Naomi

I believe that my mother was the next in line of the eleven births in the Peterson family. Of her early years I know nothing. Doubtless she was the usual child in the Peterson household, required to perform certain duties at quite an early age. I’m quite sure she went through the eight grades of the country school. I believe I have related on incident in her schooling when my uncle Carl was her teacher. She certainly did not go directly from country school to her schooling (equivalent to present day high school) at the academy at Gustavus Adolphus. Her academy days were I think spread over several years with interruptions of a year or two to help with household duties. She had some college schooling but not enough to earn a degree.

Her years at Gustavus Adolphus were I think an eye-opened to her that there was a different life than existed in the work-emphasized regime in the Peterson household. Because it was work-dominated with the need to care for the expanding household with each new birth — eleven by the time my mother was in her mid-teens. And there was always the need to pay off the additional land purchase that my grandfather was making. I can recall my grandmother being happy when the last of the indebtedness was retired. I wasn’t on the scene of course, but I heard of her relief from family members. There was a social life at Gustavus that never existed in the Peterson household. That it meant a lot to her is evidence by the album she kept of those days with mementoes of picnics, banquets and other social affairs. I have this album but of course I do not recognize many of the persons in it.


Naomi Peterson (center front) and classmates, Gustavus Adolphus, class of 1916

My mother taught in the country school and at the outbreak of WWI she was actually teaching at the high school level somewhere up in the state of Minnesota. I recall her describing hor she had to study every night the next day’s assignment in order to keep up with the class. That was I think just before her marriage.

My impression of my mother’s married life was one of diligent toil interspersed with a few interludes of true enjoyment such as the picnics the family would have in Dolliver Park. Cooking, washing, ironing, cleaning, tending her growing brood of children, occasionally doing some gardening work (an activity she really enjoyed). The occasional family picture (with the camera my farther bought as a gift for her) seemed to show to me at least a mother weighed down with the cares of her family.

And of course there was the religion of the Lutheran church that governed her outlook on most aspects of her life. To the end of her days she persevered in the beliefs that she had learned in childhood and she worried when her offspring strayed too far from it. For example, she was unhappy when I married a Christian Scientist, although she came to accept Jean for what she was. But I think being married caused her to adjust her beliefs somewhat from the rigid orthodoxy of the unmarried members of the Peterson clan. It also helped I think that she was one of the more intelligent children of my grandparents.

She was a devoted and loving wife to my father all his days. During the difficult days of the Depressions, during the years she cared for him after he developed Parkinson’s disease. He was often the dreamer, she was the more pragmatic one. When my father bought an endowment life insurance policy from Fred Magnusson (the father of my boyhood pal Harris) she disagreed with the purchase saying that she was not interested in the policy, she was interested in him. So there were mild disagreements in the years they spent together. But generally they were of one mind at all times.

I shall related one incident involving my mother during our days on the farm. One day she broke her glasses and it seemed to her that that was the last straw. Money was tight. Where would the funds come from to get a new pair? She cried. It must have been during my sophomore year in high school. That year I had submitted an essay put on the Des Moines Register newspaper and I placed third in the competition. I was awarded $5 which I had not spent. I went to her and offered my $5 to her to defray the cost of a new pair of glasses. She said no but she did I think stop crying.

After my father died she continued living in the little brown house, providing help as needed to my uncle Carl and aunt Esther who were still in my grandmother’s house which they had taken as their share when my grandfather Peterson’s estate was finally divided in 1960. When they left to live out their days at the home in Madrid, they deeded to my mother the house and she moved there. It was there she had a heart attack and I can remember her saying that she sat in a chair in the parlor worrying at her fate in the fearsome judgment of the God of the Lutheran faith.

Later on I thought of her remark at the time of her funeral. The six children were in the funeral home for a testimonial session and each of my siblings talked briefly of my mother’s Christian faith. I couldn’t, I kept silent. I had in my mind the picture of my mother in her moment of travail with her heart attach and I thought of how her faith had failed her at the very time she needed it most. A pox on all the preachers who had engendered in this good woman the fear of eternal damnation. It was another event that served to destroy any shred of belief I had in the Christian faith. What my siblings thought when I didn’t participate I don’t know. The session eventually ended and no one said anything.

She moved to Friendship Haven, where aunt Laurine and aunt Dagmar were living but she was there only a few weeks when she was hospitalized with her heart condition. One day she had been given a bath in her room and the nurse or attendant left. When they came back she had expired. So ended her days.

She had six children, the first five born at home, doubtless without the benefit of any anesthesia. Verner the fifth child was a difficult birth and Dr. Studebaker was called from Fort Dodge to assist. It was necessary to break one of the legs for the birth to occur. Although Verner seemed to be normal as to his leg thereafter, it must have been a weak spot in his anatomy. When he was old (after his retirement from the ministry) he fell on one occasion and broke the same leg that was injured at his birth. As I recall the leg had to be reset once and his convalescence was lengthy. Marold the youngest was born in Mercy hospital in Fort Dodge, perhaps because of the experience my mother had had with Verner. I recall waiting out in the car when various adults went into the hospital to see my mother.

I also recall Dr. Studebaker’s car parked in our driveway at the little brown house when Verner was born. It looked like a rather grand car to my young eyes. Dr. Studebaker was also the surgeon when I had my ruptured appendix, and for the operations my mother had for her goiter and for her gall bladder.

There were two doctors in Gowrie when I was young, neither of them very competent. Dr. Lundvick, who was I think the doctor in some of my mother’s pregnancies, was not very highly regarded by my mother. I believe he had a problem with alcohol. Dr. Erickson was older and had simply become incompetent with age. When my grandmother had her gall bladder condition the family called in Dr. Erickson. The family became concerned that he was misdiagnosing her condition and called in the doctor from nearby Paton. He immediately sent her to the hospital. Eventually Dr. Erickson sold his “practice” to Dr. Borgen, a young and competent doctor and he stayed in Gowrie the rest of my parents’ lifetime. He was also the doctor that came to the farm and sent me to the hospital with my ruptured appendix.