Grandchild of Mine

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The Sugar Beet

Sugar beet, my sugar beet how sweet thou art.

I hold you in my hands and memories flow out.

I see Poland, Germany and the USA as one.

The tip is so sweet and the meat so tender when cooked.

The greens and your top is fed to farm stock for ham & steak.

The body is used to make syrup and sugar and vodka. 

As mentioned in my earlier stories,the sugar beet entered my life back in the village of Shostka(now Poland).I don't remember that we had any growing on the farm. My brother Armwin and I went roaming and saw them in the loading area of a railroad yard.
In West Germany I found out more about this plant,such as how to thin the rows that the remaining plants can grow big and not be stunted. Saw my uncles harvest the mature beets. Went gleaning for them after the harvest and ate the cooked meat of the beet.
 My uncles also brought some from their work so the family could make syrup and mash from which vodka could be distilled and I got my first buzz.Later years in the USA, I saw acres and acres of them in the fields and trucks and railroad cars loaded with this precious cargo heading to the sugar factories.I also was involved by selling filter elements to those factories to remove impurities from the flow of beet juices in the manufacturing process.
 The beet continues to be part of the family now. My nephew Kurt Steinke,PhD, is doing research in the field  to improve the sugar content, yields at harvest time and how to reduce the deseases of the plants.It will be interesting to get first hand progress reports unless his contracts have the code of silence in the fine print.

More Memories From Harste

More memories from Harste....

One of the features I saw in the area were apple trees planted along the roads coming into the village...and on both sides of the roads.The families could lease these trees at a price from the village authorities and harvest the apples.If the apples were on the ground us kids collected them unless those families got there first.Some times this caused some troubles.After the harvest was done the kids always looked for the lone apples that had been missed.At the time I left it did not matter anymore. The trees were old and not really cared for and if one tree died, it was not replanted.

The manor also had a big orchards and the big boys made it a sport in sneaking in to get the different fruit...through fences and over stone walls.One neglected orchard was located away from the village in the middle of a plowed field that seemed to be fair game.It had a fence but fallen down section made it easier for us smaller kids to get the forbidden fruits.

I remember one fall there seemed to be a field mice over-population and us kids had a ball hunting them or digging them out.I think we were cruel and had no mercy but it seemed fun.

When the sparrows decided to overpopulate, the village set a bounty of a nickel per bird or egg brought in.The big boys went to work and no sparrow was safe.All barns in the village or in the country were searched.Even the church steeple was depopulated.It ran its course or interest slowly faded away.

There were old barns in the area but us little boys avoided them as soon as the twilight came.I remember two such barns and each had a story about suicide and ghosts.Another story floated around about a woman that hanged herself in her room in one of the houses at one end of the village and another woman was killed when she stepped in front of the bus at the other end of the village.

 A story existed about a mount near the road to another village that the kids avoided at night.It was a place of execution by hanging...Galgenberg (Mt of the gallows).I should know I tried to write a scary story as one of my school paper assignment.I must have lost that story in the big move.

On another hill called the Steinberg(Stone mount) were the remnants of an ancient watch tower and the rumor was that a tunnel existed between that tower and the manor house.Just a rumor I think.

That hill was more fun in the winter time for the big boys for it had a steep backside that the daring boys would sled down,I never did.There was also a trail leading through the wood that was used as a sledding path.With big trees and bushes on both sides that only the daring negotiated .I tried but not very successfully.My big brother sledded both places with gusto and made fun of me because I did not dare the trips.I did explore those areas in the other three seasons looking for flowers and hazelnuts.
On another field near by some of the bigger boys had build a snow mound for jumping with skies.This was the first time I saw boys with skies going down a small hill.I don't recall what type of  bindings or skies that were used.It was many years later that friends  in Minnesota taught me how to ski downhill .

On the other side of the hill, which seemed big for us kids was the village soccer field.Every Saturday and even on Sunday games against other village teams were played.It was free as far as I know.I visited that place again many years later.Very close to the field was also a natural spring that quenched my thirst many times and  I did drink from it on the first return trip but not on the second one.The area seemed neglected with debris around the spring and the flow was just a trickle.It must have been a dry year on my last visit.

The little spring fed a little creek that fed the Harste river.I followed that creek further in that little valley and woods to look for flowers, raspberries and hazelnuts.In the same area Dad had clear cut and replanted the area with new pine seedlings.This was part of forest management.Many years later I again strolled through that valley and the trees were tall and wonderful to see. I told my Dad what I saw on my return home to USA. I believe he felt a sense of satisfaction about his work in those years.I saw those trees again on my second trip to the area.Yes, they were taller and wider and ready for the harvest. I expect that new seedlings have grown tall again and the cycle repeats.Now it is somebody else's work and another set of kids can be proud what their fathers accomplished.

Harste Years

Harste years
I started first grade that spring of 1947..my teacher,Frau Lange,the 2nd of the influential women in my life.The first was my Mother.She had come down with Polio and had to wear a support on her legs to get around but she had books and that was most important to me.My German language skills( speaking and writing) were not up to standard.I had missed two years of schooling...no such things as Pre-Kindergarden and Kindergarden classes in my life.My folks made me memorize the multiplication tables( up to 12X12) and read my Father's field bible and memorize songs of all sorts.However...fairytales and hero books were my favorites and Frau Lange had them in her collection for there was no library in the area.Because of some limitation the village kids teased me and called me Polak Well...this let to fights with girls and boys.One incident was with a girl who pulled my hair but she had a bigger brother and I was in trouble.No one stepped in to stop the fight...I was on the ground,..face down and covering my head...crying as I was pummeled. An adult must have stopped in and I was saved from being hurt.I learned my lesson...don't pick on bigger kids and be more diplomatic.

In Germany we went to school all year around with time off for holidays only. I must have absorbed things in a hurry...I was 8y starting out and by 11y graduating from fourth grade.Frau Lange was my only teacher during those years.The change in grades was always at Easter time and always got new pair of shoes and something new to wear around that time from my folks.

I liked sports but never was on a soccer team..ever in my life.The running sport was my game...had to be fast to get away from some of my tormentors which was sometimes my own fault.Track became my sport and later in high school in USA, I was good enough to go to the state meet to find out how slow I was as compared to the Chicago boys who left me in the dust in the 400 yard race.My HS days is another story to tell.



The woods were my playground.I discovered the hazelnut bushes and its rewards.The wild flowers seemed to wink at me ....pick me ,pick me....and I did.In a wooded area called the Weinberg(Winehill) outside of the village was full of big beech trees and in their shadow I found the Lilies of the Valley(Mai Gloeckchen). Every time I take in the aroma of that flower, I am back in that forest and among the giant beech trees.If I only could invent that machine to do that transfer...I know the mind can do that and in some cases one never returns. There is danger in scientific discoveries.

About 3to 5 miles away was a wooded area that hid an WWII ammunition depot from the Allied bombers.With the occupation forces in place( Harste was in the British Zone),the old ammunition was being destroyed...blown up.Day after day I heard those explosions.Later when everything was destroyed or dismantled, my Dad and his group went there to salvage the wood. I went looking too...big craters full of water ...like a battle scene.Metal shrapnel embedded in the giant beech trees. Some of the trees blown to pieces others held their ground with metal sticking out of the trunks.

When I first came to the village there was a burned out German battle tank on the side of the road. I saw the big hole near the turret....the death blow that killed all the members of the team inside.They had been buried in the cemetery that later became the resting place for my Grandparents,the Redschlags.A big iron cross market their place.I guess no military cemetery in the area.I climbed on that tank and looked inside...tight quarters.The curiosity over came the fact that four men had lost their lives in one blinding and ear shattering moment.I hope that they were dead when the fire consumed their bodies.My God..My God... the price of war one has to pay.

Survival In Harste

To supplement the available food supply, the family gleaned the fields in the area.Just like Ruth and her mother did in the Bible.We gleaned for dropped ears of wheat,rye,oats and barely.The potato fields and sugar beet field were explored.We went into the woods for beech nuts,wild raspberries,blueberries,mushrooms of all types.Mom was an expert and we never got sick.
For the blueberries we even took a train to better locations.The whole family went to the train station and rode the train further north about an hour or so.We got off and of into the woods to look for those blue beery bushes.Several hours passed by and the containers we brought got filled as well as our stomachs.

In the village there was a white manor house with lots of other buildings.The owner of the manor employed many of the new refugees.This of course raised the issue that our Congress is discussing...Refugees are taking the local jobs away.This did not endear us with the locals for a while and tensions were high.

The manor fields produced sugar beets and potatoes.The kids in the village even worked those rows of small plants by thinning them out. I did that too.The big people did the hoeing and hand harvesting.
My two uncles ,Erich and Erwin did that harvesting too.Each person was assigned to a staked out area.The beet was dug up,greens cut off and the dirt removed and put on a pile.The worker I believe got paid by the area cleared.
In later years I saw those acres and acres in North and South Dakota and in Minnesota and the machines that did the harvesting and the trucks upon trucks hauling the beets to train cars and to the sugar factories in the area.
I don't remember if the manor owner  or a farmer in the village that made small parcels of land available for the refugees that had settled in the town.The parents rented a small parcel of land that became the family vegetable garden.We grew everything that would grow and could be eaten. Dad even grew a few tobacco plants.It wasn't until years later that I saw the big  tobacco fields in Kentucky.

He pulled the lower leaves and hung them to dry and then cut them into fine shreds.He used some type of paper and news paper to roll his cigarettes. He also smoked the pipe.

You Have To Make Choices

The path I walked divided many times and I had to choose among different directions. Some of the choices I made for myself and others were made for me.

Evidently Frau Lange,my teacher,noticed some potential in me and she suggested that I take an entrance test for accelerated education paths.At that time in Germany you had three paths depending on test results and money.The least expensive was middle school,next high school and the fastest and highest Gymnasium.The gymnasium route was a sure way for the University path.At each level you could evidently take test to advance faster and if you had the recommendations and money,enter the University path.

The other paths were to go through 8th grade and then to trade schools,apprenticeships,common labor or work on your family farm or family business.

Dad was working and Mom was taking care of baby sister Gudrun so I had to go by myself to the big city and take the test. Needed to buy tickets for the train ride,find the place,take the tests and come home.When I got to the place and saw all those boys and girls with their mothers,I became somewhat proud of myself. I came by myself and no one held my hand.That independent streak got me into tight situations in future years and I think I realize most of the time that having somebody in your corner helps a lot.At least it does make life a little easier.

The score must have been good enough to advance.I don't remember if my folks had to pay anything or because I was a war refuge(Fluechtling,Displaced Person) the German government stepped up to the plate.Maybe I should not complain that the German Reichsbank kept my childhood money,for now I was getting my education for free.Maybe somebody in Germany will tell me I am wrong having this impression. I wonder were I got some of my Republican view points and get skeptical when todays politicians tell me my Social Security Check is welfare or a gift of kindness.

The 5th grade in the big city was an adventure.I was behind in the language skills.My math and teacher's patients kept me going for a lot of red was always on my written papers.I walked the two miles everyday to the train station in a village named Lenglern.The train was pulled by a steam engine.The school was located in the city of Goettingen about 10 miles away.The cheap seats of third class was what I could afford.If I wandered to the higher priced location the conductors reminded me were I belonged.The train steamed through meadows and woods and farm fields for 30 minutes and pulled into the big train station(Bahnhoff) with four major tracks.

I was exposed to a new world of learning and curiosity and good teachers.Besides the books,I got into painting, crafting,(no star making for that was a family affair),field trips,the English game of cricket,field handball and track events. The soccer sport was a village affair and not in my school.I was too young (11y) to be a member on a team.Only the very big boys and adults got to play on the Harste village team.

Since horses were used for plowing and pulling wagons and carriages,riding horses was a novelty to me.Dad had been a Polish cavalry soldier with a long saber when he was 21yrs old and that was romantic.Exposure to riding horses was limited to the ones in books(pictures of Prussian calvary charges,Roman cavalry charging into the pesky Germans) and plow horses.

My folks told me that I fell off a plow horse once and hid my head...now that could explain somethings.

However on the way to school in the big city, I did get to see equestrian riders and a jumping arena. Now the horse world in my family is another story for the future.

I nearly left this out and now I believe it is very important. Those flowers that were winking at me were picked and little bunches were put together and brought with me and peddled on the train and at the market place.However you needed permits, for even then the government was squeezing every penny out of us little people.That reminds me,I need to have a heart to heart talk with Uncle Sam about this,for April 15 is coming up shortly. Well...I did elude the eagle eyes and never got permits for I was always on the move looking for well dressed ladies.Blumen Bitte...Blumen aus dem Wald...Mai Gloeckchen zum verkaufen.

Believe or not ,later in life I was a salesman from 1968 on and was mentored by my Father-in-Law,Warren O. Kjeldsen, until he died many years ago...that could be another story.

It was also during fifth grade that I started with confirmation instruction with the local pastor.All kids from the village that were Lutherans were expected to be instructed in the small and large catechism written by Martin Luther.My brother Art went through this tradition in 1950-51.Confirmation ceremonies were alway after Easter.We were expected to be at church every Sunday.Well ,I ran into trouble with the pastor.The instructions were held once a week after school hours.At that time I was attending school in Goettingen and not  the local school.The pastor wanted to distribute a Church bulletin after our instruction period.The other kids in the class were only girls and the boy was expected to do the work. I protested the division of work.I indicated to the pastor I would do my end of the village but the girls can do the area they lived in. I had homework to do and could not  or would not take the extra time for the distribution.The pastor did not like my view and got upset with me for challenging his instructions.I did not back down.So, I was send home and could not return to the class unless I had a change of attitude.I ran home and told my Mother what had happened. I was in tears and unhappy about the injustice of the situation. I told my Mom I wouldn't go back to this confirmation class. Never! My Mother was in a dilemma for religious instructions were important to her and she saw my side of the situation too.The idea that a child of hers would not be confirmed in the future was not acceptable to her either.She dried my tears and calmly said ," we shall see about this later".
I never did go back to that class for the folks had made the choice to immigrate and we would leave the village in the near future anyway.
Confirmation was still in my future but it would be in Texas in 1953 and in English.That is another story.

Memories from Harste

My years in Harste were good and wonderful.I explored the woods and hills around the area.The big river was the Line River that started in Goettingen as a cartesian spring which I saw on our class field trip.There was also a big salt mine in the same area.The Harste River (Flus) started in a cow barn and bubbled up like a cartesian well too.The river had a trout type fish (florele) but I never caught any by hand like the big boys did.That river was also my swimming pool and I learned how to swim the breast stroke.I never knew the free style or Australian stroke at that time and never got good at that stroke even though I was on the college swim team in1959-60.The coach saw me swimming breast stroke and he needed swimmers desperately that knew how to breast stroke.No records were set and I don't think I warmed the pool up with my speed either...Track was my sport.The same coach for both sports.

Near the river was a pond and the big boys got ahold off abandoned bomb shell halves.These metal shapes served as boats and we all had a lot of fun with them.I guess good use can be made of terrible things if you mix them with boys and water.I don't remember girls participating in that activity.

The big boys always started new things that us younger ones imitated when they left the scene.There was a big stack of straw bales on a nearby farm.The big boys rearranged that pile so it was full of tunnels and with limited entries.We spend hours chasing each other through those dark tunnels.It was a good thing I was not allergic to dust and straw pieces but the knees and pants got a tremendous work over.

We also had another group play of robber pirates.My older brother was the good guy and me the bad guy.My gang captured a girl and his gang had to get her back.I forgot the details and the rules.Well ,the big brother captured me and I didn't give up so easily.The struggle got a little serious and my pants got ripped.When we got home...I was punished for getting the pants ripped.My father's belt found my rear end in a hurry.My big brother of course did not suffer.His clothes were fine for he was stronger and held me down until I called Uncle and that took a while. I think I resented that for a long time and maybe I still do.