A Letter from Frieda
To my dear Buenting family,
My name is; Frieda. I am the twelfth child of the Henry and Ollie Buenting family of thirteen. To most of you, I am “Aunt Frieda”. I feel very blessed because I was with Mom and Dad in the last years of their lives; the time when things were getting harder for them to handle. I loved them both so very much. They were both born in Germany. Grandpa was born, January 7, 1873, in Vosskuhlen, Germany. Grandma was born as Ollie Hanssen in Ost Grossefehn, Germany on February 2, 1879.
I was told Grandpa was only fourteen years old when his father died. I don’t know how much schooling he had, but he often spoke of Superintendent “Bode”. He was baptized and confirmed in Germany, too. He had a beautiful handwriting and always wrote letters to the older children after they married and lived elsewhere. In fact, he wrote to Brother Pete every Wednesday evening. Peter’s letter arrived Wednesday and Grandpa promptly answered. Peter received his letter from Grandpa on Saturday.
Grandpa was eighteen years old when someone sent him passage to America. He spent two years in Illinois and then returned to Germany to bring back his mother, his only brother, and five sisters. They traveled by boat to New York, and I was told when they landed on Ellis Island, they were speaking in Platte Deutsch (Low German) and were interrogated there. They thought they were spies until Grandfather told them it was their language. Can you imagine what they went through? There must have been some connection in Illinois, because from where they went – by train I suppose – Grandpa went to Iowa to look for a place to live and found a place to live – south and east of Twin Lakes. He then went back to Illinois to bring his only brother, his mom and three sisters to Iowa. Two of his sisters married and settled in Illinois, so I presume he worked for people to make a living.
When he was 26 years old, he found his sweet heart or mate for life. Grandmother Ollie had been working as a hired girl in Manson when he went to her parents and asked to marry her. Her father tried to pawn off an older sister, but Grandpa said no. So finally they agreed to let her marry Heinrich. So to Pastor Meyer they went to get married. On Ollie’s birthday, February 2, 1899, they were married and for their honeymoon they had a ride across Twin Lakes in a sled on the ice pulled by Fred, the horse, to their house. Then it was time for his mom and brother and sisters to move out. They bought a house in Pomeroy where they lived. They all found mates and married. Grandma Bunting lived there ‘till she died and is buried in the Pomeroy cemetery.
In 1908, my dad bought the farm southwest of Pomeroy, 160 acres of slough. He had it tiled out. It was all tillable. That’s the place I grew up. As far as I’m concerned, that was the most wonderful spot in the world. I love the outdoors and it was quiet. You could look up in the sky and see the moon and stars. Mamma always had a big garden. Papa raised animals, had bee hives and fruit trees and work. Yes, there was always planting and harvesting; but still quiet times and visiting. A typical day started early in the morning. Papa was the first up, built a fire in the cookstove, made tea, woke Grandma, and then the rest of us. After a cup of tea, everybody out! Papa did hog chores. Mamma took care of chickens. The rest of us did milking, feeding calves, separating, and feeding horses, if they were in the barn and were going to work in the field. Then we would go in for breakfast. Mom had it ready – maybe pancakes or scrambled eggs. Everyone washed up and sat around the table; the boys on a bench behind the table. There was love – Papa said a prayer. We ate, had devotions and a thank you prayer; and then off to work for the day. Men went in the field, Mamma went in the garden, and the girls did the dishes, washed the separator, and made the beds.
Growing up – We all went to country school one and a half miles away. We walked and carried our lunch in dinner pails. It was rather hard. We were used to speaking Low German at home and had to speak English in school. I don’t know how far the older ones got in school. I remember seeing report cards of John, Martin, and Herman. I know the last six of us did graduate from eighth grade. I knew we were poor but we were rich in many ways. We had love and respect.
We all went to church at St. John Lutheran at Pomeroy. We were all baptized and confirmed. Pastor Meyer was the minister. Papa was a deacon, so had various jobs in the church. The men sat on one side and the women on the other. I taught Sunday school. Henry and I sang in the church choir. We went to Luther League. Mom belonged to Ladies Aid and I remember one Christmas Eve going to church in the bobsled. We were all standing on one side when the wagon box tipped off the runners. We put the wagon box back on, brushed off snow and continued on to church.
We had Mission Festival once a year. They invited a missionary from India or New Guinea to speak at that time. If they could not come, a special pastor was invited to speak. There were three services on those Sundays. Mamma belonged to Ladies Aid and the ladies made potluck dinner for everyone there, “free!” I remember that they cooked coffee in the wash boiler, and it was good! The afternoon service was outdoors if it was nice weather. The young people (Luther League) had a pop stand. Then there was the evening service. The moneys taken in were sent to missions.
We often had company from Illinois, Wisconsin and Minnesota. Papa always tried to organize a picnic at Twin Lakes or West Bend. We would visit, then, before everyone left; gather and sing, “God Be With You ‘Till We Meet Again”.
Papa was always busy. He made cisterns. The hole was dug, cemented out, painted with water glass to seal in the rain water that came from the roof of the house. His design included a brick and sand filtration system for the water that was caught in cistern and used for washing clothes and bathing.
We had a little stove in the wash-house where we heated water on for washing clothes. We would hang the clothes on the line to dry in the sun and wind. We didn’t have modern plumbing, running water and such. Our drinking water was from a well, south of the cob-house. We would carry a pail there, pump it full, carry it home and put a dipper in it, from which we all drank when thirsty. Without modern plumbing and no bathroom, we had an outhouse – with three seats – small, medium, and large, with catalogue pages to use for a wipe.
Farming the 160 acres was done with no tractor but farmed with horses. They raised corn, oats, soy beans, and flax; hay ground and pasture for the cattle. Mom always had a big garden with a big patch of potatoes to put in the cave for the winter, and we did lots of canning in half gallon jars. When papa worked in the field; about 9:30 or 10 o’clock in the forenoon, we would carry lunch to him (tea in a quart jar and a sandwich). He would always watch that we got home okay.
For Christmas, we always had a live tree with wax candles. We would light them and sing O Tannenbaum (Oh Christmas Tree), Stille Nacht (Silent Night), Ihr Kinder Liech Kom Met (Oh Come Little Children), and etc. For Easter, Mom colored boiled eggs for us, but, always, there was church and we didn’t forget the real meaning of Christmas and Easter. On Saturdays, Mamma always baked bread (white and rye) and pies. Dad often held me on his knee and helped me learn my Sunday school lesson. Sunday morning, he and I would sit on the bench and peel potatoes for Sunday dinner.
Sometimes Papa smoked a cigar on Sunday morning, before church. The family drove to church in the car, and after services, would say hello to Bill’s, John’s, Martin’s, Eddie’s and Louie’s; who all went to the same church, and Papa would ask, “Are you coming home today?” They’d all come, so we hurried home to get dinner ready. Boil potatoes, get jar of canned beef (it made the best gravy), some jars of canned vegetable, rice with raisins, and mom’s fresh bread and pie. “A feast!!” After which, the men went to sit on the bench to visit, or out in the grove to play horse shoe, while the rest of us cleaned up the kitchen.
Papa died in 1943. Henry and I were still there with Mom. In 1945, when Peter came home from the army, I left Mom and Henry. We got married and lived in Minnesota for five years, ‘till Henry decided to marry Clara and move to Illinois. He asked if Peter and I would come back to farm and stay with Mom on the farm. Mom built a new house in Pomeroy and lived in it ‘till she had a stroke. I stayed with her there a couple of weeks. Peter and our children were on the farm. Ruth Ann was in school and Alan and Marian came down with the measles. I had them in one bed at Mom’s house and Mom in the other until they were over the measles. Then I said I can’t keep doing this, so we took Mom along out to the farm. She couldn’t walk or use her hands. We had company and someone said, “Why not take her to the hospital for therapy?” Frankly, I didn’t think it would help. She had been off her feet so long. But we gave it a try. With God’s help, “Dr Quick” had her walking; using her legs anyway. She also had some use of her hands so we got a walker for her and Peter rigged up pulleys in a door way to exercise her hands and feet. We worked very hard with her. She used the walker for years until she passed away. And, yes, her hands too, she could knit pot holders. She, as well as the rest of us, were so happy she could use her hands. Ruth Ann was in college then already, while Alan and Marian were in high school.
Mom and Dad had made a will, so after Mom passed away, the farm and etc. was to be sold and divided among the thirteen children. After that, Peter and I moved to Pomeroy where I still live. We bought Uncle Lou and Aunt Kate’s house. Peter passed away in October, 2005. If he had lived until October 26th, we would have been married sixty years; and oh how I miss him yet today!
God love you.
As always,
Aunt Frieda
P.S. While Peter and I lived in town, I went to night school and received my G.E.D. I had always wanted to be a nurse. I got my wish! In the early years, I took care of Papa and Mamma and even Little Oma, Mom’s mother, too. In later years, I took nurses aid training at the nursing home in Pomeroy, where I worked for many years. Later, I worked in the nursing home and took care of my Honey (Peter) after he had several strokes and couldn’t take care of himself. Now I am alone. The children often have me come and stay for a visit. But other than that, I live in Pomeroy, by the school, on Scugler Street. The door is open. Give me a call. Stop by for a chat and a cup of tea anytime.