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!!!

Oh, The Things We Remember......

The little things. The big things. There were (and still are, one can only assume) all things in between, too.

Growing up in the small town of New Leipzig, North Dakota was an experience, for sure. It was small (still is), it was quaint (still is). But most importantly from my perspective - it was home. Although I now live in Colorado, the memories of days gone by in this very small hamlet still come to mind quite often. It's kind of strange, though, some of the things I remember. Each of us who grew up there have our own memories. That's what makes any community unique unto itself. My memories of growing up in New Leipzig are what make my experiences there unique to me. There are a thousand things I could say, but won't. There's simply not enough room in one post to include everything. So, this is a condensed version of things.

As I go through and list a few of my own memories, I'm sure those who may be following this blog will suddenly find themselves thinking about their own. I hope you decide to share in the comments, be you from New Leipzig, Elgin, Carson, Flasher, or somewhere else in that particular area.

My very first memory, a very faint memory indeed, was moving across the street into our new house. I couldn't have been more than three years old at the time, but what an adventure.

Hopscotch on the sidewalk in front of the house.

Rheumatic fever and missing school for a couple of weeks in first grade. Scared to go back to school for some insane reason. I remember "hiding" behind a telephone pole in front of the Dub's house across the street from the school until my teacher came outside to "retrieve" me and to reassure me everything would be ok.

Sledding down the middle of the street in winter trying to make it all the way downtown. Some made it, but not very often. Snow storms in those days could be, and sometimes were, absolutely brutal. The photo below is taken from the New Leipzig website linked to above.

Winters in New Leipzig were probably the most memorable of all things. At least they were for me. We used to joke that North Dakota had two seasons: hot and cold - brutally cold! Add snow into the mix, and there you have it. Summers were hot - not all the time, but I still remember times when the heat was almost unbearable.

Digging caves in snow drifts in the railroad cuts on the north side of town after the blizzard subsided and we could finally get outside once again. Parents cussing because we "wasted" so much energy digging caves while not expending nearly enough on helping them clear driveways and sidewalks.

The Cannonball River. Coolness in the trees - some of the only trees outside of town anywhere other than in scattered shelter belts planted by farmers and an occasional lone cottonwood out in the middle of nowhere. Wading in the oftentimes shallow waters, skipping rocks, and even sometimes swimming in some of the deeper spots.

Gravel streets until they were paved I'm not sure what year. I just remember thick clouds of dust wafting up as cars passed by, and, unless there was a breeze to carry away the dust, it would just hang there for what seemed like forever.

Elementary school. Eating paste, following rules, being in love with some of the teachers, but certainly not all. Being in awe of the high schoolers one floor up from us - really cool. Finally making it to eighth grade knowing the next year would be a really big life event going into high school in a new building, no less. Yep! Brand spanking new.

Friends and relatives from around the country coming to visit. Mostly in the summer months, but sometimes in winter, too. My brother, Clayton, brought one of his friends home from college more than once in the middle of the winter. Bob Meier was pretty much adopted into our family as a result. Hey, Bro!

Bible school in the summer. Every church had their own Bible school. Sometimes we'd get to go to more than one session in another church. What a big deal!

Christmas programs and family gatherings on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.

Watching the World Series and college football at Neyla and Wilmer's on their color TV.

High school sports. I didn't play football because of my knees. Basketball was my favorite anyway. New Leipzig always had strong basketball teams with a very strong basketball tradition. I remember how disappointed the town was my senior year when we barely had a winning record. My Dad used to say if we'd only have scored like 7 more points all year in different games we would have won 5 more than we did. I don't know. It doesn't really matter now. But the teams before and after that one single year were something to be proud of.

Hunting. Getting up at 4 am to join friends and go out into the country to see if we could scare up some ducks. I never went deer hunting, but duck hunting was fun - that is, until I actually hit one and had to wade into the water to retrieve it, and then wring its neck because it was still alive.

Going with my Dad on his mail route on Saturdays. He'd always have his 22 rifle along with him, and whenever he spotted a rabbit in the snow (I was never able to pick them out like he could), he'd rest the gun on the edge of my open window, sight in, and POW, followed by a rabbit in death throes flopping around in the snow.

I also remember his VWs, but that's another story for another blog post.

Warm summer nights on top of the water tower (the old one, of course). Just sitting there looking out at the glimmering lights of that small town dreaming of things that were to come. Also knowing we could get into big trouble just for being up there - too dangerous, don'tcha know!

Riding bikes all over town. Playing football - no, not touch football. Tackle football - on the lot between the old movie theater/roller skating rink and the house next door. I can't remember who lived there, but they must have been pretty frustrated with all the noise going on.

And so much more. Gosh, I didn't think this was going to get to be this long in this short of a time frame. When I think of all the very close friends and relatives, neighbors and townspeople, it's heartwarming beyond measure. Since I moved away, there have been many changes. Some of the older generation are no longer with us. Even some of my own generation have passed on way too soon. But, this town, these townspeople, are hardy, that's for sure. They've endured over the years, and I have no doubt they will continue to endure.

Normally, when people ask me where I'm from, I joke with them by saying New Leipzig, North Dakota - a good place to be from. But, when it comes right down to it, the reality is New Leipzig, North Dakota is, in fact, a really, really good place to be from!

Pete Gefroh

Some school superintendents come, and some school superintendents go. Pete Gefroh was one of those school superintendents that came......to New Leipzig and who had what I consider to be a seminal influence on virtually every single one of the kids graduating from that school for as long as he was there.

My sophomore year I was the school reporter. Mr. Gefroh was, along with his superintendent responsibilities, also the typing teacher. In typing class, I typed up my submission for the school paper. This particular month, there wasn't really a whole lot to talk about. So, in a typical sophomoric fashion, I proceeded to put into words the blase' month by stating something to the effect, "same old school, same old students, same old routine, same old teachers." Rather innocuous don't you think? Not so to Mr. Gefroh. Not only did he tell on me to my folks, but he also called me on the carpet for being so disrespectful to staff.

Looking back on it now, I can see, given the times and how social mores were just a tad more respectful in nature than they are nowadays, how my naive, sophomoric statements could have been misconstrued to be disrespectful in their intent. The reality couldn't have been further from the truth, but they could be, and were, construed as such by Mr. Gefroh.

Mr. Gefroh, however, had the integrity and the determination to back up his staff and he called me out on my transgression.

I'd have to say that in some ways, Mr. Gefroh was one of the more influential mentors who gave me pause to think and then rethink putting words to paper before actually doing so. At the time, I was flabbergasted, upset, embarrassed, and totally flummoxed by his reaction to what I had written. Truth be told, I was actually pretty pissed off!

My parents, when informed by Mr. Gefroh, of my bad reporting, before reacting as some parents might have done by grounding me or something far worse than that, sat me down for a "talk". We discussed honesty, integrity, tastefulness, rudeness, and much more at the kitchen table. When all was said and done, it was agreed, although reluctantly by me, that I owed the school staff an apology. I couldn't send a global email (no computers at that time which would have kept it much more obscured from the public eye), so the next best thing was to write, and have published in the next issue of the school paper an apology and retraction - one of the hardest things I've ever had to do, much less write for everyone to see.

Nothing more was said. The deed was done. Apology accepted - at least that's what I had to assume. None of the staff said anything about it to me.

From that moment on, every article I wrote for the school paper, every essay I wrote for any class I was enrolled in, whether in high school or college, all the lesson plans I prepared during my teaching days both in public and adult education, and all the technical writing I did for the agencies I worked for got a little extra consideration from me on whether or not it was worded the way it should be. I still struggle with this "affliction", if you want to call it that, to this day. Re-reading something until it becomes a blur is now my norm. Re-checking for anything that might offend, that might be misconstrued is almost an obsession, pretty much all thanks to Mr. Gefroh - and I mean that with all due respect for someone who taught me a valuable lesson in human interaction at a very young age.

So, thank you Mr. Gefroh for all you did for New Leipzig High School, and for me in particular.

Mom

This photo has always been a favorite of mine. Mom used to talk a lot about her horses and how much she loved riding them. One of the stories I remember vividly is the one she told about sighting a tornado bearing down in her direction. She was riding on the old road east of the farm, and when she saw the tornado, she took off at a gallop for home. In turning the corner into the farmstead, she says the horse lost its footing, fell sort of like a dog or cat trying to make a corner on a slippery wood floor, made it back up, and got home ok. She also says she didn't fall off in the process although, by all rights she should have. Luckily, the tornado missed the farm and everyone in the area around there survived, as well.

April 30 is Mom's birthday. She was born on that day in 1923. She passed away December 11, 2006 and is at rest with Dad at Ft. Logan National Cemetery.

There are so many pleasant, warm, and wonderful memories of Mom that I really don't know where to begin or end.

Mom, I miss you and always will.
Your loving son, Jerry

Mom: Addendum

Where to start? I didn't do an interview with Mom like I did with Dad. So, this has to come from my own memories of her stories and lore being passed down to me. I hope I get it right - depending on siblings and relatives to help out here if they see something not quite accurate or completely remiss.

As stated, Mom was born April 30, 1923. She was born in Elgin, North Dakota to Oscar and Lela Pearl (Eaton) Zacher.

She had two brothers, Arleigh and Lorin, and three sisters, Lorraine, Roberta, and Jeanne.

I haven't been able to find a photo of the family that includes Aunt Jeanne, but I do have this one with the four other children:

For all you relatives, you get to guess who's who in the photo above. I'll keep on looking for one with Aunt Jeanne and will insert it if, and when, I find it (or someone else has one and is willing to share - c'mon all you relatives! Ya gotta have one somewhere). In the meantime, this photo includes Jeanne, but not Lorraine or the boys:

Edited to add: I knew it! I just knew it! Ask a relative, and it shall be answered! My cousin, Ardis Storms (Arleigh's daughter) provided me with the following pic of the whole fam damily:

They lived on a farm about 6 miles north of Elgin on a stream bank above Antelope Creek.

The farm buildings were made from a combination of sandstone and dirt with whitewash plaster as a covering. Some are still standing although the last time I saw them, they were in pretty bad shape.

The thing I remember most is the cottonwood trees across the creek. The story, as I remember it, is that Grandpa Zacher's Dad, Christian Zacher, planted those trees. They provided a cool respite during the hot summer months, and during the winter, we'd play amongst them, these tall sentinels of the prairie protecting the farm and that way of life.

Grandma Lela passed away when Mom was 19 from diabetic insulin shock, if I remember correctly. Mom always said if they'd had access to the medical procedures that were ultimately developed, her Mother wouldn't have died as young as she did.

Her Mother's death had a profound effect on Mom. She never really talked about it all that much, but when she did it was with a modicum of sorrow and a burden of responsibility in ways only those who went through similar situations back in those days really truly understood. Her Dad remarried eventually to Regina Rivinius, the Grandma that I knew and loved.

And now for some really cool photos from the archives:

16th birthday party

Junior High School (can you find her?)

This one is sooooo cool. Written on the back is "Best wishes Sis. Adeline Bell (Teacher), Lorretta Weiss, Gwen Zacher, Roberta Zacher, Eleanor Sprenger, Erna Weiss. Hillbilly singing group from Antelope District Country School North of Elgin, ND".

Mom and "bestie", Vivian Gustafson. I believe this photo was taken in 1937 (there's a huge "37" written across the back of the photo). I remember going to Fred and Vivian's farm a couple of times during the dead of winter to visit. Other than that, all I can say is that Mom and Vivian remained friends long after high school.

Sweet 16 and I can only assume never been kissed! We'll never know.

High school graduation photo, 1940.

I think Mom went to Dickinson State Teacher's College right out of high school, but I could be wrong. Here she is with some of her friends.

On the back of the following photo, it indicates it was taken in 1942 in Richmond, CA when Mom worked for Standard Oil. This was during World War II, and that's why I'm a little confused on sequence of events. If she went to college right out of high school she must have taught after her stint in Richmond. She only taught for one year if I remember right. She married Herbert Hochhalter August 31, 1946.

All the photos in this post are pre-Herbert and pre-kids. I wish now I'd done the same thing with Mom that I did with Dad. Those of you reading this having memories, please consider sharing.

Love and miss you, Mom!

Christmas

We all have our own memories of Christmases past - those special holidays with family and friends while growing up. There are so many of those memories going through my head right now, I don't even know where to begin. So, how bout Christmas Eve?

In New Leipzig, Christmas Eve could be cold, very cold - after all, it was North Dakota don'tcha know. Sometimes we'd get snow. Other times not. Not so different from a lot of places around the world. But, for us, Christmas Eve in New Leipzig was our world.

Growing up in this small community on the prairie of North Dakota meant a lot of preparation in the weeks prior to Christmas Eve. Every church in town had its youngsters prepping for "the program" - arguably the most important event of the year for many of them. Memorizing "pieces", practicing singing Christmas carols, doing everything according to "plan", admiring the gigantic Christmas tree in the front corner of the church sometimes off to the right, sometimes off to the left - it all depended on whether or not the piano or the organ was going to be obscured.

In homes all around town, decorations would go up both inside and outside. Contests were held to see who could do the best decorations.

Inside the home, it was much more private. In our home, Mom went all out most times. The living room was a statement in festivity. Stringers hanging from the lights, ornaments everywhere (not just on the tree). Favorite and sentimental baubles came out for the first time all year.

But, the tree. The tree had to be bought. We couldn't just go out into the forest and cut down our own tree. It was either that, or an artificial tree. Our home didn't see artificial trees until we were more grown up. Some of those artificial trees were pretty gawd awful thinking back on it. Even some of the real trees that Mom decided needed to be "flocked" - oh, the trends of the times.

Anticipating Christmas Eve was an adventure in and of itself. Decorations were up, gifts were under the tree except for those coming from Santa.

We'd all pile into the car ready and eager to get the church program over with to be able to get back home. That's when Dad "forgot" something inside the house. Seemed like every single year in memory, Dad would "forget" something inside the house and tell us to stay in the car - that he'd be right back out. And, sure enough, a few minutes later he'd show up, get in the car, and we'd be off to church.

The program would invariably go off without a hitch. All the kids would get up and recite their own pieces in front of a packed congregation, and most would get through them in spite of their stage fright and jitters. I still picture in my mind's eye the bright lights dimming to show off the Christmas tree. There would be a silence in the congregation as everyone contemplated just what the Christmas season and message meant to them. The whole thing ended with the congregation singing Silent Night.

Then it was over. As we filed out we were each given a paper bag. It contained peanuts, an orange, a little bit of candy, and maybe even something else - a small gift, but treasured none-the-less.

Back home once again, we'd be amazed at Santa's timing. Wow! How'd he know we'd be at the church and be able to fit everyone in town into his scheduled stop? Guy was awesome!

Most all of those Christmas Eves were spent together with the Rieger clan. We'd wait for them to arrive before opening any of our gifts, and after that was done and we had enough time to digest what we'd just gotten, we'd head out to the farm to share in their Christmas joy.

Boy, when I think back on it, it must have been really hard for Gail, Bonnie, Clyde, and Fonda to have to wait for us to get done with our gift opening knowing they had their own to get to 12 miles away from there.

And then it was over. The gifts were opened. The wrapping paper was cleaned up. Well, sort of anyway. And we were off to the farm where everything was repeated for the Riegers.

By the time we got home, us kids would be pretty much tuckered out. Our family tradition was to open gifts on Christmas Eve instead of on Christmas morning. I don't know how many other families did that in our town, but I'm sure some waited. But we knew we didn't have to get up bright and early to open gifts from Santa because he'd already come the night before while we were at church. Oh, wait....was that a conspiracy our parents concocted so as to be able to sleep in on Christmas morning? Didn't matter - they got woke up anyway because we were downstairs busy making as much noise as we possible could playing with our new toys.

Christmas Day was rotated amongst and between families every year, and I gotta tell you we had a LOT of families to rotate with. So, it was always a feast of unbelievable proportions. Of course, we could all eat a whole lot more then than we can now, so the meal was prepared, everyone sat around multiple tables and filled our faces until we couldn't stuff any more in.

In our younger years, we (the kids) would then adjourn to play with each other's toys. In our older, teen years we'd adjourn to watch football or ask for the keys to the car and go driving around wasting gas.

Sometimes, when Christmas was at the farm, we'd go ice skating on the creek down below the house. It'd be so cold, our toes would feel frozen before we'd come in to warm up. That's when the home-made ice cream came out. And that must be where I got my love of ice cream. Katherine tells people I can eat ice cream while sitting in a snow bank and still enjoy it, and she's right. I LOVE ice cream, especially topped with homemade chokecherry syrup.

On those cold, very crisp Christmas Day nights when it was finally time to go home, the thing I remember is how crisp the air was, how the moonlight sparkled on the unspoiled snow, how that snow crunched underfoot as we made our way back out to the car that Dad had started to let it warm up before leaving, and how silent it was - so very, very quiet.

Regardless of how much fun we have about North Dakota, its treeless plains, it's rolling hills, its biting, stinging cold, its blizzards, and its desolation (to some), these are some of the warmest memories I have of a wonderful childhood with family and friends.

Merry Christmas everyone! And, a very happy New Year, as well!