This is what we woke up to one morning at the cabin. It looks like a watercolor painting to me.
Author: Valerie
Uncle Craig
When talking with my nephew at his daughter’s funeral service yesterday he mentioned this experience of losing a baby made them remember “his Uncle Craig” and it took me a moment to register that thought…I’m his Aunt Valerie.
Craig was my mother’s second child. Craig Richard was born on October 19, 1951, three years after my older brother and two years before me. He lived for five hours. My mother never talked about that experience. He is buried at Ft. Snelling along side our mother and father.
Melody Lucinda
Today we attended the funeral of Melody Lucinda… She was my nephew’s (my brother’s son) stillborn daughter…perfectly formed in the womb yet died at 39 weeks. We sang the hymn “In My Heart There Rings a Melody”. It was a sad but touching service.
My nephew penned these words on his Facebook page:
“Well… today, 7/20, at 39 weeks 2 days, our daughter Melody Lucinda arrived.
Unfortunately for us, she arrived at the gates of Heaven into the arms of Jesus instead of into the arms of her parents. She leaves behind a Melody sized hole in our hearts as we grieve and mourn her loss.”
He also included this Bible verse:
“the Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.” -Job 1:21
Her obituary reads: “Melody Lucinda, infant daughter of Daniel and Stephanie was stillborn on Friday, July 21, 2017 at Woodwinds Health Campus, Woodbury, MN. Melody was able to be cradled in the loving arms of her parents and extended family. Her middle name is in honor of her mom’s special aunt Lucinda LaVoie, who preceded Melody in death in 2007.”
The organization calling themselves Halos of the St. Croix Valley ministered to Stephanie and Dan. Someone from the organization showed up in the middle of the night, right after Melody was birthed (the hospital called them). They came to take photos and hand and finger prints and did things grieving parents would not think to do but wish they had later. Melody Lucinda’s hand and foot prints were on display at the service today.
A Tour of My Garden
A few flower photos from my yard, and a quote:
“Make a morning ritual of strolling through your garden. No weeding allowed – do it for the pure and simple joy of observation.” Jane Austin Miller
I am always excited when my favorite Stargazer lilies bloom.
Old Frontenac
We did not know what to expect when we went for a drive through Old Frontenac, Minnesota. To our delight and surprise we discovered a very interesting place. This old town is on the National Register of Historic Places, tucked away off Highway 61, along Lake Pepin, where there are old historic houses, unpaved streets, and on this day, American Flag buntings hanging off the large porches. It was fun to drive around and envision what life was like when this town was in its heyday back in the 1800’s; imagining who lived there, in all those large, and many of them restored, country homes.
After doing some research when I got back home I learned of this town’s national historic significance and found information on many of the houses. I now want to return to Old Frontenac with stories in hand.
Another fun discovery on our drive through this historic town was the Old Frontenac Cemetery…an inviting road: dirt, one-lane, tree-lined and canopied, with decaying tombstones on both sides…a few with gates surrounding the grave markers; some well-kept and others a tangled mess of overgrown weeds.
As I grow older I find myself intrigued by cemeteries and enjoy exploring the older ones. We have been known to stop for a picnic lunch at random cemeteries on our bike rides…they can be very interesting, picturesque and peaceful.
Although we didn’t have a picnic at the Old Frontenac Cemetery it captivated us with its unusual types of grave markers, its several tombstones surrounded by fences, and one mysterious tombstone all by itself, enclosed by a iron fence with the gate partially swung open and the plot overgrown with tall weeds… do-do do-do, do-do do-do (to the tune of The Twilight Zone theme sound.)
“The Forest”
Along a trail where we were hiking recently was a sign with this Portuguese prayer. Apparently this translated prayer has been used in Portuguese forest reservations for many years, although its origins are not fully known. I have never seen this prayer before but like it.
“The Forest”
I am the heat of your hearth on the cold winter nights,
the friendly shade screening you from the summer sun,
and my fruits are refreshing draughts quenching your thirst as your journey on.
I am the bean that holds your house,
the board of your table,
the bed on which you lie,
and the timber that builds your boat.
I am the handle of your hoe,
the door of your homestead,
the wood of your cradle,
and the shell of your coffin.
I am the bread of kindness and the flower of beauty.
“Ye, who pass by, listen to my prayer: Harm me not.”
A Portuguese Prayer of the Woods
Playing Piano
I took piano lessons as a child and played for several years. I also learned how to play an organ, and my folks bought one for our family, but then it mostly sat idle. For a short time I took piano lessons as an adult, but it was still hard to find time to practice. It’s not like riding a bike…I forgot a lot.
When our sons were younger we wanted them to have a general music background so we had them take two years of piano. However, after two years they could choose to keep taking lessons or not. One did, one didn’t. We bought a used spinet piano at the Schmidt’s annual piano sale (with the little money we received from my grandfather’s inheritance-it wasn’t much but we bought a piano) and we still have this piano in our house. I play and practice a little (very little!) and when my son comes home he usually sits down to play. I enjoy listening to him play.
What I have really enjoyed the past few years is playing duets with a friend. She’s a piano teacher so she plays the more advanced part and I play the easier part, and it works! We both enjoy our time together and laugh a lot…while making music. We look forward to playing together and we hope to find more opportunity to do so now that I’m retired.
She has a beautiful, grand piano and we practice at her house most of the time. And when she goes out of town I “water her piano!” Who knew…some pianos have humidifiers and they need to be filled with water every few weeks…so instead of watering plants I water a piano!
Petunias!
I like petunias.
Petunias are colorful, hearty, and everywhere. This summer I started taking photos of different displays of petunias.
Petunias cannot be picked for a bouquet but if watered daily they will bloom and bloom and bloom, and tolerate the hot sun.
Some people would consider them “just an ordinary flower” but I think they are “old-fashioned and beautiful”.
They come in all colors, are easy to grow, and brighten up many spaces.
I will continue to notice petunias…once on the lookout you find them everywhere!
A Precious Letter
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.)
Independence Day
Happy 4th of July!
Such beautiful smiles!!!