Mom Was a Storyteller
When we were little, Mom read stories to us kids at bedtime and told stories of various events from her childhood. She was a keen observer of the human condition and told us about local happenings in our neighborhood and the little village of McFarland, Wisconsin, where we grew up.
The population was predominately Scandinavian and German. Norwegians probably were the largest ethnic group in the town and surrounding farms. The elementary school and the Lutheran church were the center of the community’s religious and social life. Many parents participated in lively PTA meetings. Movies, plays, dances and sports events at the school were well attended.
The Ham Dinner was an annual affair at the school, where parents, children, teachers, school staff and other community members met for an evening meal. The women cooked the ham, potatoes and whatever else was on the menu, and served everyone.
Many times, Mom told us about a time when she was working in the kitchen with the other women, preparing this dinner. She was filling plates alongside two other women, who were talking about a third woman, someone in a family that had just moved to the community and wasn’t very well known.
“She’s so nice,” remarked one of the women.
“Isn’t she!” the other exclaimed, “and she’s not Norwegian!”
This last comment was framed in such a way as to almost ask a question — how could this be? Is it possible for someone be so nice, and not be Norwegian?
Our family was also new to the community. We lived five miles from town. Our grandparents didn’t live there. We weren’t a farming family. We weren’t Norwegian, Danish, Swedish or German, and we weren’t Lutheran. We attended the Episcopal church in Madison.
But we and other families who didn’t have Northern European roots weren’t excluded, either. As a child, I might have preferred going to the Lutheran church and being in Luther League with many of my classmates. Yet I had my friends and felt accepted, even though we weren’t Scandinavian or Lutheran.
Looking back, I realize my mom’s funny story also says something about the people of this small, close-knit community, that they could welcome and get along with people who weren’t quite like them, if they were nice.
It’s an ethic we could use a lot more of in today’s troubled world.
Fran Ransley, a relative newcomer to Eureka, is so nice.
