Long Waits, Slow Connections

Our home computer gets dissed because it's too slow. People want the internet, and they want it NOW. No one wants to wait. Seconds become minutes, minutes become problems.


Sigrid was practiced at waiting. No instant messaging for her. 


In 1892, she began her letter, "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."


A few months later, "One post day 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." She ends, "I am waiting to hear from you, yes, dear Father, send us a long letter for Christmas."


Sigrid also owns up to her sporadic correspondence. In 1894: "Never before have I had you wait so long for a letter from me and I am really ashamed. I beg for your forgiveness." 


In 1901: "I guess it was too long this time before I answered you when I got your dear letter for which I thank you. It is a joy to receive a letter when all is well on both sides."


In 1904: "It surely is too long between each letter now, but it is your fault because I wrote last. I have often thought of writing, but then it gets postponed again."


Then, like now, life galloped along, making it difficult to stay connected with family.  


If only Sigrid and Lars had been on Facebook!

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!

Live Well Letters: Introduction

In 1885 my great-grandmother, Sigrid Gjeldaker Lillehaugen, emigrated from Hallingdal, Norway to America with her three children. She joined her husband Tosten in Minnesota, and in 1888 they moved west to homestead in North Dakota.

I grew up on a farm three miles from where Sigrid and Tosten lived. Every summer we held a family reunion at their house. As I made my yearly survey of the items in her house -- spinning wheel, organ, books, tall buttoned shoes, a tiny pair of spectacles-- I wondered about their lives. Drawings and photos of sober faced ancestors watched me watch them. In a dark side room a few clothes still hung on hooks. What if I could go back just once and see what it was really like?

In 2002 I got a phone call that gave me that chance.

For years, my aunt Tess had been working on a project involving Sigrid's letters (more on this in a later post.) When it came time to publish them, I was invited to join the project, having worked in publishing for a few years. Not sure what to expect, I started reading. Right away, her voice rang through. She was even funny. "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." When she wrote about her sheep and spinning, I thought of my Dad. When he was a little boy, she would bring her spinning wheel and sit by the south side of their house, spinning in the sunshine. Eyes twinkling, she would tell him stories in Norwegian.

In 2004, we published Live Well: The Letters of Sigrid Gjeldaker Lillehaugen with Western Home Books. In this blog, I'll share some of her letters and tell you more about our project. Together, we'll walk through the door of her house and get a glimpse into her life 100 years ago.