Port of Entry: Coming to America

The Perssons who became the Piersons, after they came to America (My grandfather is on the back row.) They ended up in Minnesota.

It is always interesting to me how people got to this country. I like to hear the stories. Around here where I live, most people's ancestors end at Grandma and Grandpa, and they'll say, "Wahl, I thank my people came from North Carolina, but we been on this here land since 1832.You ain't from around here, ar-ya?"

Nowadays with genealogy being a hobby, some of those people have traced themselves back to the Mayflower and they belong to an exclusive Mayflower society. Wahl, I have some ancestors who met them when they got off the boat. Doesn't seem to have the same prestige. Go figure. (Cherokees. Can we say Trail of Tears? Yes, I have a diverse heritage.)

But on my mother's side with the Swedes, here's the story. My grandfather, Jonas Persson, lived in Skane, Sweden (Southern Sweden, so I'm Southern on both sides of the family) and he was a fancy baker by trade (oh, yeah, the baking is in the "blood." Boo-ya!)

There was this guy named William Widgery Thomas who was the American Ambassador to Sweden. He turns out to be well-documented in Portland, Maine and supposedly said for his reason for bringing the Swedes over, "Besides all other reasons, I believe these honest, pious, plodding Swedes would form an excellent balance to the fickle, merry, light-hearted Irish, who are now crowding in such goodly numbers to our shores."

I don't know about you'ins, but I'm part Irish, too. (I'd hate to be just a "plodding" sort.) And that sounds a little politically incorrect to me, but alas, he was a well-respected man, whose family boasts of being the first whites in their area.Hally-lew-yah. Can I get an "Amen?" No? (But don't think I'm not grateful for him, Mr. Thomas, because I am. I figure God used Mr. Thomas to get us here. And I'm truly thankful to be All-American.)

Thomas commissioned a special boat to bring 51 special tradesmen to America from Sweden and settle them in a settlement called New Sweden, Maine. My great-grandfather above was one of those guys.

No wonder I couldn't find him on any of the lists that have become public. Hannah, his wife, was from Smaland, Sweden and they lived in New Sweden, Maine until 1882 before taking off (those wild and crazy kids!) for Minnesota. Why they would head for Minnesota just shows they wanted land. Land was for the taking after the Homestead Act. If any of you live in Minnesota, you know about the "state bird"(called mosquitoes) and how it took a special breed of people to stick it out on those homesteads. My people did it.

At this time of year, I really appreciate my Swedish and Norwegian roots because those people liked food. And I like food. And I like it even more when I'm snowed in. Which proves that I have just enough Swede for food abundance appreciation with a good cuppa coffee (and enough Irish in me to enjoy it!) Gotta love our backgrounds. Many of the Swedes left Sweden because they were starving. And America had plenty of food. We get smorgasbord from the Swedes--and I have the recipes to prove it.

However, my favorite story from Sweden is called Godnatt, jord (Goodnight, Earth) and this isn't from my family, but hey. Some writer named Ivar Lo-Johansson (and I'm related to some Johanssons.) The character, Mikael, knew there was some glowing life out there and his hunger for it, drove him to steal money for books. This family was direly starving and he's stealing money for books! (Sounds like my kind of guy, because besides food, I love stories and books.) So, the Swedes were a hardy bunch, literate and had the ability to keep a buoyant spirit while being worked to death. Maybe Jonas just didn't know any better.

Where Great-Grandma Hannah was from (Smaland) they shaped their breads like birds. Oh,and you have to have seven kinds of cookies. Now, I'm going to tell you this really mean story that happened to me right here in the Midwest concerning cookies. (See how we're getting to the main point?)

I used to participate in a cookie swap at Christmas (in another place where I lived.) I love recipes, and I loved the cookie swap! One lady there (my age) had a particularly tasty recipe for Swedish Melting Moments cookies. She was praised far and wide, and she would bake for a solid week, and freeze her cookies, getting them out for various social events throughout the holidays. I wanted that recipe. Even though I probably had ten recipes (and continue to search) for Swedish Melting Moments, those were really good. I'd get about one cookie a year.

So, I asked her if I could have the recipe. I promised to only bake them for  my family. (In case she worried I'd upstage her.) She said, "No problem! I'd love for you to have it." But she conveniently never gave it to me. (Believe me, I asked several times.)Now, she lives far away and I live the other far away--and I still don't have that recipe.

I still consider it annoying when people horde their recipes. I mean, I can understand it if you have a special recipe and you have a bakery or restaurant and you continue to pass it in your own family. But if you're not a "professional" making a living at it--just share it! (Big puppy eyes.)

I've given my recipes to bed and breakfast places who did use them for their reputation of their inn. If you die, and you die with your recipe, for which you are famous--what good were you? You stingily take that recipe to your grave? Now, to be fair, my mother-in-law, Imy, who is one of the best bakers ever, has tried to teach me about the fine art of pie crust--and I have her recipe. I have tried, without success to make it as good as she does. So you can share the recipe, but maybe it's just not the same. You have to bring something to it. Maybe it has to do with enjoyment or the "sharing" of the delicious baked item, too, but I will never be able to replicate her recipe. I think it may even have to do with her hands--the size or something--or maybe with her patience (which I don't always have so much of.)

So, in the spirit of my ancestors being fancy bakers, and because of all the bad weather we've had, and I just got a new mixer and oven (earlier story on my blog) I want to share one of those Swedish Melting Moments cookie recipes with you. Not as good as You-Know-Who's, but we take what we can get.

 Swedish Melting Moments Cookies
Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Ingredients:
1 cup butter
1/4 cup plus 1 1/2 TBS. powdered sugar
1 1/4 cups flour
1/2 cup cornstarch
1/4 teaspoon almond extract
1/4 teaspoon orange extract
Cookie Glaze:
1 cup powdered sugar
1 TBS. melted butter
1 TBS. lemon juice
 1 TBS. orange juice

Cookie glaze: Combine ingredients; whisk until smooth.
Cream butter in a large mixing bowl; gradually add sugar, beating until light and fluffy. Sift in flour and cornstarch; mix well. Add flavorings, blending well. Chill 1 hour.

Shape dough into 1-inch balls and place 3 inches apart on a greased cookie sheet. Flatten each cookie with the bottom of a small glass dipped in water. Bake in a preheated oven at 350 degrees for 10 minutes. (Cookies do not brown, but should be cooked through the center.) Carefully remove to wire cooling rack (cookies are very fragile.) Spread cookie glaze evenly over each while still warm. Cool and store in airtight containers.   Yields 2 dozen cookies or a lot of crumbs. (They break easily....)

When I Was Just a Kid...Lillian Arlene

When I Was Just a Kid...

(My Mother) Lillian

This post is meant for tomorrow (Mother's Day) but I'm the mother of four boys, and expect to have things to do tomorrow. So, I'm posting a day early.

My mother died in 1997. She had lived for 39 years with only one lobe of one lung and raised two children. (She lived 65 years total.) She had 6 grandchildren when she died and she is missed greatly. She lived five years beyond what her doctor predicted, but hey, she lived beyond what anyone expected her to live back in 1958 when she was first diagnosed with TB. For someone who could barely draw a breath, she was very active, had a great sense of humor, was well read, and seemed to know everything.


She was tough and survived many heartaches and illnesses, but yet, almost always seemed to have a smile on her face. I can't ever remember seeing her cry. I think I heard her crying in her room once, but when she came out, she smiled sweetly at me.


The "work of art" above was framed and hung on her wall. I made it for her in school when I was about 9 years old. We had these tubes of paint with a point and roller ball in the tip that we painted onto this fabric. I drew a rose and filled it in. I then signed it. She ooohed and awed over it and I was very proud.


I remember another time getting her a yellow gold head scarf with my own money for one Mother's Day. I loved that color(one of my favorites,) but my mother was more at home in blues,pinks and pastels and it wasn't a flattering color for her (I don't think I ever saw her wear yellow.) I was thinking of MY favorite color instead of hers (blue.) She still said she loved it and put it in her special drawer with the jewelry she kept but didn't wear. She'd get it out and admire it in front of me and I'd be satisfied.


I'm taking a few liberties here (and there's no one to dispute my answers) but here's what Lillian might say if she were the featured kid today (and I heard these stories many times):

Childhood Ambition: To be a librarian or a teacher and to also get married and have many children. I love children and really wanted to be a mother. I lost five children before I was able to have Crystal, right before I turned 30.



Fondest Memory: When my sister Mayme, who was 13 months older than I was, and I were little girls someone gave us a doll for Christmas. We had to share her, but it was so nice having something like that for Christmas. Mayme was my closest friend.

I also loved it when someone in the house had a birthday. My mother would make a huge deal about it by making a crown for the birthday child, singing to him or her, and making special treats to eat all day--allowing the child to pick whatever they wanted. That person was King or Queen of the Day. It was so much fun.

I also loved it when she made lefse.



Proudest Moment: When I had my daughter, Crystal, and my son, Ricky.

Biggest Challenge as a child or teen: When I was 5 years old, my mother died from TB. I was scared, but was told not to cry by my older sisters. I was afraid to go in where my mother was laid out on the bed and wouldn't go in there after the funeral. I was the youngest girl of five children that my mother had (I had five older half-siblings who were either living on their own, or getting ready to leave home.) My little brother was a baby of two and he went to live with one of the older sisters, so was taken from us. My father had a farm to run and all of these little kids. He was in much grief--it was the second time a wife had died and left him with children to raise alone. He was 22 years older than she was.

She died in January, and my birthday was in September. When my birthday came, I went to the table and sat down. My older sister who was staying with us (she was a teen) looked harshly at me and said, "And just what do you think you're doing?"

I replied, "It's my birthday. I want oatmeal for breakfast." I fully expected my mother's tradition on birthdays to be carried on.

She glared at me, grabbed my arm and yanked me up to my feet. "Well, you might as well get used to being a big girl now on your birthday. You get your own breakfast. There will be no more birthdays. Today you grow up."

So, I grew up when I was 6 years old. It was a cruel reality of what was to be for the next 12 years, and really, for the rest of my life. I really never remember being a child. I worked as hard as a man on the farm, and also had to keep house. I was the last child to leave home, though I did go four years to a private Christian academy for high school.

My First Job: Working on the farm. My favorite time of the year was lambing season. Almost always there would be a lamb or two who didn't have a mother, and I'd take care of them. We worked from sun up to sun down in the harsh elements of Minnesota, but always took Sabbath off (though we took care of the animals--sundown Friday to sundown Saturday.) We lived so far out in the sticks, as kids, whenever someone came up to the house, we'd run and hide because we were so shy! But we had lots of fun playing and making up games while we did our chores and work.

My second job was when I went to the academy at 14. I worked in the library. Loved the library. I also was a secretary who wrote in my boss' ledgers, as she wouldn't allow anyone else to do it. She was extremely demanding, and I couldn't even leave an i undotted. She was a woman and an attorney, and I didn't realize how unusual that was at the time. She taught me quite a lot.

I also was a nurse's assistant in the nursery at the hospital. I loved that job, bathing the babies and wrapping them tight, holding them. Nothing was more satisfying, except for being a mother myself, than that job.

Childhood indulgence: We didn't really get many "indulgences." Since we were in a family which worshipped on Saturday (Sabbath) and were strict about our diet, too, plus were living on a farm, our indulgences came in the form of reading. I spent a lot of my spare time reading.

I loved to spend time outdoors, too, and watched all of the wildlife that thrived around the Lake of the Woods. One thing I do remember is making games out of daily life. We laughed a lot.

One of the things I remember was sneaking into Papa's room while he slept to play tricks and listen to him talk in his sleep.

He would talk in his sleep and his language was Swedish in his sleep. We were not allowed to speak Swedish at home, only English, so unless we were visiting a relative, I didn't speak it, just understood it. We would giggle and laugh, and once we brought in a bucket of cold water to stick his hand in. I'm sure he was awake, now that I am older and realize it, but back then I thought we were playing a good trick on him. He didn't even move when we plunged his hand in that water! And doggone it, he didn't do what we were told would happen if you put a sleeping person's hand in cold water. (Do you know what that was?? ha!) We were pretty pesky kids. And he was rather indulgent of us, considering how cruel his father had been. He broke that cycle of abuse--and was a good man who loved the Lord--and he was our Papa. And he had a sense of humor. He was always giving us riddles or telling us stories.

Favorite Childhood Movie: Our religion forbade us to go to movies. I had never seen a movie until I was 19 years old when I left home and came to Indiana. I enjoyed seeing movies so much, I watched many, many movies after that. I particularly loved historical movies, like Gone with the Wind.

Favorite Childhood Book: A Girl of the Limberlost by Gene Stratton Porter. I imagined I WAS Elnora and thought the Limberlost must be a wonderful place. When I grew up, I lived with a few miles of the real Limberlost that Gene Porter wrote about. I loved Indiana and continued to spend a lot of time outdoors, fishing, gardening, observing nature and going to state parks.


The illustration to the right is from that book, and was done by
Wladyslaw T. Benda. (now that's a name!)

All the Pierson children gathered at Papa's funeral in 1953
(Lillian) I am fourth from the left and Merlin is in the center of the brothers

The sister who told me "grow up" on my 6th birthday is to my right(your left)

Mayme is the last one on the right of the second row

One sister is missing from this photo because her husband made her leave immediately

Childhood hero: My older half-brother, Merlin, who was a pastor. He was in the first family and his mother died when he was a boy. He was married by the time I came along, but was kind and loving. I was my father's 10th child and the fourth child of my father's second wife. She and her mother had taken care of the children from his first marriage when his first wife died. My mother allowed the older children from that marriage to name me. They had a baby sister who was the youngest of their family(the first family) and her name was Lillian Arlene Pierson--and that's exactly the name they gave me. She had died as a baby. It was really weird seeing my name on a tombstone next to their mother.

So, anyway, Merlin, was always kind to us, and particularly to me, or so I thought. He'd sit with me and draw pictures with me. I would do anything to please to him. One time I decided to draw a picture of the barnyard, so I was watching the chickens peck and cluck and drew them. I noticed that they were also making droppings as they went along, so I drew that into my picture, as well. I thought I was being particularly clever to include so much detail, and my, wouldn't my brother, Merlin, think I was great? He asked me about my picture, and I'm explaining in minute details about those chickens. He got this frown on his face, and told me I mustn't draw things like that--it wasn't a good thing to do. I was just crushed, as he was never displeased with me. It was a heartbreaking moment for me, but I loved him fiercely all the same.

When I was grown up and had children of my own, I saw him and his family less and less. He had two sons, one of whom died as a child, and a daughter named Gwen, who was just a little older than my own daughter. He and his wife had a busy ministry in Minnesota. Where my brother lived there was a river and in the spring of 1965, it flooded. He, his wife and daughter got into a canoe, even though it was quite cold, and went downstream to see what damage there was to properties along the river and if there was any way to help others.

When they got to a bridge, the water was flowing over the bridge. The water was going so rapidly, even though he was quite strong, he couldn't stop the boat. The boat overturned and witnesses say he grabbed onto the bridge, but his wife, Hulda, and daughter Gwen went under. He was a very strong swimmer, but he could not pull them up to safety and he could not overcome the undercurrent, not to mention the frigid temperatures. They all drowned and that was one of the hardest funerals I've ever been to--to lose my hero, my brother, Merlin, and his family.

They had one son who wasn't with them that day--he was away at school. That son grew up to be a dentist and was a missionary in Africa for many years (Kenya.) I was very proud of him.



Crystal here: It is a great privilege for me to have had such a wonderful mother. I hope that I am even half the mother to my boys, that she was to me.

Happy Mother's Day to all the mothers in the world. Stay strong!