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CHAPTER 1: PLUM COULEE, MANITOBA

IN YOUR JOURNEY OF LIFE, YOU SHOULD LEAVE AT LEAST ONE CHAPTER.

This is your Life, your very own life. Get to know your soul. Dance your dance, sing your song, take charge of your story, Love your day. Let your heavy stuff go, embrace your blessings. Stand in your power, forgive your mistakes, forgive your enemies. Drain your secrets of their poison, heal your pain, rest your body, share your talents, practice your passions, find your bliss. Live your Life, love your Life, because the best years of your life will happen as soon as you open your hands to your happiness.”

- The Mustard Seed Express

Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you; before you came to birth, I consecrated you”

- Jeremiah 1:5

THE BEGINNING

My Unheralded Birth

I was the seventh child born to my parents, Tina and Peter Buhr. I was born in a farmhouse at Plum Coulee, Manitoba in Canada.

It was an early Monday morning on July 8^th, 1930 when I decided to enter this world during the height of the Great Depression. I must have been trying to warn my parents the day before that I was about to have my coming out party because my dad had taken my six older siblings to the neighbours for the night. I imagine that my Dad went reluctantly and unhurriedly with horse and buggy to fetch the doctor at four o’clock in the morning. But neither he nor the doctor arrived on time because I decided, “this is it!” even though my mother was alone in the house.

There was no one there to pat me on the back and make sure my lungs were clear but apparently, I screamed voluntarily, and my mother wept bitterly as she had done throughout her pregnancy with me as, as she confided in me many years later. “One more mouth to feed! One more child to care for!”

“But what a blessing you turned out to be,” she also told me years later. Don’t worry, I was kept very humble by my siblings. My self-esteem was always at low ebb. I certainly was not a planned child, but I was a survivor, without the proverbial slap on the back, without someone to encourage my mother by saying, “Mrs. Buhr, you have a lovely daughter.” No frills or niceties to welcome me into this world! The doctor must have done his thing when he eventually arrived; cut the umbilical cord and attended to my mother and possibly to me. Someone must have wrapped a little blanket around me and set me to nursing.

Before long, my dad had to fetch my siblings from the neighbours. My nine-year-old sister, Dorothy, was smitten with disbelief, as she told me years later. She ran all the way home, panting, “Is it true? Is it true? Do I really have a little sister?” Between her and me she had welcomed four brothers, plus she had one brother older than herself. She had wished for a little sister for a long, long time. Finally, here I was to fulfill her dreams and hopes.

Next began the parade of onlookers from my siblings. Dorothy had already enveloped and adopted me. After all, I was the answer to her prayers. A sister for a change, for her to dress and care for. Then the oldest, Bill: going-on-eleven with somewhat ruddy hair. Just another baby in the house but a girl for a change. Then, eight-year-old John: lean and lanky as he remained all his life, more curious than impressed. Then, five-year-old Ed with his soft, sensitive eyes – probably thinking he would never, ever hurt her. Gentle protector he always remained. Then, three-year old Paul: already somewhat rough and tumble, hoping I would be tough – yes, tough I would become. Ben: only fifteen months old, almost still a baby himself, barely walking and feeding himself. Ben and I were to become close playmates throughout our childhood years.

My poor, poor mother. She had three children in diapers (Paul, Ben, and me) and only six diapers between us to share. Each had to be washed – stat! – the minute messed and hung up to dry beside the pot-bellied wood heater. Where were the Central Relief Committees at the time to lighten mother’s load with a dozen diapers at least? Unheard of it seemed. There were no Pampers. Cloth diapers were the order of the day and washable over and over again from baby to baby. But the bright spot in her life was the tiny one, the little girl who was trained ahead of her brothers. I was quick and clever and walked early, so I was told by Mother.

I have few memories of Plum Coulee but my Aunt Agnes, Mother’s sister, sent me a picture of the house where I and probably all six older siblings were born, stating that she and Uncle Henry Penner and their family had lived in that same house for thirteen years after my parents vacated it. I asked my Aunt Agnes if there had been a creek with a footbridge nearby. She said, “yes there was.” I vaguely remember we were all told never to walk on that footbridge, but I defied that order and crossed it one day. I also remember a very severe spanking for having disobeyed. Many years later as an adult I understood that order was for our protection in case we would fall in and drown, being too far from the house for any cries to be heard. It blows my mind that I can remember to this day some things that happened when I was age two.

I also remember mother telling me that I had a girl cousin born to Aunt Annie Siemens the next day. It was still born. Sadly, they had three sons and wanted a daughter so badly. Mother knew that through the years her sister often looked at me thinking, “that’s the age and size our little girl would be by now.” She was sure my Aunt Annie favored me in comparison to other cousins, wishfully thinking how unfair life is. They were wealthy and could have afforded to give me so much when there were seven children in my mother’s life. Why did her sister’s daughter live and their little daughter died? She must have lived with that question for the rest of her life.

My maternal grandparents were Johann and Anna Braun. My mother’s grandfather’s name was Schwartz. A German interpretation of the word “schwartz” means black. It seems mother used to joke about her name, stating in German, “I come from the Black Brauns. What isn’t black is brown.” True to form, my Mother’s hair was black, and her eyes were brown. Oh, that I might have inherited her coloring! I always considered her beautiful.

My paternal grandparents were Peter and Aganetha Buhr. It is obvious whom I was named after excepting my name was broken up into two names: Agnes Neta Buhr. My birth certificate says only Neta, but I have been called Agnes since starting school, so all government papers have me down as Agnes. I had many aunts and uncles on both sides of the fence. There were many cousins on both sides of the fence, some of whose names I really don’t remember and possibly never knew.

In the end, Brother Bennie and I became the middle children when the complete toll of twelve children was tallied. Middle children are typically independent as no one seems to have time to care for them, so they self-care at an early age..

When I drove solo to Plum Coulee, Manitoba to attend my uncle Jack Penner’s funeral I had asked my aunt Agnes over the phone if she could point me to the house where I was born, after the funeral. She did but it was only a sport where the house had once stood. When their son took over the farm the house was torn down and a new ranch-style house now stands in a different corner of the farm.

She pointed out the now deep ravine where the footbridge had once crossed over the creek. I shivered at the depth of the ravine.

Our Grandmother Braun

My grandmother, at age ninety during my last visit with her, told me all about the Tudor Wars, the Wars of the Roses, and the great European Reformation. She named kings and czars. She knew their birthdates and the year of their deaths. Her historical knowledge and memory were awesome to me. On her ninetieth birthday she had named all her children, their spouses, their wedding dates, their birthdays, their children’s birthdays, their children’s spouses, their spouses’ birthdays, her great-grand- children and their birthdays, their spouses’ birthdays and named all of their wedding dates. How awesome!

Grandma Anna Braun came to Canada when she was sixteen years old. Although she did not attend school in Canada, she learned alongside her brother doing homework and became self-educated. She became an avid reader. I suspect she may have had a fair amount of schooling in the Ukraine before coming to Canada. Suffering from insomnia for many years, she would read until four in the mornings. She amazingly remembered what she read! My grandpa would get up and tell their daughters to let my grandmother sleep and they should do the work. What a dear, sweet man he was! But he was also a fighter whenever the need presented itself and his policy was always to fight for the underdog. This is a history in itself.