Nancy Sandberg Bulcha, Tribe of Irene, Reflections and Family Update

A memory from living in the St. Paul apartment from about 1939 to 1943: Parn, LaVone and Maurice all lived with us in our one bedroom apartment as they were employed in the area. There was a murphy bed in the living room. Mother had a mangle to keep up with pressing the sheets as they were changed often with relatives coming and going. Once Parn and LaVone took me shopping for shoes. Mother was not happy when we returned with a pair of brightly colored thongs from Asia. It was what she wanted, they said.

Story about Grandpa Otto: Grandpa Otto was known by his family and many others as a man of prayer—being seen kneeling and  praying frequently. His concern was for family, community and the world. It was the custom in the area, when someone died, neighbors would contribute 50 cents and their name to a flower list at Alpha Store-for funeral flowers. Grandpa Otto requested that half of the money to be collected for his funeral would be sent to a leprosarium in India. I’m sure my working at a leprosarium in Gendeberet, Ethiopia was a result of his prayers for the neglected poor of the world. Our tribes have been people caring for others—following his example and prayers.

Grandpa Otto was instrumental in establishing and keeping our Wood Lake Baptist Camp up and running. The results of his vision and work have influenced so many of Otto’s Kids. Besides being campers, we served our denomination’s missionaries annually as they came for a week retreat—cooking, providing food, taking care of the children while their parents were in meetings. As a young teen, I knew all the missionary families and the details of where they lived and their work, in at least seven countries.

I have been influenced in a huge way through our aunts and uncles. Most of the ways were suttle and continual—unable to put a finger on each as a single event—just an accumulation of spending time together and being “loved on”—in a Swedish way!

Grandma Peterson spent a lot of her later years, after moving from the farm, as a cook in several places. I remember our family picking her up at Bethel, on Snelling, from her job there. While she was cooking at camp, she made sure that I, as a camper, wrote something to be placed into the “time capsule” that we buried. In town, she cooked at the Rainbow and maybe other places. I remember feeling scared as I visited her dreary hospital room after a stroke. Once she stayed at our house on the farm when Mother was in the hospital in St. Paul. I was crying once in the middle of the night, and I can still see her taking my hand as she led me into the living room to comfort me.  Some remember her as stern—but I do not. She had a difficult life with all her relatives moving to Canada, working hard on the farm and losing three young children. She was the midwife for all the neighbors.