Monday, September 23, 2024

Pigeon Falls



From: Magdalen Dale
Sent: Saturday, September 7, 2024 12:13 PM
To: office@peacelutheranofpigeonfalls.org
Subject: date the church was built?

 

Hello-

 

My great grandfather, John Ingvald Dale, was born in Pigeon Falls in 1880.  I'm wondering if it's possible that he was baptized at Peace Lutheran Church. 

 

Can you tell me when the church was built?

 

Thank you for considering this request.

 

Sincerely,

Magdalen Dale

 

From: <office@peacelutheranofpigeonfalls.org>
Date: Mon, Sep 23, 2024 at 11:33 AM
Subject: RE: date the church was built?
To: Magdalen Dale 

Hello Magdalen!

 

The church records we have start in 1885. Attached is some photos and church history that I thought you might enjoy. If I can be of any further assistance please let me know.

 

Peace,

Kristina Hanson, Secretary

Peace Lutheran of Pigeon Falls




From: Magdalen Dale 
Date: Mon, Sep 23, 2024 at 1:51 PM
Subject: Re: date the church was built?
To: <office@peacelutheranofpigeonfalls.org>

Miigwech Kristina!  

The parents of my great grandfather (John Ingvald Dale) were Bendix and Guina Ostensen.  They were both born in Norway in 1851, so would have been 27 in 1878 when the Evangelical Lutheran Church of Pigeon Falls was organized by Scandinavian pioneers.  I don't know if they had come to Pigeon Falls yet, but likely A. Ostenson, who was listed as being at that first meeting, was a relative of ours.  It's possible, I guess, that John Ingvald Dale, born in Pigeon Falls in 1880, would have been baptized by Rev. C. J. Helsem in their or a neighbor's home or in the Olds schoolhouse (presently occupied by the Paul Skadahl family).  From the church history that you shared, I can assume that any mention of his baptism would have been recorded in Norwegian, now faded, and hard to read or translate.  I wonder if I had family who attended church in Pigeon Falls after the church was constructed in 1888.  

In 1906, John married a local one-room school house teacher, Lilly Overby, perhaps in the Evangelical Lutheran Church of Pigeon Falls.   

John attended the University of Wisconsin at Madison where he studied Dairy Science and went on to become a buttermaker at a large creamery in Wanamingo, Minnesota. 

I'm not sure of the order of these events, but plan to do a little digging to see if I can find a marriage record and/or education records.  

John was highly respected in his profession and judged "butter" entered for competition at the Minnesota State Fair for many years.  He and Lilly raised a large family in Wanamingo--11 kids (eight survived to become adults).  My dad's dad, Stanford William, was second eldest.
   
My dad, Richard Dale, recalls-- "During the war years, the Wanamingo creamery closed leaving my Grandpa Dale (John), now in his middle fifties without work and dependent on his adult children.  There was no severance, social security, or pension.  The children banded together and bought their parents a small (10-40 acres?) farmstead on the out-skirts of Forest Lake. Grandma Dale raised chickens and would walk daily to a store in Forest Lake where she sold her eggs.  John always had a cow at that time for milk and annually raised a calf. A job was finally found at Elk River where Grandpa was an engineer for the boilers at the power plant for a few years before retiring.  Your Grandma Dale lived with John and Lilly during the war when my Dad was away serving in the U.S. Border Patrol in Texas and Louisiana.  It was during this time that your Grandma Dale became very close to my Dad's sister Mildred, whose husband was away in the Army, as Mildred would come to the farm often to help her parents, tend gardens, and can vegetables.  Kirk, my Dad's brother's wife, was also often present as her husband was away serving in the Navy and their Forest Lake home was within view of the farm.  Huge "Dale family" communal gardens were grown at the Forest Lake Farm during the late depression, war years, and during the immediate post-war years.  I was born in 1946.  During the late 40's and early 50's my folks lived in Minneapolis and we often went to the "farm" on weekends for family gatherings and to work the gardens. Two of my uncles, Charles and Philip, together ran a commercial strawberry plantation on the farm for several years during that period.  It was a great time for me as a young boy as there were always cousins my own age to play with, open spaces to explore, animals, a barn to play in, and the garden and strawberry field activity.  Who knows what influences this time had on my future.  These were formative years for me--and happy memories."

My parents, Rick and Janet Dale, are the founders of Highland Valley Farm in Bayfield, Wisconsin, where I was born and raised.  My brother Jon runs our family farm now.  My wife works for the Red Cliff tribal farm and I work for Northland College.  We live inland between Bayfield and Cornucopia and our kids attend school in Bayfield.  

Recently, I've been interested in following my roots back to the driftless area.  We brought our kids to LaCrosse over spring break.  This summer I returned with a friend to attend the Great River Folk Festival.  Leaving LaCrosse, we set our GPS to Pigeon Falls.  What beautiful country!  We drove through Blair where my great grandmather, Lilly Overby, was born.  I didn't realize this was her birth town until looking at records later.  Next time we will stop here too.  We did stop in Pigeon Falls and found our way to the church and cemetery.  I wandered and wondered about the significant events in my ancestor's lives that might have happened there.  

Miigwech for replying to my reach out.   We aren't neighbors currently, but it's fun to think about how our ancestors might have been.   

Love,
Magdalen Dale 



Sunday, November 24, 2019

my (im)perfect eulogy

This picture is posed, not candid.  She was not really a cuddly grandma, though I think she would have liked to be, wanted the world to see her this way, even if it wasn't her nature.  I remember sitting for these pictures when my mom was starting her child care business (Janet's House).  Mom (or likely dad) wanted a picture to put on the flyers.  My grandparents supported my mom in so many small and big ways.  They moved to Bayfield around the same time my mom opened her daycare and helped with it's operation as well as being there to help with my brothers and I.  Any time any of us travelled, they gave us a card with extra money so we could experience where we were beyond just getting ourselves there.  


I wrote the following in 2017 in an email to a few of my closest friends.  I thought maybe I would edit it into a blogpost at some point, but I never had it in me, or got to it, but I returned to it today and realized it doesn't need any editing.  It is my (im)perfect eulogy to the (im)perfect woman who was my Grandma Heist:

My grandma died early Friday and I've been struggling to find the words for the mixed emotions, for this wonderful and wonderfully complex woman--an agitated grandmother for peace, lover of my ordained grandpa, but bitter towards the church, motherless at four, and orphaned at seven, left to raise her younger sister, her cousins, her children and grandchildren, devoted teacher to many more in Iowa, Papua New Guinea, and at Janet's House.

Friday night Oscar and I came home from the farm and spent our evening outdoors, building a fire, cooking and eating venison brats, weeding and eating from the garden.
"You be the baby kitty and I'll be the mama kitty," he says as the sun sets behind the trees.
And a little little later when I let out a sob, for the grandma I've lost, for the parents she lost when she was still so young, he turns to me in pink glow and asks with such care, "What's the matter baby kitty?"

Her last years have been hard, the past year especially, for her, for my mom.... Dementia takes away the person you know and leaves a shell, a whisper (or angry shouts) of who they once were.  I’ve wished so much there was another way.

You be the baby kitty and I’ll be the mama kitty.  
[this part needs more… how the roles shift, from mama to baby and back? does a troubled past, or a troubled present, make it harder or easier to love?  Maybe like Sherman Alexie, not having the typical motherly love as much (as his recent memoir is about) allows more love for strangers?]

She was not the kind of grandma to smother me in kisses, or snuggle my baby son.  But she was the kind of grandma that would wear a rainbow button on her jacket and tell everyone how much she loved her lesbian granddaughter.

If the grandma I knew was present today, she would have been nodding her head at Tina Fey on Weekend Update last Saturday. She would not have been discouraged in these times, but fired up! (Overwhelming so.)  Gripping arms in the library, the grocery store, the hardware store, slipping Alexie's Hymn into pockets, mailboxes, electric bills, and then sending me to the library to make a hundred copies more.

Monday, January 09, 2017

My grandma turned 95 today

“I don’t know what to do for her birthday.  It’s so hard to know what will be meaningful, and not overwhelming.”  My mom confessed to me over the weekend.  I made a plan to meet her at the nursing home in the morning, before I bring Oscar to daycare.  
We beat her there.  Walk back to Grandma’s room, but the door is shut and through the door I hear the voice of the aides helping to clean her and her bed.

We walk back to the front room, where my mom is pressing candles into a loaf of Coco’s pumpkin bread. When Grandma was still living at home, she would have us buy these for her by the dozen, to be stored in her freezer and eaten over a couple weeks.  

When we return to her room, my mom knocks and the aides are just finishing up.  Grandma is distressed, calling  “Janet! Don’t go!”  as my mom returns to us in the hall.

“I’m coming right back,” she tells her.
“It’s okay, Mom.” I say as she fumbles to light the candles.
“It’s okay, Ya-ya!” a little voice echoes. 

We walk in the room, singing happy birthday.  All relaxing a bit, as we focus on the warm light of the candles and Oscar’s eager face.  
“Will you help me blow them out?”  Grandma asks him and together they blow at the candles.  

She wants it cut a certain way.  Passes a few pieces to me.  And tells mom, she wants some, but not now.  Asks her to put it in the bottom drawer, which is full of her clothes and depends.  

I put my hand on her knee.  She turns to me.  “It’s so awful” she says, “when the shit comes pouring out and they are on the floor cleaning it.  And they get impatient with me.  Even the ones that like me.  Because they work long hours, I know.”  

A little while later:  “I want to recite a poem: A poem is a tree. But fools make schools, make fools like me.  But only God can make a tree.”

I move her table so I can give her a hug.  She holds on and exhales in my arms.  

Before we go she asks if we can help move her back to her bed.  Mom takes Oscar into the hall and I help Grandma walk to the bed. Lift her legs into the covers. Adjust her pillow.  Kiss her head.  


Trees 
By Joyce Kilmer, 1914

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.