The 1880 census record lists my grandfather still living at the home in Dayton with his parents and also lists as a member of the household my grandmother Strand, then serving as a domestic servant. So it appears that propinquity may well have played a considerable role in their getting married. I seem to remember learning that there was a blood relationship between my grandmother and grandfather Strand. Whether this was correct or not I don’t know and I do not know if there was such a relationship whether it was as cousins or second cousins or more distant. My grandmother Strand had at least three sisters — one of these, Hulda, served as housekeeper for my grandfather after my grandmother died and I remember Hulda well.
Hulda was a fairly tall, rather ruggedly built woman, rather “old country” in her speech, actions and demeanor and I suspect not too intelligent. I believe that she had worked earlier as a domestic servant (in Denver?) but of this I am not certain. Two other sisters are buried in Lost Grove cemetery in Iowa — according to Richard Carlon who told my brother Vincent, they lie there in unmarked pauper’s graves. Richard knew of this since he was the gravedigger for the cemetery and had apparently knowledge of the people buried there.
My grandparents settled down fairly shortly after 1880 to farming life on the farm south of Gowrie that my father eventually inherited and which my brother Vincent farmed from the late 1940s into the early 1980s. On this site my grandfather eventually bought and farmed 120 acres, more or less. In addition he eventually bought an additional 100 acres about half a mile south of the homestead and close to the little town of Lena. In the family this was always called the Lena land.
When my grandfather retired from farming, the basic 120 acres was rented out to Anton Holmer, who I believe had served as a hired man for my grandfather before this. Whether this rental agreement occurred directly after my grandfather left the farm I don’t know for sure but I think it did. During the time Anton farmed my grandfather’s 120 acres (the Lena land was rented to my uncle Reuben) he purchased 40 acres that filled out the quarter section.
When Anton left the farm in the middle 1930s, my grandfather purchased Anton’s 40 acres and added it to the farm. When my father’s estate was settled after the death of my mother, I acquired about 40 acres of what had been my grandfather’s farm and we purchased an additional 40 acres. At this time we still have this land. Vincent let me have the original abstract of title and this can be referred to get the details on when my grandfather acquired the basic farm. As to the Lena land I don’t know when it was acquired.
When my grandfather rented his farm to Anton Holmer, he told Anton that he could farm it as long as he wanted to. This promise was not adhered to, because of pressure from Uncle Reuben and cousin Leonard doubtless, to let Leonard rent the land. At that time it was difficult for young farmers in particular to secure land to farm. This, to me, is the kind of family pressure brought to bear on my grandfather by Uncle Reuben, in my grandfather’s declining years, that was quite uncalled for and representative generally of Uncle Reuben’s lack of scruples.
I virtually never heard my father speak about the life his parents lived on the farm, or his relations with them during the time he was still at home. Once he mentioned that it was hard on the horses when they had been used for fieldwork all day, to be used in the evening hours to take some member of the family on a social outing (that was before the days of automobiles).
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Monday, February 22, 2010
Grandparents
My ancestral roots are all in the country of Sweden. The genealogical records extend back only to ∼1700 and have been investigated by various family members. These records have been coordinated and stored by my wife Jean. Before 1700 the record of my ancestors in Sweden appears only in the general history of the people inhabiting Scandinavia. In Appendix A are Xerox copies from a book describing what transpired in Scandinavia prior to 1700 insofar as historical research has determined it. Unfortunately I neglected to record the title and authorship of the book.
Briefly the present-day inhabitants of Sweden are the descendants of humans who entered the populated the country following the retreat of the ice sheet of the most recent ice age. This in-migration occurred about 7000 B.C. Who these immigrants were and where they came from remains undetermined.
My grandfather Peterson died several years before I was born so I have no recollection of him as a living being. My grandmother Strand died when I was about three years old and though I imagine her as a person I have no real recollection of her. What I know then of these two grandparents I know only secondhand, from comments of my parents or other relatives or what I have gleaned from secondary sources. So I will wait to discuss what I know of them when I write about relatives or when I describe the secondary sources I just mentioned.
My grandfather Strand I remember well of course since I was 18 years old when he died in 1938. He was born in this country in Andover, Illinois, where his parents had settled on an interim basis after emigrating from Sweden to this country. On the first occasion I was in the town of Andover I inspected the county records in the nearby county seat and I learned that my great-grandfather had apparently owned a couple of lots in Andover. Whether these lots had a residence on them and whether he resided there during his relatively brief stay in Andover I don’t know. Did he contemplate settling in Andover? That information is lost.
At any rate the family moved fairly shortly to Webster County, Iowa, and settled down on a farm outside the town of Dayton. This farm was I believe the farm that later on was the property of Ralph Strand (a cousin of my father’s) and in my early years there still stood on this farm the house in which my great-grandparents lived while farming and in which my grandfather grew up. I dimly recall being inside this house on one occasion when our family visited the Ralph Strands. These visits to my father’s cousin were rather infrequent and later ones to the ranch-style house that Ralph later built. On one of these later visits I seem to recall the old house, unoccupied, sitting off by itself and looking quite forlorn and dilapidated.
On a visit to see Ruth Strand (Dad’s cousin Alger’s wife) in recent years (perhaps during the year of the Strand reunion in 1988), Ruth took us past Ralph’s farm and we stopped and walked around. There was an old building like a house on the periphery of the building site but it didn’t match my recollection of what the original Strand farmhouse looked like. It was 2 stories in height where my remembrance of the old Strand house was one story and low in height.
One of the few experiences, if not the only one, I have of eating pheasant was on one of our family’s visits to Ralph Strand’s house. I suppose Ralph, or perhaps Earl, his son, went hunting on occasion and that this was the source of the pheasant.
Briefly the present-day inhabitants of Sweden are the descendants of humans who entered the populated the country following the retreat of the ice sheet of the most recent ice age. This in-migration occurred about 7000 B.C. Who these immigrants were and where they came from remains undetermined.
My grandfather Peterson died several years before I was born so I have no recollection of him as a living being. My grandmother Strand died when I was about three years old and though I imagine her as a person I have no real recollection of her. What I know then of these two grandparents I know only secondhand, from comments of my parents or other relatives or what I have gleaned from secondary sources. So I will wait to discuss what I know of them when I write about relatives or when I describe the secondary sources I just mentioned.
My grandfather Strand I remember well of course since I was 18 years old when he died in 1938. He was born in this country in Andover, Illinois, where his parents had settled on an interim basis after emigrating from Sweden to this country. On the first occasion I was in the town of Andover I inspected the county records in the nearby county seat and I learned that my great-grandfather had apparently owned a couple of lots in Andover. Whether these lots had a residence on them and whether he resided there during his relatively brief stay in Andover I don’t know. Did he contemplate settling in Andover? That information is lost.
At any rate the family moved fairly shortly to Webster County, Iowa, and settled down on a farm outside the town of Dayton. This farm was I believe the farm that later on was the property of Ralph Strand (a cousin of my father’s) and in my early years there still stood on this farm the house in which my great-grandparents lived while farming and in which my grandfather grew up. I dimly recall being inside this house on one occasion when our family visited the Ralph Strands. These visits to my father’s cousin were rather infrequent and later ones to the ranch-style house that Ralph later built. On one of these later visits I seem to recall the old house, unoccupied, sitting off by itself and looking quite forlorn and dilapidated.
On a visit to see Ruth Strand (Dad’s cousin Alger’s wife) in recent years (perhaps during the year of the Strand reunion in 1988), Ruth took us past Ralph’s farm and we stopped and walked around. There was an old building like a house on the periphery of the building site but it didn’t match my recollection of what the original Strand farmhouse looked like. It was 2 stories in height where my remembrance of the old Strand house was one story and low in height.
One of the few experiences, if not the only one, I have of eating pheasant was on one of our family’s visits to Ralph Strand’s house. I suppose Ralph, or perhaps Earl, his son, went hunting on occasion and that this was the source of the pheasant.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
"The World of Thought"
I have mentioned previously that I consider human beings simply another species of animal with no unique place in the evolutionary process. Such differences that exist between humankind and other animal species are entirely fortuitous and do not translate into a superiority for humankind. Thus when I write that I think thoughts, have dreams, imagine situations, contrive explanations it does not mean that having this capability confers any kind of precedence of humankind over other animals. Man has developed this what I term “The World of Thought” because of evolution giving him such features as upright stature, the mobility of his hands, the ability to communicate via speech. From these humankind has, by a slow accumulative process formed a picture of the world that surrounds him.
Humankind has constructed a world of concepts that are transferred from one generation of humans to the next. These concepts, being subject to the variability of intellect and perception in humans, do not necessarily mirror what the actual physical world is. The mind itself which contains this world of thought is actually part of the physical world and subject to the same cause and effect relationships that have governed the world since its inception. Although this world of thought can recognize the true picture of the real world outside it, it can also generate concepts and ideas that do not represent reality. Thus religions are formed from erroneous explanations of the physical world.
I return in this writing to the matter of free will. As I have written above I sense that my life has been entirely shaped by the events and situations I have encountered in my lifetime. Some of the events are epic in scale, other[s] less momentous on a sliding scale to the happenstances of everyday occurrences. Several things about this confluence of forces acting on me as an individual, and indeed on every human being, occur to me. The first I have already dwelt on — that each and every turning point in a human [life] is determined in direction by the forces acting on the individual at the time.
A second consideration is that at any turning point in a human’s life, the being is acted on only by the forces present at the time. It is true of course that all human events comprise [a] matrix of forces that in concert determine the direction a human acts. But the argument against free will is that the essence of free will is the recognition and assessment of the forces acting on the individual. If this assessment is obscured by lack of information on the forces acting, and the choices possible, how can a person exercise “free will”?
I have recently read of experiments which indicate that learned experiences that are subconsciously capable of affecting a person’s behavior do occur. How an individual acts is determined, in part at least, by elements of this response mechanism that act independently of his awareness, The science of psychiatry is certainly based on the concept that there are in humans hidden impulses of which the individual is unaware. These impulses direct how a person responds in a given situation without the individual considering the forces acting on him as such. This lack of awareness is for me one of the most important reasons arguing against the existence of free will.
I want to turn at this point to a consideration of what I have termed “The World of Thought.” A part of what exists in this world of thought has been verified by a long period of interaction of the individual with the physical world around him — it has been subjected [to] repeated and numerous interactions with the physical world and the picture of the world of thought is a valid one. But this world of thought is an imperfect one in that the cause and effect relationships in the human mind need not be in accord entirely with physical reality. Included in these concepts are superstitions, religious beliefs, biases — if you will, the concept of free will. These concepts are oftentimes appealing to the individual in his or her relationship to the real world and represent in the mind a sort of defense mechanism in handling the problems confronting the individual. They have an allure that humans cannot resist.
How did I reach this point in the thinking process that has gone ahead and developed in my own personal world of thought? At the time when I experience a heart attack some ten years ago my reaction was that I was motivated to write down what I recalled of my life. In part this motivation was the feeling I had that I missed knowing what transpired in the lives of my immediate ancestors, particularly in the case of my father. He never talked much about his earlier days, growing up on his parents’ farm, his schooling and working experiences. I thought I would write about what had transpire in my life so that my children (assuming that they might be interested) would be able to know about my life, prior to the time that they were involved in it. I suspect also that writing about my life was, in a way, an attempt at immortalizing my life in that there was a record of it. A record that is beyond what could have been determined sometime in the future from public, church and other records.
My present intent, after these introductory remarks and conclusions about the course of my life is to review, edit, change and perhaps amplify what I wrote some ten years ago. As before, I am really under no illusion that what I shall produce be of any interest of significance but if nothing else it will be a summing up as I approach the end of my days. For I feel after the minor stroke I had a year or so ago that my days are surely numbered. Not that I regret this prospect, as I wrote earlier in this preface I am weary of existence.
Humankind has constructed a world of concepts that are transferred from one generation of humans to the next. These concepts, being subject to the variability of intellect and perception in humans, do not necessarily mirror what the actual physical world is. The mind itself which contains this world of thought is actually part of the physical world and subject to the same cause and effect relationships that have governed the world since its inception. Although this world of thought can recognize the true picture of the real world outside it, it can also generate concepts and ideas that do not represent reality. Thus religions are formed from erroneous explanations of the physical world.
I return in this writing to the matter of free will. As I have written above I sense that my life has been entirely shaped by the events and situations I have encountered in my lifetime. Some of the events are epic in scale, other[s] less momentous on a sliding scale to the happenstances of everyday occurrences. Several things about this confluence of forces acting on me as an individual, and indeed on every human being, occur to me. The first I have already dwelt on — that each and every turning point in a human [life] is determined in direction by the forces acting on the individual at the time.
A second consideration is that at any turning point in a human’s life, the being is acted on only by the forces present at the time. It is true of course that all human events comprise [a] matrix of forces that in concert determine the direction a human acts. But the argument against free will is that the essence of free will is the recognition and assessment of the forces acting on the individual. If this assessment is obscured by lack of information on the forces acting, and the choices possible, how can a person exercise “free will”?
I have recently read of experiments which indicate that learned experiences that are subconsciously capable of affecting a person’s behavior do occur. How an individual acts is determined, in part at least, by elements of this response mechanism that act independently of his awareness, The science of psychiatry is certainly based on the concept that there are in humans hidden impulses of which the individual is unaware. These impulses direct how a person responds in a given situation without the individual considering the forces acting on him as such. This lack of awareness is for me one of the most important reasons arguing against the existence of free will.
I want to turn at this point to a consideration of what I have termed “The World of Thought.” A part of what exists in this world of thought has been verified by a long period of interaction of the individual with the physical world around him — it has been subjected [to] repeated and numerous interactions with the physical world and the picture of the world of thought is a valid one. But this world of thought is an imperfect one in that the cause and effect relationships in the human mind need not be in accord entirely with physical reality. Included in these concepts are superstitions, religious beliefs, biases — if you will, the concept of free will. These concepts are oftentimes appealing to the individual in his or her relationship to the real world and represent in the mind a sort of defense mechanism in handling the problems confronting the individual. They have an allure that humans cannot resist.
How did I reach this point in the thinking process that has gone ahead and developed in my own personal world of thought? At the time when I experience a heart attack some ten years ago my reaction was that I was motivated to write down what I recalled of my life. In part this motivation was the feeling I had that I missed knowing what transpired in the lives of my immediate ancestors, particularly in the case of my father. He never talked much about his earlier days, growing up on his parents’ farm, his schooling and working experiences. I thought I would write about what had transpire in my life so that my children (assuming that they might be interested) would be able to know about my life, prior to the time that they were involved in it. I suspect also that writing about my life was, in a way, an attempt at immortalizing my life in that there was a record of it. A record that is beyond what could have been determined sometime in the future from public, church and other records.
My present intent, after these introductory remarks and conclusions about the course of my life is to review, edit, change and perhaps amplify what I wrote some ten years ago. As before, I am really under no illusion that what I shall produce be of any interest of significance but if nothing else it will be a summing up as I approach the end of my days. For I feel after the minor stroke I had a year or so ago that my days are surely numbered. Not that I regret this prospect, as I wrote earlier in this preface I am weary of existence.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
On Free Will
From the vantage point of my 82 years I look back on what my life has been and I sense that the course of it has been mostly, if not totally determined by factors over which I had no control. To begin with my genetic makeup and disposition were completely determined by my parents and the chance meeting of the sperm and the egg that led to my being. My early life was absolutely determined by my parents and the philosophy of life they had, the character of which they had in turn derived from their own births and upbringing. My early years were sheltered ones and I was immersed in the culture and milieu of the Lutheran community and the immigrant status of my grandparents. I was also in a small rural community in north central Iowa and this largely isolated from urban life.
My life was also affected by the depression of the 1930s and by the ramifications of World War II. These led inevitably to my education at Fort Dodge Junior College, and at the University of Iowa, to my employment by Shell and my career as a chemical engineer with them, to my meeting of my future wife, my marriage and the family I have participated in generating. My relatively early retirement and my introspective nature have led to the consideration and thought I have given to the events of my life. This consideration and these thoughts had led me to the sense that I have not really made any real choices any time in my life, the course has always been dictated by the situation that presented itself to me. I have accordingly decided that the abstraction known as free will does not in reality exist at all.
My conclusion that free will does not exist at all means that virtually all of human thinking, political and religious thinking in particular is incorrect in that it assumes that an individual decides his actions. It further means that the relatively easy character of my life is not the result of any effort on my part. Rather I have been the recipient of a rather felicitous act of circumstances.
From having been immersed virtually all my life in the social milieu that assumes free will does exist, I find it difficult at times to phrase what I have to say in “non-free-will” terms but such lapses are lapses and not a change or reversion from my present thinking.
My life was also affected by the depression of the 1930s and by the ramifications of World War II. These led inevitably to my education at Fort Dodge Junior College, and at the University of Iowa, to my employment by Shell and my career as a chemical engineer with them, to my meeting of my future wife, my marriage and the family I have participated in generating. My relatively early retirement and my introspective nature have led to the consideration and thought I have given to the events of my life. This consideration and these thoughts had led me to the sense that I have not really made any real choices any time in my life, the course has always been dictated by the situation that presented itself to me. I have accordingly decided that the abstraction known as free will does not in reality exist at all.
My conclusion that free will does not exist at all means that virtually all of human thinking, political and religious thinking in particular is incorrect in that it assumes that an individual decides his actions. It further means that the relatively easy character of my life is not the result of any effort on my part. Rather I have been the recipient of a rather felicitous act of circumstances.
From having been immersed virtually all my life in the social milieu that assumes free will does exist, I find it difficult at times to phrase what I have to say in “non-free-will” terms but such lapses are lapses and not a change or reversion from my present thinking.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Darwin and Hamlet
During my lifetime I have read, or at least delved into many books. Some were thrust upon me, as the Bible and other Lutheran literature or textbooks throughout my education. Others I sought out as in the public libraries that I have encountered. Some have been literature of worth, but a good share have simply been for the diversion they offered. From this array of books there are two that have affected and reflect my thinking the most and which I consider the key pieces of literature in my life. Have I read them completely? No. I have not but I know what they contain and that determines their significance to me.
The first is “The Origin of the Species” by Charles Darwin. This remarkable work transformed the world view for me, and I daresay for all mankind whether it is accepted or not. For me it clarified the uninterrupted sequence of events that has marked the existence of life on this earth we live on. Philosophically it also demoted that the evolutionary process is inherent in the nature of the physical world and that it proceeds in a way that is goalless as to the outcome. Species come and die out and the process goes on. Mankind has evolved but whether it survives as a species or not, nature does not care. It has happened but its existence is meaningless as to any defined goal.
The other work of literature that has influenced my thinking is the tragedy “Hamlet” by William Shakespeare. This work indicates that all lives are basically tragedies, and in a way epitomizes what Darwin’s work has established. A pessimistic viewpoint it is true but I think the only realistic and tenable one.
Implicit in Darwin’s analysis of the life of mankind is that each life begins and ends solely as a small segment in the human life process on the earth. Each person born arises solely from the circumstances of his or her birth; no consciousness preexists. When the individual dies, the consciousness of being ends, the individual as such — his physical being, his thoughts — end abruptly. There is no afterlife.
The first is “The Origin of the Species” by Charles Darwin. This remarkable work transformed the world view for me, and I daresay for all mankind whether it is accepted or not. For me it clarified the uninterrupted sequence of events that has marked the existence of life on this earth we live on. Philosophically it also demoted that the evolutionary process is inherent in the nature of the physical world and that it proceeds in a way that is goalless as to the outcome. Species come and die out and the process goes on. Mankind has evolved but whether it survives as a species or not, nature does not care. It has happened but its existence is meaningless as to any defined goal.
The other work of literature that has influenced my thinking is the tragedy “Hamlet” by William Shakespeare. This work indicates that all lives are basically tragedies, and in a way epitomizes what Darwin’s work has established. A pessimistic viewpoint it is true but I think the only realistic and tenable one.
Implicit in Darwin’s analysis of the life of mankind is that each life begins and ends solely as a small segment in the human life process on the earth. Each person born arises solely from the circumstances of his or her birth; no consciousness preexists. When the individual dies, the consciousness of being ends, the individual as such — his physical being, his thoughts — end abruptly. There is no afterlife.
Friday, February 12, 2010
Taking Stock
[Beginning today, I start transcribing the four-plus notebooks entitled “Recollections of My Life.” I will depart from the “Part One,” “Part Two,” etc. style of titling that I adhered to with “My Life in the Little Brown House.” Instead, I will try to find some theme in each posting and title them accordingly. I have never read these notebooks. Reading my father’s handwriting and typing out his words as I go, I am discovering aspects of my dad, some that I had an inkling of and many that are new to me. —LRS]
RECOLLECTIONS OF MY LIFE
I’m old.
Not too old, that designation applies to persons older than I. I am only somewhat past eighty years of age. To be old means that the person had reached ninety years of age, if not more. But at eighty-three years of life behind me I am well beyond the Biblical threescore years and ten. However, not by reason of strength — there had been two instances in my life where only the intervention of modern medicine caused me to live on.
At eighty-three years of living, I have lived longer than either of my parents, longer than the parents of my wife, longer than three of my grandparents. My maternal grandmother died at ninety-one. Whether I shall achieve that age is, in my opinion, doubtful. All of my cousins on my father’s side of my family have been dead for several years, as also one of my three second cousins. My older sister died when she was about sixty and my younger at about eighty years of age. Two of my cousins one my mother’s side of the family have died. As to second cousins there I do not know, the Petersons were more prolific than the Strands.
I live in a “retirement” home and have for the past seven years. We moved here, selling our house, when the care of the yard and the maintenance problems associated with a house caused me (us) to want to avoid these cares. The residents here (I tend to refer to them as inmates) are mostly over eighty years of age with quite a few ninety or more. About a year ago one centenarian died. I have seen quite a few people move in, gradually fade and eventually die. Two deaths could in a way be classed as suicides. In one case a man who was on kidney dialysis took himself off the treatment; he died within a week or so. The other case was a woman in her upper nineties. Always elegantly attired she simply stopped eating and shortly expired. Both individuals had simply become tired of living any longer.
Another individual, now gone, viewed the residents (inmates) with a sardonic eye. He remarked on more than one occasion, while seated in the dining room having his midday meal, “Look at all these people, waiting to die.” He was of course absolutely correct. He suffered from emphysema, probably because of his use of tobacco. When I was first aware of him I think he had eschewed the habit. Late one I saw him smoking, maybe he thought I might as well, I am tired of living and I enjoy the smell of tobacco.
Many of the “inmates” have in my opinion nothing more to their current lives than eating, sleeping and attending to such functions as dressing, doing the laundry etc. This is evidenced by the tendency of a considerable number of them appearing early for meals and just sitting at the places they customarily occupy. By early I mean half an hour to 15 minutes. They sit at the tables doing nothing. I, and my wife, are not in this state, at least as yet. For the meals we take in the dining room, mostly only the main meal which is served at noon, we arrived only a few minutes as a rule before the waitresses start serving. And we tend to occupy ourselves while waiting for the waitresses to reach our table, my wife by knitting and me by doing crossword puzzles. There have been a few cases of people reading to occupy dead moments, but these have only been occasional and not an ongoing practice.
There are it is true some evidence of spare time activity by the inmates — plants, pets, participating in events organized by the activity director. Oregon law (I believe) requires that an installation such as Mountain View provide activities for the inmates. Bingo, card games of various sorts, an exercise session, blood pressure clinic, flu shots in the fall, excursions. Once in a while there will be a trip to a restaurant in the area, or a field trip or even a trip to Crater Lake or the coast. And shopping, the bus takes people shopping at various local outlets. But I have noticed that participation in any of these activities tends to be light, only a very limited number of inmates include themselves in these.
My wife and I live a more active life than most of the inmates. Perhaps this is because we live in one of the three cottages, each of which has a full kitchen. My wife still cooks, does genealogy, knits, sews and does mending; I still watercolor, write like I am now doing, read, go for walks, spend a lot of time thinking, oftentimes about the past. But we have little social life outside the facilities here. Lunch occasionally with friends. The Shell picnic in the park once a year.
Since the stroke I had a year or so ago we have not attended the church service on Sundays as we used to once a month and I have indicated that I will no longer act as usher. Perhaps we will never attend again, attendance had become a rather unsatisfying event for both of us.
The situation we are in is where every day is much the same as the one before, and where we observe the gradual failing of those living here, in some case not so gradual but passing from a level of reasonable activity to very restricted activity, even death in a rather short time. We (I) sense in ourselves the slow deterioration in physical activity and stamina, and capability. It leads in me, perhaps not in Jean, to the wish that existence with its cares and concerns were over. Not that we have any particular or immediate concerns, our future till we die will probably be free of most of the worries that are the lot of many elderly people. Our life has provided us with the material means to live out our days without the worry of how we will fund our existence.
But I am old and weary. Weary of the tenor of our existence, weary of the increasing physical debility that affects me, weary of the pettiness, lack of perceptivity, greed, sectarian egotism that surrounds me in the legislative, executive and judicial bodies of the various governmental levels and in the general tide of humanity. I much confess that this weariness has become more manifest as I grow older, but I sense that it has always been an undercurrent running throughout my life. There have certainly been periods of satisfaction and enjoyment in my life — these have been obscured and at times obviated by the sense of weariness with existence, but have not eliminated the wearied feeling. My life has been mostly the conventional one and in the course of it I have joined my life with that of my wife, I have participated in generating the lives of our three daughters. Were it not that my life is intertwined with theirs, I could easily wish that I have never been conceived or born. As I view life from the perspective of my eighty-three years I sense that it is an entrapment in the ongoing existence of mankind, and entrapment that those born into it must face and accommodate in one way or another. There is, I think, something inherently unjust in this process in that it imposes life come what may.
RECOLLECTIONS OF MY LIFE
I’m old.
Not too old, that designation applies to persons older than I. I am only somewhat past eighty years of age. To be old means that the person had reached ninety years of age, if not more. But at eighty-three years of life behind me I am well beyond the Biblical threescore years and ten. However, not by reason of strength — there had been two instances in my life where only the intervention of modern medicine caused me to live on.
At eighty-three years of living, I have lived longer than either of my parents, longer than the parents of my wife, longer than three of my grandparents. My maternal grandmother died at ninety-one. Whether I shall achieve that age is, in my opinion, doubtful. All of my cousins on my father’s side of my family have been dead for several years, as also one of my three second cousins. My older sister died when she was about sixty and my younger at about eighty years of age. Two of my cousins one my mother’s side of the family have died. As to second cousins there I do not know, the Petersons were more prolific than the Strands.
I live in a “retirement” home and have for the past seven years. We moved here, selling our house, when the care of the yard and the maintenance problems associated with a house caused me (us) to want to avoid these cares. The residents here (I tend to refer to them as inmates) are mostly over eighty years of age with quite a few ninety or more. About a year ago one centenarian died. I have seen quite a few people move in, gradually fade and eventually die. Two deaths could in a way be classed as suicides. In one case a man who was on kidney dialysis took himself off the treatment; he died within a week or so. The other case was a woman in her upper nineties. Always elegantly attired she simply stopped eating and shortly expired. Both individuals had simply become tired of living any longer.
Another individual, now gone, viewed the residents (inmates) with a sardonic eye. He remarked on more than one occasion, while seated in the dining room having his midday meal, “Look at all these people, waiting to die.” He was of course absolutely correct. He suffered from emphysema, probably because of his use of tobacco. When I was first aware of him I think he had eschewed the habit. Late one I saw him smoking, maybe he thought I might as well, I am tired of living and I enjoy the smell of tobacco.
Many of the “inmates” have in my opinion nothing more to their current lives than eating, sleeping and attending to such functions as dressing, doing the laundry etc. This is evidenced by the tendency of a considerable number of them appearing early for meals and just sitting at the places they customarily occupy. By early I mean half an hour to 15 minutes. They sit at the tables doing nothing. I, and my wife, are not in this state, at least as yet. For the meals we take in the dining room, mostly only the main meal which is served at noon, we arrived only a few minutes as a rule before the waitresses start serving. And we tend to occupy ourselves while waiting for the waitresses to reach our table, my wife by knitting and me by doing crossword puzzles. There have been a few cases of people reading to occupy dead moments, but these have only been occasional and not an ongoing practice.
There are it is true some evidence of spare time activity by the inmates — plants, pets, participating in events organized by the activity director. Oregon law (I believe) requires that an installation such as Mountain View provide activities for the inmates. Bingo, card games of various sorts, an exercise session, blood pressure clinic, flu shots in the fall, excursions. Once in a while there will be a trip to a restaurant in the area, or a field trip or even a trip to Crater Lake or the coast. And shopping, the bus takes people shopping at various local outlets. But I have noticed that participation in any of these activities tends to be light, only a very limited number of inmates include themselves in these.
My wife and I live a more active life than most of the inmates. Perhaps this is because we live in one of the three cottages, each of which has a full kitchen. My wife still cooks, does genealogy, knits, sews and does mending; I still watercolor, write like I am now doing, read, go for walks, spend a lot of time thinking, oftentimes about the past. But we have little social life outside the facilities here. Lunch occasionally with friends. The Shell picnic in the park once a year.
Since the stroke I had a year or so ago we have not attended the church service on Sundays as we used to once a month and I have indicated that I will no longer act as usher. Perhaps we will never attend again, attendance had become a rather unsatisfying event for both of us.
The situation we are in is where every day is much the same as the one before, and where we observe the gradual failing of those living here, in some case not so gradual but passing from a level of reasonable activity to very restricted activity, even death in a rather short time. We (I) sense in ourselves the slow deterioration in physical activity and stamina, and capability. It leads in me, perhaps not in Jean, to the wish that existence with its cares and concerns were over. Not that we have any particular or immediate concerns, our future till we die will probably be free of most of the worries that are the lot of many elderly people. Our life has provided us with the material means to live out our days without the worry of how we will fund our existence.
But I am old and weary. Weary of the tenor of our existence, weary of the increasing physical debility that affects me, weary of the pettiness, lack of perceptivity, greed, sectarian egotism that surrounds me in the legislative, executive and judicial bodies of the various governmental levels and in the general tide of humanity. I much confess that this weariness has become more manifest as I grow older, but I sense that it has always been an undercurrent running throughout my life. There have certainly been periods of satisfaction and enjoyment in my life — these have been obscured and at times obviated by the sense of weariness with existence, but have not eliminated the wearied feeling. My life has been mostly the conventional one and in the course of it I have joined my life with that of my wife, I have participated in generating the lives of our three daughters. Were it not that my life is intertwined with theirs, I could easily wish that I have never been conceived or born. As I view life from the perspective of my eighty-three years I sense that it is an entrapment in the ongoing existence of mankind, and entrapment that those born into it must face and accommodate in one way or another. There is, I think, something inherently unjust in this process in that it imposes life come what may.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
My Life in the Little Brown House: Addendum
Several years ago, perhaps in 1993 or 1994, there was a reunion of the five living siblings in our family in Ames, and as part of the agenda Vincent had arranged for us to see the inside of the little brown (now white) house. Some rearranging of the main floor had been done, principally to convert the dining room and the living room into one large area. This had been done by removing the partitions on either side of the archway connecting the two rooms. Other than that the house looked structurally much as it had the last time I had seen it before Mother’s passing. My main impression though was how small the rooms seemed, not at all the feeling I had growing up in it.
We weren’t invited to see the upstairs nor the basement. It would have been interesting of course to see those parts also.
This year (1997) on our trip east to visit Palma we stopped on the way back to visit Vivian in Ames, and one day during the visit we drove up to Gowrie to see the farm and the town. When we drove by the little “brown” house we noted that an attached garage had been built at the northwest corner of the house. Also it appeared that the barn had been town down — it was still standing at the time of our visit to see the inside of the house.
We also drove by the lot where grandfather Strand’s house had been standing at the time of the reunion in 1993 (4?). At that time it appeared vacant and in deteriorating condition. Now in 1997 it had disappeared as had also the chicken house which I seem to recall was still standing in 1993. Somehow the lot seemed much smaller with it gone.
We weren’t invited to see the upstairs nor the basement. It would have been interesting of course to see those parts also.
This year (1997) on our trip east to visit Palma we stopped on the way back to visit Vivian in Ames, and one day during the visit we drove up to Gowrie to see the farm and the town. When we drove by the little “brown” house we noted that an attached garage had been built at the northwest corner of the house. Also it appeared that the barn had been town down — it was still standing at the time of our visit to see the inside of the house.
We also drove by the lot where grandfather Strand’s house had been standing at the time of the reunion in 1993 (4?). At that time it appeared vacant and in deteriorating condition. Now in 1997 it had disappeared as had also the chicken house which I seem to recall was still standing in 1993. Somehow the lot seemed much smaller with it gone.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
My Life in the Little Brown House, part 31 the last: Train trips
On one occasion my father took Clarice and me to see the Iowa state fair in Des Moines. We went and returned by the M and St L passenger train that operated through Gowrie by in those days. Of what we saw I have no recollection, all I can remember is that I wasn’t feeling well and my father at one point had to find a toilet facility for me. What prompted the excursion I have no idea, maybe my parents thought it would be a good educational opportunity for Clarice and me. It wasn’t until I was traveling to and from school at Iowa City that I was again in Des Moines, only 80 miles distant from Gowrie.
The only other time I was outside the state of Iowa until I left for work in California after completing college was a trip to Minnesota. This occurred one summer when I was perhaps 10 or 11 years of age. Uncle Lawrence and Aunt Dagmar customarily used part of their annual vacation on a trip to Gowrie to visit my grandmother and on this particular trip I rode back with them to Minneapolis. I stayed a few days with them there — I have virtually to recollection of anything we did or of the parsonage they lived in. They then took me to visit Aunt Lillian, Uncle Verner and family who were living in Isanti at the time — maybe Uncle Verner drove in to get me. Again I stayed a few days. I recall attending both of the two services Uncle Verner conducted the Sunday I was there. In addition to the church in Isanti he also conducted services at a small rural church.
During this visit Uncle Carl rode up on the M and St L and I rode back to Gowrie with him in the same way. Aunt Lillian had made a lunch for us to have on the train — it was more or less an all-day trip and there was no meal service on the train. She had made roast beef sandwiches and I believe peanut butter cookies both of which in my sort of “picky” eating habits I sort of demurred from eating until pressed to eat them by my uncle. I recall finding them unexpectedly tasty and pleasing. I believe by the time I made this trip that the passenger service on the M and St L had been converted from a steam locomotive driven train to one powered by some sort of diesel engine. But I can recall earlier days when a steam engine was used. I don’t recall exactly why I made this trip — I don’t believe it was a particular desire or request on my part. I suppose I enjoyed the trip, but my recollection is of a rather noncommittal relation to the whole excursion. My sister Clarice had I think made a similar trip maybe a year or so earlier.
The only other time I was outside the state of Iowa until I left for work in California after completing college was a trip to Minnesota. This occurred one summer when I was perhaps 10 or 11 years of age. Uncle Lawrence and Aunt Dagmar customarily used part of their annual vacation on a trip to Gowrie to visit my grandmother and on this particular trip I rode back with them to Minneapolis. I stayed a few days with them there — I have virtually to recollection of anything we did or of the parsonage they lived in. They then took me to visit Aunt Lillian, Uncle Verner and family who were living in Isanti at the time — maybe Uncle Verner drove in to get me. Again I stayed a few days. I recall attending both of the two services Uncle Verner conducted the Sunday I was there. In addition to the church in Isanti he also conducted services at a small rural church.
During this visit Uncle Carl rode up on the M and St L and I rode back to Gowrie with him in the same way. Aunt Lillian had made a lunch for us to have on the train — it was more or less an all-day trip and there was no meal service on the train. She had made roast beef sandwiches and I believe peanut butter cookies both of which in my sort of “picky” eating habits I sort of demurred from eating until pressed to eat them by my uncle. I recall finding them unexpectedly tasty and pleasing. I believe by the time I made this trip that the passenger service on the M and St L had been converted from a steam locomotive driven train to one powered by some sort of diesel engine. But I can recall earlier days when a steam engine was used. I don’t recall exactly why I made this trip — I don’t believe it was a particular desire or request on my part. I suppose I enjoyed the trip, but my recollection is of a rather noncommittal relation to the whole excursion. My sister Clarice had I think made a similar trip maybe a year or so earlier.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
My Life in the Little Brown House, part 30: Cars and car trips
Occasionally in the summertime there would be shopping trips to Fort Dodge, perhaps in connection with getting ready for school to begin in the fall. The whole family would go, perhaps taking one route on the way to Fort Dodge, using the old “river road” as the way neared Fort Dodge. It was along this road that Gene and Vivian had their little blue house early in their married life. U.S. Gypsum had facilities in Fort Dodge and apparently mined gypsum in the vicinity for use in its manufacturing operations. Anyway there was an overhead tramway crossing the river road at one point, with little cars for transporting the gypsum running on suspended cables. As children we were always interested to see them running, and were disappointed if they happened to be inactive.
Shopping for the children would be principally in the 5 and 10-cent stores (Woolworth’s and Kresge’s) but my mother would shop for clothes etc. at a place called The Boston Store — sort of a department store. The return trip might take the “Calendar” road which was several miles farther west and passed through the small communities of Callender and Moorland. Sometimes my parents would treat us all to an ice cream cone at the start of the trip back. We would finish the cones and then want a drink of water which was always delayed by our mother until we got home. The only items I recall purchasing on any of these trips were two small cast iron cars, one a coupe and the other a truck. They had disappeared before the move to the farm.
The family car during the early and middle 1920s was a boxy four-door Chevrolet sedan. Actually it belonged to my grandfather Strand and was traded in when my parents bought the Essex in 1929. I think I father compensated my grandfather for his equity in the Chevrolet. Perhaps it was in 1929 when the car was acquired that the family made a trip in it to Rock Island to visit my Uncle Serenus, Aunt Edith, and cousin Eugene. Or it could have been a year or so later. Of this trip I have little snippets of recollection. The family had few or no suitcases so my father had a wooden box made that fit in the floor on the back seat, to contain clothes etc. for the trip. This box was later used by him for storing his woodworking tools etc.
The trip from Gowrie to Rock Island covers perhaps 200 miles, so it was a trip of five to six hours in the Essex with its top speed of 40 to 45 mph. I can recall my mother urging my father to keep the speed up, she was probably having a time coping with tired and bored offspring, cooped up in cramped quarters for an unusually long time.
Of the stay in Rock Island I remember sleeping in the same bed as my cousin Eugene, and hearing the strange and vaguely frightening sounds of the city as I went to sleep. I think we stayed a couple of days and saw amongst other things a sort of grotto (manmade) constructed by a Palmer chiropractic business. Of the trip back I have no recollection.
1929 Essex
Shopping for the children would be principally in the 5 and 10-cent stores (Woolworth’s and Kresge’s) but my mother would shop for clothes etc. at a place called The Boston Store — sort of a department store. The return trip might take the “Calendar” road which was several miles farther west and passed through the small communities of Callender and Moorland. Sometimes my parents would treat us all to an ice cream cone at the start of the trip back. We would finish the cones and then want a drink of water which was always delayed by our mother until we got home. The only items I recall purchasing on any of these trips were two small cast iron cars, one a coupe and the other a truck. They had disappeared before the move to the farm.
The family car during the early and middle 1920s was a boxy four-door Chevrolet sedan. Actually it belonged to my grandfather Strand and was traded in when my parents bought the Essex in 1929. I think I father compensated my grandfather for his equity in the Chevrolet. Perhaps it was in 1929 when the car was acquired that the family made a trip in it to Rock Island to visit my Uncle Serenus, Aunt Edith, and cousin Eugene. Or it could have been a year or so later. Of this trip I have little snippets of recollection. The family had few or no suitcases so my father had a wooden box made that fit in the floor on the back seat, to contain clothes etc. for the trip. This box was later used by him for storing his woodworking tools etc.
The trip from Gowrie to Rock Island covers perhaps 200 miles, so it was a trip of five to six hours in the Essex with its top speed of 40 to 45 mph. I can recall my mother urging my father to keep the speed up, she was probably having a time coping with tired and bored offspring, cooped up in cramped quarters for an unusually long time.
Of the stay in Rock Island I remember sleeping in the same bed as my cousin Eugene, and hearing the strange and vaguely frightening sounds of the city as I went to sleep. I think we stayed a couple of days and saw amongst other things a sort of grotto (manmade) constructed by a Palmer chiropractic business. Of the trip back I have no recollection.
1929 Essex
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
My Life in the Little Brown House, part 29: Picnics and Dolliver Park
After my mother moved to Grandmother’s house, I think she sold the little brown house — anyway I as never inside it again. I last saw it I suppose in 1988, the year of the Strand family reunion and my 50th high school class reunion. We attended the Fourth of July festivities at the Gowrie park and we drove by the house. I thought it looked in fairly good shape but Vivian thought it was a sad picture (although that may have been her comment at a later time). Houses have been built on adjacent lots (including the old pasture) so it no longer has the feel of being on the very outskirts of town. I wonder how it looks inside now. At least it is still in existence, unlike the Peterson farmhouse.
I note in re-reading what I have written so far about the little brown house and my life there that I have not mentioned any travel or excursions away from the house. Generally there were rather few of these. My mother liked picnics — this was a liking that developed during her school days at Gustavus Adolphus. I think in part it was a reaction to the strait-laced life in the Peterson household.
Anyway, during the summertime there were usually several family picnics at Dolliver Park, typically late in the day after my father’s daily work at the bank was completed. There would always be wieners, roasted on spits over an open fire in one of the places provided in the park. What else was included in the picnic fate I don’t recall. Sometimes other families would be included thought not as a rule my grandmother or those living with her. I always had the impression that picnics were an unnecessary variation of the eating function in the opinion of members of my grandmother’s household. Eating was properly and expeditiously done inside the house seated at a table.
Dolliver Park lay on the Des Moines River between Gowrie and Fort Dodge, I suppose fifteen miles or so from Gowrie. It is a scenic area, by the standards of flat, agricultural Iowa, and I have fond memories of walking the trails, wading in the creek flowing into the river, seeing fall foliage, etc. During trips back to Iowa in later years I have returned to it to enjoy it again and to reminisce of times past. During some of these visits I have picked up acorns (following the example of my father) and from these I presently have several “eastern” oaks in our yard here in Ashland.
Dolliver Park
I note in re-reading what I have written so far about the little brown house and my life there that I have not mentioned any travel or excursions away from the house. Generally there were rather few of these. My mother liked picnics — this was a liking that developed during her school days at Gustavus Adolphus. I think in part it was a reaction to the strait-laced life in the Peterson household.
Anyway, during the summertime there were usually several family picnics at Dolliver Park, typically late in the day after my father’s daily work at the bank was completed. There would always be wieners, roasted on spits over an open fire in one of the places provided in the park. What else was included in the picnic fate I don’t recall. Sometimes other families would be included thought not as a rule my grandmother or those living with her. I always had the impression that picnics were an unnecessary variation of the eating function in the opinion of members of my grandmother’s household. Eating was properly and expeditiously done inside the house seated at a table.
Dolliver Park lay on the Des Moines River between Gowrie and Fort Dodge, I suppose fifteen miles or so from Gowrie. It is a scenic area, by the standards of flat, agricultural Iowa, and I have fond memories of walking the trails, wading in the creek flowing into the river, seeing fall foliage, etc. During trips back to Iowa in later years I have returned to it to enjoy it again and to reminisce of times past. During some of these visits I have picked up acorns (following the example of my father) and from these I presently have several “eastern” oaks in our yard here in Ashland.
Dolliver Park
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