It's the Little Things.....Uncle Harlan, Part 2

Awhile ago, I shared what I thought was going to be a one shot blog post: It's the Little Things.....Uncle Harlan. Well, I was wrong. In the interim, Cousin Bonnie Rieger-Reger shared a memory she had of what we believe is that very same boar written about in that January blog post...hence the "Part 2" of this blog post title. 

Before I share that story though, I think I also need to provide a little more background on the farm we're talking about.

This first photo below is a screen capture of the Zacher farm/homestead from a Google Earth image with identifying text I superimposed on the image. Anyone can access this image without the text at: Google Earth Zacher Farmstead. It'll come up as a map, but there should be a little image button in the lower left corner of the screen that will change it over to a satellite image/photo if you click on it.

The next photo is a screen capture of the Zacher farm/homestead zoomed out a bit with text superimposed showing the old pig sty. I talked about this pig sty in my previous blog post. 

That pig sty was HUGE! 

The next two photos were provided by Fonda Rieger (youngest and most spoildedest of the Rieger children.....by FAR). She took these photos (along with a whole bunch more, but you're going to have to wait to see them until I get motivated to write more blog posts on the old Zacher farm/homestead - please don't hold your breath cuz I can be pretty unreliable when it comes to motivating myself to write) on a visit she made to the old farm/homestead August 20, 2016.

Thank you, Fonda....

Just looking at those photos brings back memories of that big ol' boar charging straight at me huffin' and a chuffin' at a gallop with Uncle Harlan hot on his heels on horseback and me sweating profusely wondering in my mind if this was really a place I wanted to be.....but I digress.

Bonnie Rieger-Reger is Uncle Harlan's second born. She's my age although a month older than me (sorry, Bonnie....couldn't resist putting that little factoid in here).

Bonnie's Story

Bonnie Rieger-Reger

Ok, so there is another story about dad’s prize boar.

You were right Jerry, the pig pen was really pretty big. I’m thinking it was at least as big as a whole city block, if not bigger. 

I think the story I am about to tell might be about the same prize boar. All of dad’s animals were very important to him. 

Anyway back to the story, I carried the milk and slop up to the pig pen from the house, which was a bit of a hike. These were two of the 5-8 gallon grease buckets.

So I crawled over the fence and turned around to lift one of the buckets over the fence to pour in the trough.

Needless to say by this time all of the pigs were right there knocking me around like a rag doll. 

I was getting slop all over me ( luckily I had coveralls on) but I still wasn’t very happy about it.

That’s when I set the bucket of slop down on the outside of the fence again and there happened to be a piece of 2x4 there and I just grabbed it and started swinging like Kung Fu Panda and hitting the pigs to get them out of the way. 

I hit “the prize boar” and he started squealing and headed for the pig barn. 

A couple days later dad had gone up to the pig pen for something and decided to check on all of the pigs. “The Prize Boar” was still in the pig barn. 

When dad came into breakfast he told mom that he was probably going to have to sell the boar because it couldn’t walk, it was dragging his hind legs and dad couldn’t figure out why. 

I was sitting there listening to this but did NOT say a word. Kung Fu Panda obviously hit the boar right on the backbone and did some nerve damage. 

I did not tell my dad until long after I was an adult and we were living in Oregon. He was telling someone about the boar not being able to walk and he never could figure out why. I finally fessed up.

The good thing was after a few days the boar did get the feeling back in his hind legs and he was able to walk again. Lucky for me ALL parts worked and there were lots more little pigs.


Thanks, Bonnie. These are the kind of memories we should all be sharing with each other.

It's the Little Things.....Uncle Harlan

Once upon a time, a long, long time ago in a state far, far away, there was a farm. This farm was a family farm. It had been homesteaded by my Mom's Grandfather, I believe.

As we were growing up, it sort of became a second home to my brother, my sisters, and me. You see, my Aunt and Uncle, Jeanne (Mom's sister) and Harlan (Dad's stepbrother), lived there, worked there, raised their family there, and, sometimes, even raised us there for short periods of time when our parents took a trip. The favor was returned sometimes, and Jeanne and Harlan's kids would stay with us in the thriving metropolis of New Leipzig (population at the time - around 350, including cats, dogs, chickens, cows, and maybe even a wild animal or two). Many wonderful memories.

One of those memories (still trying to figure out if this was one of those 'wonderful' memories, or

Uncle Harlan
Circa December 1985
Last photo of him about a week and a half
before he passed away

something else), for me, is of my Uncle Harlan raising hogs. The pig sty was a very large pen. How many hogs at one time isn't important. The fact he had one big, honkin' boar that he wanted to take to market was what I remember.

That boar had to have weighed in at about a hunnert thousand pounds, cuz it was bigger than me (I was a seventh grader at the time, almost 6'3" tall and maybe weighed in at about 130 lbs. with five layers of clothes on and all of them soaking wet).

Harlan's plan was to 'herd' this boar (who was one cantankerous sumbitch to begin with) inside and along the fence line. He'd do this on horseback. So far, so good. Yeah, Harlan could do this. Yeah, he knew exactly what he wanted and what he was doing.

Problem is, Harlan decided to include me in this plan by planting me at one point along the fence line (inside it of course) armed with a stick. He would drive the boar straight at me, and when this behemoth got close enough, I was supposed to whack it on the snout to turn it toward, and into, the chute into the back of the pick-up.

That's when it went south for me. That's when it seemed kinda like herding cats was what I was in for.

He assured me the boar would turn, that the boar wouldn't like getting whacked on the snout, that the boar would do as expected. Yep, sure, all right.

With more than a little trepidation, I went to my spot, stood there anxiously awaiting what I thought would surely be the death of me. I watched as Harlan did exactly what he said he was going to do. He herded that boar very expertly along the fence line all the way out to the road, to the other side of the sty, and down the fence line directly on a collision course with me.

I stood my ground.

I still stood my ground.

I continued to stand my ground.

Then, all of a sudden, I was up and over the other side of the fence before I even had a chance to think about it.

Harlan was NOT happy with me.

To be honest, I don't even remember how we finally got that sumbitch boar into the back of the pick-up. What I do remember is the embarrassment, the shame at having let my Uncle Harlan down in this very simple, but dangerous job.

It's the little things I remember from my childhood, like this, that shaped who I became eventually. I blew this one. But, was I a coward for jumping out of the way? Or, was I using common sense? Or, was I just exercising my own 'survival instinct'?

Lots of things have happened to me in my life since then - some of them a lot less pleasant, by far, than this one was. I can look back on this event with some humor now. It didn't seem humorous to me at the time, that's for sure.

By the same token, I can now look back at some of the things that have happened in my adult life, and, although I won't ever find them to be humorous, I've found I either must cope with and live with the outcome(s) or the outcome(s) will consume me.

That's life. Cope with it and live with it. Fatalistic? Perhaps. But if you are still standing even after a metaphorical runaway freight train has run you over, you've already shown that life can hand you hardship, but you're stronger and more capable of handling it than even you realize. And, once you accept that inner strength, true happiness will also find you.

Thanks, Uncle Harlan (may you rest in peace), for teaching me one of those little things that ultimately helped shape who I became.

Home of Our Fathers....and Mothers, Actually: Part 3

The Farm House....

In the last post, a picture of a painting of the Zacher homestead was shared at the very end depicting what the house and outbuildings looked like in the early 1900's. Here's the actual photo that painting was created from, crosshairs and all. The crosshairs were drawn on the original to break it up into a grid of 8 sections as requested by Irma Birdsall, the artist who created the painting:

There are two differences between the painting and the actual photo I'd like to point out:

1.  The door to the grainery on the side of the barn toward the back. Please note the door in the actual photo. In the painting, it is painted as a section where the plaster has fallen away. It's pretty easy to see how that mistake might have been made since some of the plaster had, in fact, fallen away from around the door. Add to that the fact the original photo is pretty small and the door is kind of hard to see, and there you have it. Mom always made mention of that "flaw", but also said it's really not all that important in the scheme of things. It was still a painting of "home" for her, and that's all that mattered.

2.  The painting does not include the two figures walking toward the back entry to the house shown in the cropped photo image below. It would be fascinating to know who they really were!

My Mom used to tell us she didn't know if those two people were her and her Dad, Oscar, but she liked to think it might be. It's obvious the person on the left is a little girl. So, Mom might have been right, but me being me, I just couldn't resist doing a bit of research on whether or not Mom's nostalgic remembrances were accurate. In order to do so, though, a different approach needed to be taken.

Obviously, the faces of the two in the picture could not be seen. No facial recognition software in the world would work in this instance, eh? So, a different focus?

The house? Nope.

The windmill? Nope.

The vehicle parked in front of the house? Yep. That's it!

Is that a Ford Model A or a Ford Model T?

Anyone?

The reason I ask is because if it's a Model A (I don't think it is), the photo may be of Mom and her Dad. If it's a Model T (I think it might be), it might be of Mom and her Dad.

I'm soooooo confused!

Mom was born in 1923, and, according to Wikipedia, the Model A began its production run in October, 1927. That would have made the child in the photo perhaps 4 years old if, and it's a very big IF, the vehicle in question was purchased brand new in 1927.

If the vehicle is an older Model T, the forerunner of the Model A, it could still be Mom and her Dad in that photo. But, then again, it could be Aunt Lorraine, Aunt Roberta, or even Aunt Jeanne. It all depends on how old that vehicle is when that photo was taken.

These are the kinds of questions, conundrums, and puzzles that drive me up a wall backwards sometimes.....trying to figure out how ALL the pieces of a puzzle actually fit together.

On this one, I guess we may never know who at least one of those two people in the photo actually is....and maybe both.

Anyway, getting down to business here....

I'm starting out this blog post with a photo of the Zacher homestead farm house and outbuildings. Why? Because I can. Well, there's more to it than that, actually.

If anyone watched the video, The Germans From Russia: Children of the Steppe Children of the Prairie, that I shared in the last post and am providing here once again, part of the story talks about how settlements in South Russia revolved around the town. Seldom did anyone build homes or reside outside the community. Farmers lived in town, and went out to till the soil and tend their flocks and herds during the day. They came back to their homes in town when done in the fields for the day. As a result, social activities and interactions, both from a personal and also a religious perspective, were pretty commonplace and relatively easy to engage in. That cannot be said for Germans from Russia settling on the vast open prairie of the Dakota Territory.

When Germans from Russia emigrated to the United States, they took advantage of the Homestead Act. That act was passed to encourage western migration and settlement. There was a catch, however. In order to be able to claim a parcel of land under the Homestead Act, the claimant had to live on that parcel for 5 continuous years in order to be able to claim it as their own. They couldn't live in a town and farm the land from there by going out during the day and coming back to town in the evening. And that's why the Germans from Russia couldn't engage in the same kind of "culture" they were used to back in South Russia. In effect, they were kind of forced, if you will, to erect whatever dwellings and outbuildings they could, including sod from the prairie and the kind of building materials including sandstone and mud described in the article in the first blog post in this series.

Christian Zacher, my Great Grandfather, homesteaded on the 160 acre parcel the Zacher house and outbuildings are located on. From there, he purchased the other claims as mentioned in the previous post and as written by his daughter, my Great Aunt Pauline Zacher-Miller.

Even by today's standards, the Zacher homestead was kind of off the beaten path, so to speak. I believe the closest farm to the Zacher homestead may have been the Sprenger farm, about a mile away to the west give or take. By today's standards, a mile is kind of like a hop, skip, and a jump away. By days gone by's standards, that mile would have been a pretty good walk or horseback ride. I'm not sure how many other homesteads were "close" to the Zacher homestead, but I certainly don't remember any of them being within a mile's distance.

ND State Highway 49 is on the westward side of the Sprenger homestead, but Highway 49 didn't even exist at the time Christian lived on this property. According to Wikipedia, ND State Highway 49 was constructed in 1927, and by that time Christian had already left for California.

But I digress.

Isolation. Distance from neighbors. Loneliness. All were factors in whether or not Germans from Russia even survived the arguably "brutal" living conditions on the open prairie of the Dakota Territory (North Dakota didn't become a state until November 2, 1889).

The Zacher homestead was different....at least from what I've been able to research. This particular homestead became kind of a stopover for travelers. According to Great Aunt Pauline, it was also almost a trading post of sorts with Native Americans.

Perhaps the reason was because folks were welcomed with open arms. Perhaps it was because trails led there. Perhaps it was for other reasons unbeknownst to us. I do know that my Dad's Father, Ferdinand Hochhalter, stopped there once or twice on his way to Glen Ullin to procure supplies to stick build a house on their property 12 miles south of the present town of New Leipzig. So, it must have been a pretty well known stopover in them there parts.

In fact, what was once Grandpa Zacher's shop at one time became a bunkhouse that guests stayed in overnight if necessary. It later became his, and later Uncle Harlan's shop for awhile. Uncle Harlan later built a quonset that functioned as his own much larger shop.

At any rate, the house has deteriorated to such a degree that the current owner is really reluctant to allow anyone to go into the house for obvious reasons. But, memories still serve, and Fonda Rieger was kind enough to dig deep into the recesses of her memory and draw floor plans of the two floors of the house. 

First floor:

Second floor:

A couple of things regarding these two images:

1. A remodel of the original house was undertaken by Uncle Harlan and Aunt Jeanne. Prior to that remodel, the area on the first floor designated as a bathroom was originally Cousin Clyde Rieger's bedroom. He didn't move to the upstairs bedroom until after the remodel was completed and indoor plumbing was installed.
2. Indoor plumbing. Before indoor plumbing, I remember there being something in his bedroom some would call a "honeypot". Others called it a "honeybucket". Regardless, it was a toilet with a bucket inside that would have to be emptied at pretty regular intervals. Otherwise, the outdoor biff had to be used, and that was NOT a very pleasant experience in the middle of winter and late at night, for sure!

I'm now going to show a progression of photos of the house that come as close as I can get them to being similar to the original photo that began this blog post.

Circa 1980's:

Digital Horizons Online.

The next one is also from circa 1980's, but was provided by Cousin Ardis Zacher-Storms:

While this photo from Ardis is not a frontal shot, it does show the south face of the house and part of the barn.

Now from 2016, two photos provided by Fonda Rieger

From afar:

More closeup and from inside the corral:

Ravages from both time and the elements of Mother Nature can be brutal, especially if structures like our own Zacher homestead buildings are no longer lived in and used for any purpose other than the nostalgia for those of us who lived there or practically lived there (like my own brother, sisters, and me) when we view current photos and reminisce on years gone by.

And with that, this blog post comes to an end.

I'm not sure where to start with the next blog post, so readers are encouraged to make suggestions and recommendations on what they (YOU) would like to see.

Until next time.....

Home of Our Fathers....and Mothers Actually: Part 2

America.....Land of Opportunity, a beacon of hope for so many folks who emigrated to our shores so long ago and from so many places including from southern Russia, the origin of the Zacher story.

The reasons for emigration to America were many and varied. Germans from Russia emigrated primarily because the promises made by Catherine the Great, ruler of Russia and the person most responsible for Germans relocating to present day Ukraine in the first place, were revoked by subsequent rulers after Catherine the Great's death. Those revocations included exemptions from military service. Germans from Russia left their German homeland originally for many reasons, but compulsory military service was arguably at the very top of the list. When exemption from military service was revoked in their adopted homeland of southern Russia, it was sort of a last straw, so to speak.

Even though their knowledge of what lay ahead was limited, they made the conscious decision to journey into the unknown and to seek their fortunes and fulfill their destiny in that Land of Opportunity known as the United States of America.

The Zachers were part of that emigration from southern Russia to the United States. Their journey, like the journeys of so many others, must have been difficult, dangerous, and long. There is a lot of information available on emigration. Several were provided in my previous post, so I won't repeat them here. However, I also found a video on YouTube called "The Germans From Russia: Children Of The Steppe Children Of The Prairie". It's a three part series rolled into one almost 59 minute long video that gives the viewer a history of this very special group of people....their origins, their culture, their movements, their beliefs, and so much more. The video was produced and published by Prairie Public Broadcasting. Highly recommended.

When Germans from Russia reached their final destination, primarily the open prairie of the Dakota Territory and Nebraska, their traditional way of life where they came from was not possible in their new settlements. More of why that was so is detailed in the video mentioned above. I believe that is part of the reason why it seems a lot of families and individual members of those families went their separate ways after one or two generations in this country. Not always, but definitely sometimes.

So it appears to be with the Zacher family. But I'm getting a bit ahead of myself here.

When families did depart for parts both known and unknown, keeping in touch with other family members left behind and those spread far and wide was kind of problematic for several reasons.

• The infrastructure of paved roads, highways, and interstate highways we enjoy today did not exist back then. Heck, I can remember even when I was growing up not really all that long ago in the small North Dakota town of New Leipzig just how daunting it was to make a trip to Bismarck once or twice a year to do school shopping because no matter which route we took, the roads were gravel....dusty and wash-board gravel most of the year. Speeds were much slower as a result. If it rained or snowed....well, let's just say it wasn't a whole lot of fun to be on the road in those kind of conditions, and I'm a third generation Zacher descendant! If travel by road was that difficult for folks in my earlier years, just try to imagine what road conditions were like for first and even second generation Zachers. 
• Air travel? Seriously? The Wright Brothers first flight occurred in 1903. Need I say more?
• Even travel by train was limited, expensive, arduous, and time consuming.
• Calling by telephone may have been an option for a few but not many. The same conditions as air travel pretty much applied to phone services availability throughout the country. Plus, many telephones that were in service were on party lines. Those folks who experienced the lack of privacy on party lines know EXACTLY what I'm talking about here.
• Add to all of this the fact the Internet wasn't even invented yet, and, well, you get the picture. At least I hope you do.

But I digress....

Christian Zacher and Suzanna Sprecher-Zacher both emigrated to the United States from what was then known as Bessarabia, Russia, today known as Ukraine. Their children, including my Maternal Grandfather Oscar, were all born in the United States as first generation Zachers. The next generation of Zachers, my Mom's generation, is the one I am personally most familiar with. In fact, I never really knew the generation before hers except for Grandpa Oscar, and he died when I was only 10 years old.

There were eleven, that's right....eleven, children of Christian and Suzanna Zacher. Christian's second wife, Katerina, had five children from a previous marriage two of whom died before she married Christian. Christian and Katerina also had three more children in their marriage.

Of the eleven children between Christian and Suzanna, three that we know of died as infants. One child, Arthur, passed away in 1903 at the age of nine according to Ardis Zacher-Storm's Family Tree document.

So, in essence, there were six children of Christian and Suzanna Zacher that were Great Aunts and Great Uncles of mine in addition to my Grandfather, and who lived well beyond my own birth date in 1949 (yeah, I AM that old).

Out of six Great Aunts and Great Uncles of mine, I knew one....Great Uncle John. And that relationship was from one visit just one time in Lewistown, Montana where he lived at the time.

I never knew any of Katerina's children or any of the children between Christian and Katerina.

All those relatives who might have been able to provide a history of sorts, albeit almost all anecdotal, were so far flung, staying in touch with each other was difficult at best and eventually pretty much non-existent over time at worst.

After a period of time, one after another passed away, their knowledge and experiences now only memories in the minds of the next generation, the generation of which I am a member.

My generation, while almost certainly cherishing those memories (I know I do), also tend to forget some of the details as so many folks are wont to do. Or, their recollections of those details evolve over time or simply fade away as time inexorably passes by. Those are the stories that give my generation and generations to come a very small window into what it was like living back then. To be witness to those memories changing, fading, and being romanticized over time is inevitable if not written down. It's kind of sad, really.

So, where am I going with this? Well, I'm going to Great Aunt Pauline Zacher-Miller, the youngest of Christian Zacher's children with Suzanna. Why go to her? That's a very good question, really. The fact Pauline's siblings didn't actually engage in recording their own family histories for posterity is sad, really. Great Aunt Pauline was the only one to do so. And therein lies the genesis of this blog series on the Zacher family history. I'm simply adding to her already fascinating story, and hoping I'm doing her story justice by doing so.

Pauline was born in 1899. She moved with the family to California in 1907. Her first hand knowledge of the Zacher homestead was limited, therefore, by virtue of the fact she was only 8 years old when they moved. And, yet, she has written a pretty darn comprehensive history of her recollections of both the Zacher homestead and of her family life while living there. Pretty amazing when one comes right down to it.

In fact, Great Aunt Pauline is the only child of her generation I'm aware of who chose to write anything at all for posterity regarding the Zacher homestead. Out of that many children, twelve to be exact if my mathematically challenged brain has run the numbers correctly, only one, Great Aunt Pauline, chose to write what is now arguably the only genuine historical document that Cousin Ardis Zacher-Storms was able to include in her Zacher Family Tree and History.

I've scanned that document and named it Great Aunt Pauline's Writings. Click on the link to be able to read the whole thing. It's also the only document I'm aware of that gives those of my own generation, and those to follow, any inkling as to what life was like for her generation growing up on the Zacher homestead. The rest of our knowledge in that regard is lore passed down word of mouth, generation to generation.

Great Aunt Pauline Zacher-Miller looked to me to be of almost regal mien. Her poise, the dignity she exhibited in the photo below is remarkable, really. The photo was taken in 1943. She was 44 at the time. She passed away in 1995. Boy, I really, really, really wish I could have met her and been presented with the opportunity to get to know her....even a little bit, and to be able to ask her questions....so many unanswered questions generated by her writings.

The story she tells in the document I'm sharing in this blog post stands alone and very tall. There are only a couple of things I will elaborate on.

First, the Zacher homestead was, and still is, located in Grant County, North Dakota. For anyone reading this blog post not familiar with the state of North Dakota, yes, the state does exist, and, yes, Grant County is located in North Dakota, and, yes, Grant County is actually inside that red circle on the map below:

Ok, narrowing it down even further, we need to locate the Zacher homestead within Grant County.

Counties are always platted as townships. The township the Zacher homestead is located in is called Minnie Township. And Minnie Township is located inside the red circle in the map below:

Each township in every county has a location designation. Minnie Township is designated as "Township 135 N., Range 89 W".

Each township is then divided into sections.

Still hanging in there with me? Fun, eh?

For those unfamiliar with how land acreage works, a section is comprised of 640 acres divided equally into 4 quarters of 160 acres each. Sections are normally 1 mile square on all sides except when natural barriers such as rivers (look at the bottom border of Grant County) enter into the equation. Also, not all parcels of land ownership abide by the 160 acre per quarter rule. Some quarters of land are broken up by blocs of acres and owned as parts of those quarters. That's significant for the Zacher homestead because Christian's land ownership appears, at first glance, to be kind of haphazard in some ways.

The map of Minnie Township is shown below. The Zacher homestead is comprised of land in Sections 25, 26, 34, and 35. Section 36 is labeled as School Land, but, in talking with Fonda Rieger, we're pretty sure this was used as pasture by her Dad, Harlan Rieger, when they lived and worked there. As a result, we're just not sure how that fits into the Zacher homestead unless it was leased acreage.

The Zacher homestead designated as belonging to Christian Zacher is shown inside the red box:

Christian's name appears in the areas he owned on the map above, but it's a little hard to read. That's why I took it one step further and cropped the image down to the southeastern corner section of Minnie Township in which the Zacher holdings can be more easily read:

I hope everyone can make out the areas he owned because his holdings are pretty scattered within the township itself, truth be told:

Thanks go to Fonda Rieger for providing the county and township maps shown above. The state map was copied from an open source site on the Internet whose copyright citation is in the lower right hand corner of the image.

It's important to include a zoom from the State Map of North Dakota all the way down to the Minnie Township map because, in her writings, Great Aunt Pauline states that, "By the time he moved to California in 1907 he had something like 80 claim (sic) - 160 acres in a claim times 80 = 12800 acres, or 20 sections".

Of course, Great Aunt Pauline was referring to her Father, Christian, in the statement above. However, if one looks carefully at the map and adds up all the acreage he owned inside that box, the sum total comes to 1280 acres, not 12,800 acres. That's the equivalent of 2 full sections, not 20. Regardless, 2 full sections of land is still quite a lot of land no matter how one looks at it.

The other thing I'd like to share here in going beyond what Great Aunt Pauline wrote has to do with her mention of the time of Sitting bull in a letter she'd written to Cousin Ardis Zacher-Storms. Ardis included it as part of Great Aunt Pauline's writings. In that letter is this quote:

"The time we lived in North Dakota was around the time of Sitting Bull and Custer's Last Stand. 

There were Indian uprisings and raids of farms. Oscar told about one time when the farmer's families were taken to a Fort in Glen Ullen (sic) which is now a cemetery --- and Oscar was quite young and remembered hiding under a table."

When I saw her reference, I immediately did some research to see if there was ever any such fort in Glen Ullin. No matter where I looked I couldn't find a single trace of any kind of a fort in Glen Ullin. One thing led to another and the pieces to this puzzle started coming together.

I believe the fort she was referencing was called Ft. Sauerkraut. But that fort was located in Hebron, a settlement not too far from Glen Ullin. In November, 2013, I wrote the first in a series of blog posts about Ft. Sauerkraut. This is significant because there actually is such a place, and I'm pretty sure Great Aunt Pauline was referencing that fort when she mentioned the fort supposedly in Glen Ullin.

The blog series I wrote consists of five parts, the very first of which is entitled Ft. Sauerkraut. If you care to read up on it, just click the link provided here to get to the introduction. At the very end of that post, you'll find 4 more links to the actual story as told by an anonymous historian. It's a fascinating read, and I do hope you, the reader, find it fascinating,as well.

With that, I'll close this blog post with a photo of a painting commissioned by my Mom with a local family friend and part time artist from my home town of New Leipzig by the name of Irma Birdsall. This painting was lifted from a photo of the farm you, the reader, will see again somewhere down the line in posts yet to be written.

Readers, I give you the Zacher family homestead as it appeared sometime in the early 1900's:

Until next time.......

Home of Our Fathers....and Mothers Actually

The photo image above is what the "Home of our Fathers", our "Zacher Fathers" that is, looked like way back in 1999 when the photo was taken. As soon as I saw the title of the article this photo led off with, I knew, I just knew, we should also be honoring the fact that a whole lot of Zacher Mothers lived, worked, and had families there, too.

Not as much emphasis appears to be given to the Matriarchs of the Zacher history in any of the writings I've seen thus far, but the fact is the Patriarchs couldn't, and wouldn't, have been able to do the things they did, to accomplish all the things they did without the active participation and contributions of the women in their lives.

I may not be able to do the Zacher women the justice they so richly deserve in this series of blog posts, but it won't be for lack of trying. The honest truth is there simply isn't as much information available on their contributions, and memories fade as time goes on of what they did and how much they meant to this story.

The actual physical "Home of Our Fathers" has changed dramatically over the many years of its existence. It's kind of sad, really, to see the deterioration as time and Mother Nature ravage this once stately building and the rest of the outbuildings that make up the Zacher Homestead.

I'll be trying to provide some comparative images as much as historical evidence allows in future posts in this series. After all, the Zacher story I'm trying to tell is all about trying to document some of those dramatic physical changes that only time and Mother Nature can reveal. It's also to try and throw in a little bit of history to boot! Hopefully, that history will include both the Zacher Fathers and the Zacher Mothers who played such a vital role in helping shape who their descendants are today.

Mom's maiden name was Zacher, and therein are my very own beginnings. From there, determining where to begin and with which Father and Mother for purposes of this blog post were pretty much determined by a cousin of mine, Bonnie Rieger-Reger (Jeanne Zacher-Rieger).

The impetus for this post happened kind of spontaneously in a conversation between the two of us in Facebook Messenger one day. In that conversation, Bonnie asked me if I'd seen an article published on June 30, 1999 in the Grant County News about the history of the Zacher Farm. That paper was our source for local news while growing up. Because Zacher is my Mom's maiden name and, therefore, part of who I am, I was immediately interested.

The article in question presented a brief history of the Zacher homestead and its patriarch, "Chris Zacher", my own Great-Grandfather. Chris' full name was "Christian", and that's where this saga begins for purposes of what will be a series of posts on the Zacher Clan in "My Town, Your Town, Our Town".

The author of the article is Marlo Sisco-Maier.

Here's the three columns of the article in sequence. I hope everyone can read it:

There are a couple things I need to point out regarding what's said in that article before going any further with an attempt at reviving any memories of the Zacher Family homestead:

• The Zacher homestead is located northeast of Elgin, ND, not northwest as stated at the very end of the article, and,
• The article almost makes it sound like Zacher relatives are still living on, and working, the family farm. They are not living there. Nor are any Zacher relatives still working the family farm. The author does go on to say the Zacher homestead is now owned by the Eugene Kuntz family. Eugene has since passed away, and the farm is now owned and operated by Eugene's Son, Duane, but his family does not actually live on the property.

For those who might be textually challenged like me (I do much better with visuals if available), the image below shows the area in question:

The Zacher Homestead is located just to the right and downward just a tad from the number "49" (State Highway 49 for all the cartographers trying to make sense of things) in this image. The creek that appears to be growing out of the number "49" is Antelope Creek.

Just thought I should make those clarifications before getting into the meat of the story.

And so a journey to relate some memories of this very special place begins with a screen capture of a satellite image of the Zacher Farm as it looks today with labels describing the layout as I remember it from my childhood and confirmed as accurate by Cousin Bonnie who, along with her parents (Harlan and Jeanne), her two sisters (Gail and Fonda), and lone brother (Clyde) lived there for many years.

From there, we'll go down memory lane beginning with Great-Granddad Christian Zacher and his first wife, my own Great-Grandmother, Suzanna Sprecher-Zacher.

The image below is a copy of a piece that was originally written by and provided to me by Cousin Ardis Storms (Arleigh Zacher) in her very, very well done effort to put together the original Eaton and Zacher Family Tree (for anyone reading this who isn't aware, Eaton is the last name of my Mom's Mother.....my maternal Grandmother). To my knowledge, there isn't any such writing detailing anything about Suzanna.

With apologies to Ardis (I can be really anal when it comes to things like this) and with her ok to do so, I'll make just a couple of clarifications to her writings here:

• The Zacher homestead was a little more than 40 miles south and east of Hebron...almost straight south of Glen Ullin, ND, and actually about 6 miles north and a little bit east of Elgin. As can be seen on the map image provided previously, Hebron is just North of Interstate 94 and to the northwest of Glen Ullin. 
• The name of the river Ardis mentioned in her piece that the homestead  was in between is actually spelled "Heart River". It's a bit north of the homestead, but her claim the homestead was located on Antelope Creek is absolutely correct. That creek is an integral part of the Zacher family history, as well.

For anyone wishing to do further research on their own Germans From Russia origins, the following resources are very good places to start:

A Brief History of the Germans from Russia
American Historical Society of Germans From Russia
Germans From Russia Heritage Society, Teplitz, Bessarabia

Cousin Ardis also included copies of the same kind of history in her family tree documentation for those in possession of that tome.

There is some writing on the back of  the image that follows that says whomever took the pic thinks it is of Christian, and that it was taken in California. There is no date, but we do know from Great Aunt Pauline's writings that Christian moved his family to California sometime in 1907. It might, therefore, be a safe assumption that he had moved to California after having turned over the farming operation to his son, Oscar. But that's another story for another blog post, eh?

We do know the image below is an actual photo of Christian, Suzanna, and 5 of their 7 children:

The image below is a family tree of the two primary characters, Christian and Suzanna Zacher including their son, Oscar (my Granddad), Lela Pearl (my Grandmother), and their children (my Mom and her brothers and sisters....my aunts and uncles) presented in what amounts to an introduction into what will follow in future blog posts:

Well, that's it for this post. Hopefully, it gives those intending to follow the Zacher story a bit of insight into the origins of the homestead. I'm pretty sure those of us who experienced this "wonder" will cherish those memories the rest of our days. I know I will.

The next post will attempt to go into more detail as told by Great Aunt Pauline, daughter and youngest child of Christian and Suzanna.

Until next time.....

Big Brother -- Part 2

We can't find it....anywhere. It's an old photo of Clayton in full opera and theater mode, both in makeup and in regalia. His role? Rasputin, if I remember correctly.

Kinda scary, really. He had that "look" in his eyes --- somewhere between sanity and insanity, between madness and clarity. Oh, the expression. The makeup. The character.

We've looked for it. Faye can't find it. Belva can't find it. I haven't found it....yet. It has to be somewhere. That's not one we'd throw away. But where is it? Where IS IT?

In the meantime, the image below will have to do. It comes the closest to anything I've ever seen as being representative of that specific character he threw himself wholeheartedly into. Take away the mask, and voila!

The text of the image is also illustrative of the enigma that Clayton was, because, you see, Clayton was, in fact, an enigma.

He was an artist. He was a musician extraordinaire. He was an opera singer. He was a classical pianist. He played drums. He played oboe. He played coronet, or, as some call it, trumpet. He was a balloon sculpture creator. He was a business owner. All these things were Clayton after he finally found his own peace in knowing who he was. Before that, he was stressed. Multi-faceted, multi-talented? Yep. But also very stressed, especially in his youth.

Prior to his own realization of self-awareness, he struggled with coming to know himself. Many of his early years were spent questioning why he didn't seem to, wondering how to, and trying to...fit in. He struggled to come to a level of self-understanding and self-acceptance that he could live with. That struggle included trying to gain those same levels within the numerous communities he ultimately wound up living in.

He chose his path. He knew "what" he wanted. He was determined to get there somehow, self-doubts be damned! It was in his own personal life that he wavered, that he faltered, that he just wasn't sure of. But I digress....

Clayton had his ups and downs even after getting to know who he was. For many years, he struggled in the community of those trying to make it in opera. The competition was fierce. The demands he had to place on himself seemed pretty insurmountable to those of us on the outside looking in. His quest could actually be likened to anyone setting off to Hollywood to become a movie star. Many do so. Few actually make it. That's how it is in the music industry, as well, including opera.

He was right on the cusp of making it into the "Bigs" in opera and theater when he developed nodules on his vocal chords. It was devastating for him. It was also career ending...at least in the field of opera. He had his run, though.

Theater may have been another avenue, but it seemed like the two, opera and theater, were inextricably intertwined. He knew this to be true. He accepted it. He moved forward with his life in another direction.

He resignedly gave up his dream of making it big in opera to pursue those other venues. He told us it would just be too difficult and it would take way too long for him to go through the process of retraining his vocal chords to the level he'd reached before and that would be required of him to, once again, chase his dream.

Ultimately, his innate artistic and creative abilities would manifest, once again, and his balloon creation business would kind of blossom (no pun intended).


In the beginning:

I shared the photo above on Facebook one year ago. Older Clayton wouldn't have been embarrassed by this....not in the least. He took great pleasure in being flamboyant (think Rasputin), sometimes almost to a fault. Not in high school, but in his later years, Clayton became the person he always was. Does that make any sense?

Yup! Those photos above are pre-siblings. The world was Clayton's oyster for almost exactly two full years....that is, until I came along to spoil everything for him.

Mom once said Clayton wasn't like other kids. As he got older, he showed little interest in outside activities. We all attributed that to his allergies. He had them bad, and it was sometimes abject misery for him to be outside during allergy season. He couldn't mow the lawn. He couldn't work on the farm. There were lots of things he couldn't do. So, he focused on lots of things he COULD do.

But there was more to it than that. He wasn't athletic...not at all. Even when we'd get together with neighborhood kids to play baseball, football, basketball, even tag, kick the can, or whatever, Clayton just did not have it - athletics simply were not his forte'. That's not a criticism. It's a reality, and he knew it.

In the end, though, his talents served him well. In fact, how many folks out there who happen to be my age are still active in sports like basketball, football, or baseball? I know I'm not.

Clayton's talents, on the other hand, lasted him a lifetime --- his lifetime. He'd be doing those things today if he were still with us to do them.

Mom also talked about how Clayton enjoyed being in the kitchen with her, of how creative he was in cooking up his concoctions.

I remember his pancakes....green pancakes. There were a LOT of other creations he came up with out of food, but green pancakes are what I remember most.

Mom loved music, and she was determined to instill that love of music in all of us. Clayton was enrolled in piano lessons at a very early age. Unlike someone else (bet you can't guess who this might be), he was drawn into what he could do, the sounds he could make, the melodies he played on that piano.

His practice sessions were something to behold. When things went right they were very, very right. When things went wrong, I'm still amazed that piano survived (Faye still has it and, yes, it still works beautifully although I'm not sure when the last time was that she had it tuned). It's not that he would beat the piano, but those keys on which his palms came down if he missed a note sure did suffer some, by George!

As time went on and Clayton "honed" his abilities, his talents took him to state competitions in music. His vocals were especially recognized with award after award.

His senior year in high school, his efforts were also recognized at the award ceremony at New Leipzig High School at the end of the school year. This one was special...very special. The reason? State music competitions weren't akin to state athletic competitions in my home town. They didn't get as much attention. There wasn't nearly as much hoopla or enthusiasm at music competitions. At least there wasn't until that award ceremony, at that moment in time, on that stage, in a very small town auditorium. At that moment, on that stage my big brother was getting his moment in the sun. He was being recognized for his talent and for his achievements.

As Clayton was receiving his award, it seemed to me like the audience was reacting differently than they did for the athletic awards. Somehow, this recognition of his abilities in music appreciation went beyond the "normal" reaction so many were used to as athletic awards were given out. It was just...different, better somehow.

At one point, Rex Sayler, a friend one year younger than me and sitting a few seats down the row from me, turned and gave a thumbs up gesture as Clayton walked across the stage to receive his award. It was at that point I think I finally came to the realization that this was my big brother, that he had talent, and that that talent was something else...an innate gift that few among us would ever have or experience ourselves.

I remember to this day it hit me hard that there were other things in life besides Sports. That's something I had focused on and I had tried to kind of force on my brother as well. It wasn't him. It wasn't who he was. He was his own person with his own likes and dislikes, with his own talents, with his own individuality. And, it wasn't really until Rex did what he did during that awards ceremony that I really began to appreciate who my older brother really was.

He...was...amazing!

Big Brother -- Part 1

It has been 20 years now since we lost Clayton. He was born May 2nd 1947 and we lost him just shy of his 49th birthday due to complications from the AIDS virus.

Anyone familiar with HIV/AIDS knows that it is most often associated with those who live the gay lifestyle, stereo-typical or not. That's simply a statement of fact....at least it was at the time Clayton contracted this disease. It hasn't been until more recently that this deadly disease has afflicted a larger number of those of a heterosexual life-style and actually become more "main-stream" in that regard.

Clayton was gay. Back when he came out, I was in the United States Navy. He was still in graduate school earning his Master's Degree in Applied Voice. It really doesn't seem that long ago.

For those of my generation, homosexuality was not a very widely accepted lifestyle, to be sure. I had a very difficult time accepting who he was. Thing is, though, that was not his problem. That was my problem. It took me a very long time to be able to come to that realization and to a level of acceptance I'd been unwilling to reach during that very, very uncomfortable interlude.

Reality is, Clayton taught me so many things, not the least of which was to debate and argue and question everything.

George Carlin, one of my favorite comedians, may he rest in peace, also said something along those lines - that we should question everything. And that's something that my brother Clayton did. He questioned everything. He also taught me, much to the chagrin of some of my friends and family on a certain social network we participate on (all ya'll know who you are, and, no, I ain't gonna stop, and, thanks, Big Bro for setting me on that path cuz now I can tell everyone to blame you for me questioning them), to question everything.

Clayton also taught me tolerance, not only of his life-style and for others who were also living that life-style, but in so many other things, as well.

One of those things was that rock and roll isn't the only kind of music out there. There were many fights over what we were going to listen to on that old stereophonic record player as we did the dishes following any meal (yeah, I AM that old).We didn't have dishwashers back then, nor did we have IPhones with music downloads on them. In fact, we didn't have that now outmoded form of music storage known as CD's, either. But, I digress....

Fights. We had them. Loud and obnoxious fights. Never ending fights....at least to Mom and Dad they seemed never ending. But, I don't remember Mom or Dad ever intervening in any of those "fights" unless they came to blows, and of course they NEVER came to blows, right? Yeah, right.....

When he passed, he and I had finally been able to accept each other, once again. I can't think of it in any other terms than those. Reconciliation just doesn't seem to fit or to be appropriate for some reason. Acceptance is much more descriptive of our struggle to once again "know" each other.

Building a "new" relationship between us was a tough road, though, and is one I cherish to this day because he taught me so very, very much as we went down that road. Please don't get me wrong --- those lessons were hard, very hard for me to learn if for no other reason than he was right most of the time. And, therein lies the lessons for me. I'm stubborn, and so was he. Nothing came easy on this road to acceptance. Nothing! But lessons could be, and were, definitely learned...by both of us.

And, therein, lies the reason I cherish those lessons so much - the fact they didn't come easily to either one of us right alongside the fact we both learned from each other, albeit reluctantly most of the time. We both dug in our heels. We both chastised each other. We both yelled and fought and screamed and....well, you get the picture. But we learned from each other. That....that right there is why I miss those lessons, and why I miss my Older Brother so deeply.

All that being said, if I'm going to be truly altruistic, I also need to give credit where credit is due with regard to "lessons learned". That belongs to both our parents when it comes right down to it. They, more than anyone, instilled in both of us the values necessary to be able to communicate and accept, no matter how difficult either of those things might be at times. So, thank you Mom and Dad. You done good....really good as far as I'm concerned.

With that, I'll stop for now. Part 2 of this Big Brother set will be soon to follow.

Rest in Peace, Big Bro!!!