EARLY DAYS WITH JOHN S. & MARIE K. SIGDESTAD

By
Daniel J. Sigdestad

PREFACE

I would be remiss if I did not admit to misgivings for not obtaining from my 
parent's authentic and interesting genealogical information. Of what intrinsic 
worth would not such priceless material be-- pertaining to modes, standards, 
methods and customs from early years down through their life span, measuring 
from 1865 to 1950? 

I have tried to cover part of that span in my own limited way, recalling those 
incidents and experiences that might be of interest and benefit to my children 
and their offspring in years to come.

Special recognition is due my dear wife for her assistance in preparing this 
record of events. It is my hope and prayer that those herein listed, and 
progeny, will enjoy and profit from the information in the history of the lives 
of parents and grand their given parents.

	In loving memory of my parents who lived
	loved and labored that we might more ably
	reflect on and benefit by their industry,
	thrift and sacrifice.

BLESSED BE THEIR MEMORY

Written by their son
Daniel J. Sigdestad
September 1982

[Photo – John S. Sigdestad]

The golden morning sun rose radiantly over the hills and valleys on the South 
Dakota prairie that beautiful autumn day when mother's anxious moment culminated 
in my arrival into this world. Mother had previously lost a pair of twins which 
left her grief-stricken and sad. With implicit faith in her Lord and an abiding 
trust in His promises, she prayed in her distress that Cod would entrust her 
with another pair of twins. I am here as a result of her ardent and impassioned 
prayers.

Selmer and I were born at home on Sunday September 17, 1899. These births healed 
the fallen, yet indomitable spirit of mother whose trusting faith and fidelity 
could not be shaken or dimmed. How fortunate we were to be born into a family 
whose lives were centered around and motivated by their loving Savior.

My earliest recollection of home was my inability to enter the shanty adjacent 
to the house under construction because I could not operate the latch-string on 
the door. I well remember how mother took pains in dressing us, partly so as to 
confound the relatives in identifying us. For her own way of telling us apart 
she tied a red handkerchief around the neck of one of us. Could it be that the 
one so designated would unfasten the tie, thereby confusing mother? Not likely! 
We were too young for such pranks, possibly only two or three years old.


[Photo - Marie K. Sigdestad]

[Photo - Daniel and Selmer]

Carefree summers soon came to an abrupt end when we were old enough to go to 
school. My first day in school will always linger in my mind. Dad brought us to 
school in a buggy drawn by King and Prince. As Dad left the school grounds I 
cried uncontrollably. Not even the loving, assuring voice of a concerned teacher 
could control my lonesome, homesick feeling. Peering through the west window of 
the schoolroom I watched Dad returning to our clearly visible home until I lost 
sight of him as he turned off the road towards the barn.

The first day of school seemed endless, but it came and went. The distance home 
that first day was joyfully shortened by the thrill of going home where I felt 
more secure. Our shortcut route to the schoolhouse was a clearly defined path 
across Anton Morby's and Uncle Sakris's fields rather than walking the main 
road. Selmer would invariably take the lead. Over the stubble fields he would 
aim the course so straight that we marveled at his ability to do so at such an 
early age. This same course was repeated each year throughout our eight years of 
rural school training. This path was visible for a long distance until it was 
plowed under in late fall, when a new and more difficult path had to be made 
over the plowed ground.

For boys growing up on the farm the most difficult part of starting school again 
after having gone bare-foot during summer may have been the wearing of shoes 
which the callused and unfettered feet protested. Clothing was drab for the most 
part for school children. Girls wore their hair in braids tied with large bows 
or worn with a band. The boys' hair was usually trimmed with shears. To get the 
edges somewhat even a large bowl was placed on the head so the shears followed 
the contour of the bowl.

My first grade teacher, Carrie Vale, was one who went beyond her call of duty. 
Individual help was never denied any pupil in spite of a full daily schedule
in an overcrowded one-room school. When we grew older we helped our parents with 
their daily chores. Even as preschoolers, Selmer and I would offer to milk a 
certain tame cow although mother frowned on that offer because of the danger 
involved. We were confident we could trust our pet cow, so with pail in one hand 
and stool in the other we sat down to prove our offer, Selmer on one side and I 
on the other. We did it, but mother thought we worked too fast, so she tested 
our feeble attempt to see if we had gotten that last drop of milk. We were 
taught at an early age that whatever was worth doing was worth doing well, so 
the next time we offered to help, we tried to perform to mother's liking. A few 
years later, however, we could never figure out why we were so anxious to learn 
the art of milking. When we didn't have to do it, it was fun; but when that 
became our daily chore it was far less appealing. 

[Photo - Daniel, Minnie, Joel and Selmer

Another chore after school was helping mother by going to the pasture to pick 
cow chips. We would take partially dried chips, stack them in pairs in an 
upright position for further drying. In a day or two, depending upon the need, 
we would take gunnysacks, gather the dried chips and carry the sacks home on our 
shoulders.

Water was heated in a pan or kettle atop a coal-burning stove. The large oven 
turned out golden loaves of relished bread. The inviting aroma in the kitchen on 
such days was impelling enough to make us want to help mother feed the stove, 
knowing we could sample the bread, hot from the oven.

We always had enough to eat, though I am sure it taxed Mother's ingenuity to 
plan meals on a small budget. Bread we had always, potatoes and other vegetables 
from the garden were abundant. Beef and pork raised on the farm rounded out the 
meals with an occasional duck or jackrabbit. We learned at an early age not to 
waste food. We were often chided if an uneaten portion of food was left on or 
behind the plate. Often crusts of bread were left hidden behind the plate, 
unseen by the offender but clearly visible to the scrutinizing eyes of Mother 
and Dad. They made sure that it was eaten before we could have our dessert. The 
cookie jar was always a temptation. We were never denied any food, but between 
meals we were taught to ask for it.

A wash stand and a cistern pump occupied a corner of the large kitchen. There 
was also a pail for water and a dipper. Jackets, caps and coats were hung on a 
row of hooks behind the kitchen door. Under the watchful eye of mother these 
hooks were used as expected. Clothes draped over a convenient chair or dropped 
on the floor or carelessly tossed in a corner were quickly identified with its 
proper owner. Overshoes were lined up neatly near the door on a piece of paper 
to protect the floor. Mud or snow was often tracked in nonetheless, and Mother 
did a lot of mopping up on her linoleum-covered floor.

On wash days a goodly part of the kitchen became a laundry room. A wash tub 
placed on a bench and a copper boiler were brought in from their storage place. 
Water was heated in the boiler on the kitchen range. All clothes were rubbed and 
scrubbed by hand on a washboard. Clothes were hung outside to dry. In winter the 
clothes would freeze stiff on the line. The long-handled underwear ranging 
downward in size from Dad's 40 to Joel's diminutive proportion assumed grotesque 
shapes. Improper handling in this frozen condition could damage the fabric, so 
they were carried in carefully like headless ghosts. A few minutes in the warm 
kitchen would collapse them enough so they could be draped over chairs to 
complete drying. It was little wonder that Mother's hands remained red, swollen 
and sore.

The rite of the Saturday night bath was likewise performed in the kitchen. Again 
the water was heated in the kitchen. One at a time we stepped into the wash tub. 
All wastewater was carried outside to be dumped. This was usually done by the 
one next in line unless Dad was close by. After supper the table was cleared so 
we could use it as a desk on which to do our homework. Many were the arithmetic 
problems with which I struggled!

A large hard-coal heater took up considerable space in the living room. We never 
tired of admiring the distorted images of our faces reflected in the highly 
polished nickel-plated trimmings. The smoothly rounded surfaces were wonderful 
against which to warm our cold hands and feet. In wintertime we both dressed and 
undressed within the circle of that pleasant warmth. The cheerful glow of fire 
within shone through the isinglass doors that, when viewed from the outdoors, 
caused us to rush through our chores so we could get back into the house to 
enjoy the comfort of that inviting glow.


[Photo - Clara and Minnie]

A stairway off the kitchen led to the bedrooms upstairs. These rooms were 
suffocatingly hot in summer and frigid in winter. A heavy patchwork quilt over 
woolen blankets covered each bed. In extreme wintry weather layers of newspaper 
were placed between the blankets for added warmth. Bedbugs, often found in egg 
crates exchanged when eggs were hauled to town, abounded in spite of mother's 
unending war against them. Men who often worked in logging camps in winter would 
bring with them these infectious creatures, thereby multiplying and augmenting 
the already heavy load of our distraught mother. She would spray kerosene behind 
the moldings, into the cracks, over the frame and springs and even into the 
corners of the mattresses.

Mother's life with Dad was generally tranquil. Dad worked hard to provide for us 
in so many ways. Childhood diseases in the early 1900's added to the parent's 
worries. Most children caught and survived chicken pox, measles, mumps, whooping
cough and scarlet fever. We always strove for perfect attendance in school, but 
when I was in fifth grade I contracted mumps which forced me to stay home for a 
week--there went my attendance record! Clara was the only one of us that had a 
perfect record throughout her eight years of school for which she was recognized 
at graduation time.

Father's only day of rest was on Sunday. His all-occasion blue serge suit served 
him so long that the seat of his pants shone like a mirror. He was "klokker" 
(sexton) for many years in Bergen church until the English language replaced the 
old Norwegian about the year 1917. The folks saw to it that we were faithful in 
our church attendance. Only unfeigned illness or inclement weather kept us at 
home.

Dad was a typical immigrant from Norway. His life was a difficult way of life. 
The mountainous terrain where he had lived afforded no space for grain pursuits. 
Many were discouraged at the dim prospects of owning a farm, due to the 
traditional custom of inheritance. He became restless. Anxious for a life in 
America and a strong desire for a better life caused him, together with 
countless others, to leave their fatherland, braving the unknown seas for a 
venture in an unknown land. Dad braced for the expected and unexpected evils of 
the unforgiving ocean on its unescorted and lonely trip into chartered waters 
and uncharted dangers. Tradition had it that the oldest son in the family should 
have a right to the farm; others had to search for work elsewhere. News from 
America may have been exaggerated at times, but the encouragement to emigrate 
was all that was needed to convince them that a journey to the new land was 
worthwhile. So with a stubborn determination and a positive attitude they forged 
ahead.

Dad was a symbol of this type. He landed with other members of his family in 
Montevideo, Minnesota, in July, 1881. He worked on farms for 25 cents a day and 
in winter months got his room and board for his work. After four years in that 
area, the family traveled via covered wagon to Day County, South Dakota, landing 
in Lynn Township in 1885. Here he filed on 80 acres of land and later purchased 
a quarter section from Ben Bakken on which he built his home. In 1891 he bought 
the rights to a tree claim where he planted a grove of trees that has since 
decorated that land which is mine today. The pioneers rose with the sun and 
labored as it crossed the heavens, and when it sank behind the western horizon 
they cheerfully headed home--tired but happy in the consciousness of a day's 
work done.

Marie Kvile, at the age of 21 years, had come from Norway the preceding year 
with her brother Iver Danielson who had established a home in Union township 
about four miles from Dad's place. Marie kept house for her brother until such a 
time that Dad was able to woo her away from her brother's place to help him 
establish their own home. Little is known about their courtship, but on July 2, 
1891 they were married. Here they labored faithfully against many odds in the 
early days of farming. Drought, grasshopper, hail and prairie fires raised havoc 
with their heroic efforts in trying to raise a crop, but their persistent 
courage was not intimidated by reverses.

Travel during the early years was at best very crude and slow. Roads were only 
trails and money for road building was scarce. I can recall the time when a team 
of horses pulling a hand-controlled scraper was used to fill in low places, thus 
making a grade over watered areas. Culverts were made of wood to be placed in 
low areas, then covered with dirt for drainage purposes. Of course oxen supplied 
the earliest power used for transportation. They were often hitched with horses 
for added power. Later horses replaced the oxen, speeding up the work. The buggy 
replaced the wagon, thus reducing the time it took to go places.

Exchange work with the neighbors was common. During winter months sleighs were 
used; also a light rig known as a cutter. Before the automobile came into being 
we had a shiny new buggy with a collapsible top, equipped with side curtains for 
use in bad weather or as protection from the sun. A new buggy and a frisky horse 
was the desire of those who could afford it and the envy of those less 
fortunate. Our first automobile was a 1917 Reo with a collapsible top and side 
curtains. It was a sturdy, rugged four-cylinder model that, when forced, could 
attain to a speed of 35 miles an hour. When it came to muddy roads it could plow 
its way through with little difficulty. During the winter months the car was 
jacked up to save the tires, and the battery placed in the cellar to keep it 
from freezing.

Life before the turn of the century was very simple. There was no electricity, 
no telephones and no running water. A clearly defined path led to the outhouses 
where the Montgomery Ward and Sears Roebuck catalogues served their final 
purpose. Whatever we had was a result of what we ourselves created. We made our 
sleds, and made skis from old discarded door tracks or staves from large 
barrels. Harnesses made from twine were used when we hitched trained calves to 
pull us around in our little wagon.

To get water for the livestock a well had to be dug by hand. That required an 
enormous amount of work. Usually the well was dug with a tiling spade. The dirt 
was hoisted up in buckets which, when moist, would be difficult to empty. 
Imagine digging a well by hand four feet in diameter and fifteen to twenty feet 
deep!

The early pioneers did not have much money with which to buy coal, so wood had 
to be cut for that purpose. That was always a good winter's job. Field work was 
far different from the present, modern methods. Tractors were unheard of. The 
machinery was crude. The walking plow, the walking cultivator, the miniature 
reaper that left the grain untied were the common machines in use. Years later 
the riding machinery became better known. Shocking grain was a detestable job, 
especially barley, as the beards would lodge in your shirt and socks causing 
unending itching.

Since threshing machines were few we had to take our turn in getting our grain 
into the bins. This would be late in the fall. It was not unusual to be 
threshing after the first snowfall. In order to get the fall plowing done the 
grain had to be stacked in huge cone-shaped stacks, usually four to six stacks 
to a setting, then the plowing could be done with ease. Threshing every fall was 
fascinating to us. To see that enormous steam engine puffing black clouds of 
smoke was terrifying. That smooth flowing power operated the separator with such 
ease that the straw came bellowing out of the blower in massive heaps to form a 
huge strawpile in which we loved to frolic after the machine moved away. The 
shrill whistle from the engine would penetrate our ears with deafening force.

When we heard Dad mention the approximate time the threshers would come to our 
farm, we would gaze through the schoolroom windows in eager anticipation of its 
arrival. When that time came we lost all interest in our school work. The 
teacher knew why we were so restless, but as long as we did not misbehave we 
were not scolded. Our only concern was to rush home so we could ride the grain 
wagon with Dad to the field where the machine was in operation. What a thrill 
For several years we were fortunate in having the threshers at our place on our 
birthday. One such fall day stands out very vividly in my mind: Selmer and I had 
gotten pocket knives with a chain to fasten them to our overall button for 
safety. I can't recall any birthday present that was more appreciated than that 
knife. To show our pride in that unexpected gift, we were anxious to follow Dad 
to the threshing crew so we could show off our treasured birthday present. Dad 
sensed our joy and understood our pride. A greater attraction than the threshing 
machine was the cook-car. The inviting aroma surrounding the area was a 
beckoning call for us to survey the premises, I would dare

Selmer would dare me to go close enough so that cooks would be aware that we 
were nears I would steal close to the steps at the entrance, listening closely 
to find out in which end of the cook-car the ladies might be working. When I 
thought they were in the opposite end, unmindful of us, I would peek in the 
doorway to explore what was going on. As sure as I did I was caught by an 
unexpected gaze that jerked my head back in a jolting manner. When the cooks 
sensed our sneaky intrusion they knew why we were there. It wasn't long before 
they satisfied our curiosity by giving us a cookie or a doughnut. Then we were 
happy and satisfied.

Dad was a man of sterling character. He never imbibed in alcoholic beverages and 
never used any form of tobacco. He practiced what he preached, setting an 
example worthy to follow. He was always regular in attending church as was 
mother, and they expected the same of the children.

Mother and Dad read by the light of the kerosene lamp with a reflector attached 
to it. The reading material included the Bible, that was used daily, Decorah 
Posten (news) and Minneapolis Tidende, and the Dakota Farmer. With Decorah 
Posten came Vedarnen, which was a tabloid that was more often read by neighbors 
because the exhilarating and hilarious (funnies) called "Ola and Per" became a 
frequent topic of conversation. That was a scream!

The kerosene lamp was replaced by the Aladdin lamp which was a tremendous 
improvement. Now we could see clearly from any area of the large kitchen instead 
of rushing to get to the limited spot illumined by the small lamp's reflector.

In 1918 Dad had electric lights installed in all the buildings. What an 
extravagence! Not so. We had experienced some good years and Dad thought it 
would be a good investment, and that is what it turned out to be. No longer was 
it necessary to clean lamp and lantern chimneys, a job which we disliked. All 
that was necessary now was to press the button. What a welcome change! A large 
Genco generating plant furnished the power by storing it in 16 large glass 
batteries. No more danger of fire in the barn that held 70 tons of hay; no more 
danger of a cow "jumping over the moon" because the lantern capsized.

By now we were comfortably situated so we could enjoy the comforts of the day. 
Dark gloomy clouds of the first world war had hung on the horizon since 1911. 
The United States was not involved until later. In 1917-18 men were being 
drafted and ordered to military training camps. Meanwhile people at home were 
busy making articles of clothing needed by the soldiers. The Bergen Charity 
Circle, of which we were members, met regularly for this purpose, and that was 
the time Mother taught me to knit.

The summer of 1918 caught Selmer and me in the army draft. This was of great 
concern to the folks, fearing we would be called for military training. We 
registered as soon as we were 18 years old which was three months before 
Armistice Day. We were classified 1-A which meant that we were physically fit 
for army training, and that we would be next in line to be called for camp duty. 
The thought of our leaving home was not very pleasant for Mother and Dad, but 
their anxiety was soon alleviated when, within a matter of a few weeks, the 
Armistice, ending the war, was signed on November 11, 1918.


Since there was no refrigeration in the early part of the century, meat had to 
be cured to keep it from spoiling. Dad built a smokehouse for this purpose, 
using a 55 gallon oil drum. The top of the drum was removed to allow the smoke 
to escape and penetrate the meat that was hung on the surrounding walls. Again 
we had fun challenging each other, this time to see who could stay the longest 
in the smoke-filled house. I don't know who won, but I know I came out choking 
and with eyes and nose running. A slow-burning fire without flame cured the meat 
to a delectable taste.

Before hams could be smoked they were soaked in a brine solution in a large 
earthen crock for several days. In this solution they would keep for weeks. 
Dried beef was another variety of home-prepared meat. This had to be salted for 
a given time, then hung to dry. When ready, Dad wrapped it in cloth, put it in a 
sack and buried it in the grain bin. Mutton prepared this way became 
"spekekjot," a favorite amongst Norwegians.

The large dried cod fish Dad bought occasionally had to be prepared in a special 
way before it could be cooked. Mother would put the cod in a large earthen crock 
filled with a salt and water mixture to which some lye had been added. Before 
this "Lutefisk" was cooked, it was washed and again soaked in water. Served with 
melted butter, mashed or boiled potatoes, it was a most delectable meal. Lefse 
was always a companion.

It was necessary to work if one wanted spending money. During the warm days of 
summer, Sam, Joe and I trapped gophers. The county paid a two-cent bounty for 
tails. We stuffed into our overall pockets several slices of dried beef, and 
with our traps in hand took off to the pasture. There we spent the entire day 
trapping and relishing our dried beef dinner.

To keep the gopher tails intact we placed them in a snuff box discarded by our 
hired man. On Saturdays we would go with Dad to town and trade our "loot" for 
celluloid rings which we used for trimming the harnesses.

This became our weekly event in the summer, so much so that whenever the Knott 
boys saw us coming into the hardware store they would jokingly say: "Here come 
those pesky ring buyers." That didn't bother us. We were happy with our 
purchases, and next week we would go back for more.

The folks believed in giving us a good education that they were denied. 
Parochial school was attended for a month following secular school. Here memory 
work was paramount. The "Catechism," the "Forklaring" (explanation) and "Bible 
History" were memorized verbatim. The last period in the afternoon consisted of 
writing from dictation several paragraphs dictated by the teacher from the 
"lesebok" (Reader). This required intense study because we were responsible for 
spelling and paragraphing, as well as diacritical markings.

Our noon recess was usually spent playing ball or crickets, but if we saw a 
gopher running in the school yard, we formed a water brigade, carried water from 
Uncle Sakris' nearby slough, poured it into the hole and waited for the gopher 
to come out. Then with a stick or rock in our hands we would attack, many times 
too early or too late. That was discouraging, so next time we used a snare made 
out of twine. That was more effective.

Our teacher's motto was "obedience." We were expected to follow her rules to the 
letter. If we got out of hand once there would not be a second time. Mother too 
expected wholehearted support. If I had been reprimanded for some offense, the 
folks would surely find out, than I would get another censure when I got home.

That brings to mind another incident when Selmer and I had been given permission 
to go to Jake Fosheim's place to play with Jake and Art. They were the only boys 
in the neighborhood that had a bicycle. That intrigued us and was the main 
reason we wanted to be with them. Mother told us to be home at a certain time 
and she meant it. That evening Selmer went at the precise time, but I was having 
too much fun with the bike to heed mother's order. Later I wished I had, for 
when I got home mother applied something to that part of my anatomy that touches 
the chair when I sit down. That taught me to respect her orders.

Sunday dinners were always special but usually late, not due to Mother's 
negligence, but rather because of the long-winded sermons by the preacher. It 
was not uncommon to delay the dinner until one o'clock though the services began 
precisely at eleven o'clock. If baptism, communion or confirmation were a part 
of the service, the dinner was further delayed. To us as youngsters it often 
reached the point when we thought more about mother's good dinner awaiting us 
than of what transpired in church. There was scarcely a Sunday that we did not 
have company for dinner. That was the price the folks paid for living so close 
to the church--only 80 rods away. We always enjoyed company, then mother might 
have a little something extra, but it just meant that rambunctious boys, eager 
to go out to play, had to wait till the grown-ups had been served. That was 
usually a very tedious wait.

Mother's generous heart never permitted anyone to go hungry. Meat, vegetables, 
butter and eggs of which we had plenty, were given to the Pastor for the 
family's use. At Thanksgiving time mother always had a large turkey ready for 
the parsonage together with freshly baked bread, cookies and pies.

Preparation for Christmas always started the first week in December. School 
children from the various districts gathered at Bergen church on the first 
Saturday to be assigned their particular part in the program which consisted of 
poems, dialogues, songs and pantomimes, all to be memorized. When thus assigned 
we studied diligently for the next Saturday's practice. The night assigned for 
the "Juletrefest" (Christmas Tree Festival) was the highlight of all the winter 
activities. No one stayed home that night. Grandmas' as well as new-born babes 
were there. Soon there was only standing room left. When the program was over 
the children marched around the altar where each one was given a bag of candy 
and nuts; to our joy a nice red apple was added when we got back to our assigned 
seats.

Celebrating Christmas for at least two weeks required much time and planning. 
Mother went all out to make it a joyous occasion for all of us. Christmas Eve 
dinner was extra special. There was never a time we did not have a brand new oil 
cloth to deck the kitchen table although the present one would have served the 
purpose as well. That special meal consisted of lutefisk, mashed potatoes with 
delicious brown gravy, spare-ribs, lefse, flatbread, fattigman, kringla, 
pickles, and all kinds of cookies and cake. When supper was over the Christmas 
Story was read, followed with an evening prayer. At an early age we were taught 
the true meaning of Christmas.

For several days following, the neighbors invited the young folks for a fun time 
that would be spent in singing, playing parlor games, and, of course, eating a 
delightful lunch. This would go on far into the night. We did our chore early so 
we could leave home right after supper, thus making the evening’s fun last 
longer. After two weeks of such exciting socializing, we were satisfied to get 
back to our regular routine.

Mother and Dad made their home on the farm until 1926 when they purchased a 
house and retired to Bristol. Selmer, who had worked the farm for a few years, 
purchased the land and continued its operation.

There were nine children in our family. Minnie was the first to survive after 
the death of the first four infants that included a pair of twins. Minnie was 
born November 11, 1897, Selmer and I on September 17, 1899, Joel on May 17, 
1902, and Clara on July 29, 1905.

After a year suffering with pernicious anemia, Mother passed away on September 
14, 1936 at the age of 72.5 years. After Mother's passing Dad made his home on 
the farm with Selmer and Elsie. He enjoyed being on the farm, staying there for 
several years before moving to Moorhead, Minnesota where he spent his remaining 
days with Joel and Clarice. He passed away on January 23, 1950 at 85 years of 
age.

Blessed be their memory