Sergei: A Revision.
I have been writing stories of my past, either as I remember them, or as I recall how they were told to me. In either case, the stories have been related as factual as possible. With a written history as in the case of my Mother’s story, checking facts is relatively simple. However, relying on the memories of a 68 year-old person of events that happened when she was, maybe, nine at the time of the occurrence, along with any embellishments that may have been added as the story was repeated, there is the possibility that some recollections may not be entirely correct.
One such happening was what had caused the fire in Sergei’s house. I wrote that the fire and the other chain-reaction incidents that occurred at that time were caused by a meteor that struck close by Sergei’s house. Some friends that were also living in Ibate’, have said that instead of a meteor, the culprit was really a lightening strike. To be sure, that makes a lot of sense, even though the facilities being struck by lightening is not near as exciting as a meteor crashing in close proximity. However, I reluctantly concede that probably the nine year olds memory was a little cloudy, perhaps by all the thunder and lightening that was exploding around her at the time, and that, indeed, it was “only” lightening and not a meteor.
I feel that everything else that was written concerning Sergei is correct, and the incidents of that night of chaotic events actually occurred.
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Sunday, June 6, 2010
MamaTo The Rescue
Mama To The Rescue
I’ve written about my grandfather, Archibald A. Warden, who was a medal Olympian, and how he had wanted Mama to also strive to be an accomplished athlete. Mama was, indeed, a gifted woman athletically. Of course we, (my siblings and I)never realized just how talented she was. Even in her later years as a senior adult, she was able to shame us kids when we tried to compete with her. Sure, we were perhaps quicker and had more endurance, but you could just watch her swing a tennis racket with smooth strokes that belied her age, and know that she would almost certainly beat any of us in a match. All of that was done while wearing the community clothes, ankle length dresses of days long past. But tennis was not her only forte. It was in her seventies when I watched her swimming in Cameo Lake in New York. With powerful smooth strokes she cut through the waters with hardly a ripple. Indeed, she was truly blessed with athletic prowess and grace.
I remember a couple of incidences that occurred while we were living in Paraguay. Her athleticism came in handy when she rescued my younger sister from a fire. Selma, my sister, had insisted on having a lighted candle in the window that was located by her bed. She had wanted to fall asleep to candle-light. However, the candle caught a curtain on fire. Seeing the fire, Mama jumped through the dining room window into Selma’s bedroom and ripped the curtains from the window, then, while the material burned she jumped back, threw the burning material out the window, jumped back through the window, and extinguished the flames.
Then there was another time that Mama jumped through a window. On that occasion, though, Mama was not intent on saving one of her children, but was concerned about a rabbit that wandered too close to a dog. Seeing the danger that the rabbit had put itself into, Mama once again hurled herself through the window and rescued the hapless rabbit from the jaws of said dog. “Ole!!”
I’ve written about my grandfather, Archibald A. Warden, who was a medal Olympian, and how he had wanted Mama to also strive to be an accomplished athlete. Mama was, indeed, a gifted woman athletically. Of course we, (my siblings and I)never realized just how talented she was. Even in her later years as a senior adult, she was able to shame us kids when we tried to compete with her. Sure, we were perhaps quicker and had more endurance, but you could just watch her swing a tennis racket with smooth strokes that belied her age, and know that she would almost certainly beat any of us in a match. All of that was done while wearing the community clothes, ankle length dresses of days long past. But tennis was not her only forte. It was in her seventies when I watched her swimming in Cameo Lake in New York. With powerful smooth strokes she cut through the waters with hardly a ripple. Indeed, she was truly blessed with athletic prowess and grace.
I remember a couple of incidences that occurred while we were living in Paraguay. Her athleticism came in handy when she rescued my younger sister from a fire. Selma, my sister, had insisted on having a lighted candle in the window that was located by her bed. She had wanted to fall asleep to candle-light. However, the candle caught a curtain on fire. Seeing the fire, Mama jumped through the dining room window into Selma’s bedroom and ripped the curtains from the window, then, while the material burned she jumped back, threw the burning material out the window, jumped back through the window, and extinguished the flames.
Then there was another time that Mama jumped through a window. On that occasion, though, Mama was not intent on saving one of her children, but was concerned about a rabbit that wandered too close to a dog. Seeing the danger that the rabbit had put itself into, Mama once again hurled herself through the window and rescued the hapless rabbit from the jaws of said dog. “Ole!!”
Charndon, England
Charndon, England
George left Munich near the end of October, 1963, to return to his base in England. I immediately began preparing for my exodus to join him there. It was an easy decision to leave where I worked, as I never really felt comfortable with my co-workers, nor for that matter with many of the acquaintances that I had made in the couple of years I lived there. Leaving my Grandfather, aunts, uncles and cousins was another matter altogether. Leaving my aging Opa was especially difficult. We had grown very close and it was with a heavy heart when I informed him of my intentions. Surprisingly, though he also was saddened, he understood that I did not fit into the Munich life and that I would be happier with George.
Some of my other relatives felt that I should not be leaving Munich to join the American. They did not think that we knew enough about each other to make such a quick decision. Actually, I could understand their concern, for George and I had only known each other for less than a month, and I must admit that there was apprehension on my part. What if George never met me in England? What if he changed his mind? What if he decided not to marry me? Still, no matter what happened with George, I had decided to leave Germany. I missed my mother, father and siblings and wanted to be closer to them.
At the time Mama and Papa were living outside of the community, so there would be no restriction on my joining them, at least until I found a job. If George and I were to be married, then everything would be alright. If George did not show up, well….. I did not want to think about that.
It was December 6, and George was supposed to meet my train at 11:00 P.M. Problem!
George thought he was to meet the train at 11:00 A.M. The train arrived and departed, and George was there ON TIME, or so he thought. Naturally, I was not on board. Poor George! He left the station and returned when the next train was due. Still, no Mandy! There was no way that we could communicate. In the meantime, I was worried that George would change his mind and not be there to meet the train. But I had no idea what was on George’s mind as I was not on the train on which he thought I was arriving.
I finally arrived at the appointed place, and at the correct time of 11:00 P.M.. Cautiously, I began to look for George. It had grown late before the train reached the station, which made me even more concerned. When I looked around the station I suddenly felt a rush of relief. There he was! Un-be-known to me, though, George had waited 12 hours! He watched as several trains came and went with nary a sight of Mandy. I need not have concerned myself about George changing his mind about me, having waited 12 hours it turned out that he was worried that I had changed my mind about him.
My family and George hit it off at once. There was George at six foot three inches, and my parents barely over five foot. My parents were pacifists while George was an airman on active duty. Yet, from the beginning there was genuine affection between my parents and George. My brothers and sisters received George in the same way. I lived with my family for the next five months, from December through May. It was during that period of time that George and I were able to really get to know each other, and for my family to get acquainted with and to solidify and already affectionate relationship.
George left Munich near the end of October, 1963, to return to his base in England. I immediately began preparing for my exodus to join him there. It was an easy decision to leave where I worked, as I never really felt comfortable with my co-workers, nor for that matter with many of the acquaintances that I had made in the couple of years I lived there. Leaving my Grandfather, aunts, uncles and cousins was another matter altogether. Leaving my aging Opa was especially difficult. We had grown very close and it was with a heavy heart when I informed him of my intentions. Surprisingly, though he also was saddened, he understood that I did not fit into the Munich life and that I would be happier with George.
Some of my other relatives felt that I should not be leaving Munich to join the American. They did not think that we knew enough about each other to make such a quick decision. Actually, I could understand their concern, for George and I had only known each other for less than a month, and I must admit that there was apprehension on my part. What if George never met me in England? What if he changed his mind? What if he decided not to marry me? Still, no matter what happened with George, I had decided to leave Germany. I missed my mother, father and siblings and wanted to be closer to them.
At the time Mama and Papa were living outside of the community, so there would be no restriction on my joining them, at least until I found a job. If George and I were to be married, then everything would be alright. If George did not show up, well….. I did not want to think about that.
It was December 6, and George was supposed to meet my train at 11:00 P.M. Problem!
George thought he was to meet the train at 11:00 A.M. The train arrived and departed, and George was there ON TIME, or so he thought. Naturally, I was not on board. Poor George! He left the station and returned when the next train was due. Still, no Mandy! There was no way that we could communicate. In the meantime, I was worried that George would change his mind and not be there to meet the train. But I had no idea what was on George’s mind as I was not on the train on which he thought I was arriving.
I finally arrived at the appointed place, and at the correct time of 11:00 P.M.. Cautiously, I began to look for George. It had grown late before the train reached the station, which made me even more concerned. When I looked around the station I suddenly felt a rush of relief. There he was! Un-be-known to me, though, George had waited 12 hours! He watched as several trains came and went with nary a sight of Mandy. I need not have concerned myself about George changing his mind about me, having waited 12 hours it turned out that he was worried that I had changed my mind about him.
My family and George hit it off at once. There was George at six foot three inches, and my parents barely over five foot. My parents were pacifists while George was an airman on active duty. Yet, from the beginning there was genuine affection between my parents and George. My brothers and sisters received George in the same way. I lived with my family for the next five months, from December through May. It was during that period of time that George and I were able to really get to know each other, and for my family to get acquainted with and to solidify and already affectionate relationship.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Munich
Munich, Germany
From the time that I first arrived in Germany, I felt that I was different from the people that I met. I never felt accepted. German was my first language, and that should have been sufficient for me to be accepted by those with whom I was in contact . My German was good, as that was what we spoke at home. However, my German was too perfect. Because I had spent my entire life in an environment that was completely isolated from any dialect or slang, the people that I met thought that I was either putting on airs, or was from East Germany. I attempted to explain about my life in Paraguay and told stories of many of my experiences there, but they could not imagine that anything that different from their own lives could be true. In any case, they were always suspicious of me. My Aunt Lolly helped me get hired at Siemen’s Company, and I was trained as a key- punch operator. All day long I sat at a desk and typed numbers in cards. To be sure, it was a boring existence. But it was a job and made it possible to put some food on the table.
There was a woman at Siemens that I became friends with named Bertha Schmidt. Frau Schmidt was married to a chemical engineer, and had lived in San Diego. Actually, she and her husband had their residence in San Diego and had only returned to Munich to be with their aging parents. She also noticed that I seemed different, but she took an interest in me and was going to sponsor me to go to America, as she was sure that I would be happier there. Because she had lived in other places in the world, and not just Germany, Bertha understood how I felt. Naturally, we became friends very quickly.
Bertha invited me to join her and some other ladies from work to attend the Octoberfest. When I asked her what exactly the Octoberfest was, and after she explained about the beer and wurst, I was reluctant to join them. Bertha explained that all the women would stay together, and besides, some women had met their husbands there. I , of course, promptly replied sarcastically, “I’m sure that’s a fine place to find a husband”. But in spite of all my reservations I agreed to join them. I must admit that I had a good time, even if I did not like beer.
During the evening of “oompah” music, Frau Schmidt, after going to the ladies’ room, anxiously approached me. She wanted me to meet an American G.I. I was not in favor of it. Still though, I again agreed to follow her suggestion. However, there were two Americans that came to us, and they both joined with our group in drinking and singing. We were having a good time, and I was glad that Bertha brought the Americans to join us. I was sitting between the two Americans and both of them, without the other knowing it, were asking to take me home. Of course, after spending most of my life in an environment that did not allow dating, I had no idea that they were both wanting to date me. Bert, one of the prospective suitors, was sweet, but was like a “teddy-bear“, short and chubby, not unlike “Winnie The Pooh”. The other was the opposite. He was tall and dark, with dark brown hair and eyes. That was October, 1963.
George had a very good sense of humor, but more importantly, he showed a great interest in my background and believed the things I told him. George and Bert were in Munich on leave, and we met on their first night in Germany. It was George that took me home that night. The problem, was that we had taken the last tram for the evening, just to get me to where I lived. George was left with the task of finding his way from my Uncle Max’s house to his hotel near the train station. I pointed George down the tram tracks in the direction of the city center, taught him to ask, “where is the train station,” and off he went. There it was, after midnight in a foreign country with no ability in the German language, except the phrase, “wo ist der Hauptbahnhof”? George said that everything went fine, until a fork in the tracks came and again he had to find someone on the street at that time of night, to ask, “wo ist der Hauptbahnhof”? I am still not sure how many forks were on the tracks, or how long it took George to walk home, but he did finally arrive at his destination, tired from the long walk, but otherwise safe and in one piece!
We were to meet the next evening after work at a pre-arranged place that we both could find. Bert was going to join us, which was a good thing, because I had forgotten what George looked like. It was only after seeing Bert and George together again was I sure which of the two was, in fact, George.
For the next couple of weeks, the three of us met daily. We visited many of the sights of Munich, and had a very nice time until Bert had to return to England as his leave time was used up. George decided to stay as he still had a couple weeks of unused leave. I brought George to meet my Uncle Max and Aunt Clara. They hit it off immediately! In fact, all my relatives were favorable to George. My Aunt Lolly, though was concerned about George’s height. She thought that because he was so tall he was not able to find any girls in America that would go with him.
It was fun watching this “Yankee” who’s entire German vocabulary consisted of a few phrases such as: “wurst mit kraut und eine cola, bitte”, or “ein bier bitte”, actually communicate with my aunt and uncle. Communication was further confused because Aunt Clara and Uncle Max were deaf-mutes. They all worked at understanding each other, and surprisingly got along very well. I was especially surprised with the reception that George received from my Grandfather. Every day at noon with his meal Opa would have a beer with his lunch. While George was there Opa actually opened his beer and insisted that George share it with him. That was a truly sincere act of acceptance and respect that Opa had shown to George. There had been a young man on the ship that brought us from Paraguay, and I guess that he thought I had a thing for him. On the ship we were together a lot, but there was never any kind of physical attraction. At least on my part our relationship was purely platonic. To my amazement, he followed me to Munich! He wanted to marry me! He went to Opa’s house to get me. Opa was furious and from the first did not like him. In fact, he made him leave. So you can imagine my excitement at how George was welcomed into their homes. Perhaps they all recognized that I did not quite fit into Munich life and that George would take good care of me.
George’s leave time passed too quickly, and it soon was time for him to return to England. However, George asked me to marry him ! Needless to say, I said yes! Immediately I made plans to leave Germany and join him in England.
Although my Grandfather and Aunts and Uncle were apprehensive about my making such a decision, I wanted to join George. Besides, if George was not the person that I thought he was, I felt that being close to my parents and siblings was better than life in Munich. In spite of the desire to be with George and my family, it was quite difficult to leave Opa, Aunts Lolly and Clara and Uncle Max, Hermann and all of my cousins. In the few years that I was in Munich we had become very close.
From the time that I first arrived in Germany, I felt that I was different from the people that I met. I never felt accepted. German was my first language, and that should have been sufficient for me to be accepted by those with whom I was in contact . My German was good, as that was what we spoke at home. However, my German was too perfect. Because I had spent my entire life in an environment that was completely isolated from any dialect or slang, the people that I met thought that I was either putting on airs, or was from East Germany. I attempted to explain about my life in Paraguay and told stories of many of my experiences there, but they could not imagine that anything that different from their own lives could be true. In any case, they were always suspicious of me. My Aunt Lolly helped me get hired at Siemen’s Company, and I was trained as a key- punch operator. All day long I sat at a desk and typed numbers in cards. To be sure, it was a boring existence. But it was a job and made it possible to put some food on the table.
There was a woman at Siemens that I became friends with named Bertha Schmidt. Frau Schmidt was married to a chemical engineer, and had lived in San Diego. Actually, she and her husband had their residence in San Diego and had only returned to Munich to be with their aging parents. She also noticed that I seemed different, but she took an interest in me and was going to sponsor me to go to America, as she was sure that I would be happier there. Because she had lived in other places in the world, and not just Germany, Bertha understood how I felt. Naturally, we became friends very quickly.
Bertha invited me to join her and some other ladies from work to attend the Octoberfest. When I asked her what exactly the Octoberfest was, and after she explained about the beer and wurst, I was reluctant to join them. Bertha explained that all the women would stay together, and besides, some women had met their husbands there. I , of course, promptly replied sarcastically, “I’m sure that’s a fine place to find a husband”. But in spite of all my reservations I agreed to join them. I must admit that I had a good time, even if I did not like beer.
During the evening of “oompah” music, Frau Schmidt, after going to the ladies’ room, anxiously approached me. She wanted me to meet an American G.I. I was not in favor of it. Still though, I again agreed to follow her suggestion. However, there were two Americans that came to us, and they both joined with our group in drinking and singing. We were having a good time, and I was glad that Bertha brought the Americans to join us. I was sitting between the two Americans and both of them, without the other knowing it, were asking to take me home. Of course, after spending most of my life in an environment that did not allow dating, I had no idea that they were both wanting to date me. Bert, one of the prospective suitors, was sweet, but was like a “teddy-bear“, short and chubby, not unlike “Winnie The Pooh”. The other was the opposite. He was tall and dark, with dark brown hair and eyes. That was October, 1963.
George had a very good sense of humor, but more importantly, he showed a great interest in my background and believed the things I told him. George and Bert were in Munich on leave, and we met on their first night in Germany. It was George that took me home that night. The problem, was that we had taken the last tram for the evening, just to get me to where I lived. George was left with the task of finding his way from my Uncle Max’s house to his hotel near the train station. I pointed George down the tram tracks in the direction of the city center, taught him to ask, “where is the train station,” and off he went. There it was, after midnight in a foreign country with no ability in the German language, except the phrase, “wo ist der Hauptbahnhof”? George said that everything went fine, until a fork in the tracks came and again he had to find someone on the street at that time of night, to ask, “wo ist der Hauptbahnhof”? I am still not sure how many forks were on the tracks, or how long it took George to walk home, but he did finally arrive at his destination, tired from the long walk, but otherwise safe and in one piece!
We were to meet the next evening after work at a pre-arranged place that we both could find. Bert was going to join us, which was a good thing, because I had forgotten what George looked like. It was only after seeing Bert and George together again was I sure which of the two was, in fact, George.
For the next couple of weeks, the three of us met daily. We visited many of the sights of Munich, and had a very nice time until Bert had to return to England as his leave time was used up. George decided to stay as he still had a couple weeks of unused leave. I brought George to meet my Uncle Max and Aunt Clara. They hit it off immediately! In fact, all my relatives were favorable to George. My Aunt Lolly, though was concerned about George’s height. She thought that because he was so tall he was not able to find any girls in America that would go with him.
It was fun watching this “Yankee” who’s entire German vocabulary consisted of a few phrases such as: “wurst mit kraut und eine cola, bitte”, or “ein bier bitte”, actually communicate with my aunt and uncle. Communication was further confused because Aunt Clara and Uncle Max were deaf-mutes. They all worked at understanding each other, and surprisingly got along very well. I was especially surprised with the reception that George received from my Grandfather. Every day at noon with his meal Opa would have a beer with his lunch. While George was there Opa actually opened his beer and insisted that George share it with him. That was a truly sincere act of acceptance and respect that Opa had shown to George. There had been a young man on the ship that brought us from Paraguay, and I guess that he thought I had a thing for him. On the ship we were together a lot, but there was never any kind of physical attraction. At least on my part our relationship was purely platonic. To my amazement, he followed me to Munich! He wanted to marry me! He went to Opa’s house to get me. Opa was furious and from the first did not like him. In fact, he made him leave. So you can imagine my excitement at how George was welcomed into their homes. Perhaps they all recognized that I did not quite fit into Munich life and that George would take good care of me.
George’s leave time passed too quickly, and it soon was time for him to return to England. However, George asked me to marry him ! Needless to say, I said yes! Immediately I made plans to leave Germany and join him in England.
Although my Grandfather and Aunts and Uncle were apprehensive about my making such a decision, I wanted to join George. Besides, if George was not the person that I thought he was, I felt that being close to my parents and siblings was better than life in Munich. In spite of the desire to be with George and my family, it was quite difficult to leave Opa, Aunts Lolly and Clara and Uncle Max, Hermann and all of my cousins. In the few years that I was in Munich we had become very close.
Sergei
There have been many interesting people that have been connected with the Paraguayan “Bruderhof”, but perhaps the man with the most fascinating story, at least of the people that I was acquainted with, was a Russian man named Sergei. In 1914, Sergei was a personal guard to the Czar. Of course, 1914 was the year of the communist revolution and overthrow of the Russian government. The coup was bloody, and atrocities occurred to both sides. Sergei’s experience, though, went beyond any semblance of wartime cruelty.
Sergei was tied to a tree, and forced to witness the execution of his entire family. I cannot possibly imagine the grief and pain that Sergei had endured due to the abhorrent acts that had been perpetrated. Sergei, in the end, was able to escape from the communists, and eventually made his way to South America.
I am not sure of the time-line involved in Sergei’s trek from Russia, nor do I know what routes he traversed, nor the hardships he endured to arrive, as he did, in Paraguay. There was a Russian doctor that practiced medicine in a Mennonite hospital some miles away from where Sergei’s house was located. I know that they were friends, but I do not know, at this point, if they helped each other escape Russia or if they became acquainted after they both arrived in Paraguay. In any case, Sergei had a small house very near the “Bruderhof” and the community hired him to help in clearing the jungle.
Although Sergei lived by himself and was quiet in nature, he was well liked by the members of the “Bruderhof”. Papa, especially, had a good relationship with him. I, also, liked Sergei, as did all the other children, because he would purchase candy at the Mennonite village and pass it out to all of us. However, because of the language problems the children were not able to talk with Sergei, but in spite of the difficulty in verbal communication, there was an obvious affection between Sergei and us kids. Papa and Sergei, though, were able to communicate quite well with each other. Somehow they were able to mix their German and Russia and come up with a viable way to get their ideas across to each other.
Sergei liked to fish in the Tapiraquay River, and was always able to land a lot of fish. I was especially impressed with the real nylon lines and genuine hooks that he had. We had to rely on cotton string with make-shift hooks. Sergei’s other passion, apart from fishing, was a butterfly collection that he had amassed. Probably, more than anything else, that collection was his most prized possession.
Then, in the early 1950s, a meteor struck Ibate, right next to Sergei’s house. I think that I was about eleven or twelve at the time. The meteor crash caused a tremendous boom. It was louder than any thunderstorm. I had never heard such a loud noise. I have heard sonic-booms from jet planes that, perhaps, would come close, but that thunderous boom was frightening! The pandemonium that ensued was also frightening.
There were cowboys, some miles away that watched as the meteor descended and crashed into the ground, and they hurriedly rode their horses toward the impact sight. Simultaneously, all the light bulbs in the village burst. I really mean that every bulb popped! A lady, who was the night-watch-person, was making her rounds and was checking on the sleeping children. She had just put her hand on a light switch to turn lights on when the meteor hit. She was zapped! Though the surge knocked her out, she did survive, and although outwardly shaken up, was alright.
At the same time, Sergei’s house caught on fire. Papa was close by and heard Sergei screaming. Running to Sergei’s house, Papa helped Sergei save what he could. Sergei was hysterical, one of his guns went off, and saltpeter that was being stored in the attic caught fire. In spite of Sergei’s hysteria, Papa and Sergei hastily gathered guns and furniture along with any pertinent articles they could save. Sadly, though, Sergei’s beloved butterfly collection, along with many of the glass covered boxes, were mostly destroyed by the growing inferno.
After the fire subsided, Papa heard Sergei crying and lamenting that God had to be mad at him otherwise all the things that occurred in his life would not have happened. Regardless of the many hardships that Sergei endured during his lifetime, the love and support of those families closest to him, surely was a source of great strength to him even after the comet came crashing down.
Sergei was tied to a tree, and forced to witness the execution of his entire family. I cannot possibly imagine the grief and pain that Sergei had endured due to the abhorrent acts that had been perpetrated. Sergei, in the end, was able to escape from the communists, and eventually made his way to South America.
I am not sure of the time-line involved in Sergei’s trek from Russia, nor do I know what routes he traversed, nor the hardships he endured to arrive, as he did, in Paraguay. There was a Russian doctor that practiced medicine in a Mennonite hospital some miles away from where Sergei’s house was located. I know that they were friends, but I do not know, at this point, if they helped each other escape Russia or if they became acquainted after they both arrived in Paraguay. In any case, Sergei had a small house very near the “Bruderhof” and the community hired him to help in clearing the jungle.
Although Sergei lived by himself and was quiet in nature, he was well liked by the members of the “Bruderhof”. Papa, especially, had a good relationship with him. I, also, liked Sergei, as did all the other children, because he would purchase candy at the Mennonite village and pass it out to all of us. However, because of the language problems the children were not able to talk with Sergei, but in spite of the difficulty in verbal communication, there was an obvious affection between Sergei and us kids. Papa and Sergei, though, were able to communicate quite well with each other. Somehow they were able to mix their German and Russia and come up with a viable way to get their ideas across to each other.
Sergei liked to fish in the Tapiraquay River, and was always able to land a lot of fish. I was especially impressed with the real nylon lines and genuine hooks that he had. We had to rely on cotton string with make-shift hooks. Sergei’s other passion, apart from fishing, was a butterfly collection that he had amassed. Probably, more than anything else, that collection was his most prized possession.
Then, in the early 1950s, a meteor struck Ibate, right next to Sergei’s house. I think that I was about eleven or twelve at the time. The meteor crash caused a tremendous boom. It was louder than any thunderstorm. I had never heard such a loud noise. I have heard sonic-booms from jet planes that, perhaps, would come close, but that thunderous boom was frightening! The pandemonium that ensued was also frightening.
There were cowboys, some miles away that watched as the meteor descended and crashed into the ground, and they hurriedly rode their horses toward the impact sight. Simultaneously, all the light bulbs in the village burst. I really mean that every bulb popped! A lady, who was the night-watch-person, was making her rounds and was checking on the sleeping children. She had just put her hand on a light switch to turn lights on when the meteor hit. She was zapped! Though the surge knocked her out, she did survive, and although outwardly shaken up, was alright.
At the same time, Sergei’s house caught on fire. Papa was close by and heard Sergei screaming. Running to Sergei’s house, Papa helped Sergei save what he could. Sergei was hysterical, one of his guns went off, and saltpeter that was being stored in the attic caught fire. In spite of Sergei’s hysteria, Papa and Sergei hastily gathered guns and furniture along with any pertinent articles they could save. Sadly, though, Sergei’s beloved butterfly collection, along with many of the glass covered boxes, were mostly destroyed by the growing inferno.
After the fire subsided, Papa heard Sergei crying and lamenting that God had to be mad at him otherwise all the things that occurred in his life would not have happened. Regardless of the many hardships that Sergei endured during his lifetime, the love and support of those families closest to him, surely was a source of great strength to him even after the comet came crashing down.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Arab y
Arab y
All my life, as far back as I can recall, I have had a love for horses. Even now, if there are horses anywhere, I have a great urge to stop whatever it is I am doing, and just watch. If I am doodling I invariably draw horse heads on the paper. My grandkids like for me to draw animals; dogs cats, pigs, whatever, but always it’s a horse that thrills them the most. Perhaps, because I draw them the most life-like.
In Paraguay, the thing I loved to do the most was ride horses. At least once a week we rode horses. We did not ride as a means of transportation, as when we traveled to other settlements. For those times, we hitched a horse to a wagon, and went to our destination. A horse and wagon was our “station wagon”. Our horse-back riding was always for recreation. During those times of pleasure, any horse was adequate. However, there was one horse, more than any other, that I wanted to ride! That horse was Arab y. I thought that he was a magnificent horse. However, everyone thought that Arab y was a little unpredictable, Consequently, I had quite some difficulty getting anyone to allow me to ride him.
A few months ago, my granddaughter gave me a movie entitled “Second Hand Lions”. In that movie there was a scene where the hero was riding a beautiful white stallion, not unlike Arab y. Also like Arab y, the horse in the movie was an Arabian horse. The hero was riding on a beach when another rider on an equally magnificent, though black, horse came riding along side. The race was on! That scene of the two beautiful horses racing side by side brought to my recollection the time that I, also, was in a race while riding Arab y.
After being turned down countless times, no matter how often I asked or cajoled, I was not able to persuade the powers that be, to allow me to ride Arab y. But I guess my persistence finally paid off, because I was able to get permission to ride my favorite horse. At the time, there was a cowboy with me, to make sure I would be safe. We started out calmly enough, with Arab y leading the way, but soon the pace escalated. The cowboy had gotten his horse to go a little faster and he soon overtook us and took the lead. Big mistake! I guess Arab y did not like following, because he kicked it into high gear and took off. Very quickly, Arab y passed the other horse, and the race was on . The cowboy tried, but was not able to catch up to us and the distance between the two horses grew farther and farther apart. We were traveling on a dirt road at speeds I had never ridden before! I was holding on for dear life! The cowboy tried to keep up, but Arab y was just too fast. The faster he ran, the harder I held on. I had no idea where Arab y was taking me, but I knew that there was no way that I was going to get him to change his mind. Before long, the saddle that was under me began to slide. I lost my stirrups! Then my shoes flew off! At the same time the saddle slid around to Arab y’s side! When I looked up to where we were headed, I saw that we were on a collision course with a gate! Just when I thought that we were going to crash into the gate, Arab y decided to stop. Four halting jumps and just inches before the fence, it all ended. Arab y came to a stand-still. In spite of myself, I had been able to hold on. The cowboy finally caught up and seeing that everything was safe, took control of Arab y. Man, that had to be the best race that I have ever had!!
All my life, as far back as I can recall, I have had a love for horses. Even now, if there are horses anywhere, I have a great urge to stop whatever it is I am doing, and just watch. If I am doodling I invariably draw horse heads on the paper. My grandkids like for me to draw animals; dogs cats, pigs, whatever, but always it’s a horse that thrills them the most. Perhaps, because I draw them the most life-like.
In Paraguay, the thing I loved to do the most was ride horses. At least once a week we rode horses. We did not ride as a means of transportation, as when we traveled to other settlements. For those times, we hitched a horse to a wagon, and went to our destination. A horse and wagon was our “station wagon”. Our horse-back riding was always for recreation. During those times of pleasure, any horse was adequate. However, there was one horse, more than any other, that I wanted to ride! That horse was Arab y. I thought that he was a magnificent horse. However, everyone thought that Arab y was a little unpredictable, Consequently, I had quite some difficulty getting anyone to allow me to ride him.
A few months ago, my granddaughter gave me a movie entitled “Second Hand Lions”. In that movie there was a scene where the hero was riding a beautiful white stallion, not unlike Arab y. Also like Arab y, the horse in the movie was an Arabian horse. The hero was riding on a beach when another rider on an equally magnificent, though black, horse came riding along side. The race was on! That scene of the two beautiful horses racing side by side brought to my recollection the time that I, also, was in a race while riding Arab y.
After being turned down countless times, no matter how often I asked or cajoled, I was not able to persuade the powers that be, to allow me to ride Arab y. But I guess my persistence finally paid off, because I was able to get permission to ride my favorite horse. At the time, there was a cowboy with me, to make sure I would be safe. We started out calmly enough, with Arab y leading the way, but soon the pace escalated. The cowboy had gotten his horse to go a little faster and he soon overtook us and took the lead. Big mistake! I guess Arab y did not like following, because he kicked it into high gear and took off. Very quickly, Arab y passed the other horse, and the race was on . The cowboy tried, but was not able to catch up to us and the distance between the two horses grew farther and farther apart. We were traveling on a dirt road at speeds I had never ridden before! I was holding on for dear life! The cowboy tried to keep up, but Arab y was just too fast. The faster he ran, the harder I held on. I had no idea where Arab y was taking me, but I knew that there was no way that I was going to get him to change his mind. Before long, the saddle that was under me began to slide. I lost my stirrups! Then my shoes flew off! At the same time the saddle slid around to Arab y’s side! When I looked up to where we were headed, I saw that we were on a collision course with a gate! Just when I thought that we were going to crash into the gate, Arab y decided to stop. Four halting jumps and just inches before the fence, it all ended. Arab y came to a stand-still. In spite of myself, I had been able to hold on. The cowboy finally caught up and seeing that everything was safe, took control of Arab y. Man, that had to be the best race that I have ever had!!
Saturday, March 20, 2010
The Adventure
The other day, two of my granddaughters, Rebekah and Rachel, along with another friend, decided to take a hike to explore their parent’s land. Actually their land only consists of about 7 ½ acres. That certainly is not a very large tract, but it is separated by a long pond with a lot of brush that impedes being able to see very far on the other side of the pond where the bulk of the land is located. So, when Rebekah (aged 9) and Rachel (aged 6) with their friend (also aged 9) embarked on their outing (I might add they “embarked” without informing their parents), they naturally proceeded to the far part of the land where it was impossible to see them from the house. Now the kids had snacks and drinks with them for a picnic, and in their quest for discovery, never gave a thought that Debbie (my daughter)would become worried when they were not playing around the house, as had always been their routine. Needless to say, when Debbie called them for lunch, and the girls were nowhere to be found, panic ensued. After about an hour of looking and calling (screaming would be more precise)for them, the girls were finally located. They were returning from their quest, oblivious that their parents were on the verge of calling the police and initiating a search party. So, when they returned, the girls could not imagine what all the fuss was about. There was a collective sigh from all involved, and life returned to its normal chaotic state.
The incident with my granddaughters reminded me of the time when a group of my class-mates and myself embarked on a similar adventure. There were, perhaps, around 20 students that decided to take a holiday from classes and find a more enjoyable way to spend the day. In Reality, we were wanting to play an April Fools Day joke on our teacher, Joerg. So, not unlike my grandkids, just up and left school without letting any adult know what we were going to do or where we were going. But unlike the 7 ½ acres, the Paraguayan trek was in an area that covered many miles. It was also rife with countless dangers, such as snakes, insects, and wild animals. Another difference was that of attitude. The attitude of the three girls, was one of innocence, while the attitude of us in the jungle was actually rebelliousness.
The decision to take a “holiday” was not meant to be vicious in defiance, but merely an act of innocent mischievousness. We were all in the same class room which, actually, was comprised of three grades, sixth, seventh and eighth. Our act was spontaneous and was not a conspiracy. We were all at our desks waiting for our teacher, who on that day, was late for class. Naturally, his tardiness, opened the door for a bright, though naughty, bunch of kids (that were wanting to sow some “wild oats”), to react to such an obvious invitation for a creative April Fools Day prank to be pursued.
Of course, it did not take long before our parents became worried about the missing students. And the search began! We had left school around eight A.M. and were located by Josua (a cowboy)about nine hours later. During that time we wandered the area from the school house through the orchards, through the woods and into the jungle. After about an hour of meandering, Francisco stumbled into a nest of yellow-jackets, and was attacked. He was stung several times. That incident, caused us to consider going back, but harder heads prevailed. We continued our wanderings, each one daring the other to persevere and to keep going. After a while we came upon a "rosada", or clearing, so we built a fire, and when the fire burned down to embers, we roasted "Mandioka" that we had gathered while "escaping" through the fields and orchards. "Mandioka" is a root vegetable similar to potatoes, and they tasted delicious having been roasted over the live coals, especially for a bunch of hungry teen-agers. Later while we were still in the middle of the jungle, we came upon a huge tree. We decided that we should all carve our names in it and the date of our adventure, April 1, 1957.
Except for the stings that Francisco had to endure and the fact that we were playing mass hooky, there were no noticeable injuries or misdemeanors. In spite of those facts, when Josua informed us that our parents were worried sick, and were searching all over for us, The fear of what was sure to be ahead of us prompted all of us to begin our exodus back to Ibate’ ( Ibate’ was where our school was). I guess I should point out that our return was executed with a great deal more haste than our venture into the wilderness. We ran! I must tell you, I did not think that we could cover so much ground in so short a time. Twenty minutes is about all the time it took for the return trip.
All in all, the adventure was exciting and, perhaps one of the most memorable times that I can remember in the “Brudehof“. But when we had to face the Brudeschaft, the embarrassment and shame that was going to be inflicted on us eclipsed all our excitement with fear. The Brudeschaft was the gathering of the brotherhood in times of important matters, or in our instance, an “inquisition” and scolding assemblage. One by one we marched into the room and were made to stand before all the parents and authorities while we were scolded and made to feel very ashamed. When my time came, I was very scared, and did not know what was going to be done to me. Danny M. ,who was a cowboy, told everyone present that I and a few others were “mitlaeufer”. When he said that, I was terrified! I was, in fact, one of the younger children and was only in the sixth grade. I was convinced that I was in serious trouble and was being singled out as a ring-leader of the “gang”. Their “inquisition” had put the “fear of the Lord” in all of us, but especially into me because of what Danny had said about me. It was one of the most abasing and emotionally charged incidents that I have ever faced in my life. Of course, if I would have known that Danny was actually defending me, and that “mitlaeufer” means follower and not ring-leader, I could have left the “Brudeschaft” in better spirits. Properly brought to task for my deed, and allowed to reenter the fellowship of the Bruderhof a humbler but wiser teen-ager. But, alas, it was only some time later that I discovered the meaning of that “condemning” word. I must admit, though, I was a more obedient child….for awhile anyway.
The other day, two of my granddaughters, Rebekah and Rachel, along with another friend, decided to take a hike to explore their parent’s land. Actually their land only consists of about 7 ½ acres. That certainly is not a very large tract, but it is separated by a long pond with a lot of brush that impedes being able to see very far on the other side of the pond where the bulk of the land is located. So, when Rebekah (aged 9) and Rachel (aged 6) with their friend (also aged 9) embarked on their outing (I might add they “embarked” without informing their parents), they naturally proceeded to the far part of the land where it was impossible to see them from the house. Now the kids had snacks and drinks with them for a picnic, and in their quest for discovery, never gave a thought that Debbie (my daughter)would become worried when they were not playing around the house, as had always been their routine. Needless to say, when Debbie called them for lunch, and the girls were nowhere to be found, panic ensued. After about an hour of looking and calling (screaming would be more precise)for them, the girls were finally located. They were returning from their quest, oblivious that their parents were on the verge of calling the police and initiating a search party. So, when they returned, the girls could not imagine what all the fuss was about. There was a collective sigh from all involved, and life returned to its normal chaotic state.
The incident with my granddaughters reminded me of the time when a group of my class-mates and myself embarked on a similar adventure. There were, perhaps, around 20 students that decided to take a holiday from classes and find a more enjoyable way to spend the day. In Reality, we were wanting to play an April Fools Day joke on our teacher, Joerg. So, not unlike my grandkids, just up and left school without letting any adult know what we were going to do or where we were going. But unlike the 7 ½ acres, the Paraguayan trek was in an area that covered many miles. It was also rife with countless dangers, such as snakes, insects, and wild animals. Another difference was that of attitude. The attitude of the three girls, was one of innocence, while the attitude of us in the jungle was actually rebelliousness.
The decision to take a “holiday” was not meant to be vicious in defiance, but merely an act of innocent mischievousness. We were all in the same class room which, actually, was comprised of three grades, sixth, seventh and eighth. Our act was spontaneous and was not a conspiracy. We were all at our desks waiting for our teacher, who on that day, was late for class. Naturally, his tardiness, opened the door for a bright, though naughty, bunch of kids (that were wanting to sow some “wild oats”), to react to such an obvious invitation for a creative April Fools Day prank to be pursued.
Of course, it did not take long before our parents became worried about the missing students. And the search began! We had left school around eight A.M. and were located by Josua (a cowboy)about nine hours later. During that time we wandered the area from the school house through the orchards, through the woods and into the jungle. After about an hour of meandering, Francisco stumbled into a nest of yellow-jackets, and was attacked. He was stung several times. That incident, caused us to consider going back, but harder heads prevailed. We continued our wanderings, each one daring the other to persevere and to keep going. After a while we came upon a "rosada", or clearing, so we built a fire, and when the fire burned down to embers, we roasted "Mandioka" that we had gathered while "escaping" through the fields and orchards. "Mandioka" is a root vegetable similar to potatoes, and they tasted delicious having been roasted over the live coals, especially for a bunch of hungry teen-agers. Later while we were still in the middle of the jungle, we came upon a huge tree. We decided that we should all carve our names in it and the date of our adventure, April 1, 1957.
Except for the stings that Francisco had to endure and the fact that we were playing mass hooky, there were no noticeable injuries or misdemeanors. In spite of those facts, when Josua informed us that our parents were worried sick, and were searching all over for us, The fear of what was sure to be ahead of us prompted all of us to begin our exodus back to Ibate’ ( Ibate’ was where our school was). I guess I should point out that our return was executed with a great deal more haste than our venture into the wilderness. We ran! I must tell you, I did not think that we could cover so much ground in so short a time. Twenty minutes is about all the time it took for the return trip.
All in all, the adventure was exciting and, perhaps one of the most memorable times that I can remember in the “Brudehof“. But when we had to face the Brudeschaft, the embarrassment and shame that was going to be inflicted on us eclipsed all our excitement with fear. The Brudeschaft was the gathering of the brotherhood in times of important matters, or in our instance, an “inquisition” and scolding assemblage. One by one we marched into the room and were made to stand before all the parents and authorities while we were scolded and made to feel very ashamed. When my time came, I was very scared, and did not know what was going to be done to me. Danny M. ,who was a cowboy, told everyone present that I and a few others were “mitlaeufer”. When he said that, I was terrified! I was, in fact, one of the younger children and was only in the sixth grade. I was convinced that I was in serious trouble and was being singled out as a ring-leader of the “gang”. Their “inquisition” had put the “fear of the Lord” in all of us, but especially into me because of what Danny had said about me. It was one of the most abasing and emotionally charged incidents that I have ever faced in my life. Of course, if I would have known that Danny was actually defending me, and that “mitlaeufer” means follower and not ring-leader, I could have left the “Brudeschaft” in better spirits. Properly brought to task for my deed, and allowed to reenter the fellowship of the Bruderhof a humbler but wiser teen-ager. But, alas, it was only some time later that I discovered the meaning of that “condemning” word. I must admit, though, I was a more obedient child….for awhile anyway.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
December 24, 1961, Le Havre, France. I could not believe how it could be so cold! The wind and cold felt as though they were penetrating to my bones. I did not know that it could be so miserably cold! And gloomy! The sky and the wharf seemed to blend into a single non-descript depressive gray. No sunshine! Not even a distinguishable cloud. Its as though God had used a very broad brush to stroke across the landscape a drab gray to welcome us to civilization from Paraguay. There was not even snow! At least then we could have enjoyed a sight that we had never witnessed before. No! Only that miserable, cold, and damp drizzle.
A couple of weeks earlier we were engulfed in the summer warmth of South America. Sun shine and tranquility. We were living at a pace that never caused any anxiety or worry that we would not finish (whatever it was that we were doing) on time. For all my 19 years, or at least for my teen years, I had longed for that day. At last I was going to gain my freedom! Yet, I had imagined a more serene, yet exciting, picture of what my future held. But that abominable cold and dreary greeting, that first impression…was I making a huge mistake?
Papa and Mama did not want me to leave the community and their protection. They worried about how I would survive on my own without their being able to shelter me. Up until that moment there had been no question in my mind that I could handle anything that could possibly be thrust in my way. However, we had only just walked off the boat and already I was beginning to have doubts. I was freezing! My clothes were too thin! My shoes did not keep my feet dry, and that dreadful incessant drizzle just continued to penetrate to the depths of my being. Yet, I knew that this discomfort would be temporary, and that in the end my dreams of freedom from the “Bruderhof” would be fulfilled.
Freedom was my quest, and, as sure as I was standing there in Le Havre, I would reach my “Holy Grail”. But the contrasts I was experiencing made me wonder what exactly was lying ahead for me. Somewhere, I heard Christmas music, but even those refrains sounded foreign to me. They were different from the music I was used to in Paraguay. I had always been told that the world outside the “Bruderhof” ,and everyone in it, were going to hell! And ,to be sure, the music I heard could not compare with what I had been used to in Paraguay. But surely, at least hopefully, that would not be completely true. In any case, I was determined to leave.
Papa and Mama did not want me to go, but if there was to be any chance of escape from the community, it was then. At that time my entire family, and in fact, the entire community, had left Paraguay, for America and England.
Too long I had been told that I “was not mature enough“. I was invited by Uncle Ken and Aunt Maizy to attend art school. Everything was paid for and Uncle Ken had even sent clothes for me. Needless to say I was filled with excitement at the prospect of going to school. Then! At the last minute came the word! “I was not mature enough“. The “Bruderhof” decided that I could not leave! And, to rub salt into already sore wounds, I was not even allowed to keep the clothes that Uncle Ken had sent, but had to share them. Perhaps I should not have felt that way, but I was really hurt! And if that were the only incident of being “not mature enough”, I probably would not feel like I do, but…,
“Eeeeyoww “!! The grayness had been pierced by the screams of my youngest brother, Raphael! At six years of age, he was not able to reason why it was cold, but only that he could not escape it. In desperation, he had thrown himself to the pavement and howled in cold agony. In reality, the temperature was not really freezing. But, the incessant cold drizzle we felt, was going to take its toll on all of us if we did not get inside soon. Raphael only verbalized what, probably, the rest of us were feeling. Finally, the hotel came in sight. To be sure we were a sorry looking lot. Mama and Papa with seven children aged six to nineteen, (I was the oldest) all dressed for summer in Paraguay. We boarded the ship in South America in summer, and arrived in France in the middle of winter. What a bedraggled sight we must have been!
Though we had only just arrived in Le Havre, this was not our destination. We were to sail for England after only one day in France. Tonight we were going to meet Mama’s cousin, Alix, who was living in Le Havre. But all I wanted was to get warm, have some hot tea, and take a hot shower!
I have really enjoyed the wonderful hot showers that I had been taking! Before starting out to leave Paraguay, I had never had a hot shower. Our facilities, in the jungle consisted of four walls, a corrugated metal roof and a concrete floor. Our water source was a barrel on the roof with a shower head protruding from it. The water was able to get a little warm from the sun, but for the most part the showers were cold.
Actually, our family was fortunate because Papa was the community baker. There was always a fire for the oven , and we had a barrel of water attached to the outside of the house that kept water hot all the time. (Actually, there were three buildings that had access to hot water: the bakery, the laundry and the kitchen which had the same type of system.) But alas, we could not take showers there. But for “Katzen-waesche” (wash-up with a bowl of water), we were fortunate to have the furnace in order to have constant hot water available. But the blessing of hot water also came with the curse of excessive heat year round, even in the summer. After all, we were living in a humid jungle south of the Equator! We had no air-conditioning!
When the rest of the community took “Katzen-waesche” they also utilized those special “water” houses where both hot and cold water was available. However, they had to carry buckets of hot water from those places, to wherever their houses were. While we lived at the bakery, hot water was convenient for us. However, when we moved from the bakery, the closest building with hot water was about seventy yards away. Being the oldest, it was my “privilege” to carry the water buckets when they were needed.
I spent my first nineteen years without knowing the absolute bliss of a hot shower.But upon arrival of Letty and I to Asuncion, and after experiencing the hotel shower, I have taken every chance to make up for all those years of hot shower “deprivation“! Ah, the simple pleasures that are so inexpensive, but somehow so luxurious!
A couple of weeks earlier we were engulfed in the summer warmth of South America. Sun shine and tranquility. We were living at a pace that never caused any anxiety or worry that we would not finish (whatever it was that we were doing) on time. For all my 19 years, or at least for my teen years, I had longed for that day. At last I was going to gain my freedom! Yet, I had imagined a more serene, yet exciting, picture of what my future held. But that abominable cold and dreary greeting, that first impression…was I making a huge mistake?
Papa and Mama did not want me to leave the community and their protection. They worried about how I would survive on my own without their being able to shelter me. Up until that moment there had been no question in my mind that I could handle anything that could possibly be thrust in my way. However, we had only just walked off the boat and already I was beginning to have doubts. I was freezing! My clothes were too thin! My shoes did not keep my feet dry, and that dreadful incessant drizzle just continued to penetrate to the depths of my being. Yet, I knew that this discomfort would be temporary, and that in the end my dreams of freedom from the “Bruderhof” would be fulfilled.
Freedom was my quest, and, as sure as I was standing there in Le Havre, I would reach my “Holy Grail”. But the contrasts I was experiencing made me wonder what exactly was lying ahead for me. Somewhere, I heard Christmas music, but even those refrains sounded foreign to me. They were different from the music I was used to in Paraguay. I had always been told that the world outside the “Bruderhof” ,and everyone in it, were going to hell! And ,to be sure, the music I heard could not compare with what I had been used to in Paraguay. But surely, at least hopefully, that would not be completely true. In any case, I was determined to leave.
Papa and Mama did not want me to go, but if there was to be any chance of escape from the community, it was then. At that time my entire family, and in fact, the entire community, had left Paraguay, for America and England.
Too long I had been told that I “was not mature enough“. I was invited by Uncle Ken and Aunt Maizy to attend art school. Everything was paid for and Uncle Ken had even sent clothes for me. Needless to say I was filled with excitement at the prospect of going to school. Then! At the last minute came the word! “I was not mature enough“. The “Bruderhof” decided that I could not leave! And, to rub salt into already sore wounds, I was not even allowed to keep the clothes that Uncle Ken had sent, but had to share them. Perhaps I should not have felt that way, but I was really hurt! And if that were the only incident of being “not mature enough”, I probably would not feel like I do, but…,
“Eeeeyoww “!! The grayness had been pierced by the screams of my youngest brother, Raphael! At six years of age, he was not able to reason why it was cold, but only that he could not escape it. In desperation, he had thrown himself to the pavement and howled in cold agony. In reality, the temperature was not really freezing. But, the incessant cold drizzle we felt, was going to take its toll on all of us if we did not get inside soon. Raphael only verbalized what, probably, the rest of us were feeling. Finally, the hotel came in sight. To be sure we were a sorry looking lot. Mama and Papa with seven children aged six to nineteen, (I was the oldest) all dressed for summer in Paraguay. We boarded the ship in South America in summer, and arrived in France in the middle of winter. What a bedraggled sight we must have been!
Though we had only just arrived in Le Havre, this was not our destination. We were to sail for England after only one day in France. Tonight we were going to meet Mama’s cousin, Alix, who was living in Le Havre. But all I wanted was to get warm, have some hot tea, and take a hot shower!
I have really enjoyed the wonderful hot showers that I had been taking! Before starting out to leave Paraguay, I had never had a hot shower. Our facilities, in the jungle consisted of four walls, a corrugated metal roof and a concrete floor. Our water source was a barrel on the roof with a shower head protruding from it. The water was able to get a little warm from the sun, but for the most part the showers were cold.
Actually, our family was fortunate because Papa was the community baker. There was always a fire for the oven , and we had a barrel of water attached to the outside of the house that kept water hot all the time. (Actually, there were three buildings that had access to hot water: the bakery, the laundry and the kitchen which had the same type of system.) But alas, we could not take showers there. But for “Katzen-waesche” (wash-up with a bowl of water), we were fortunate to have the furnace in order to have constant hot water available. But the blessing of hot water also came with the curse of excessive heat year round, even in the summer. After all, we were living in a humid jungle south of the Equator! We had no air-conditioning!
When the rest of the community took “Katzen-waesche” they also utilized those special “water” houses where both hot and cold water was available. However, they had to carry buckets of hot water from those places, to wherever their houses were. While we lived at the bakery, hot water was convenient for us. However, when we moved from the bakery, the closest building with hot water was about seventy yards away. Being the oldest, it was my “privilege” to carry the water buckets when they were needed.
I spent my first nineteen years without knowing the absolute bliss of a hot shower.But upon arrival of Letty and I to Asuncion, and after experiencing the hotel shower, I have taken every chance to make up for all those years of hot shower “deprivation“! Ah, the simple pleasures that are so inexpensive, but somehow so luxurious!
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Leaving The Jungle
Letty was fifteen and I was nineteen when we all left Paraguay for Europe. Our house was located about three miles from the tiny air strip from where the small single engine plane was to take-off . One thing to realize, is that when I say air-strip, there should be no similarity in anyone’s mind to an airfield. Our air-strip was a long patch in a field that had been cleared for a small one engine plane to utilize . Actually, the field was a pasture with grazing cattle, that was occasionally used for planes to take off and land. Of course a pilot had to contend with numerous “cow patties” and very large ant hills. And, if one was to be a passenger then that person had to chase the cows from the air-strip to allow the plane to land. Of course, our family was no exception, and with the help of our pilot diving low above the cattle we were able to “persuade” the cattle to abandon their eating area. Personally, I thought it was a lot like herding cats. You would never know which direction the cows would run, or for that matter,if they would remain in the place where you shooed them. However, Letty and I where fortunate, because when we arrived at the air-strip the plane had been able to land without our help and the plane and pilot were ready for us to board.
Because there were nine in our family it would take four trips in the tiny plane to get all of us, with our luggage, to Asuncion. Once at the Capital ,we would eventually board a ship bound for Europe. Letty and I were to be the first of the Staengl family to leave, so Papa loaded us, along with our luggage , onto the wagon, “giddy-upped” the horses, and off we went. Following the cart path we traversed the few miles to the tiny air-strip . The plan was to do the same until all the family made it to the Paraguayan Capitol. For Letty and I, everything worked perfectly. The plane was waiting, and after boarding with our luggage, the pilot cranked up the plane. I mean that he literally “cranked” the propeller to get the plane started! The pilot skillfully avoided the ant hills, and soon we were flying high over the jungle. Although I anxiously anticipated the flight, I must admit that when I saw the jungle beneath us, I thought it looked like a huge cabbage patch. I could not help but wonder what would happen if we were to fall from the sky. But, in spite of my thoughts, there really was no fright. We merely relaxed and enjoyed the experience of soaring like birds. Everything went well, and we arrived safe and sound at the hotel. After our arrival, all we had to do was wait for the arrival of the rest of the family.
The plan had been for a trip to be made daily from the jungle on the little plane until all the family made it to Asuncion. Sometimes, or maybe even often, our plans do not go as smoothly as we expect. The weather turned bad and it became impossible for the little plane to land. However, Papa would load the wagon with the next group, hoping against hope that they would be able to board the plane for Asuncion. Each day they would have to load the wagon, hitch up the horses, travel the slow bumpy cart path to the air-strip, just to watch the plane unable to land. And, each day, they would leave the air-strip, return to the house, rewash the children’s clothes, make sure they were all bathed, reload the wagon, harness the horses, and once again travel to the air-strip. Just to watch the plane circling overhead, unable to land, because of all the water on the landing strip. You could shoo the cattle from the air-strip, and even avoid the ant hills and cow patties, but water on the landing area made it impossible for landing.
Papa and Mama were worried about Letty and I being alone in Asuncion. They were concerned for our safety. We however, were having the time of our lives enjoying a freedom that we had not been permitted to have up until then. It was several days before the rest of the Staengl family were able to arrive at the hotel. In the end, they were not able to take the plane, as the weather refused to accommodate them. Instead, they had to catch a “lancha” (shuttle boat) to bring them up the Paraguay river, to the Paraguayan Capitol.
Even though Letty and I were free to enjoy our unsupervised adventures, we never left the safety of our hotel. The streets were really unsafe for two young “women” alone in Asuncion. In fact, our hotel was surrounded by a high wall with barbed wire and broken bottles on the top, as a precaution to keep unwanted “guests” on the outside. The point was well taken, and in spite of feeling some relief of having shed the shackles of community life, our confidence was not great enough to shed our common sense, and general fear of the unknown. We stayed put inside the safety of the hotel walls.
During our time alone in Asuncion, Letty and I had to wash our clothes in the sink and hang them out of the window to dry. Bad choice! All our underwear was stolen! We were in the civilized world! We were even in the confines of a “safe zone” inside the hotel walls. Imagine that! Still,” all’s well that ends well”. Papa gave us money to buy new underwear. What an unexpected treat! We not only were allowed to buy new underwear, but were also able to buy our very first “new” blue-jeans. We felt, at last, that we were ready for the voyage to England.
Letty was fifteen and I was nineteen when we all left Paraguay for Europe. Our house was located about three miles from the tiny air strip from where the small single engine plane was to take-off . One thing to realize, is that when I say air-strip, there should be no similarity in anyone’s mind to an airfield. Our air-strip was a long patch in a field that had been cleared for a small one engine plane to utilize . Actually, the field was a pasture with grazing cattle, that was occasionally used for planes to take off and land. Of course a pilot had to contend with numerous “cow patties” and very large ant hills. And, if one was to be a passenger then that person had to chase the cows from the air-strip to allow the plane to land. Of course, our family was no exception, and with the help of our pilot diving low above the cattle we were able to “persuade” the cattle to abandon their eating area. Personally, I thought it was a lot like herding cats. You would never know which direction the cows would run, or for that matter,if they would remain in the place where you shooed them. However, Letty and I where fortunate, because when we arrived at the air-strip the plane had been able to land without our help and the plane and pilot were ready for us to board.
Because there were nine in our family it would take four trips in the tiny plane to get all of us, with our luggage, to Asuncion. Once at the Capital ,we would eventually board a ship bound for Europe. Letty and I were to be the first of the Staengl family to leave, so Papa loaded us, along with our luggage , onto the wagon, “giddy-upped” the horses, and off we went. Following the cart path we traversed the few miles to the tiny air-strip . The plan was to do the same until all the family made it to the Paraguayan Capitol. For Letty and I, everything worked perfectly. The plane was waiting, and after boarding with our luggage, the pilot cranked up the plane. I mean that he literally “cranked” the propeller to get the plane started! The pilot skillfully avoided the ant hills, and soon we were flying high over the jungle. Although I anxiously anticipated the flight, I must admit that when I saw the jungle beneath us, I thought it looked like a huge cabbage patch. I could not help but wonder what would happen if we were to fall from the sky. But, in spite of my thoughts, there really was no fright. We merely relaxed and enjoyed the experience of soaring like birds. Everything went well, and we arrived safe and sound at the hotel. After our arrival, all we had to do was wait for the arrival of the rest of the family.
The plan had been for a trip to be made daily from the jungle on the little plane until all the family made it to Asuncion. Sometimes, or maybe even often, our plans do not go as smoothly as we expect. The weather turned bad and it became impossible for the little plane to land. However, Papa would load the wagon with the next group, hoping against hope that they would be able to board the plane for Asuncion. Each day they would have to load the wagon, hitch up the horses, travel the slow bumpy cart path to the air-strip, just to watch the plane unable to land. And, each day, they would leave the air-strip, return to the house, rewash the children’s clothes, make sure they were all bathed, reload the wagon, harness the horses, and once again travel to the air-strip. Just to watch the plane circling overhead, unable to land, because of all the water on the landing strip. You could shoo the cattle from the air-strip, and even avoid the ant hills and cow patties, but water on the landing area made it impossible for landing.
Papa and Mama were worried about Letty and I being alone in Asuncion. They were concerned for our safety. We however, were having the time of our lives enjoying a freedom that we had not been permitted to have up until then. It was several days before the rest of the Staengl family were able to arrive at the hotel. In the end, they were not able to take the plane, as the weather refused to accommodate them. Instead, they had to catch a “lancha” (shuttle boat) to bring them up the Paraguay river, to the Paraguayan Capitol.
Even though Letty and I were free to enjoy our unsupervised adventures, we never left the safety of our hotel. The streets were really unsafe for two young “women” alone in Asuncion. In fact, our hotel was surrounded by a high wall with barbed wire and broken bottles on the top, as a precaution to keep unwanted “guests” on the outside. The point was well taken, and in spite of feeling some relief of having shed the shackles of community life, our confidence was not great enough to shed our common sense, and general fear of the unknown. We stayed put inside the safety of the hotel walls.
During our time alone in Asuncion, Letty and I had to wash our clothes in the sink and hang them out of the window to dry. Bad choice! All our underwear was stolen! We were in the civilized world! We were even in the confines of a “safe zone” inside the hotel walls. Imagine that! Still,” all’s well that ends well”. Papa gave us money to buy new underwear. What an unexpected treat! We not only were allowed to buy new underwear, but were also able to buy our very first “new” blue-jeans. We felt, at last, that we were ready for the voyage to England.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Mama
I really feel that Mama was a free spirited person, not only growing up, but actually, for all her life. True, that spirit was, perhaps, a little stifled by the austere life of the “Bruderhof”, or maybe because of how she suspected the “Bruderhof” wanted her to act. No matter which, most of the time she lived her life consistent with the life one would expect an adult in the Community would act. But, on those rare occasions when she was allowed a time away from the stern and confining atmosphere of the “Bruderhof”, Mama did spread her wings, AND SHE DID FLY!
I do not remember the date of Luke’s son Galen’s wedding (I hope to find out and include after editing this section), but I do know that she was in her eighties. The wedding was held outside on a beautiful, though cool, summer day. Joanna, the bride, was beautiful, the groom was anxious, Luke and Joanna’s father were nervous, the food was sumptuous, the ceremony was proper, BUT, and I really want to emphasize the but, MAMA WAS THE STAR!!
After the bride and groom had their moment in the sun, Mama, the exuberant octogenarian, took over! Oh, she did not mean to upstage the bride, she was merely in the moment. Transported back to France, to her former life when she danced with Charlie Chaplin and played tennis with the King of Sweden (we have a picture of her playing with the king), back to a time before wars, emigrations and years of hardships and suffering.
When the music began, so did Mama! Mama loved music and had an ear for it(you can see that in the musical abilities of her children ). She just reacted to the allure of the music and her spirit blithely flowed with it. Mama kept up with all the twenty-something men that had the nerve to dance with her. One young man dropped to his knees bowed with obeisance after dancing with her, paying homage to this eighty-something with the energy of a teenager. Before I continue this story, I want you to understand that alcohol played no part in this scene of joy and excitement. Only the simple act of opening the cage door and allowing the spirit freedom.
There was a conga line, (Mama was very near the front of it) and Mama dressed in the 17th century garb of the “Bruderhof, ankle-length, complete with a kerchief on her head, where she had to be stopped from jumping into the pool with all her clothes on. It happened every time the line snaked close to the pool. Though it was summer, it was quite chilly, and perhaps that was how we were able to prevent her from diving in. (We had other reunions where she did dive into pools.)
To be sure, the wedding was, indeed, beautiful, Galen’s in-laws were gracious, the atmosphere at the “Greek Wedding” was festive, but if you would ask any of the attendees what they remembered over all else, there would be a resounding reply. MAMA!!!!
I really feel that Mama was a free spirited person, not only growing up, but actually, for all her life. True, that spirit was, perhaps, a little stifled by the austere life of the “Bruderhof”, or maybe because of how she suspected the “Bruderhof” wanted her to act. No matter which, most of the time she lived her life consistent with the life one would expect an adult in the Community would act. But, on those rare occasions when she was allowed a time away from the stern and confining atmosphere of the “Bruderhof”, Mama did spread her wings, AND SHE DID FLY!
I do not remember the date of Luke’s son Galen’s wedding (I hope to find out and include after editing this section), but I do know that she was in her eighties. The wedding was held outside on a beautiful, though cool, summer day. Joanna, the bride, was beautiful, the groom was anxious, Luke and Joanna’s father were nervous, the food was sumptuous, the ceremony was proper, BUT, and I really want to emphasize the but, MAMA WAS THE STAR!!
After the bride and groom had their moment in the sun, Mama, the exuberant octogenarian, took over! Oh, she did not mean to upstage the bride, she was merely in the moment. Transported back to France, to her former life when she danced with Charlie Chaplin and played tennis with the King of Sweden (we have a picture of her playing with the king), back to a time before wars, emigrations and years of hardships and suffering.
When the music began, so did Mama! Mama loved music and had an ear for it(you can see that in the musical abilities of her children ). She just reacted to the allure of the music and her spirit blithely flowed with it. Mama kept up with all the twenty-something men that had the nerve to dance with her. One young man dropped to his knees bowed with obeisance after dancing with her, paying homage to this eighty-something with the energy of a teenager. Before I continue this story, I want you to understand that alcohol played no part in this scene of joy and excitement. Only the simple act of opening the cage door and allowing the spirit freedom.
There was a conga line, (Mama was very near the front of it) and Mama dressed in the 17th century garb of the “Bruderhof, ankle-length, complete with a kerchief on her head, where she had to be stopped from jumping into the pool with all her clothes on. It happened every time the line snaked close to the pool. Though it was summer, it was quite chilly, and perhaps that was how we were able to prevent her from diving in. (We had other reunions where she did dive into pools.)
To be sure, the wedding was, indeed, beautiful, Galen’s in-laws were gracious, the atmosphere at the “Greek Wedding” was festive, but if you would ask any of the attendees what they remembered over all else, there would be a resounding reply. MAMA!!!!
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