It is time to tell my unique life story. To begin, my ancestors were Germans who came from Russia. When Catherine the Great became the ruler of Russia, she invited German farmers to come to Russia, offering free land and freedom from military service. Many came and created German villages within Russia. My ancestors were among them.
But in the early 1900s, Russia threatened to send Germans, Poles, and Czechs from these villages and farms to Siberia. My grandparents and parents were among those exiles who escaped to create new farms, villages, and homes in North America. In the case of my family, they came to North Dakota.
I was born to Matthias Garman and Marion Bohl and was delivered at home by my paternal grandmother Magdalene, who was a midwife. Magdalene was also the name of my mother’s mother, and I am proud to have been named after them both.
My dad was six when the family sailed to America, moving on to Michigan, then to Canada, finally arriving in North Dakota, to cultivate and tend land that was flat, barren, and rocky. Somewhat later, my mom’s large family moved to North Dakota. Mom’s family had come to America through Ellis Island, and my mom herself was the first of her parents’ children to be born in the United States. These families arrived and settled when North Dakota had just become a state.
I was the eighth of my parents’ 14 children, of whom 11 lived. We were all expected to work hard to help make the farm productive. I recall picking heavy rocks from the fields at the age of 12 so the plow could ready the soil for seeding the grain. Our farmhouse had no running water, so another of the children’s daily jobs was bringing the water in from the pump outside. Getting ready for laundry days meant carrying water to the porch all Sunday afternoon, where a gas washing machine would run all day on Monday. The children took turns staying home from school to help Mom with hanging the wash and folding it after it was dry.
At around the age of 12, I became a “mother’s helper,” taking care of the younger children. These experiences can explain how I became a person who is “kind of bossy!” I was always a responsible person who noticed everything.
We were fortunate in the town of Balta to have a public school where Catholic sisters, Sisters of Mercy from Omaha, had been hired to be our teachers. The school included grades one through high school. I loved school and the friends with whom I studied in class and played at recess. When I returned to the family farm. I was at home with more playmates who were my siblings.
Our family spoke German, so that was my first language. When my two older brothers and sister started school, the sisters at the school in Balta helped teach them English. We also had to take special phonics classes to correct our poor English.
I had a wonderful teacher who helped me with English and phonics when I reached first grade. Her name was Sister Mary Ellen, and I just loved her. She had had rheumatic fever and was not able to run and play with the children, so I would go and sit beside her when she allowed it. I believe this was the first time I had a feeling of wanting to be a sister.
When I was in eighth grade, Dad bought a bigger farm in Esmond with a house that had more room for the family. The new school there meant the end of my religious education at school. I was tall in eighth grade and was chosen to play basketball with the high school team, which gave me a lot of satisfaction because our small school had six very good players. The school was a two-year high school, so I would have to change schools again.
Although our hard-working family was poor, there was always food because we had a big garden and butchered animals for meat and raised chickens, geese, and turkeys. We had plenty of eggs and my mother baked bread and cakes.
I joined the “Hankinson Franciscans” – the Sisters of St. Francis of the Immaculate Heart of Mary – at age 17 or 18 as a candidate when I was a junior in high school. While I was making the decision, I told the parish priest in the confessional. He asked me to wait in church so he could talk to me about this decision outside the confessional. Imagine my surprise when later my mother came to me saying, “I hear you are going to be a sister.” I didn’t take too kindly to the priest being a tattletale!
The Hankinson Franciscans are a province of Franciscan sisters based in Dillingen, Germany. After 25 years with that community, I transferred to the School Sisters of St. Francis in 1982. The Omaha team of Sisters Rosalie King, Mary Hettig, and Arlene Einwalter received me. I loved living in Peter and Paul Convent where I got to know and love sisters including Janet Merkel and Patralia Wimmer. I was a member of the Clarissans Area Community until that area community was discontinued.
My best years are these retirement years. I have time to be more prayerful. I love my old age. I love my preparation for my death. I have experienced much pain in in my life, including surgeries and physical pain. It is a blessing to sit in the Divine Rocking Chair in the core of me that whispers God’s presence, to rest in God who is open to hear me, who is the Center of my life. The past is a vapor flowing on and my present is a ray of brilliant light. God is with me, flowing and flooding me with love.
I am looking forward to Jubilee day, when I will dress up and curl my hair, replacing my helmet for this celebration, and when Carol Le Claire will push my wheelchair into St. Joseph Chapel and be my guest at the table in St. Joseph Hall. I will be filled with joy to celebrate seventy years of religious life.