• Embed Doc
  • Copy Link
  • Readcast
  • Collections
  • CommentGo Back
Download
 
Bernard Siehling
You Can Always Come Back to the Farm
Oct. 8, 2000
October 08, 2000Bernard SiehlingYOU CAN ALWAYS COME BACK TO THE FARMIn a long delayed attempt at writing a biography of sorts, I want to make this firstfeeble effort. Why do I live in the Grand Rapids area? In about 1890 my grandfather Johann Suehling's younger brother Aloys, being the second born son, struck out on hisown to found his clan in "Amerika". He sailed to New York and duly passed throughEllis Island, where the ü in the name Sühling was without any fanfare changed to readSiehling, most likely because a customs agent misread the German umlaut.My granduncle Aloys from Westenborken/Westfalen took a train to Grand Rapids andas he stepped off the train, the story goes, he noticed an immigrant girl debark and promised himself to pursue the idea of getting to know her. Her name was LouiseWormser; she had left Alsace Lorraine in search of a new home in Grand Rapids. Theywere married and set up farming, the only reliable profession of their time, in Alpinetownship and town of Wright, near Grand Rapids. They worked as farmhands until they bought various parcels and finally liked the 40 acre square at the corner of 4 Mile andCordes. They lived in a big farmhouse with their 3 children: Valerie, Amalie and Albert.Albert died as youngster of nine years and is buried in St. Joseph's cemetery in Wright.The two girls showed no interest in farming and grand uncle Aloys (by now known asLouis Siehling) established contact with his nephew Bernhard on the old homestead inGermany who, like his uncle Louis, was the second son on the farm and again had tosearch for making his own living since by ancient tradition only the oldest son couldinherit the farm and continue the family lineage.Bernhard's decision was made easier by the fact that his older brother Hermann, wholost a leg during the First World War, would not be ideally suited for farm work with anartificial leg. Hermann was ruled by family consent to study for an alternate profession,namely dairy manager, and his younger brother was to become the farmer instead. Legaland financial considerations caused older brother Hermann to change his mind, withagitation by clan members, who convinced him, that his government pension shouldalways allow him to pay a hired hand, thereby qualifying him to claim his heritage as theoldest son. Bernhard had put in a few years of time as prospective next-generation-farmer, and some friction in that respect made his decision to leave for the U.S. simpler.He and his close friend from school and brass band days, Bernhard Looks, swiftly sailedfor Michigan. They hired on as farmhands and saved a nest egg for going intoindependent business as farmers. Eventually, as old age made it optional, Ben Siehlingwas to help his uncle with farm work with the idea to buy his uncle out.Uncle Louis' two daughters were not interested in the homestead. The oldest, Valeria,had a brief liaison with a traveling musician and bore a child, George Southard; Amaliamarried a neighbor, Carl Bergman, also a farmer. They died at 80-90 years of agewithout offspring.Before Bernhard Suehling left Westenborken, he had on the occasion of a brief stay atthe Stadtlohn hospital eye clinic for treatment, met a young student cook and had thecourage to slip a note under her bedroom door, telling her of his admiration for her. Heleft the country without further encounters with her, and for the next 4 years maintainedmail contact until they thought they knew each other well enough to make plans for her tosail to America. Hedwig Hopp was 24 years old when, after much family planning and
Page 1 of 36
 
Bernard Siehling
You Can Always Come Back to the Farm
Oct. 8, 2000
debate, she set sail in 1928 from Bremerhaven to New York. Bernhard met her in NewYork for a first face-to-face get-acquainted meeting and they rode the train to GrandRapids.To avoid problems of homesickness, she took a job as housekeeper for theAdolph/Augusta Rasch Hake couple for one year, courting all the time and they set awedding date for 17 Nov. 1929 at Holy Trinity Church in Alpine. They set up house-keeping in a small house built next to grand uncle Louis Siehling's farmhouse on thecorner of 4 Mile and Cordes in Alpine township. That little paradise became thecollection point and gathering place for many of the German immigrants that rode the1920s wave to a life in the New World. Hedwig was known as an excellent cook andmany an out of work (depression) young man/woman could be counted on to help withfarm chores.When, after a few months of married life, Hedwig was not expecting yet, the youngcouple got worried about being left childless, until the situation suddenly changed. I, thewriter, was under way, slated to be born in late 1930. The baby's room was ready, the baby showers took place, until at the beginning of October 1930 the following happened.Hedwig was at a baby shower and notified of an accident that happened on 4 Mile Rd.near Fruitridge Ave. Bernhard, with older friends August Bockheim and Adolf Stille, hadtaken a quick trip to pick up medicine at a Marne (Berlin) pharmacy, when on the wayhome with Adolf Stille driving his car, they collided with a diesel-electric passenger commuter train. The driver A. Stille was seriously hurt and August Bockheim wasthrown clear of the wreck with some broken ribs. Bernard was riding with his beagle dogin the back seat and was trapped in the car wreck. The train stopped and loaded theinjured up for the ride to St. Mary's hospital in Grand Rapids. Even though Bernard wasalive and briefly made eye contact with his very pregnant wife, Hedwig, he passed awayshortly with unspecified internal bleeding injuries on the 4th of October 1930. He was buried in Holy Trinity cemetery in Alpine township.Hedwig notified the families back in Germany and it was decided that she stay toawait the birth of the baby. Five weeks after the accident, I, Bernard John Siehling, was born and that year was now complete in as far as Hedwig, my mother, became a bride, ahousewife, a widow and a mother all within the time of one year. With the help of friends, Mathilde Schneider (later Bockheim) she survived the problems of a first timemother and a new baby and returned to her parents in May of 1931 on board the Germanliner, Bremen, with the baby Bernard being the youngest passenger on that crossing. Asthe liner arrived in Bremerhaven a series of snapshots documents the maternalgrandparents waiting dockside to welcome their widowed daughter and first grandson,who were to make his home for the next years with Heinrich and Elisabeth Hopp asdoting grandparents with the support of daughter Aenne (19 years old).As time went on, the question of my mother Hedwig's remarriage was discussed infamily councils. She had rejected out of hand a possible liaison between her as a widowand my father Bernard's buddy Bernard Looks. But with constant visits of her and the baby Bernie to the homestead in Westenborken, a consensus developed that a union between her and her first husband's older brother, Hermann might be a given. Her  parents-in-law were enthusiastic when the topic came up, more so, since the single premium payment of my father's life insurance left her with a sizable amount of cash, thatwas now quickly invested in the expansion of the existing living quarters to get the houseready for several generations living under one roof.
Page 2 of 36
 
Bernard Siehling
You Can Always Come Back to the Farm
Oct. 8, 2000
5 children were to come of that marriage that took place in 1932, 4 boys and finallyone girl. As a youngster, I remember tears in my mother's eyes many times over, withoutcomprehending the reasons. During the next 5 years of her second marriage, she lost todeath a (maiden-aunt) sister-in-law, her parents-in-law, a son, Walter, at one and a half years of age, her own father, and experienced her 2 sisters-in-law and her own sister,Aenne, enter the convent. Only seven years later, she saw the outbreak of the 2
nd
WorldWar.It was her joy of life on the farm with all inherent duties and work pressures, and her constant, sometimes exaggerated concern for her children's safety that left me with adefinite impression during my childhood years. Life on the farm was a cycle of constantseasonal enjoyment of newborn livestock; in between I could hardly find time to visit mymaternal grandparents and the restricted life style circumstances in the village left deep-seated impressions on me.As children, we learned early on that during springtime, during hatching, foaling,farrowing season, the mother animals get very touchy, very protective of their offspring,and special care is absolutely necessary. We would let the sow out of the sty, so we could play with the litter. The piglets did not like to be picked up, and would call the mother for help, if you held on to them. An irate sow might just be able to raise the latch, openthe door and come storming in; so caution was called for. Mares that were known asdocile suddenly became undependable, would kick and bite their handlers, all to guardthe offspring. My uncle Aloys obtained a tooth mark on his forehead when Malchen'smother Olga seemed to detect adversary intent on his part. A hen with newly hatchedchicks would battle us kids if we ever tried to pick them up. The most fearless fighterswere the little banty hens.My first bantys I raised by begging some eggs from the neighbor and talking my pigeons into setting on them. The obvious problem is that pigeons take 18 days andchickens take 21 days to hatch. If the time runs out without life in the eggs trying to peck its way out, the mothers abandon the nest by nature's rule. My pigeons were patient and4 eggs all hatched successfully, however, pigeons cannot raise chicks; they feed their young beak-to-beak. I raised the chicks under a light bulb, but during the day left them ina hot bed, depending on the heat of the sun and fermenting horse manure to providewarmth. On one occasion, the heat overwhelmed them. I came home from school andquickly opened the glass cover for ventilation. The cat had watched me and one chick was prematurely dispatched. The other three grew up as 2 roosters and 1 hen and nextyear swelled the numbers by a dozen chicks. When I was 5 years old, our 2 year old StBernard, a male without offspring to worry about, turned on me for no known reason. Hewas tethered on a chain and had a doghouse to sleep in. All the kids would often crowdinto his abode and he would crawl in with us making for tight quarters. He had never even growled at any of us kids. I remember seeing my hands covered with blood and ranto call for Mom, who almost fainted when she saw me. The dog had ripped my cheek and lower lip but I never felt it. The vet happened to be visiting and expressed thecommon claim that St Bernard dogs just don't react that way. My guess is, that he waseating and felt intruded upon. I never held it against the dog. My cheek got repaired with7 clamps and my lip sewn up and the "Schmiss"-scar remains as identifying body mark.When the potato silo behind Gantefort's "Spieker" was built, I was about 6 years oldand the neighborhood children were watching the cement pouring process. The adultskept warning us to stay out of the way, or we would get a spanking, if we didn't. listen.My reply: "You with your bow legs cannot get me!" I had heard adults refer to this hired
Page 3 of 36
of 00

Leave a Comment

You must be to leave a comment.
Submit
Characters: ...
You must be to leave a comment.
Submit
Characters: ...