South Dakota Magazine | Filed by Bernie Hunhoff at 1:19 pm South Dakota Magazine | Filed by Bernie Hunhoff at 1:19 pm April 18, 2007
Our May/June issue of South Dakota Magazine has a big spread on the Finnish people who immigrated to the Black Hills and worked at Homestake Gold Mine. A big group of them decided to leave Homestake and take their chances as homesteaders in Harding County.
One of the Finns, Axel Sacrison, became a self-taught artist. His daughter, Willo Boe of Omaha, Neb., collected his stories, photographs and many of his paintings and put them in a big book that tells an immigrant story unique to South Dakota.
If you follow the link you will see the rest of the story with a picture of a painting. When I first read it, "I was totally embarrassed about my own happiness and had to work hard to calm down myself!" I copped this from a Finnish blogger who has the same quality of self-deprecation that comes with our genetics.
A few days ago I googled 'Finnish self-deprecation' and got 18,000 hits. Obviously the whole world knows about it. He Who Must Be Obeyed gets annoyed by it and doesn't understand it...but Norwegians don't show any problems with this character flaw.
Well, enough of this. The magazine came today. The article takes my breath away. How am I ever going to calm myself down? To further quote Matti Pitkanen, "It is very difficult for us... to tolerate the feeling that one of us, just one of these ordinary Finnish people, might possibly have done something that might possibly distinguish him or her among other Finns some day." I know just how my dad would have felt had he still been alive today. We are bursting with pride and can hardly tolerate the feeling.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Thinking Outside the Box
When things close in, become difficult, it is far better to think about others. I have some very dear 'others' who have or are facing grim health situations. Better by far to give my knees a workout, metaphorically, in prayer for them, than to whine about my own pitiful self. My friends are people of immense inner resources.
First a cousin informed me he had cancer, the same type that my father did; that rocked me to the core. Saturday night after church a young friend told about how God caught her up in the kindness of others when she was diagnosed with breast cancer a few days ago. People called her out of the blue...even Tutu called. Tutu, who is our India/American citizen, celebrating the American Dream coming true, offered to stay with her during the treatments. Family and life has to go on during the healing. Now the 'caregiver' has great need of a caregiver.
And I think of our sweet beloved Jewish friend, written up in the Jewish Press in Omaha in a story called "Silent Exodus:..." her story reads in part:
"On Aug. 8, 1962, Helene Avigdor was 13 years old. She lived with her parents, an older sister and a younger brother in Cairo, Egypt. “I came home that day and I saw the luggage by the door,” she explained. “My father kept us in the dark, and until that moment, I didn’t know we were leaving Egypt.”
Speaking to his family in French, their primary language, Maurice Avigdor cautioned his children, “Don’t tell anyone we are going!”
Since the founding of Israel, pressure mounted on Jews through the Middle East. The Avigdors, a Sephardic family, experienced a great deal of prejudice, Helene explained, “My father told me that on a number of occasions when the doorman of their four-story apartment saw him coming, he would turn off the power in the lobby, forcing my dad to walk up the four flights.”
That was not the only discrimination he faced. Her father, who spoke seven languages and had a good job working for an Italian import/export company, stated he had been stopped often on the street. There had been a number of times when, without cause, he was stopped, questioned by authorities, and occasionally arrested. He knew of others that were roughed up.
“When we left, we took only what we could fit in a suitcase,” Helene commented. At their arrival in America on April 18, 1963, Helene was 13, her mother, 45 and her father, 55. While Helene was multi-lingual, at the time speaking Arabic, French (her first language), Spanish, and some Hebrew, she and her family spoke no English."
This wonderful friend also took on the battle of breast cancer and after the rigors of the treatment has been cancer free for four years...and sadly, she suffers occasional prejudice here in our land of the 'free.'
All of these people I love so dearly, including He Who Must Be Obeyed, have looked cancer in the eye and never faltered during their challenge; becoming people of even greater compassion than before.
First a cousin informed me he had cancer, the same type that my father did; that rocked me to the core. Saturday night after church a young friend told about how God caught her up in the kindness of others when she was diagnosed with breast cancer a few days ago. People called her out of the blue...even Tutu called. Tutu, who is our India/American citizen, celebrating the American Dream coming true, offered to stay with her during the treatments. Family and life has to go on during the healing. Now the 'caregiver' has great need of a caregiver.
And I think of our sweet beloved Jewish friend, written up in the Jewish Press in Omaha in a story called "Silent Exodus:..." her story reads in part:
"On Aug. 8, 1962, Helene Avigdor was 13 years old. She lived with her parents, an older sister and a younger brother in Cairo, Egypt. “I came home that day and I saw the luggage by the door,” she explained. “My father kept us in the dark, and until that moment, I didn’t know we were leaving Egypt.”
Speaking to his family in French, their primary language, Maurice Avigdor cautioned his children, “Don’t tell anyone we are going!”
Since the founding of Israel, pressure mounted on Jews through the Middle East. The Avigdors, a Sephardic family, experienced a great deal of prejudice, Helene explained, “My father told me that on a number of occasions when the doorman of their four-story apartment saw him coming, he would turn off the power in the lobby, forcing my dad to walk up the four flights.”
That was not the only discrimination he faced. Her father, who spoke seven languages and had a good job working for an Italian import/export company, stated he had been stopped often on the street. There had been a number of times when, without cause, he was stopped, questioned by authorities, and occasionally arrested. He knew of others that were roughed up.
“When we left, we took only what we could fit in a suitcase,” Helene commented. At their arrival in America on April 18, 1963, Helene was 13, her mother, 45 and her father, 55. While Helene was multi-lingual, at the time speaking Arabic, French (her first language), Spanish, and some Hebrew, she and her family spoke no English."
This wonderful friend also took on the battle of breast cancer and after the rigors of the treatment has been cancer free for four years...and sadly, she suffers occasional prejudice here in our land of the 'free.'
All of these people I love so dearly, including He Who Must Be Obeyed, have looked cancer in the eye and never faltered during their challenge; becoming people of even greater compassion than before.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
The Inkslinger
There is an old Inkslinger in this world that is loved by more people than he may suspect. This fellow was the editor of the Buffalo Times Herald, my hometown newspaper, when I was growing up. He knew more than anyone else in town, worked harder and later at night than anyone other than my dad, who didn't consider either his blacksmithing or his oil painting 'work,' but after a day of smithing, he was at the easel past my bedtime and was at it again when I woke up. When I was really little, I thought he painted through the night. But I digress again.
The Inkslinger "Ramblings of a Newcomer" is a featured column in my present hometown news, The Nation's Center News. In the April 5, 2007 hometown paper and also in the Arco (Idaho) Advertiser of March 22, he writes of a St. Patrick's Day evening in my great uncle's sauna.
He writes in part: "The Inkslinger and many of the buddies along with a number of real Finnish old timers would take advantage of the 25¢ fee which included the sauna bath along with a fresh towel and a bar of soap for that special bath.
Gotta tell you, those old Finns could take the extreme heat of the sauna which was almost enough to “peel the hide off” most of us. The sauna was a two room building built specially for the purpose, one room housing the actual sauna, a big old wood burning furnace with a wash tub size container on top filled with rocks. The super-heated rocks would be doused with water with a garden hose and the steam would be so thick and hot that we non-Finns had a hard time breathing as we soaked and scrubbed and sat on the benches provided. The higher up the benches, about five or six rows, the hotter it was, even though folks traditionally think of going down to a “hot place.” Of course, not wishing to be seen as “tenderfeet” by these old timers, we young bucks would take our washing tools and go right to the top."
"...The full treatment at the sauna involved, after the steam bath, a cold shower and a cooling down period in the second, or cooling room, or for the old timers, a good old near naked roll in the snowbank within about a rod of the bathhouse. After the ritual cooldown, not in the snowbank, the Inkslinger and one buddy went out to the car, in a hurry to get to the house for the special supper, a little late already. Opening the car door was a surprise of surprises. The overheated buddy was asleep on the back seat and the heat that he generated against the cold of a heavy early spring snowstorm had frosted the windows and windshield so that the boys had to scrape peepholes in the frost to see to drive. Near a foot of snow had fallen during the time of the sauna bath..."
By no means was that the entire story; but it was very plausable as all of Uncle Matt's neighbors, who were also his sisters, brothers, nieces and nephews got in without the 25 cent admission and we got the soap free also. It might have been the lye soap my mother made regularly that could also take the hide off of a person.
I don't think the non-Finnish females of Buffalo, SD trooped to the sauna like the fellows did on a Saturday night. My own two older sons got a taste of it with the town guys when we visited their grandparents; and undoubtedly my kindly old great uncle showed them 'the ropes' of the proper way to sauna.
Thanks to that elderly loved Inkslinger for reminding me of an integral part of my past that made my life easier than taking out the old round tin tub for a bath.
The Inkslinger "Ramblings of a Newcomer" is a featured column in my present hometown news, The Nation's Center News. In the April 5, 2007 hometown paper and also in the Arco (Idaho) Advertiser of March 22, he writes of a St. Patrick's Day evening in my great uncle's sauna.
He writes in part: "The Inkslinger and many of the buddies along with a number of real Finnish old timers would take advantage of the 25¢ fee which included the sauna bath along with a fresh towel and a bar of soap for that special bath.
Gotta tell you, those old Finns could take the extreme heat of the sauna which was almost enough to “peel the hide off” most of us. The sauna was a two room building built specially for the purpose, one room housing the actual sauna, a big old wood burning furnace with a wash tub size container on top filled with rocks. The super-heated rocks would be doused with water with a garden hose and the steam would be so thick and hot that we non-Finns had a hard time breathing as we soaked and scrubbed and sat on the benches provided. The higher up the benches, about five or six rows, the hotter it was, even though folks traditionally think of going down to a “hot place.” Of course, not wishing to be seen as “tenderfeet” by these old timers, we young bucks would take our washing tools and go right to the top."
"...The full treatment at the sauna involved, after the steam bath, a cold shower and a cooling down period in the second, or cooling room, or for the old timers, a good old near naked roll in the snowbank within about a rod of the bathhouse. After the ritual cooldown, not in the snowbank, the Inkslinger and one buddy went out to the car, in a hurry to get to the house for the special supper, a little late already. Opening the car door was a surprise of surprises. The overheated buddy was asleep on the back seat and the heat that he generated against the cold of a heavy early spring snowstorm had frosted the windows and windshield so that the boys had to scrape peepholes in the frost to see to drive. Near a foot of snow had fallen during the time of the sauna bath..."
By no means was that the entire story; but it was very plausable as all of Uncle Matt's neighbors, who were also his sisters, brothers, nieces and nephews got in without the 25 cent admission and we got the soap free also. It might have been the lye soap my mother made regularly that could also take the hide off of a person.
I don't think the non-Finnish females of Buffalo, SD trooped to the sauna like the fellows did on a Saturday night. My own two older sons got a taste of it with the town guys when we visited their grandparents; and undoubtedly my kindly old great uncle showed them 'the ropes' of the proper way to sauna.
Thanks to that elderly loved Inkslinger for reminding me of an integral part of my past that made my life easier than taking out the old round tin tub for a bath.
Friday, April 13, 2007
The Oral Tradition
"SuAnne Big Crow will long be remembered on the Pine Ridge Reservation as a spunky young leader who could shoot a basketball like few others. A youth center has been built in her honor, and stories are still told of her achievements." South Dakota Road Stories, April 13, 2007. That is the beginning and there is a link to her winning shots at the basket in the 1989 Class A State Tournament. It is worth watching.
The first time I came across a story of this young girl was when I read an expert from "The Res" by Ian Frazier in The Atlantic magazine. Tonight I live again the spine tingling story I read years ago, probably on a trip to the Black Hills. It is told in an Easter Sermon of all places:
"As the Pine Ridge girls are lining up at the door waiting to go into the gym, they can hear the white fans of the Leed (sic) High School team chanting these fake Indian chants to mock the girls. The girls at the front of the line peek through the door, and see the fans waving food stamps to make fun of the Indians. And then someone hollers out, “Where’s the cheese? Where’s the cheese?”—the “joke” being that any time Indians are standing in line, it’s for government handouts.
The girl at the front of the line turns back to her team and says, “I can’t handle this.” Sue Anne steps up and says, “I’ll lead us out.” But the girl at the front of the line, Donny Dacori, is a little suspicious about why Sue Anne volunteered so quickly, so she says to her, “Don’t embarrass us.” And Sue Anne answers, “I won’t.”
Ian Frazier tells the rest of the story like this: “Donny gave her the ball and Sue Anne stood first in line. She went running onto the court dribbling the basketball, with her teammates close behind. On the court the noise was deafening. Sue Anne went right down the middle, and suddenly stopped when she got to center court. Her teammates were taken by surprise and some bumped into each other. Coach Zamiga, at the end of the line, didn’t know why they had stopped. Sue Anne turned to Donny Dacori and tossed her the ball. Then she stepped into the jump ball circle at center court facing the Leed fans. She unbuttoned her warm up jacket, draped it over her shoulders, and began to do the Lakota shawl dance.
Ian Frazier is interviewed by NPR and tells the story in his own words. It is better than reading it.
The first time I came across a story of this young girl was when I read an expert from "The Res" by Ian Frazier in The Atlantic magazine. Tonight I live again the spine tingling story I read years ago, probably on a trip to the Black Hills. It is told in an Easter Sermon of all places:
"As the Pine Ridge girls are lining up at the door waiting to go into the gym, they can hear the white fans of the Leed (sic) High School team chanting these fake Indian chants to mock the girls. The girls at the front of the line peek through the door, and see the fans waving food stamps to make fun of the Indians. And then someone hollers out, “Where’s the cheese? Where’s the cheese?”—the “joke” being that any time Indians are standing in line, it’s for government handouts.
The girl at the front of the line turns back to her team and says, “I can’t handle this.” Sue Anne steps up and says, “I’ll lead us out.” But the girl at the front of the line, Donny Dacori, is a little suspicious about why Sue Anne volunteered so quickly, so she says to her, “Don’t embarrass us.” And Sue Anne answers, “I won’t.”
Ian Frazier tells the rest of the story like this: “Donny gave her the ball and Sue Anne stood first in line. She went running onto the court dribbling the basketball, with her teammates close behind. On the court the noise was deafening. Sue Anne went right down the middle, and suddenly stopped when she got to center court. Her teammates were taken by surprise and some bumped into each other. Coach Zamiga, at the end of the line, didn’t know why they had stopped. Sue Anne turned to Donny Dacori and tossed her the ball. Then she stepped into the jump ball circle at center court facing the Leed fans. She unbuttoned her warm up jacket, draped it over her shoulders, and began to do the Lakota shawl dance.
Ian Frazier is interviewed by NPR and tells the story in his own words. It is better than reading it.
Sunday, April 08, 2007
Miracles for Easter
Easter Sunday 2007. He Who Must Be Obeyed went to celebrate at Holy Cross without me. I was hopeful at 6:30, but the occasional relief didn't occur, so I thought I might just have a pity party alone under the down in our bed, which has become a little too familiar since spine surgery in January.
It was "Grace Matters" on the radio that gave me hope this morning with a stern lecture about clinging to dirty sheets to savor ones own painful pitiful self. It was just the thing I needed to realize healing is moment by moment right now. So I got up and enjoyed a few miracles.
One was in our Omaha World Herald on the front page. It was about an Ashton, NE man who has rang the bells at St. Francis Catholic Church nearly every day since about 1960. "He is 66 and has had a knee surgery...in spite of all of that he has climbed the 17 steps up the loft, consulted his pocket watch and pulled the rope to ring the "Angelus" bell at 7 a.m., noon and 6 p.m. for three minutes, as part of a Catholic tradition calling the faithful to prayer." I learned seven paragraphs into the article that the faithful bell ringer is developmentally disabled. God chooses people that are weak and imperfect and calls them by name. Sometimes if I turn off the televison, and pull the ear buds out of my ears, and set the radio aside, I can hear even my own name being called.
The second miracle was an email from a relative on my maternal great grandmother's side of the family. He has discovered through history going back to the 1600's that we are also related through my paternal grandmother. It makes me happy to find another distant double cousin. And it makes me happy that in genetics mothers matter.
It was "Grace Matters" on the radio that gave me hope this morning with a stern lecture about clinging to dirty sheets to savor ones own painful pitiful self. It was just the thing I needed to realize healing is moment by moment right now. So I got up and enjoyed a few miracles.
One was in our Omaha World Herald on the front page. It was about an Ashton, NE man who has rang the bells at St. Francis Catholic Church nearly every day since about 1960. "He is 66 and has had a knee surgery...in spite of all of that he has climbed the 17 steps up the loft, consulted his pocket watch and pulled the rope to ring the "Angelus" bell at 7 a.m., noon and 6 p.m. for three minutes, as part of a Catholic tradition calling the faithful to prayer." I learned seven paragraphs into the article that the faithful bell ringer is developmentally disabled. God chooses people that are weak and imperfect and calls them by name. Sometimes if I turn off the televison, and pull the ear buds out of my ears, and set the radio aside, I can hear even my own name being called.
The second miracle was an email from a relative on my maternal great grandmother's side of the family. He has discovered through history going back to the 1600's that we are also related through my paternal grandmother. It makes me happy to find another distant double cousin. And it makes me happy that in genetics mothers matter.
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