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~ by Naomi Gaede Penner

Prescription for Adventure

Category Archives: Kansas

Harvest: From Kansas Wheat Fields to Alaska Tundra

07 Thursday Jul 2016

Posted by Naomi Gaede Penner in Kansas, Uncategorized

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Vintage combine - courtesy photo from Paul Penner, Past President of the National Association of Wheat Growers

Vintage Combine Photo:Vintage combine – courtesy photo from Paul Penner, Past President of the National Association of Wheat Growers

As a preschooler, harvest time on my Grandparent Leppke’s farm, outside Peabody, Kansas, was an annual ritual I never forgot, even when our family moved from Kansas wheat fields to Alaska tundra.

July brought golden-headed wheat and harvest time – and soaking humidity and 100 degree heat. The farmers waited, carefully watching for just the right time. For several days prior, Grandpa would drive out to each field, climb out of the his red 1951 Dodge truck, and walk out into the wheat. He’d snap a head or two from a stalk. In the palm of his hand, he’d rub the head in a circular motion to shell out the kernels and gently blow the chaff away. One by one he’d take each kernel into his mouth, biting his teeth against it, listening for a “pop” as he bit it in two. Even when the sound and feel were right, and even when the urge was to hurry and harvest, he’d combine a few bushels and take a coffee can full to the Co-op for a moisture test, hoping for less than 13 percent.

Family and friends worked together, returning to their home places if they had moved to the city. Even as a child, I could feel the adrenaline.

Grandpa, Dad, my older cousin, Dean, and young uncle Wilbur stumbled out of bed at 5:00 am. Before preparing equipment for the fields—greasing combine bearings, pumping gas into trucks, checking engine oil and checking for loose machinery belts—they downed thick, buttered slices of homemade bread and frosted cinnamon rolls, cereal and milk. After the dew dried, they climbed onto combines. A snack was taken to the field in the mornings, and then at noon, dinner was served there as well. At 4:00 pm, Grandma, Mom, and other full-skirted women relatives returned with “lunch,” carrying baskets of homemade cookies, cake, and donuts. Jars of tepid tea, ice already melted by the glaring sun, barely quenched the sweaty, straw-hatted workers’ thirst. And regardless of the Kansas summer heat, Grandpa preferred a jar of hot Postum, a “healthy” coffee substitute from the 1890s, made from powdered roasted grain.

Women weren’t merely servers of hospitality. They drove trucks alongside the combines, caught the reapings, and transported them to the grain Co-op in Aulne, four miles north of the farm. I sat beside Grandma on these runs. Hot, dry wind blew through the open windows, carrying dust, chaff, and occasional grasshoppers. All was well in my world as I sipped from a shared bottle of strawberry or orange soda pop.

 Exhausted, sweat-drenched men ended their day at 8:30 or 9:00 pm, when dew dampened the fields. Fried chicken or pork chops, mashed potatoes and gravy, creamed peas, sliced cucumbers in vinegar dressing, and peach pie were eaten in the near silence of numb fatigue. Windows that had been shut in the morning to fend off heat and dust were pushed up, inviting any breeze to bring whatever coolness the night had. Grandma and Mom finished washing dishes as hard-shelled June bugs clung scratchily to screens and crackled underfoot outdoors. Crickets chirped while everyone collapsed into bed and fell immediately into dreamless sleep, too tired even to dread the alarm coming in five or six hours.

Headering Wheat - Oklahoma - Henry Gaede and Frank Janzen

Everyone worked anxiously with an eye to the sky, watching clouds, always vigilant for a weather change; for wind, rain, and hail are harvest’s bitter enemies. Days and nights blended together in fatigue. Depending on rain, muddy fields, and machinery breakdowns, harvest would last for three to four weeks.

Sunday was the only day of rest. No matter whether clouds boiled in the skies and threatened destruction, Grandpa and the other men put on crisp suits and ties, and Grandma and the women smoothed out wrinkles in their Sunday-best dresses to sit on hard pews in the motionless heat of un-air-conditioned buildings. Here, they lifted their voices to sing hymns, and then listened to sermons and prayed, always mindful of Who made the wheat grow and Who gave the harvest. I sat beside Grandma. Through these country church experiences that were mixed into the everydayness of life, my parents’ and grandparents’ trust in God soaked into me, watered deep by shared experiences, singing in harmony, putting coins in the offering plate, hearing familiar Bible stories, and echoing “Amens.”

Throughout my life, when our many moves threatened to unhinge my security, I revisited those early experiences, trying to find and feel those moments of stability, until eventually they became idealized.

Excerpt from “From Kansas Wheat Fields to Alaska Tundra: a Mennonite Family Finds Home.” Find and purchase Naomi’s Prescription for Adventure books, at www.prescriptionforadventure.com or by calling 303.506.6181.

 

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Dust Storms, Stock Tanks, and a Sticker Patch

14 Tuesday Jul 2015

Posted by Naomi Gaede Penner in Kansas, Uncategorized

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The Three Boys

The Three Boys

My husband, Bryan, had two close-in-age brothers: Rod and Duane. These three boys generated an abundance of stories that were retold at family gatherings and re-laughed by everyone. When Bryan died, I didn’t want my children to lose these memories, so I turned the oral tales into a written history in The Three Boys.

Western Kansas Farm

Western Kansas Farm

One Sunday, on the country road home from church, ominous blackness shrouded the car. The three boys, ages three, five, and seven, were terrified of these dust storms that plagued Western Kansas in the ‘50s. The storms could be seen on the horizon, and as they moved closer, they darkened the sky at midday, roared around outside, seeped into the house, and clogged the air. On this occasion, the boys couldn’t imagine how Dad could see to drive. They looked at each other, wide-eyed and speechless; then crowded together in the backseat and shut their eyes tightly. They knew they’d never see home again.

It seemed Dad derived some strange enjoyment from teasing the boys about the “Rollers,” as they were referred to. Dad would say, “Ahh, those dust rollers! Kids go in and never come out!”

Dad had a stock tank in which the boys learned to swim. The tank was situated across the yard, and had a fence through it so the cattle could drink on one side and the boys could swim on the other. Cow slobber mingled about and the bottom was so slippery from green slime-stuff that it was impossible to stand up. Of course the three boys tried, and naturally this was a source of amusement to watch one another fall and splash about. Besides the fascinating flora of green slime, there were occasional glimpses of cow faces beneath the water.

Now, between the tank and the house lay a sticker patch. Although the three boys were tough farm kids and constantly ran around barefooted, this sticker patch was to be avoided at all costs.

On this particularly afternoon, Bryan and Rod deviously devised a plot against their unsuspecting, younger, and gullible, brother. At the decided moment, the older boys looked to the west, in the direction of the dust storms, and Bryan yelled loudly, “Oh! Look! It’s a roller!”

Duane, popped up out of the water, tried to gain footing on the mossy tank, and screamed in fright. In a flash, he bolted over the tank edge, and headed straight for the house – not in the safe and circuitous pathway, but right through the sticker patch! Pain was added to his mental anguish. Shrieking, he stumbled into the house. Bryan and Rod laughed and laughed, then merrily claimed the tank for themselves.

When Mom questioned Duane as to the source of his wild panic, he was unable to articulate the harassment of his brothers. Consequently, with no punishment and with much hilarious gratification, the two older brothers continued to taunt their little brother throughout the summer. They took no care that someday he’d grow up, become more articulate, less gullible, and ready for payback. They were only kids. Their thoughts were of the moment.

  1. What are your summertime memories of childhood?
  2. What pranks did you play on your siblings?
  3. What consequences did you experience?

This was first printed in “The Country Register” (Kansas), June/July 2015.)

 

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Harvest Gatherings

17 Wednesday Oct 2012

Posted by Naomi Gaede Penner in Holidays and Special Occasions, Kansas

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Autumn paints our world in golds, oranges, deep reds, and browns. These shades are seen in corn tassels, ripe tomatoes, pumpkins, peaches, and apples. The sounds of crickets and crispy leaves crunching under foot add to the sensory palette.  “It feels like fall,” someone might say. Once again, a sweater is comfortable.

My parents, farm kids from Kansas, were transplanted to Alaska. Their colors were cranberries, blueberries, red and green striped rhubarb stalks, red salmon thrashing their way upstream to lay eggs, and yellow aspen leaves.

Regardless of the geography or region, or the fare that has ripened or the flora that has matured, autumn is a time of harvest and a time of gathering. If we are fortunate, we gather together to ask the Lord’s blessing around tables of abundance; a table shared with family and friends.  For people who have moved from such a hub of family, friends, and traditions, gatherings are different.

My parents felt this absence acutely. They spoke of Thanksgivings past spent with relatives. They reflected, but they didn’t complain. Instead, they cultivated friends and gathered in a church basement to share food traditions. Their new Swedish friends brought Scandinavian bread pudding and Swedish meatballs. Longer term Alaskans brought a moose roast, cranberry nutbread, or rhubarb pie. My mother brought pluma moss, an unwritten recipe carried by the Russian Mennonites from their migration through Poland, and which they made for nearly every celebration.

In Kansas, stirring together this recipe had been easy. Cows in the barn produced creamy milk, the base of the fruity soup.  In Alaska, powdered or canned milk didn’t yield the same consistency. All the same, pluma moss nourished the memories of back home, just as it probably had for immigrants from Poland, to the Ukraine, to the New World. Gathering together could still be richly satisfying away from their first homes.

Pluma Moss

By Ruby Leppke Gaede

 5 C. water                               1 C. pitted prunes

1 C. raisins                              1 C. dried peaches and/or apricots, quartered

1 ts. cinnamon                         1/3 to ½ C. sugar

¼ C. flour                                ¾ C. evaporated milk (early Alaska version)

or whipped cream or half-and-half

Simmer fruits and cinnamon in water until tender, about a half hour. Beat together sugar, flour, and milk.  Add slowly to fruit and water. Stir until thickened. Good served with sausage or cold meats, and fried potatoes. Serve hot or cold.

What are your holiday family food traditions? Where did they come from?

Have you considered keeping a Family Recipe History Book? Here are some ideas:

  • write down the recipe
  • note when you first started using it
  • include anecdotes or descriptions about the person you got it from
  • describe the occasion when it is most often used
  • tell about the people who sit around the table and enjoy it with you
  • mention any changes that have been made to the recipe due to personal preferences and/or lack of original ingredients
  • leave space to record new memories made with its use

(First published in the 2012 Oct/Nov issue of “The Country Register  – Kansas”)

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Kansas Cow Paths: Suggestions for Stops and Starts

15 Monday Oct 2012

Posted by Naomi Gaede Penner in Kansas, Uncategorized

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I never get too much of Kansas. There’s always something I want to see next time.

Here are a few places I recently stopped at (October 2012.)

Braums (across the state) – good hamburgers, so many kinds of ice cream that you won’t know what to do. I tried Pumpkin, Butter Pecan, and Peanut Butter. I bought Pumpkin. http://www.braums.com/

The Bread Basket  (Newton) – Mennonite fare. At least: six soups served daily and three choices of fresh bread. Pie by the slice, cream puffs, and other dessert goodies. Bags of zwiebach, bread, and cookies, along with jars of jam.  http://www.newtonbreadbasket.com/

Faith and Life Bookstore (Newton) – It’s my pleasure to sign books and/or talk here. I always buy more than I sell. The seasonal décor, variety, and Kansas bookcase all draw me in. The frequent eblasts of events are intriguing and enticing. I wish Newton was closer to Colorado! http://www.faithandlifebookstore.com/

Bethel College Life Enrichment (Newton) – terrific programs with a series of three presentations each time. I presented on “Adventure and Alaska.”  http://www.bethelks.edu/academics/convocation-lecture-series/life-enrichment/

Ten Thousand Villages (Newton) –I love that shopping at Ten Thousand Villages (across the United States and Canada) is both a buying and giving opportunity. Ten Thousand Villages is a nonprofit marketing program of the Mennonite Central Committee that creates opportunities for artisans around the globe to earn a fair wage. http://newton.tenthousandvillages.com/about-our-store/

Kansas Aviation Museum (Wichita) – many airplanes and flying artifacts. Accessible control tower. This is where Cessna Aircraft Management held a dinner meeting where I was invited to speak. My presentation was “What Aviation Means to Alaskans.” Wonderful evening. http://www.kansasaviationmuseum.org/

Kansas Originals Market (Wilson – just off 1-70 between Salina and Russell) – Everything-Kansas! Items made by Kansans that represent the state of Kansas: sunflower motifs, quilts, jams, books, stitchery, jewelry, tole painting, woodworking, and so on.  http://www.kansasoriginals.com/

If someone were to visit your state or province, what would you highlight as “must-see”?

 

 

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Kansas –Back to my Roots

02 Tuesday Oct 2012

Posted by Naomi Gaede Penner in Kansas

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Ruby Leppke: Kansas Farm Girl

Kansas, an earthy place of black loam, wheat, corn, soy beans, sorghum, and sunflowers.

Kansas, a prairie-land with cows and calves, flat horizons, rolling hills, enormous skies and expanding clouds.

Kansas, the place my ancestors settled after the voyage from the Ukraine and the train ride from New York. Peabody, Kansas, the place they stepped into their New World and created the Bread Basket of America – with the Turkey Red Wheat they’d carried with them.

The Leppke farm, where my mother grew up, brought in corn cobs for kindling, milked cows, drove tractor, mended fence, and butchered chickens and hogs.

Kansas, where I come and try to reach back to the stories of my parents and grandparents. Where I drive through Peabody, Hillsboro, and Newton and wish the brick streets, stone buildings, and wide-porched houses would talk to me.

Kansas, where I feel space to breathe and move, where my senses are stimulated by the humid smells of simple, living things.

Kansas, where I show slides and tell stories of my parents’ plain beginnings, before they embarked on the journey to their Frontier World in Alaska.

From Kansas wheat fields to Alaska tundra where a Mennonite family found home, yet never forgot their roots.

 

 

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The Country Register -KS “From Kansas Wheat Fields to Alaska Tundra: a Mennonite Family Finds Home

15 Sunday Apr 2012

Posted by Naomi Gaede Penner in Alaska - Tanana, Book Reviews, Kansas, Uncategorized

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Naomi Gaede-Penner was a preschooler when her father, a doctor who had been raised a Kansas farm boy, and her mother, also a Kansas farm girl from the Peabody area, first moved their family to Alaska to pursue a life of providing medicine to underserved areas. In her book, Gaede-Penner tells her family’s true story as a young Mennonite girl transplanted from the flatland prairies of Kansas to a life of Alaska village potlatches, school in a Quonset hut, the fragrance of wood smoke, and Native friends.

Add to the mixture, her father who creates hunting tales and medical adventures with a bush plane, a mother who makes the tastiest moose roasts and has the grit to be a homesteader, thow in a batch of siblings who always keep things interesting and you have a book that keeps you reading. Mixed in with the exotic locale of the Alaskan bush are many everyday activities and experiences that will be familiar to anyone growing up in the 1950s and 1960s as the Gaede children played, learned and experienced a family that grew up with a door always open — to a neighbor, friend or patient in need of a place to stay — or to a new experience as they moved to several places in Alaska, worked with Native Americans in Montana, lived near her father’s family in California and, ultimately, homesteaded in Alaska, ending the many moves that marked the children’s early lives.

Using letters sent by her parents to their families during this time period and the memories of herself and her siblings, Gaede-Penner weaves a tale that provides a fun read filled with many details of living in an area that didn’t become a state until 1959. Mixed in with stories of her father’s adventures flying his plane into the bush, hunting moose and dealing with medical emergencies in rudimentary facilities and her mother making due with the things on hand to make a home for the family of six, are stories of growing up with a strong sense of family and her Mennonite heritage and how those things affected Gaede’s childhood and response to her surroundings. Even though they were often living in an area that could be described as wilderness — where powdered milk and eggs were all that were available and moose roast was the norm rather than the beef or pork of their Kansas roots — the family continued to value their heritage and the role of family and faith which remains important to the siblings today. http://www.countryregister.com/kansas/kansas.html

“We come to Alaska for different reasons — jobs, love, adventure, a new start — or because we’re born here. We stay because we find what we’re looking for in short: home. Home is a sense of fitting in, a feeling rather than a structure of wood and shingles,” Gaede-Penner says. For the Gaede family, it took the hard work and sweat equity of the homestead for them to find home.

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