Saturday, June 27, 2009
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Redfish Lake
We're going to Redfish Lake! This makes for jumping up-and-down excited!
As long as I can remember, we've gone to Redfish Lake. My memory tells me that mother recounted that the family went to Alturus Lake before we acquired our Redfish passion. I do remember the two-seater outhouses at Alturus Lake.
Because of photos, I remember the summer of 1958 at Redfish Lake. We took Papa's (CL Luke) boat -- it had a motor. Mother didn't go out on the lake in the boat because she was pregnant with Bruce. What the connection between pregnancy and boating could be, I have no idea. When we took Papa's boat it was full to the brim with camping stuff on the way up and back. We must have not rented a trailer that year because I don't ever remember Dad pulling both a trailer and a boat.
My first real memory of Redfish is having a bonfire down by the lake. We were camping in one of the first campsites. And this was before changes were made to the campsites and road and in my mind the whole area looked very different than it does today. We connected with some people Mother and Dad knew and they joined us at the bonfire. We were sitting around the fire and could look out across the lake. They told us of a funny thing that had happened to them with some other friends.
While gathering around a campfire they started talking about the echo you could hear across the lake. Then someone offered to demonstrate it. He yelled out "hamburger". Then he did the echo sound, "hamburger". He waited then yelled "hotdog". Again, the echo "hotdog" was given. Then "Jim's a good guy". (Apparently there was a Jim in the group.) The echo heard back was "baloney". I thought that was so absolutely hilarious that I've never forgotten it. (It is one of three jokes I can actually remember. You don't want to know the other two.)
Okay, another memory is Bruce being about 5 and befriending a cute little girl. Bruce himself was cute and personable and I thought the two of them were darling going around the lake and playing together. He was wearing little shorts and his legs were nice and brown. And his hair was crew-cut short.
If you've never heard me recount the very memorable tale of Michael and the school coat, you've missed out on seeing me laugh so hard that I start snorting and have to hang on to something to keep myself from falling off my chair. I just remember it all in such vivid detail and find it so hilarious (sorry, Mike). Our big yearly family vacations usually consisted of camping for the three-day weekend over Labor Day. This was a BIG undertaking! Beginning about when Bruce was born we'd rent a small trailer. I remember this was what mother wanted and felt she needed. I think we would cram the trailer full of all the stuff needed for this large family to eat and sleep and play and keep warm for 3 days. Since school had either already started or was staring the next week, we had new school coats to keep us warm and the girls already had permed hair (mine at least was tight, brillo-pad type curls).
Okay, memory of the coat.
It is afternoon on Labor Day. The Armgas are crammed into their Chevrolet (Dad ALWAYS drove a Chevy) pulling their exhausted trailer behind them on their way back home. It has been a full, dirty and excellent-camping-breakfasts three days. Just after we get over Galena Summit (of course, pulling the full trailer this would have been alittle stressful for Dad), Mike leans over the back of the front seat and asks, "Did you pick up my coat from the beach?"
How long had Michael been thinking about the whereabouts of his coat? How brave did he have to be to pose that question? It was quickly determined that no, no one had picked up his coat from the beach. So I can imagine mother and dad quickly thinking through the choices. Would the coat still be on the beach? Was it worth driving the extra hour back to the lake to try and find it? And were they even sure it was left on the beach and wasn't buried someplace back in the trailer. I don't remember any discussion. I do remember dad very resolutely pulling off to the side of the road -- into one of the many pulloffs, parking the car and trailer, getting out, unhitching the trailer, getting back in and turning the car around. We made a flying trip back to Redfish Lake. No talking during the drive back. Stern look on Dad's face. We get to the beach and yes, the coat is there. We drive back to the trailer but this part of the trip isn't so fast and intense. We hook the trailer back up and head home. Mike's life is spared AND he has a warm new coat for school.
Last memory I'll recount here took place the summer that Brandon was one or two. We were camped in the upper level campgrounds on the side of the road away from the Lake. This meant we were flush up against the "mountain". We had a big curve of a parking/drive-way area. The Roths had their camper there. Lawrence was there. I was there. Mother and Dad and Bruce were there. I'm sure there were others of you there also. It wasn't unusual for there to be "Caution, Bears" signs posted in the area. We had a nice big campfire and it was getting late. I was in the camper changing Brandon's diaper. All of the sudden there was a loud crashing noise coming down the hillside. This terrifying sound was accentuated with growls and snorts. This is what I remember: Lawrence grabbed a hatchet and got into fight pose. My knees turned to rubber. I could NOT move and I thought I was going to pee my pants. It was like everyone FROZE, stood looking at where the sound was coming from and WAITED to see what would happen. Out of the dark came this huge man with a familiar face. He was a good friend from the ward who worked with Bruce in scouting. He had seen us earlier in the day and thought it would be fun to come and scare us. Scare us he did! I certainly thought it was a bear coming down the mountainside and I think others felt the same way. There was only one other time in my life when I was that scared, but that is another story.
What do you remember about Redfish Lake?
As long as I can remember, we've gone to Redfish Lake. My memory tells me that mother recounted that the family went to Alturus Lake before we acquired our Redfish passion. I do remember the two-seater outhouses at Alturus Lake.
Because of photos, I remember the summer of 1958 at Redfish Lake. We took Papa's (CL Luke) boat -- it had a motor. Mother didn't go out on the lake in the boat because she was pregnant with Bruce. What the connection between pregnancy and boating could be, I have no idea. When we took Papa's boat it was full to the brim with camping stuff on the way up and back. We must have not rented a trailer that year because I don't ever remember Dad pulling both a trailer and a boat.
My first real memory of Redfish is having a bonfire down by the lake. We were camping in one of the first campsites. And this was before changes were made to the campsites and road and in my mind the whole area looked very different than it does today. We connected with some people Mother and Dad knew and they joined us at the bonfire. We were sitting around the fire and could look out across the lake. They told us of a funny thing that had happened to them with some other friends.
While gathering around a campfire they started talking about the echo you could hear across the lake. Then someone offered to demonstrate it. He yelled out "hamburger". Then he did the echo sound, "hamburger". He waited then yelled "hotdog". Again, the echo "hotdog" was given. Then "Jim's a good guy". (Apparently there was a Jim in the group.) The echo heard back was "baloney". I thought that was so absolutely hilarious that I've never forgotten it. (It is one of three jokes I can actually remember. You don't want to know the other two.)
Okay, another memory is Bruce being about 5 and befriending a cute little girl. Bruce himself was cute and personable and I thought the two of them were darling going around the lake and playing together. He was wearing little shorts and his legs were nice and brown. And his hair was crew-cut short.
If you've never heard me recount the very memorable tale of Michael and the school coat, you've missed out on seeing me laugh so hard that I start snorting and have to hang on to something to keep myself from falling off my chair. I just remember it all in such vivid detail and find it so hilarious (sorry, Mike). Our big yearly family vacations usually consisted of camping for the three-day weekend over Labor Day. This was a BIG undertaking! Beginning about when Bruce was born we'd rent a small trailer. I remember this was what mother wanted and felt she needed. I think we would cram the trailer full of all the stuff needed for this large family to eat and sleep and play and keep warm for 3 days. Since school had either already started or was staring the next week, we had new school coats to keep us warm and the girls already had permed hair (mine at least was tight, brillo-pad type curls).
Okay, memory of the coat.
It is afternoon on Labor Day. The Armgas are crammed into their Chevrolet (Dad ALWAYS drove a Chevy) pulling their exhausted trailer behind them on their way back home. It has been a full, dirty and excellent-camping-breakfasts three days. Just after we get over Galena Summit (of course, pulling the full trailer this would have been alittle stressful for Dad), Mike leans over the back of the front seat and asks, "Did you pick up my coat from the beach?"
How long had Michael been thinking about the whereabouts of his coat? How brave did he have to be to pose that question? It was quickly determined that no, no one had picked up his coat from the beach. So I can imagine mother and dad quickly thinking through the choices. Would the coat still be on the beach? Was it worth driving the extra hour back to the lake to try and find it? And were they even sure it was left on the beach and wasn't buried someplace back in the trailer. I don't remember any discussion. I do remember dad very resolutely pulling off to the side of the road -- into one of the many pulloffs, parking the car and trailer, getting out, unhitching the trailer, getting back in and turning the car around. We made a flying trip back to Redfish Lake. No talking during the drive back. Stern look on Dad's face. We get to the beach and yes, the coat is there. We drive back to the trailer but this part of the trip isn't so fast and intense. We hook the trailer back up and head home. Mike's life is spared AND he has a warm new coat for school.
Last memory I'll recount here took place the summer that Brandon was one or two. We were camped in the upper level campgrounds on the side of the road away from the Lake. This meant we were flush up against the "mountain". We had a big curve of a parking/drive-way area. The Roths had their camper there. Lawrence was there. I was there. Mother and Dad and Bruce were there. I'm sure there were others of you there also. It wasn't unusual for there to be "Caution, Bears" signs posted in the area. We had a nice big campfire and it was getting late. I was in the camper changing Brandon's diaper. All of the sudden there was a loud crashing noise coming down the hillside. This terrifying sound was accentuated with growls and snorts. This is what I remember: Lawrence grabbed a hatchet and got into fight pose. My knees turned to rubber. I could NOT move and I thought I was going to pee my pants. It was like everyone FROZE, stood looking at where the sound was coming from and WAITED to see what would happen. Out of the dark came this huge man with a familiar face. He was a good friend from the ward who worked with Bruce in scouting. He had seen us earlier in the day and thought it would be fun to come and scare us. Scare us he did! I certainly thought it was a bear coming down the mountainside and I think others felt the same way. There was only one other time in my life when I was that scared, but that is another story.
What do you remember about Redfish Lake?
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
For Father's Day
My Father Is An Uncommon Man.
Written in tribute to Larry H. Armga, 1985, by his daughter Carol.
My father is an uncommon man. He is a man who always does his best at whatever task he is doing. He believes the most important accomplishment for anyone is to have done your best. He takes pride in knowing that he is a good employee and a honest, hard worker. My father is proud that he began working as a young boy of twelve. For his first job he sold newspapers on the street corner. He was been working, and working hard, ever since. When I was a teenager my father taught me, "A job worth doing is a job worth doing well." He lives that motto.
My father is a man of quiet dignity. He very carefully respects the rights and individuality of others. He does not require others to behave in a way that he wants. He allows each person to be responsible for their own decisions and their own life. He taught his children to honor and respect their mother, and as those children have become adults, he has treated us with the greatest respect. He does not offer advice unless asked. This sense of dignity has led my father to assume the debts of others with nary a word to anyone that he has taken on the burden of someone else. Everything he does he does with dignity.
My father is a true gentleman. He has lovely, gracious manners that bespeak of other times when good manners were a hallmark of civilized people. With a quiet flair, when accompanying a female, my father opens doors, walks on the street side of the sidewalk, and allows her to proceed before him when walking to a restaurant table or down a theatre isle. He always addresses his elders and persons of authority with Mr. or Mrs. My father is the ultimate considerate driver. He always patiently gives pedestrians the right-of-way, and is never in so much of a hurry that he will not stop so that another driver may enter the flow of traffic.
My father is a man of his word. I have always viewed him as having a sterling character. He has great integrity. He still believes in, and honors, a gentleman's agreement. If he says he is going to do something he does it. And he doesn't just do it until someone else is satisfied, he does it until it doesn't need to be done any more. I will never forget my father's outstanding example of home teaching. He was the home teacher of an elderly sister who lived next to our ward building. Sister Crump's home was modest and she was a semi-invalid. My father assumed responsibility for mowing her lawn. He faithfully attended to this task for not just the time he was her home teacher, but continued to make sure her lawn was taken care of until the time of her death. He gave a commitment to serve her which did not end with a reassignment. He served her to the end.
My father is a man of wisdom. I have always thought he was one of the smartest people I have known. He is interested in world affairs and consistently reads to know what is happening at both national and global levels. He is always aware of what the best buy is, whether it be toilet paper or automobile tires. He can do your taxes or figure out how to screw the legs onto the base of a table. He can cook a terrific pot of chili or do a load of laundry and does both without any hesitation. My father has always been able to answer my most oblique question. And he always can gently explain why he does things and why he thinks the way he does.
My father is a true American. He is patriotic and loves to fly the American flag. He has had a flagpole outside his home for the last twenty years and flys the flag daily. He takes great pride in standing to show respect to the flag as it leads a parade or is raised at a Seattle Mariners baseball game. He served in the Pacific Theatre during World War II and that experience touched him deeply. He has always espoused that it is an honor to serve one's country and has been so proud of a son who was an officer in the Navy. He loves to see him in uniform. My father has always had great respect for government leaders. I will forever remember his tears and sorrow during the televised funeral of President Kennedy. My father gently encourages his progeny to "Buy American" and has asked how we can in good conscience contribute to the national trade deficit. My father loves America.
My father is a loving, gentle, sensitive man. A challenging childhood left him with the burden of feeling unloved but molded a heart that loves people deeply and sincerely. When my father makes a friend, he makes a friend for life because he truly cares about the people in his life. Even though his children have been flagrantly irresponsible and disrespectful at times, as children so often will be, he has continued to love us and then love us some more. My father responds to the world around him with not just his intellect, but also with his heart. He as been loving and gentle with all his family's many pets. He never intentionally hurts any other living being. His eyes tear-up in hearing of others' sorrows and burdens. He loves his brother and sister, his grandchildren, his children and their spouses, and especially his wife. He has devoted his life to helping, serving, and loving them. They, in return, love him and honor him.
There are few men as fine and honorable and good as my father. My father is truly an uncommon man.
Written in tribute to Larry H. Armga, 1985, by his daughter Carol.
My father is an uncommon man. He is a man who always does his best at whatever task he is doing. He believes the most important accomplishment for anyone is to have done your best. He takes pride in knowing that he is a good employee and a honest, hard worker. My father is proud that he began working as a young boy of twelve. For his first job he sold newspapers on the street corner. He was been working, and working hard, ever since. When I was a teenager my father taught me, "A job worth doing is a job worth doing well." He lives that motto.
My father is a man of quiet dignity. He very carefully respects the rights and individuality of others. He does not require others to behave in a way that he wants. He allows each person to be responsible for their own decisions and their own life. He taught his children to honor and respect their mother, and as those children have become adults, he has treated us with the greatest respect. He does not offer advice unless asked. This sense of dignity has led my father to assume the debts of others with nary a word to anyone that he has taken on the burden of someone else. Everything he does he does with dignity.
My father is a true gentleman. He has lovely, gracious manners that bespeak of other times when good manners were a hallmark of civilized people. With a quiet flair, when accompanying a female, my father opens doors, walks on the street side of the sidewalk, and allows her to proceed before him when walking to a restaurant table or down a theatre isle. He always addresses his elders and persons of authority with Mr. or Mrs. My father is the ultimate considerate driver. He always patiently gives pedestrians the right-of-way, and is never in so much of a hurry that he will not stop so that another driver may enter the flow of traffic.
My father is a man of his word. I have always viewed him as having a sterling character. He has great integrity. He still believes in, and honors, a gentleman's agreement. If he says he is going to do something he does it. And he doesn't just do it until someone else is satisfied, he does it until it doesn't need to be done any more. I will never forget my father's outstanding example of home teaching. He was the home teacher of an elderly sister who lived next to our ward building. Sister Crump's home was modest and she was a semi-invalid. My father assumed responsibility for mowing her lawn. He faithfully attended to this task for not just the time he was her home teacher, but continued to make sure her lawn was taken care of until the time of her death. He gave a commitment to serve her which did not end with a reassignment. He served her to the end.
My father is a man of wisdom. I have always thought he was one of the smartest people I have known. He is interested in world affairs and consistently reads to know what is happening at both national and global levels. He is always aware of what the best buy is, whether it be toilet paper or automobile tires. He can do your taxes or figure out how to screw the legs onto the base of a table. He can cook a terrific pot of chili or do a load of laundry and does both without any hesitation. My father has always been able to answer my most oblique question. And he always can gently explain why he does things and why he thinks the way he does.
My father is a true American. He is patriotic and loves to fly the American flag. He has had a flagpole outside his home for the last twenty years and flys the flag daily. He takes great pride in standing to show respect to the flag as it leads a parade or is raised at a Seattle Mariners baseball game. He served in the Pacific Theatre during World War II and that experience touched him deeply. He has always espoused that it is an honor to serve one's country and has been so proud of a son who was an officer in the Navy. He loves to see him in uniform. My father has always had great respect for government leaders. I will forever remember his tears and sorrow during the televised funeral of President Kennedy. My father gently encourages his progeny to "Buy American" and has asked how we can in good conscience contribute to the national trade deficit. My father loves America.
My father is a loving, gentle, sensitive man. A challenging childhood left him with the burden of feeling unloved but molded a heart that loves people deeply and sincerely. When my father makes a friend, he makes a friend for life because he truly cares about the people in his life. Even though his children have been flagrantly irresponsible and disrespectful at times, as children so often will be, he has continued to love us and then love us some more. My father responds to the world around him with not just his intellect, but also with his heart. He as been loving and gentle with all his family's many pets. He never intentionally hurts any other living being. His eyes tear-up in hearing of others' sorrows and burdens. He loves his brother and sister, his grandchildren, his children and their spouses, and especially his wife. He has devoted his life to helping, serving, and loving them. They, in return, love him and honor him.
There are few men as fine and honorable and good as my father. My father is truly an uncommon man.
Monday, June 8, 2009
More names
One particular bit of family history that I love is that "grandpa" (John Ferdinand) created nicknames for his grandchildren. I think they are wonderfully unique and memorable. These names were used throughout the lifespan of these individuals.
Agnes was "Tutti". Lester was "Bingo". Lovida was "Buzz". Viola was "Bud". Lois was "Tootles". Maylene was "Putts". Beverly was "Pullywhats" or "Toad" and Bob was "Hunyak". Aren't these creative?
Agnes was "Tutti". Lester was "Bingo". Lovida was "Buzz". Viola was "Bud". Lois was "Tootles". Maylene was "Putts". Beverly was "Pullywhats" or "Toad" and Bob was "Hunyak". Aren't these creative?
Sunday, June 7, 2009
John Ferdinand #3
John Ferdinand lived close to Minnie Van Hierden who became his wife. The family says they courted in the corn fields between their families' homes. On their marriage day (November 21, 1888) they drove across the marsh and sent the dust flying and the next morning the same ground was covered in snow. They were 22 and 17, respectively, when they were married by a Justice of the Peace in Waupun. Minnie's father John served as one of the two witnesses that signed their marriage certificate. I have a photocopy of their decorative marriage certificate which was treasured by family members.
John was a very early riser (4:00 a.m.) and it became the habit of the entire family. He would tease about how tough he was by saying that he chewed poison ivy. John use to water-witch with cherry tree branches. On my first visit to Waupun, family members drove me to a home (then empty) that had long been in the family. John water-witched for a well at this home. The men dug the well and then went in to eat dinner. After dinner they found the well half full of water. This was the home where the oval portrait of John's sisters Augusta hung in an upstairs hallway. I was given that portrait and it now hangs in my home.
John Ferdinand died on a hot day as he was feeding the pigs. He apparently collapsed and lay on the ground for a long time before the family discovered him. The family dog was with him and kept the pigs from bothering his body. He died one month shy of his eighty-eighth birthday, on May 26, 1954. He was buried May 29, 1954 in Waupun.
John was a very early riser (4:00 a.m.) and it became the habit of the entire family. He would tease about how tough he was by saying that he chewed poison ivy. John use to water-witch with cherry tree branches. On my first visit to Waupun, family members drove me to a home (then empty) that had long been in the family. John water-witched for a well at this home. The men dug the well and then went in to eat dinner. After dinner they found the well half full of water. This was the home where the oval portrait of John's sisters Augusta hung in an upstairs hallway. I was given that portrait and it now hangs in my home.
John Ferdinand died on a hot day as he was feeding the pigs. He apparently collapsed and lay on the ground for a long time before the family discovered him. The family dog was with him and kept the pigs from bothering his body. He died one month shy of his eighty-eighth birthday, on May 26, 1954. He was buried May 29, 1954 in Waupun.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
The Backyard
In my dreaming last night I dreamt of the backyard at our house on Addison. Does that sound kind-of weird? I don't know why I would dream about that.
But the ending thought of my dream was, wouldn't it be interesting to do an archeology type dig of that yard to see what we turned up? We'd need to especially focus on the area under the window to the back bedroom. Remember, Michael, how you use to play with your Matchbox cars there for hours? I predict we'd find some paintless, but perserved none-the-less, cars buried down in that dirt.
Back yard memories. I loved sleeping out in the backyard during the summer months. I think what I most loved about it was the conversations we'd have as we settled down to sleep. The older siblings always had fantastical information to impart. And, by the way, this was where I was informed of the facts of life.
I remember the tree house that Bruce built.
I remember having to climb up on the playscape so the mean old greyhound dogs from down the street couldn't get us. That was a problem for like only one summer but it really was pretty scary to me.
I remember messing around with firecrackers.
I remember playing kick-the-can.
I remember when Bruce fell off the picnic table and broke his arm.
I remember playing Wedding when the Smiths came to visit. We used a netting half-slip as the wedding veil and white flowers from our 'Bridal Veil' bushes along the back fence.
I remember the battered garbage cans (we had two) and the big metal barrel for burning trash. How often did we burn trash?
I remember Steve Victor and I tying Nubby Clough's bike up in the tree just for something to do. We got in trouble.
We had a lilac bush along the east fence and the huge weeping willow along the west fence. Our apple tree just outside the kitchen window never really did produce many apples that I remember. The only other tree was the very straight tree that served as the foundation for the tree house. It was in the middle of the yard closer to the back fence. I'm not sure our flowers in back ever really flourished. We had grass but I don't think much time and energy was spent beautifying the back yard. I think it was pretty trampled and well-used from all our play.
What are your memories of the back yard?
But the ending thought of my dream was, wouldn't it be interesting to do an archeology type dig of that yard to see what we turned up? We'd need to especially focus on the area under the window to the back bedroom. Remember, Michael, how you use to play with your Matchbox cars there for hours? I predict we'd find some paintless, but perserved none-the-less, cars buried down in that dirt.
Back yard memories. I loved sleeping out in the backyard during the summer months. I think what I most loved about it was the conversations we'd have as we settled down to sleep. The older siblings always had fantastical information to impart. And, by the way, this was where I was informed of the facts of life.
I remember the tree house that Bruce built.
I remember having to climb up on the playscape so the mean old greyhound dogs from down the street couldn't get us. That was a problem for like only one summer but it really was pretty scary to me.
I remember messing around with firecrackers.
I remember playing kick-the-can.
I remember when Bruce fell off the picnic table and broke his arm.
I remember playing Wedding when the Smiths came to visit. We used a netting half-slip as the wedding veil and white flowers from our 'Bridal Veil' bushes along the back fence.
I remember the battered garbage cans (we had two) and the big metal barrel for burning trash. How often did we burn trash?
I remember Steve Victor and I tying Nubby Clough's bike up in the tree just for something to do. We got in trouble.
We had a lilac bush along the east fence and the huge weeping willow along the west fence. Our apple tree just outside the kitchen window never really did produce many apples that I remember. The only other tree was the very straight tree that served as the foundation for the tree house. It was in the middle of the yard closer to the back fence. I'm not sure our flowers in back ever really flourished. We had grass but I don't think much time and energy was spent beautifying the back yard. I think it was pretty trampled and well-used from all our play.
What are your memories of the back yard?
Thursday, June 4, 2009
John Ferdinand #2
John's brother was known to the family as Uncle Ernest. He lived in Appleton, Wisconsin and was two years older than John Ferdinand. The family remembers that Ernest spelled his last name "Armge".
John was known to his family as "Pa". He hunted ducks and geese in the Horican Marsh near his home. He was a good hunter and told of times when the ducks would rise up into the sky and be so thick that you could hardly see the sun. He trapped muskrats with a spear and would put the skins on boards to stretch them. He was able to sell these for 5 to 25 cents each. He knew old wives' tales about muskrats that he loved to tell. He also loved to fish. The family relates that on one occasion, he was asked to take the governor of Wisconsin, Govenor Nelson, out in a boat to go fishing.
As a child, John Ferdinand played with Indians.
He talked about sitting on the side of the house opposite the wind. I never could get enough clarifying information from his daughters (Viola and Eunice) to understand why this was important. I think perhaps they also didn't catch any real significance to it, but they knew that "Pa" talked about it frequently.
John Ferdinand voted Republican "and so did everyone else in the family." He always bought and drove Fords. He liked to sing "The Love of God" (http://biblestudycharts.com/SH_The_Love_of_God.html
and at Christmas sang "O Tannebaum".
John was known to his family as "Pa". He hunted ducks and geese in the Horican Marsh near his home. He was a good hunter and told of times when the ducks would rise up into the sky and be so thick that you could hardly see the sun. He trapped muskrats with a spear and would put the skins on boards to stretch them. He was able to sell these for 5 to 25 cents each. He knew old wives' tales about muskrats that he loved to tell. He also loved to fish. The family relates that on one occasion, he was asked to take the governor of Wisconsin, Govenor Nelson, out in a boat to go fishing.
As a child, John Ferdinand played with Indians.
He talked about sitting on the side of the house opposite the wind. I never could get enough clarifying information from his daughters (Viola and Eunice) to understand why this was important. I think perhaps they also didn't catch any real significance to it, but they knew that "Pa" talked about it frequently.
John Ferdinand voted Republican "and so did everyone else in the family." He always bought and drove Fords. He liked to sing "The Love of God" (http://biblestudycharts.com/SH_The_Love_of_God.html
and at Christmas sang "O Tannebaum".
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
True Luxury
Peace of mind
To not be in a hurry
Being satisfied living within your means
Living in the moment
A life without deadlines and imposed expectations
Monday, June 1, 2009
The carriers of our family name
Armga Family Reunion, August 1991, Waupun, Wisconsin. Left to right: Randy, son of Lester; Alex, son of Randy; Lester, son of John F.; James Bruce, son of Larry H., Larry H., son of William Carl; Michael, son of Larry H.; Charles Richard, son of Larry H., Jeremiah, son of Lawrence; Lawrence, son of Larry H., Logan, son Lawrence.
Not pictured: Austin, son of Randy; David, son of Charles Richard; John Phillip, son of Charles Richard; Jordan, son of John Phillip; Kouchi, son of Charles Richard; Jacob Michael, son of Michael; Harrison Luke, son of Michael; Aaron James, son of James Bruce.
Deceased since photo was taken: Lester, Larry H. and Lawrence
Number of male Armgas as of 2009: 15
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
