we needed her. They are all a big help and comfort."

Things were still hectic a year later.

"We have a healthy baby boy born on September 5. Now on Sunday 22nd of October he was baptized and he got the dear familiar name, Nels. I like that. In one month there will be a meeting again and maybe it will be confirmation. If so, Anna will probably be confirmed, Sunday the 25th. After that she says she will send Grandfather a letter.

During the intervening year, Lars Gjeldaker wrote about schooling for his grandson (and namesake). I like how Sigrid acknowledges her father's concerns, then gently reminds him that they have schools too.

"You say that Lars could come to you in school. If that were possible, the only thing is, I would want to be home so my children could be with you in school. I thank God that we have gotten us a home here where we have everything we need for daily bread. It is also a possibility that Lars could have a chance to learn here. The minister tells us we have children who are good in reading. They read at every meeting in the summer.

The Crop Report of 1892

Lars Gjeldaker never visited America. He never rode the train across the country, never watched the landscape flatten under tall grass, never saw a lone stand of cottonwoods on the horizon.

But he had a bird's-eye view of life at the Lillehaugen farm.

In February 1892, Sigrid reported, "The crops were good last year, the first wheat harvest in Dakota. Now we will see if it will be better here. Some have given up their land and moved away. Tosten and Micheal have much work in the barn, as we have many animals. They also bought a team of horses. There is much to buy when a man is beginning to farm, and here it is expensive. Machine and tools we need, but we are afraid to buy before we can pay."

In October, she sent another update with details on yields and prices.

"This summer we have had the best and nicest weather, so for the first time we got a good crop. Now we have threshed and plowed. They have left to haul the wheat to town before winter comes, because then it is best to hibernate like the bear.

We got over 800 bushels of wheat, 400 oats. The wheat is worth 50¢ a bushel. Low price! Now we have to sell wheat to pay for the horses we bought last fall for $200, and threshing cost $52. We had a man during threshing for two dollars a day. So that’s the way it goes with the money. It goes here and there.

But we are satisfied that God has helped here. This year I guess there has been very bad weather at many other places. Through the summer we sold eight cattle. We have 22 left and we have enough hay for them. We have mowed quite a bit, Micheal has done most of the mowing and raking. Grandfather should see how big and smart a man he has become this fall. Now he is going along with Father and drive to town and they will both have teams."

She adds, "Lars has to watch the cattle and that is not so good now with prairie fires all around the places."

A few years later, another prairie fire will alter their lives forever.

Written Down in the Forgotten Place

I don't know about you, but when I look at photos of unsmiling pioneers and homesteaders, they seem tough as nails. (Of course, one reason they didn't smile was because they couldn't risk a blurry photo.) Then you get a glimpse of the loneliness.

In February, 1892, Sigrid wrote, "Dear unforgettable Father! Mother and Brothers, Now that at last your long-awaited letter has come, I want to send you my thanks for the letter. I often wondered why Father waited so long before he sent us a letter. How lovingly welcome to receive your dear familiar hand again and read the dear lines from Father."

In October she reminded them that "One postday after the other has gone by without a letter from you. It appears to me that I have been written down in your forgotten book at your place. But to freshen your minds, I am sending you a few lines. It could happen that it might interest you."

I love that last line. Zing!

Prairie Skies in South Dakota

A couple of weeks ago we were in South Dakota. This photo was taken near Wall, in the national grasslands.

I grew up on the prairie. The skies of the West fill me with a peace that is impossible to find east of the Missouri.

When I think of my great-grandparents, I wonder what they thought of the Dakota skies. Of course, they had to keep an eye on the weather--no Doppler radar in those days. But I imagine they also were attuned to the colors and nuances of the clouds, the shifts in light marking the seasons.

I would love to spend an evening with them, watching the sun sink, seeing geese fly overhead, and hearing frogs begin the night shift.