Leaving Nebraska

February 1900
Leaving Nebraska – Upon arrival in Skagit Valley
The advertising of the Northern Pacific Railway brought in 2000 new residents in a month Papa bought four tickets and Willie rode along for free.  The cold January wind blew my hat down the dusty platform just as we boarded.  My eyes watered, not for the sorrow of leaving that place behind, not for losing my hat to the ever present wind, but to the relief of being on our great adventure westward at last!  Having never ridden a train it was a great mystery and adventure for all of us.  GoodBoy ran after my hat but it ended up under the carriage of the train, never to be seen again—and hopefully, just like Nebraska.  I hate this desolate place and dream of the paradise we are heading toward!
Papa has said it a million times in the past months:  “Lizzie, it’s like we’re moving to Promised Land!  I heard down at the grange a fella reading about a farmer in this place called the Skagit River Delta.  This man raises oats by the ton and sells them for $18 for each ton!  Why, he has sheep that produce wool and he makes money selling it!  And you won’t believe it but there’s hay harvest twice in a yar sometimes!  A man can li well in this here place!”
So, we set out to buy a farm on the “Skagit River Delta” in a place called Samish.
We got settled into our train car just as the whistle bellowed, making the baby startle but he quickly went right back to sleep.  Las night I wrapped up his diapers, blankets, and knitted sweater that Annie gave him.  I don’t have a proper travel container so I tied it all in a bundle in another blanket.  It was so hard to leave behind so many things, but as our homestead is going to be foreclosed and the money we have from the mortgage is going to fund this big move, we had to be careful not to take or leave too much.
I didn’t sleep much last night and neither did anyone else since Willie was up most of the night.  A newborn cannot possibly know what’s going on but he must have sensed our excitement.  I fed him one last time before the drayman showed up at 6am to take us and our belongings to the station in the pre-dawn, starry, frozen darkness.
After a long week aboard the trains, we finally saw the glorious Puget Sound!  I had not been feeling well.  All this travel by train does not agree with me.  When I looked out the window as we pulled into Seattle, though, my heart melted as I saw the sparkling water, the tallest mountains and that clear blue February sky.  I am sure this must be heaven.  The sounds of the city are overwhelming.  So many people, especially scruffy, bearded, over-paced men heading for boats to the Klondike.  Papa made friends on the train with a fellow German who is heading there.  He go papa so excited about the idea of prospecting I had to interfere quite strongly!  Thankfully Papa has relented but it was really close! We left the city of Seattle, heading north.
The man heading to Alaska is Mr. Wells.  He has traveled there before and told papa all kinds of wild stores of riches galore and all the beauty of creation.  Mr. Wells and Mr. McLean were heading from Seattle to Edison to buy dogs for tracking in the Yukon.  He said he would had all kinds of dogs to take with him.  Mr. Wells and Mr. McLean will be spending the week in the area buying dogs of all shapes, sizes and colors to take on their great adventure north.
When we arrived in Belfast station, tired and hungry and with all our belongings—two crates of all we had been able to keep and bundles of clothing and bedding, Papa hired Mr. Otis, a drayman, and we were taken to Edison to stay at the “Freedom Hotel”.
Willie was a good baby all the way, thank goodness, just three weeks old.  We arrived the day before Valentine’s Day.  The bumpy, muddy road out there was difficult but I cannot tell how absolutely green everything was.  There were a million trees, hills, fields, farms, and stumps!  The river is narrow, much less a river than the one we crossed a couple days before—the Skagit was just so beautiful but the Samish is much more like a creek.

Birth on the Prairie

Lizzie’s tiny frame was barely able to hold the weight of a full-term babe as the time came to give birth there in that unseasonably warm (meaning not freezing) Nebraska winter night of 1900.  As she began the first urges toward birthing, her own howls mixed with those of ever-present January’s winds.  Together with her father, John, and her brothers John and Frank, and their neighbor Annie, a very strong, healthy boy was delivered into the candlelight.  She felt faint and the tears came slowly from the corners of her eyes as she fixed her gaze on the face of this tiny stranger.  He was early but not early enough for Lizzie.  Now all the pain, all the breathless and sleepless nights filled with discomfort and despair were over.  Now she had this tiny man to take care of and their plans to leave this wind-swept god-forsaken flatland was drawing near.  They named him Willie, after her Mother, Wilhelmina.
Lizzie’s Diary Entry (*):
The first 16 years of my life had been spent playing outside, helping father on the homestead, learning the ways of a farmer’s’ life.  I have no idea of how to take care of an infant, having lost my mother at an early age and the only girl in a house of male characters with no inkling of the domestic way of life.

From Broken Bow to Bow

1900 – Lizzie
TietjenFarm 06221915
Up on Colony Mountain, about a mile from our farm, there is a commune of socialist people who are trying their best to live together peaceably.  It is called the Equality Colony.  When we were in Nebraska we often shared in the going on of Equality through their weekly newspaper, Industrial Freedom.  Papa, having come from Germany when it was the 1870’s, is very interested in the ideas the colony and the Brotherhood of the Cooperative Commonwealth.  Their utopian and idyllic ways are fascinating and the people are very warm and friendly.
When we arrived in February of this year we were taken to Edison to stay at the “Freedom Hotel”.  We had decided to check out the colony first and the hospitality of the families there was heartwarming.  The women took to Willie and didn’t ask questions as to where his father might be.  Papa and Mr. Willig, who makes barrels of sauerkraut from the thousands of cabbage, have become fast friends.  Papa is one of those people, charming I say, who others are drawn to.  He has a lack of guile that endears him and a sense of adventure that keeps him open faced.  There is a lot of activity, especially in the woods, mills, and shingle mills.  There are so many children in the colony and all seem so happy and well-behaved.  Apparently a lot has changed in the two or three years the colony has been operating.  There are now only 150 adults, as over half of the colonists have moved on to other colonies or moved back to what the colony calls “anarchy”… the common word they use for capitalism!
The people in the colony have decent shelter-far better than our old sod house in Nebraska!  There is a community dining hall where we were treated to delicious dinner of home cooked stew filled with all manner of vegetables and Mr. Davis’ mouthwatering bread.  The butter was rich and creamy, like none I’ve ever tasted.  We had fresh milk, boiled eggs, and for dessert the most amazing apple pie made from everything grown right here!  There is a cooperative store operated by Mr. Blairs where one can buy well-made shoes, tailored clothing, medicinal items, and crafts such as mounted leaves and ferns, as well as practical items carved and constructed from the plethora of cedar, fir, and maple trees.  There is furniture, kitchen utensils, and tools that have been crafted by the colonists in such a way that the care and craftsmanship are exquisitely noted.
While it was tempting to spend the little money we had and join the colony – it cost $160 for the whole family—Papa had visions of owning our own farm in a land of plenty.  There were Saturday night dances up at the Colony as well as at the IOOF hall in Edison.  Papa had his violin, which he dearly loved to play, and we attended religiously to the social opportunities our new community provided.

Perfect Day; Perfect Girl

Her eyes, her heart
Her smile, her art
Her laugh, her style
Paint and pad, watery colors
Splash into a beautiful painting
On the sand, at the beach
Camera snapping, capturing pictures 
Of her with flip flops and pails…
painting pictures of many things
A pony tail high, sun-kissed skin, 
A pink suit for swimming
Climbing the cliffs at Hug Point
To send leaves and sticks tumbling
Over the waterfall to the rocks below
Holding Omi’s hand
Waving at Mommy down below
Careful, joyful, delightful
A day at the beach, being four
Being loved and adored
My sweet girl 
On a perfect day

copyright 2012

Our Lady of the Rock

Our Lady of the Rock

 

Nuns in rubber boots

Driving tractors

Burying the dead–sister, farm animal

Running errands

Catching the ferry

Shopping at Walgreens, Costco

Selling their wares — jewelry, pork, cheese

Living on the Rock

Sharing graciously

They have dogs for pets

Mother, sister, prioress

Someone’s daughter

Choosing a life of hard work, self-denial

Poverty–or were they chosen?

Sharing faith, life, death

Singing psalms in Latin, in harmony

Praising the savior, sharing His love

Surrounded by breathtaking nature

Surrounded by each other

Surrendered and Surrounded

copyright 2012

Glass Beach

Glass Beach 


Walking the hardened path — an old railway bed covered in asphalt leads to a series of sandy labyrinth trails
down, down, over enormous rocks that make up the edge of the earth

Arriving in a little cove covered in small pebbles 
Glistening with jewels spilled here over the decades

Sparkling in the sun, hues of amber, green, gold and white, smoothed and perfected day after day, year after year 
in creation’s tumbler of surf and waves and tides to bring 
a luster to glass beach that draws us to find treasures
appearing as diamonds, emeralds, topaz–

The long-sought, long-dreamed of trek to Glass Beach Glass Beach Poem and Design2.jpg

Symmetry of Life

Symmetry of Life

I’ve been thinking a lot about the symmetry of life from beginning and ending.  When I had a baby 25 years ago there was a constant need for my attention; he relied on me to be present, available, devoted.  His very life depended on me and I loved him with the deepest, most stirring love.  I would have given him anything to make him happy, to keep him comfortable, and to sustain him.  There were diapers, feedings, schedules, hope and dreams.  While there was always a question of whether and when to return to work, there was never a question about leaving him in the care of strangers.  I never wanted him to be raised by those who didn’t love him.  I never wanted to put him in a daycare so I sacrificed wealth or at least some financial comfort for the blessing and reward of being a mom.  Loading and unloading a stroller, car seats, potty chairs, feeding and bathing, keeping track of progress — these were my daily events and I loved it all.  

 The babies are grown and college years are done and they are independent, lovely and wonderful people.  I am free of all the challenges of raising them– free to write and research and enjoy my own time, but only for a moment after I start what I thought would be my new normal, I find myself with the same tasks, expectations and dependence.  Only now directed not toward raising children, rather at aiding my mother toward the end of her earthly journey, which looks remarkably similar to the beginning of the adventure of raising babies into adults, but in reverse.  Allowing the adult to become the child.  Her dependence on me was unexpected and unforeseen.  I must love her with the deepest, most stirring love.  I would give her anything to make her happy, keep her comfortable, and sustain her.  There are or will someday be diapers, feedings, schedules, doctors appointments, supplies, hopes and dreams.  There is the need to leave work often as there is no desire to leave her in the care of strangers who do not love her or have her best interests at heart.  I must sacrifice financial comfort for her comfort for the reward of being her daughter.

Loading and unloading wheelchairs, walkers, potty chairs; feeding, bathing, keeping track of medications and appointments.  These are my routine tasks and I will look back with bittersweet memories as she moves from mother to child and I will ask God for the strength to love her and bless her all the days of her life.  

 And the cycle is part of a long history– time infinite of mothers caring for children who care for mothers.  As my mother cared for my every need and for the needs of my own children, now I and my children will care for her until it is time for them to care for me.  God’s plan of infinite love, grace, forgiveness, blessing and provision. 
Copyright2016