GRANDMOTHER CORDELIA
GRANDMOTHER CORDELIA.
My grandmother, Cordelia Gulden Krebs was born in 1833
in Wurtemberg, in the village of Aizheim, in the province of Westphalia.
Her parents were Dionysius Gulden and Maria Gratwohl. They had 15 children!
Dionysius was born in 1787 in Bavaria, and at the age of 21 entered the
military service as valet to an officer in Napoleon's army. He served from
1810 to 1815, and was said to have died of the effects of exposure to the
cold during these wars. According to his account "It was so cold that the
soldiers' boots froze to the ground if they stood for long in one spot.".
He married at the age of 29, and died in 1846 at age 57.
In 1847 Maria Gulden came to America on the steamship "Amalia" with her
8 surviving children, and settled near St Lawrence, Wisconsin.
I think of her as a very brave woman, part of the
wave of immigrants to the New World. My grandmother was 13 at the time.
None of her family spoke English, and none had had a formal education.
What they did have was a paper with the names and addresses of relatives
in Wisconsin; this precious paper was their entree to life in the United
States.
These relatives took them into their homes to stay
until they had acquired land, and built a house of their own on it. Thus
many such families from the old country were given their start.
My grandparents managed to run their farm successfully,
and rear a large family, 5 boys and 5 girls (2 babies, both named Caroline,
died in infancy) that 10 children lived to maturity, and most of them to
old age is in itself amazing for those days.
Cordelia claimed to have noble blood in her heritage,
while Joseph came from Bavarian peasant stock. Nevertheless, their marriage
was reasonably happy, and certainly productive! They were married when
she was 17 and he, 22. "Reasonably happy" implies only an occasional spat.
But one nighttime argument was serious. Cordelia
decided to leave for her mother's house early in the morning. At dawn she
packed some food and clothing in a pillow case, and stole out of the house,
carrying her infant son, Johnny.
Walking purposefully along in the fresh morning
air, she was soon about 2 miles from home, and at this point she was still
quite sure of the wisdom of her decision. "A wife can only stand so much,"
she thought. "I wonder why I ever married him! Joseph is pig-headed, stubborn
and unreasonable!" Self-pity welled up in her, and then the baby began
to whimper. She noticed a large, flat rock at the side of the road, and
decided to rest there and nurse Johnny, and have a bit of food.
Alas, it came over her that the burdens she carried
were heavier than she had imagined. Gradually, as she sat there nibbling
a piece of bread, she realized the enormity of this break with Joseph and
with tradition. The thought of the implications weighed more heavily on
her spirit. Tears ran down her cheeks.
A young woman on her way to visit a neighbor noticed
this forlorn young mother, quietly crying and hugging her baby to her breast.
Moved by pity, she walked over to her, and stood nearby, at a loss how
to greet her. At last she said "My dear girl, what are you doing here?
Shouldn't you be at home?"
The woman's concern was too much for Cordelia, and
she began sobbing afresh. "I was so angry with my husband. . .We had an
argument last night". .more sobbing. ."I never want to see him again, so
I'm running away with our baby to my mother's house."
The woman sat down beside her, and gently took the
baby from her, cradling it and putting her free arm around the girl's trembling
shoulders.
"Don't you know," she began, "that all young couples
quarrel sometimes? My husband and I did when we were first married. In
fact, we still do, but we always make up. That is what I think you must
do now. . .Oh" she said hesitantly. "He doesn't beat you, does he?"
"Oh, no," emphatically, "Joseph would never beat
me. "He," more weeping, "He loves me." Then she slowly got to her feet
and held out her arms for the baby.
"Thank you, dear lady! You have helped me. . .I
guess we had better go back now. Walk with me part of the way, please."
And so, side by side they went, and traded carrying
Johnny and the little sack. Cordelia began to worry that she had done a
foolish thing in leaving. "After all," she thought, "I don't think Joseph
would ever leave me and Johnny. Our argument was partly my fault. Oh I
hope he is not too upset!"
Just then they saw down the road ahead a horse and
rider trotting towards them.
"Joseph!"
"Cordie!"
He drew near, and, smiling with joy, she handed
both baby and sack to her new friend to hold, while she placed her foot
in the waiting stirrup and swung up behind Joseph. She leaned her head
against his back, and he turned to kiss her smiling mouth. Then he reached
down to take his little son, and Cordie caught up the odious sack.
"My husband, Joseph," she began, "And I am Cordelia.
. .Cordie. Our last name is Krebs.
"And I am your neighbor, Inge Gulden. My husband
and I have just come from the old country. We're staying with his uncle's
wife and children."
"But my mother's name is Gulden. She lives not far
from here."
"Yes, I know her" said Inge, laughing. "Your father
must have been my husband's uncle! So you and he are cousins! Wunder bar!"
"Yes!" said Cordelia, laughing, too. "Oh, Inge,
you and your husband must come to visit us, isn't that right, Joseph?"
"Yes, my darling. Good-bye for now, Inge, we must
be getting home, Much work awaits us!"
"Good-bye. . .Good-bye!"
Off they rode, back to their life together: their
farm, their home, and their dreams.
They gave Johnny 9 brothers and sisters; one about
every 2 years: my aunts and uncles; John, Pauline, Cordelia, Conrad, Frank,
Leonard, Josephine, Margaret , Mike, and last of all, my mother, Anna.
They lived in a mostly German and Swedish community
of farms near the town of St. Lawrence, Wisconsin, and not far from Milwaukee.
Doctors were scarce, and since Cordelia was knowledgeable
in herbal medicine and ways of caring for the sick, her help was often
sought.
Growing wild in forest and field, there was a special
bounty for my grandmother's medicine chest: the herbs which she gathered,
and prepared, and stored in labeled bottles and jars for curing a variety
of ailments. Her lore, her knowledge of these herbs and their uses, helped
heal her family and neighboring families who came to her for help in sickness.
My doctor father had great respect for her.
My grandfather, Joseph Krebs, was, according to
my grandmother, as "healthy as a tree." However, he and his cronies decided,
now that they were prosperous farmers, that a trip to the Old Country would
be of great benefit to them. There were spas there, where one could "take
the waters," and be served only the most healthful of foods: no meat, but
plenty of vegetables and fruits.
Perhaps some of that fine, old German beer would
be considered healthful, too? Having sons old enough now to carry on the
farm work left Joseph free to travel!Perhaps Cordelia was relieved to have
him follow his whim. Besides, it meant that she could now serve meat at
the dinner-table to her large hard working family. "No
meat at my table!" Joseph would boast every now and then. However, unbeknownst
to him, meat was served every night, after the regular family dinner, and
once Joseph was busy with his pipeand reading in the living-room. The meat
and plates and silver were carried out the back door, and served up there
to the waiting family, and eaten with relish! My grandmother
believed in a well-balanced diet, of which meat was an essential part.
In a sense, she did not go against her husband in this matter, because
his rule was, after all, "No meat at my table!"
My grandfather, never cruel or abusive, was still
a prototype of the German head of the household. His word was law, and
he ruled with authority. In contrast, my grandmother, though strong in
her own way, was also a gentle kind of mother. However, because she needed
to keep 5 big, lusty boys in line, she wore a leather strap at her waist,
which, my mother told me, she was never known to use. In moments of crisis,
when words failed to control her sons, her hand would stray to the stray.
That action, with a meaningful look, was all that was needed to restore
peace.
Besides her talent for healing, she
was clairvoyant. Lady friends from neighboring farms
liked to gather at one of their homes to sew and chat, and sip their tea,
and enjoy Cordie's "reading" the tea-leaves in each cup. "Come, now, Cordie"
one would say, "Look in my cup and tell me what's going to happen!" Sometimes
her predictions came true; this made it all the more exciting.
One particular afternoon Cordie picked up her own
cup first and peered into it intently. Then, gazing around the circle of
friends, she said "I see a young man in a dark suit, riding a white horse.
. .He is coming down the road."
Some of the ladies gasped in disbelief. One of them
ran to the door and looked out. "There he is!" she cried, "Coming down
the road. . .on a white horse! Come and look!" They all ran to the door
to see for themselves.
All but Cordie; she was in a state of wonder, almost
unwilling to believe her power! But then she moved towards the cluster
of women, and stood on tiptoe to peer over their heads.
"Yes," she breathed, "He's there all right. . .coming
down the road!"
Returning to her chair, she sat down as if in a,
dream. The women turned to her, struck with fear and mistrust. One said
in a hushed voice, ''How could you know he was coming?" Another shook her
head and said "This just seems wrong. . .like the power of the devil!"
And another said, "Maybe you're a witch!"
Poor Cordie began to weep openly. After a bit, though,
she drew a deep breath, and wiped her cheeks with her handkerchief, and
felt ready to speak.
She said, looking bravely around the room from face
to face, "I don't understand how I see these things happening. . .But it
doesn't seem evil to me, It's just a power I have. But all the same I have
decided not to tell fortunes anymore." And she never did!
The women who had witnessed that last "public" prediction
of hers accepted her back into the group, and no more was ever said about
it amongst them.
However, she could not quell her clairvoyance; she
simply did not mention the insights except to her understanding family.
Cordelia was clever in business affairs.
After my grandfather's death in l884, she sold their farm in Wisconsin,
and traveled with her family to Oregon. At that time my mother was 9 years
old. With money from the sale she bought one of the first lumber mills
in the state. It was so successful that a few years later she sold it to
buy a 246 acre farm near Salem. This was eventually increased to 600 acres
for growing hops. For many years Olympia Brewery was their main customer.
Finally Krebs hopyards became the largest in the world.
The yards hired itinerant pickers; anyone in the Salem-Portland area who
wanted a "paid vacation" for light work during the late summer and autumn
harvest season. My uncles founded a very small town near the hopyards,
and named it "Independence." It came to life and catered generously to
the hop-pickers" needs and recreation.
To entice workers to the yards, advertisements were
handed about town. The following two-liner quote is from a copy I have
of this ad: "Dancing Pavilion: we have a dance-hall 50 by 150 feet, which
accommodates 500 couples, where a select Portland orchestra furnishes Music
nightly, which will make you forget all your troubles, and restore the
vigor of youth!"
The whole operation was highly successful; the payroll
averaged close to a million dollars each season, according to the newspaper
article I have, taken from the Oregonian.
The old "Independence". . .dance-hall, living-quarters,
stores. . .has fallen; crumbled with age and disrepair, and the hopyards
have long since given way to orchards, owned still by members of the Krebs
family.
Not far from the original "Independence" stands
a fine, thriving town of the same name, which my eldest son, Pierce, and
I visited in the summer of 1997.
Though I never met my Uncle Leonard,
he was described to me as a tall, sturdily-built man; a hard worker who
supervised the yards. Pickers who had harvested on the Krebs farm for a
season knew Leonard for a fair, no-nonsense boss; quiet and pleasant and
decisive. Even his family and friends never expected Leonard to say much,
but when he did speak, people paid attention. He was considered a wise
and effective man; he was also thought to have a rather wicked sense of
humor. One morning, when my father had been invited by
Leonard to tour the hopyards with him, they were walking together leisurely
between two of the lofty rows of hop vines, as Leonard pointed out whatever
he thought might interest my father. The pickers were methodically pulling
off the hops, lost in the rhythm of their work; it was an idyllic
farm-scene.
Leonard was in the middle of something about the
need for removing unhealthy vines, when a burly, angry looking worker stepped
unsteadily down from his ladder, grabbed Leonard's arm, and snarled, "I
bin waitin' t'see you, Mr. Krebs!" The man was at least half-drunk. "Yer
not payin' me what I'm worth. I bin mad fer a long time, an' now I got
this fer you!" With that, he hauled his fist back to let him have it. Quick
as lightening Leonard socked him! A perfect K.O! Then, neatly stepping
over the man, he motioned to two of his workers to carry him off. Dusting
his hands, and smiling roguishly, as though his unpleasant scene had never
taken place, Leonard continued where they had left off. "You see, Doctor,
these vines right here are not doing well. . .withered foliage. They'll
have to come out."
They finished their tour, and Leonard seemed to
have forgotten about his recent labor problem; at least he never mentioned
it.
Angus, however, enjoyed telling the story, ending
with, "That was so like Leonard. Just take care of the problem and move
right along."
Some time in his youth my Uncle Frank
ran away from home. Someone, friend or relative, seemed to know that he
boarded the train, and rode it all the way to the eastern coast. As far
as I know, he never returned, and was seldom heard from again.
Mike, the youngest son, and Anna's playmate when they were little, was
a cheerful, trusting fellow; unambitious, and therefore willing to play
a minor role in the hopyards, doing whatever work his brothers assigned
him. He was well-loved by the family, never married, and was looked upon
by everyone as a sort of homey philosopher. He kept a little book of sayings
he had heard and liked. "Never trouble Trouble til1Trouble troubles you,
"Never worry; never hurry." In later years, when he had difficulty supporting
himself, his brothers and mother helped him out. In fact, when he and my
mother were the last surviving children of the Krebs family, she sent him
a check every month, enclosed in a newsy letter. Before my mother's death,
she instructed me to do the same, which I faithfully did, letter and all.
A week later I would receive a letter back from Uncle Mike, thanking me
and telling me his bits of news. I developed a real affection for him,
really the only uncle I had a chance to be at all close to.
John, the eldest, and the next in line, Conrad,
took charge of the hopyards. They, along with Leonard, were a great combination:
John, the natural farmer with sound dollar sense, and Conrad, the clever
business-man, with Leonard, the perfect overseer, and Mike to assist him,
made the Krebs Farm a very profitable family operation.
Years later John and his wife, Elizabeth, who had
no children of their own, adopted Will, a nephew and son of Leonard, who
died when he was 13, and he carried on the tradition.
Eventually, when Will's two sons were graduated
from Oregon Agricultural College, and returned home, they brought new farming
technology. After much energetic discussion, they were able to convince
their father to replace the hopyards with orchards. This was a wise decision;
the same land which has been in the Krebs family for almost 100 years is
still producing well!
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