Anna: The Valentine Birthday

In 1879, Sigrid and Tosten's first child, Anna, was born on Valentine's Day.  Anna was known for meticulous housekeeping, beautiful dishes, and the twinkle in her eyes. 


When I was a child, I loved letters. Great Aunt Anna was in her late 80s when we began writing to each other.  I'm not sure what she thought about my attempts, but I remember how exciting it was to walk up the hill to the mailbox and find one of her letters inside, addressed to me!


One summer afternoon when I was about 7, we had a coffee party for Aunt Anna, Aunt Selma, and Almeda. My favorite photo from that day shows what good sports they were:  we're all standing in front of the lilac bushes holding kittens. 


A year or so later, Anna and Almeda moved permanently from their house in Michigan, ND. Mom and I went to see them while they were sorting and packing, and I found  a treasure -- hats! Anna let me put two or three on her head to see which looked best, then said the magic words: I could pick one and take it home!


Anna and Almeda lived at the top of a long flight of stairs at 1021 Broadway in Fargo.  Inside their apartment, it was bright with sunlight and plants.  Every visitor drank coffee from a china cup, ate cookies on plates with a history.  


Twenty-one years old when the 20th century began, Anna faced the disruption and excitement of the decades with humor and grit. 


Happy Birthday Anna!

Hope, Blizzards, and Christmas

Christmas blizzards are preordained in North Dakota. Travel plans must include a one- to two-day window on either end to accommodate blocked roads, cancelled flights, whiteouts.

The first winter that we lived in Minnesota, we made the trek north. WINTER STORM WARNING filled the headlines for days. Big Christmas storm will interrupt travel plans. Change your travel plans now. Why are you still thinking of travelling?

My brother, San Diego-raised husband, and I set out. Smooth sailing up I94. Clear roads on I29. Called the parents from a rest area near Harwood (pre-cellphone days). Yep, roads are good. Skies are clear. Are the meatballs in the oven?

Made the turn at Grand Forks. Still clear. Talked about how much parents worry about the weather and how great it was to live in Los Angeles and wear shorts at Christmas.

Then, POW. Complete whiteout. And I mean total. Within seconds.

Ahead we could make out faint red tail lights. OK. Follow them. Inch along. North Dakota-raised brother and I launch into anecdote trail about past blizzards. CA husband insists he can see the road. We insist he can't, because he's from CA. We all agree it's good someone is ahead of us so we can follow them.

Until those lights disappear.

Hours later, we pull into Michigan, ND. Drifts across the streets, snow horizontal against the street lights. Heads down, we run from the car to our aunt and uncle's door. Their first words: "You better call your Mother!"

This Christmas, the storm arrived after we did. Roads across the entire state were closed. Just like they were in 1896, when Knut Nelson wrote, "A few days ago we had a terrible blizzard for four days. It blew and snowed so all that time. Some people tied a string to the corner of the house so they could find their way inside again. Yes, that was the worst snowstorm I've ever seen since I came to America, and I hope I never see it again."

Hope springs eternal.