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.
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.)
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
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!
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!
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.)
Happy 4th of July!
Once upon a time, back in the 1800’s, Haktor Kaldestad married Brita Hovland. They were my great grandparents who lived in Norway and had five children. Johannes (born in 1878) and Torkel (born in 1887) were two of their five children.
Torkel, my grandfather, married Elizabeth and they had four children. They immigrated to the United States. Herbert, my father, was one of their sons.
In the 1960’s Herbert began working on his ancestry and started making contact with his family in Norway. Herbert traveled to Norway in 1969 to re-connect with them, and it has been a very good thing as our families continue to connect with each other to this day.
Johannes, Torkel’s brother, married Sella and they had five children. They lived in Norway. Hakon was one of their sons (a first cousin to Herb). Hakon had four children: Jomar, Anund, Heine and Siv.
Last week Jomar and his wife Bente, Heine and his wife Kari, flew to Minnesota from Norway for a vacation in the United States, to visit family and travel to the East Coast. We were grateful we were a part of their itinerary. It was a delight to have them stay with us for a couple of nights. It was not the first time they have been here…they have been to our home in Northfield before, and we have been in their homes in Norway.
We had such a good time filled with lots of laughter and joy. Many more good memories were made to add to our collection of great times together.
The one thing I thought of as we were talking about our ancestors is that my great-grandchildren will probably not know my name, or my husband’s name. Without our ancestry chart I would not have known the names of my grandparent’s parents…how fleeting our lives are.
So I hope to make a difference in the lives of my children and grandchildren.
“Lord, remind me how brief my time on earth will be.
Remind me that my days are numbered—
how fleeting my life is.” Psalm 39:4
My friend and I enjoy looking at antique stores and thrift shops, particularly the glassware. We can spend hours doing this and have fun talking of sparked memories and/or, wondering “what is it”?
On our last trip we came upon an unusual item…a two-piece glass object: about 6″ high, and the top piece set into the bottom piece. The top had a twist-on metal handle and cover with something similar to an eye dropper with a plunger so when you pressed on the handle it looked like it would suck up whatever was inside to dispense it. The top glass piece had a honeycomb pattern so we decided it was to dispense honey but we had never seen anything like it.
We decided it was worth thrift store price to buy it and see if it worked. I brought it home, cleaned it out, bought a jar of honey and poured the golden liquid into the top piece.
The result: it works…really well, and it is very beautiful besides. I’m delighted and I still wonder where this honey dispenser came from, why we’ve never seen anything like it before, and are there more out there? I would think there might be a market for something such as this.
Our biking get away this year took us to Iowa and the High Trestle Trail.
We were pleasantly surprised by this well-kept, smooth and wide bike trail lined with native plants and trees that led us to, and over, the High Trestle Bridge. The high and funky bridge across the Des Moines River was a sight to see, especially at night. The bridge is a half-mile long and 130 ft. above the Des Moines River.
We rode our bikes on the trail to the bridge in the afternoon. After dinner we walked the trail to see the bridge lit up with a beautiful shade of bright blue. 
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.
The trail the next day was a nice surprise too. We drove to Big Creek State Park and started pedaling on the smooth, but hilly trail along Big Creek, then along Saylorville Lake. Up and down we went and in some places it was like a roller coaster…pedal up and then coast down a hill and half way up the next hill, then pedal a bit more to the top and then coast down again…whee…
Again we were surprised when we saw how big the dam was. We rode the mile across the length of the dam and back again, for the fun of it.
On our last day our ride took us through what we expected from the beginning when we headed to Iowa, and that was the beautiful, but flat cornfields of Iowa.
We discovered there are hundreds of miles of bike trials in this area so we’ll go back. The B&B we stayed at was delightful…a log house with many wonderful features, and at night…a view of the beautiful, blue bridge.