When the World Spins, Get Out Your Wheel

As a little kid, I made a pilgrimage to Sigrid's spinning wheel every July during the family reunion. There it stood in the corner, bits of wool still attached. I'd seen a demonstration of spinning at our elementary school, so I had an idea of how it worked. I was itching to give it a spin, so to speak.

Sigrid was famous for being the spinner in the neighborhood. Although I can't say definitively, it seems like she was one of the few who had sheep and spun yarn. In a letter from May 1899, she asked "Will you send me a pair of wool cards? I have worn mine out."

She was also a  knitter. In 1920, she wrote, "My job is mostly knitting. I gave away ten pairs of mittens for Christmas but many of them were small."

If you work with yarn, you know its magic. After a day of dealing with the dramas of life, it gives you a space to think. You ease into the rhythm and the stitches untangle your thoughts.

Sigrid's wool carders sit in my office. They're very simple, just rough wood and rows of tiny metal teeth. Like the spinning wheel, they hold decades-old wool. When I see them, I imagine Sigrid going through the process, from shearing and cleaning the fleece to knitting the yarn. And I know that she and I are connected by more than one thread.

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!

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.

Happy Holidays

I'm going to take a little break over the holidays. I wish you all a season filled with stories, time with the people you love, and caring for those in your daily life.

Micheal's Letter to Grandfather

Michigan City, N.D.

Dec. 3, 1893

Dear Grandfather,

Because you would like to see my handwriting, I will try to send you a few lines, but I am a poor man to write because I don’t have much time for that because I have to be with my father both summer and winter. Now we have much to do outside but it has not been cold this winter. Just a little snow and no storms up to this time. We use the wagon when we go to town.

Tomorrow papa and I are going to town to sell wheat, which we hauled in earlier, but it is so little price for wheat. This fall under 50¢ a bushel. This fall we bought a new binder. It should cost $130 but they got four oxen. We sold them according to weight so we got $106. We also sold two cows and got $26 each.

Because you can’t see me, I have to tell you I have become big but not as fat as when you saw me. I am well grown and strong and I am never sick, which is good. It is soon Christmas and Mama has promised me something nice if I learn my lesson, and that makes me glad. Live well, then, dear grandfather. I hope you live long and happily.

Dearest greeting from your Micheal T. L.

Low Prices, High Costs

Land might have been less expensive than in Norway, but the cost of living was high on the plains.

"I guess I’ll send a few more lines hoping that you have received a letter with pictures that I sent to you this summer. . . News is so scarce there is nothing to write about except all is well.

Micheal is now through plowing and he has plowed 40 acres almost alone with two oxen. Now it is to haul wheat to town but it is so sorrowfully cheap. Think, only 50¢ and less for each bushel. This fall we got 900 bushels wheat and 300 bushels barley and oats. We had a threshing machine one day for $60, so it is expensive work here in Dakota. There was a time this fall they paid $2 a day with the machines so the farmer has to pay a lot again.

We bought a self-binder this fall and paid $130. From us they got four oxen, for which they gave $106, and the rest he paid with cash. You might know, grandfather, that Micheal was a big man when he got to sit on the new binder and drive it.

Father and Anna shocked so we do not have to hire anyone for work because the children are so big and strong that they work like grown people. So we have it good with that too lately."