“…in all of us there is a hunger, marrow deep, to know our heritage-
to know who we are and where we have come from.” Alex Haley
I was privileged to know my grandparents. I spent hours with each of them, listening as they described life in the early part of the 20th century. They told me stories about courtship, marriage, and raising their children. They spoke of their joys and sorrows, and they especially loved to talk about loved ones who had gone on before, those whom I had never met.
My Grandma Lang told me about Calumet, Michigan in the early 1900s. She talked about the small mining town and of her life as a young French-Canadian girl living in the “big house” with her Irish husband and his large family. She spoke of the Great Depression and taught me how to make Cornish pasties. My Grandma Billings told me about her mother’s tragic life: she died at age 30, after bearing 10 children in as many years. Eight of her children died as babies or toddlers with only my grandma and her brother surviving. She spoke lovingly of her tough German-speaking grandmother, Eliza Schmachtenberger, and her grandpa, Hiram Rushton, and told me stories of her new life with them after the death of her mother.
Grandma and Grandpa Lang were married 47 years when he died in 1967. When my Grandfather Billings died in 1975, he and my Grandma Ariel had celebrated 55 years together. Despite many years with their men, both grandmothers often spoke of their love for them. They often told me stories of how they met their mates and fondly remembered anecdotes about their early years of marriage.
My grandfather Billings also told me stories. Along with the wild tales about wrestling bears in his youth, he told me again and again about the day he met his special girl and pulled her hair in the picture show. He knew when he met her that she was the one for him.
