I imagined that my knitting progress would be extensive while driving halfway across Minnesota and then North Dakota, but I was wrong. Despite the flatness of the country, I was completely mesmerized by the beauty of the open skies and the sweeping farmland.
The wheat was golden and most of it had been harvested, or was in the process of being harvested.
There were kids driving these combines (is that what their called). We were impressed with their responsibilities, once we were able to get the kids to tear their eyes from the video and i-pod games. I knew I should have been a farmer.
The only knitting occurred at our campsite on the first evening. We spent the night telling stories and performing campy skits.
But the morning was early and I had it to myself. So I set up camp on the picnic table and worked on my Luciole mini-shawl. The color is not impressing me, but the pattern is so cool.
We rented a little cabin within the camp grounds and had a good time playing "Little House on the Prairie" which, by the way, is an absolute staple of a book. . . even for boys. Get the book on CD and listen to it in the car for those boys who think it's too girly. Pa gets into a scrap with 50 wolves and you'll have the boys on the edge of their seats. Yeah, baby.
So off to another cemetery. Just outside of Upham, Nd (pronounced up-ham, thank you very much), is a dusty old Icelandic cemetery full of my relatives. The care and upkeep of the place is largely due to dedicated volunteers, including a 91 year old who we met and spoke to. He spoke an poem to us in Icelandic and choked up - so did we all. Not a dry eye in the bunch. He is one of the last of his kind. He was from a generation of children learning the English language for their parents and grandparents, assimilating into American history. He knew my grandfather when he was a boy.
This time to visit my great great great grandpa Jon "Postur" Magnusson. He was a mailman in Iceland.
And here lies my grandpa's little brother Norman "Buddy", who died from undiagnosed diabetes when he was 18 months old. Blessed family - only one of ten children to die in childhood. Boy, have we come a long way.
When my grandfather was nearing death, he said to my mother, "I'm ready to go. I miss my wife and I would really like to see Buddy again."
May they all rest in peace. Truly.
7 comments:
It's so great that you care enough to keep this family history alive for your kids -- and your blog readers, at least one of whom is enjoying it tremendously. Can you imagine the stories your ancestors could have told? Awesome, in the true meaning of the word.
Not a dry eye here either. Your stories so move me. The land is so beautiful out there, and the hardships were tremendous.
I have Luciole in my mental queue...It's so lovely.
Happy Sunday!
Misty eyes again reading your blog! I have to tell you that I've used what you said in your earlier post about your ancestors and losing three children in my English class. We were reading "Plymouth Plantation," where Bradford writes about how half of the original settlers died. I brought up your post (I told them a friend had told me the story. Blogging's so hard to explain to teenagers, ha, ha) Anyway, I talked about having to wait until spring to bury the children. That they were real people, not just people on paper. It was a successful teaching day:)
What a touching story...
I would so like to go back in history and see how my ancestors lived!
Wonderful stories! I want to meet these people! Poor little Buddy :(. There are many stories like that in our family too. It makes me so sad. How amazing that you met that man that knew your grandpa.
Beautiful pictures and a very touching story... imagine how life has changed since then...
Bless Them All.. You have brought tears to my eyes
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