Below is a sweet and very precious letter written in 1952 by Johannes Kaldestad to his brothers Torkel (my grandfather) and William who both immigrated from Norway to America. It is filled memories of their mother, Brita Hovland. Brita would be my great-grandmother. I can only hope to leave a legacy like hers.
My Dear Brothers,
Today I write letters with the same content to you, my dear brothers. When I write in this way, it is to remind you that on the 15th of March it will be 100 years since our mother was born. You don’t remember so much of mother. You, Torkel, were only 7 years and William (Velom) only 5 years when mother died. I was 11 years and seven months, and I have kept many memories of mother from weekends and working days. I can see her in my mind, alive before me, working in the home, sewing clothes, cooking, washing clothes and walking like a sunbeam in and out of the living room.
You probably remember the old kitchen with a little room in each end. She didn’t have much space to move in, but she was satisfied with what she had. She was a mother in the right meaning of the word. Loving, thoughtful, loved the home and her husband and children; with thanks to God for each day she could live her life in service for those she loved so much.
I can see her at the baking table in the out(side) house. One day I helped her with carrying water from the well. Dad stood beside her putting flat bread and lefse in a box to bring to the herring fishing. They were so gentle and good to each other. Soft and gentle words of the fishing luck they expected, and about the children and the home that mother should care for while father was away.
One of the richest memories I have kept was when mother went to the food room and prayed to God for her family and herself. I stood outside the door and listened to her burning prayers.
In the evenings she could find the songbook “Zions Harp” and sing herself into another world. I thought heaven had moved into our living room.
This was a little picture of our mother in working days and weekends. Now she has rested for 60 years in the grave. She died the 3rd of March, 1892. That was a tough time for father. I can see dad with tears in his eyes the day he came to me and said mother id dying. I couldn’t say a word. It burned in my heart, so I lost all my thought, while the tears were flowing. When I came to myself again I said to father, “If mother dies tonight you must wake me. I will stand by mother’s side when she dies.” That night I slept at my uncle’s and dad came and woke me up, and when I came to her bed she had stopped breathing. I had a talk with mother the day before she died. About this conversation and the time I stood at mother’s bed, I will tell when we meet. It is sacred moments that I never forget as long as I possess a clear thought.
It didn’t seem to be light (easy) for father when mother went away. Five small children left and the first maid we had was Kristin. We also had grandmother to help in the house – without her I don’t know how it would have gone the first year. But God made it so good for us.
After Anna, our stepmother, came into the house, we were all right in many ways. She was kind and capable in all the work of the house. She sewed clothes, washed and repaired, so everything was clean and in good shape at any time, and we had enough food. And she took much care of our sick brother Haktor who walked there helpless for many years before he moved to the Eternal home.
The 14th November 1953 it will be 100 years since our father was born. I put this inscription on father’s gravestone “A Good Father”, and that expresses my deepest heart feelings of father’s behavior in the home. He was truly a good father.
May God bless the memories of mother and father. And may God help us, and ours, and lift the heritage from our fathers (and mothers) so it can bring light for us and others through this difficult world. Johannes
(This letter was translated to English by my Norwegian cousin’s son. I deleted two paragraphs to shorten the letter.)
There were other folks out there on this beautiful summer solstice evening, both biking and walking. It is a biking/pedestrian bridge, in place where an old railroad bridge used stand. The original trestle train bridge was built in 1912 and reconstructed in 1971. It became a pedestrian bridge in 2003.
My first official day of dog-sitting for my friend’s “Helping Paws” golden retriever trainee was on Sunday. Jemma is 9 months old…so still in puppy mode but is being well-trained by my friend.
While I was out of town last week my husband painted our walk-in closet, which we had emptied the night before I left. We had re-painted our bedroom several years ago but not the closet. It was time.
