| Noteringar |
- Bio: Servant to demanding stepfather, I see Grandmother Kari short and stout, climbing steep fjords of Norway carrying pails of water for a huge family of smaller children. Each spring she drives goats up sharp, mountain peaks to high pastures, herding them during long, summer days. She lives in "Sater Hous", making fatost, primost, and yetost: cheeses for winter.Working as a hired girl, Grandma saves money for passage to America. For three weeks the ship is tossed about by mad winds. She eats flot brod and dired meats from her trunk in fourth class quarters so crowded she must walk sideways. In New York Harbor, she is part of droves of immigrants herded through Ellis Island like cattle, all rumbling complaints in native tongues. Her vision focuses on a Norwegian Settlement near Ottawa, Illinois as she rides the dusty train west.There she meets and marries a local farmer. Driving horse and buggy, she hauls home made butter and cases of eggs to city merchants. Purchasing groceries, her quick mind figures the amount before the clerk can pencil it.While raising two study sons and two lovely daughters, Grandma pays down on a one hundred and forty acre farm. During her eldest daughter's wedding, she is summoned to serve as midwife, much to her daughter's consternation.Wearing black, silk dress with crochetted collar, she carried hymnal to Sunday services. Later, she cooks dinner of lute fisk, lefse, home grown vegetables, and home canned sauces and jam. Children, grandchildren, plus travelling minister enjoy the meal.After the death of Grandfather, I spend a week with Grandmother. Evenings we play dominoes. She always wins. Then she read from her thick Norwegian Bible. The ticking of the roman numbered clock on the high shelf interrupts the silence. I love Granmother's bedroom. Her dresser with the tall mirror and handkerchief drawers intrigue me. I sleep with Grandma in the huge walnut bed. Several serge and velvet home made qulits plus colored rag rugs cover me. The next morning I awaken drenched in perspiration.Age seventy seven, Grandmother Kari, succombs to food poisoning. She rushes out into the dark night, screaming for help. Her responsive neighbor telephones the doctor and Grandma's daughter, Carrie. Grandma dies before daylight on December 21, 1926. I recall her descendants sobbing at news of her death.The mortician embalms Grandma in her home. The body remains there until the funeral. Sons and son-in-law sit up nights during the wake. They dig her grave with shovels, picks, and axes, cutting through crusted snow and frozen ground. Relatives ride to the Lutheran Cenetery in a bob sled, pulled by a team of work horses stomping through deep snow. their nostrils steaming white breath into the frigid air. We sit on straw covered blankets, clutching fur robes to shield us from bitter cold.I am only fifteen years old when Grandmother, Kari, dies. Still the beloved memory of her is ever with me.
|
1849 - 1926 (77 år)
[1] 
