May 1st was the birthday for Vern’s brother, Mel, and my best friend, Miggs, who shared many years of adventure with me in my 1930 Model A Ford.  Sadly, they are both gone now, leaving large holes in our lives.  The memories are good.
        My nephew, Duane Pfister, who has lived for many years in Irvine, California, is a May person.

Duane 1950

        My niece, Suzie Burke, who, to me, is the heart and soul of Fremont, is another.

Suzie Christmas of 2007

        Both of Vern’s parents arrived in this world in May… David in Hog Boda (High Town), Varmland, Sweden, and Ida on Foglo Island, one of the 6,000 plus islands that make up the group named Aland Islands, which is about half way between Sweden and Finland in the Baltic Sea.
        Aland is unique in that they have their own flag and currency and accept as their own Swedish and Finish money.  The Islands have been “owned” at one time or another by both Sweden and Finland.  When Ida was born there, they were allegient to Sweden, and she called herself Swedish all her days.  After WWII, the League of Nations awarded them to Finland.. and so the islanders now call themselves Finns.

Ida and David 1912

        Both David and Ida came to America in their early twenties, met and married in Chicago, and came to Seattle in 1918, where they spent the rest of their lives in the Ballard neighborhood. Mel, their firstborn, arrived in Chicago, in 1913.  Vern was born in Ballard in 1918.

Vern and Mel 1923

        My uncle John Gierhofer was born the last day of May in Austria and came to America with his parents and two sisters, Mary (my Mom) and Frances, in 1891. The picture of the Gierhofer family is probably from 1892 as Ida is a baby, born in Sheboygan, Wisconsin, in March of 1892.

Top, Frank Gierhofer.  Second row, Frances and John.
Front row Mary and another Frances.
Baby is Ida.

        John and I visited the Suzzallo Library on the UW campus.  They have a humungus section of old newspapers and magazines to peruse.  I wanted mostly to see some of the Green Lake Reporters that were put out by E. B. Newman during the time I worked at Green Lake State Bank.  We searched through a lot of them without finding much that I found to be of interest.  Even so, they brought back memories of that time in my life.

        I remembered that Vern’s father was the lead carpenter on that beautiful building.  Neither Vern nor I recall what builder he was working for at that time.

Northwest Prime Time published the story I  call

Intermittent Memory

                When we hit a certain time in our lives, most of us will experience an annoying little problem with the previously dependable portion of our brains devoted to memory.  Right in the middle of what we are telling someone, something shuts down and we are left with an open mouth and a non-functioning  thought process,  The first time it happens, we are struck with fear…. Are we becoming victims of Alzheimer’s?  Not to worry.  I can say from experience that this comes and goes over time until you finally get almost used to it.
                I recall the time my sister, Florence, and I were playing our own unorthodox brand of Scrabble and she was telling me about the  wonderful movie she had seen on television the evening before.  She gave me a run down on the plot as it had developed and was well on her way to making it come alive for me and was telling me who the actors were, when she came to a sudden stop……”You know”, she said, “The handsome, dark haired guy…” “Tyrone Power?” I chimed in helpfully.  “No! No!, You know… He has a beautiful speaking voice.  I think he is English.”  “Laurence Olivier?”, I prompted.  “No!  No!  You know……”
                Since I didn’t have any more great ideas, we went on to other things and I forgot all about it until the next morning, early, when she called me on the ‘phone to say she had awakened at 2 a.m., sat bolt upright in bed, and shouted, “Ronald Coleman!”
                So you see, even when we aren’t knowingly nudging those brain cells, they are busily going on with the business of remembering. No wonder they need a break once in awhile.

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        I must have said something my pink dogwood tree did not like as it has turned its blossoms away from where we can see them.  I was shocked when walking up our alley from the Latona end, to see the tree as a sea of pink blooms. Inside our yard, we have a plain, green tent.  I shall have to watch my mouth in future.  Our camellia bloomed only on it’s back side when, in fun, I called it Macallia.  I don’t recall what might have set off the dogwood, but assume it was something I said.
        The flowering crabapple wasted its lovely blooms during the bad weather that discouraged our lettuce.  I pulled up some of the lovely pictures Nan took of it in 2006 and enjoyed them, since this year was such a bust.

        Our three lilacs and numerous rhodies aren’t mad at me.  They are all putting forth beautiful displays.  I particularly love the lilacs.  Their perfume is a delight every spring.
        The big rhubarb plant on the ‘way down part of our front terrace produced the lovely, big stalks for my favorite spring fruit dish… stewed rhubarb sauce.  Mom always said it was the ultimate spring tonic.  I love it.. even if it IS good for me.

        I think I jumped the gun planting my lettuces in the containers on our driveway as we have been experiencing another cold snap since they went out. Hildy tells me the plants are not settling in for good growth and that I may have to replant them later.  I knew that when I put them out… that I was taking a chance, but sure wish they didn’t take it so hard.  Show a little spunk, Lettuce!

        Mid-month brings a wedding anniversary for Vern and me.  This one is our 64th.  We celebrated with a home delivered pizza and a small cheesecake garnished with fresh strawberries.  It really doesn’t feel like all that long ago…. although it just takes one look at the “snow” on our roofs to know time has passed.

Vern and Dorothea, May 13, 1944

        It was another of those sad surprises to find an obituary for old friend Leighton Hilbert.  Leighton and Mickie (Mary Sherman Hilbert) were a couple we met when she (Mickie) brought their firstborn, Roger, to visit her parents, who were neighbors of ours in Lake Forest Park.  Roger and our son, Dave, were just about the same age, so Mickie and I were soon friends and we have remained so over the years.
        Leighton was a world-class woodcarver.  His eagles were majestic and perfect down to the last feather.  He carved the City Seal for Seattle.  It is a profile of Chief Sealth and hangs in the Mayor’s office.
        Mickie was a well-published writer. One of her stories, The Sandpiper, has been published many times over, including Reader’s Digest and Library of Congress.
        Our families visited back and forth during the time our kids were growing up.  Sometime during that era, the Hilberts built themselves a “summer place” at Mutiny Sands on Whidbey Island.  It was unique…. a teepee… only it was made of wood.  When they moved into it at retirement, they built a one-storey “surround”, which made it look like (in Mickie’s words) a witch’s hat. Whatever it was, it was a great place to visit, which Vern and I did, periodically, until a few years ago.
        Mickie and I continued our friendship by e-mail for many years.  Now, her son tells me, she is not using her computer and is in an Alzheimer’s care place.   I will miss our correspondence more than I can say.

        Our neighbors, Sandy and Cliff, hosted a great barbecue on Memorial Day. I walked the few yards down the alley to their back yard and spent a pleasant couple of hours visiting with folks I don’t see very often, but enjoy when I do.  Clydean McCarn and Joyce Eslick, Bill Gough, Peter and Annemarie Colina and their two kids, Sandy and Cliff Shettler and their two kids, and Norbert and Krystyna Untersteiner are long time neighbors.  Most of the others are new to me, and I enjoyed meeting the new folks who live nearby….. not to mention the good food

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A good friend sent me the following, which is a quote from Paul Harvey:

DIRT ROADS

What’s mainly wrong with society today is that too many dirt roads have been paved.

There’s not a problem in America today, crime, drugs, education, divorce, delinquency that wouldn’t be remedied if we just had more dirt roads, because dirt roads give character. People that live at the end of dirt roads learn early on that life can be a bumpy ride. That it can jar you right down to your teeth sometimes, but it is worth it if at the end is home….a loving spouse, happy kids and a dog.

We wouldn’t have near the touble with our educational system if our kids got their exercise walking a dirt road with other kids from whom they learn how to get along.

There was less crime in our streets before they were paved. Criminals didn’t walk two dusty miles to rob or rape if they knew they would be welcomed by 5 barking dogs and a double-barrel shotgun.

And there were no drive by shootings.

Our values were better when our roads were worse!

People did not worship their cars more than their kids and motorists were more courteous.  They wouldn’t tailgate by riding the bumper or the guy in front would choke you with dust and bust your windshield with rocks.

Dirt roads taught patience.

Dirt roads were environmentally friendly, you didn’t hop in your car for a quart of milk, you walked to your barn for your milk.

For your mail, you walked to the mailbox.

What if it rained and the Dirt Road got washed out?  That was the best part, then you stayed home and had some family time, roasted marshmallows and popped popcorn and pony rode on Daddy’s shoulders and learned how to make prettier quilts than anybody.

At the end of Dirt Roads you soon learned that bad words tasted like soap.

Most paved roads lead to trouble.  Dirt Roads more likely lead to a fishing creek or a swimming hole.

At the end of a Dirt Road, the only time we even locked our car was in August, because if we didn’t, some neighbor would fill it with too much zucchini.

At the end of a Dirt Road, there was always extra summer income from when city dudes would get stuck, you’d have to hitch up a team and haul them out. Usually, you got a dollar… always you got a new friend… at the end of a Dirt Road.

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        By the end of May, I can say my portable garden is going strong.  I have picked lettuce leaves for our dinner salad a couple of times, and the tomatoes are blooming.  If our weather would just settle down to being a “normal” late Spring, we might have a few tomatoes by 4th of July.  (Are you listening, whoever sends us our goofy weather?)

Final Thought for May: (I like her idea!)
        “I’m not going to vacuum until Sears makes one you can ride on.”
                                                - Roseanne Barr

Dixie/Dorothea, Senior Editor

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