Herman

Herman Buenting
Sep. 24, 1909 – Apr. 11, 1997

Herman Buenting

Author: July 5, 2008 0 Comments

Since I’m 6 yrs older than my brother, I have a few different memories to add:

I remember climbing on Grandpa’s lap as he sat in his chair by the cookstove, smoking his pipe. I remember the train ride as we went to Pomeroy, called there by his final illness (gas rationing so we couldn’t drive).

There are many memories of the farm in the summer: wondering which other cousins would also be visiting while we were there, playing in the grove, climbing in the old buggy to reach the mulberries, pushing/riding same buggy up & down the lane, sitting on the top of the cave with our dolls & having Howard baptize them, the clean smell of the wash house, spinning/riding the wheel that held clean milk pails, much to the frustration of (aunts) Tena & Frieda who had worked hard to clean them, going with Grandma to gather eggs, walking in the orchard to pick apples & grapes, always the big garden, and of course racing to see who could sit “on the bench” at mealtime.

I remember Grandma’s love of playing dominoes and of small children. I’m so glad she was able to hold all 3 of my own. I think about all the hopes & dreams Grandpa & Grandma must have had for their children and I thank God for the heritage they created & left to us. I hope we all continue to cherish it and pass it on.

Herman

Herman Buenting

Author: July 5, 2008 0 Comments

Below are some reflections as my contribution to the accumulated stories of the Buenting family. I have restricted my memories to those of Grandma because, unfortunately, Grandpa Buenting died in 1943 when I was two years old. I have, unfortunately, no memories of him. I can only say that I wish I could have known him.

Memories about Grandma come to mind when my parents, Herman and Annette, along with my sister Kathleen and I would visit Iowa to see both sides of the families in Pomeroy, the Buentings and the Kleens.

A few thoughts come easily to mind. The orchard facing that gravel country road provided an excellent place for hide and seek on those very warm and sometimes humid summer afternoons, while the storm cellar provided a wonderfully cool and very mysterious refuge, if even for a short time. After all, as children, we wondered if anything else was lurking in the shadows! The “wheel” with its drying pails was great fun to spin, although I suspect we were admonished not to make it “go around and around”.

Somewhere near or alongside of the house I recall gigantic holly hocks and was intrigued by their stature, sturdiness and colour. To this day I like them, although somehow have never been able to grow them successfully. Once inside the farmhouse, shaded by those towering and protecting trees, the woodburning stove was of interest as was the gently ticking clock on the wall above what seemed to be a gigantic and very long table. One can only imagine the commotion and bustle of this nerve centre of the entire Buenting enterprise in its heyday.

Presiding over all of these memories is the presence of Grandma Buenting who, in my estimation, never seemed to age. Her kind personality was radiated by that somewhat quavering and characteristic soft voice. Fortunately, in the late 1960’s when my wife Ruth and our first son Philip visited Pomeroy, I made a recording of her voice on my cassette tape recorder. Although she spoke haltingly and paused frequently, that voice was always the same to me and I can still hear it in my head. 1969 was my last visit with her.

When God called Grandma to her eternal home in 1973, I lost my last grandparent. In one way, that was the beginning of that “walk alone”, culminating in the loss of parents, which we all experience in our journey throughout life. In that way, the prudence and wisdom of both Buenting grandparents is still a continued blessing to us today.  May we all cherish this legacy and heritage.

Herman