Click for Samsel Siblings with father Herman
I remember when Dianne and I used to go visit Granpa and Granma on the farm. Food scraps in the slop bucket and "Hooee, Hooeeee, pig pig pig" and slosh, and, standing on tiptoe, we could see the pigs and hear their delicious gruntings.
But also I remember the thrilling excitement of so many adventures with Uncle Don's big kids. They would come over from where they lived, and we would tag along. Out to the pasture, beware the big cows, build a fire and cook a rabbit. Did we really eat it? Into the orchard, carefully working for hours to take the bark off of a fallen tree, and then Granpas' anger. It was supposed to be for something else. But also cautious curiosity as I watched these bigger children when we got together—somehow so different from us.
And then of course, the parting of our lives. Was there an actual rift or just that there was not much in common. Mom's family—where education and music were so central and her siblings where it was different.
We went to Minneapolis many times and had great fun at Uncle Bert's and Clint's and Clare's—eating and talking. Visiting Quaker Oats and the car factory—what one was that? Riding the Trolley car with Uncle Bert, or Clint as engineer. What do you remember?
But then loose connections, memories of Uncle Don in later years as fragile in body and in spirit. A drifting away—our weekend together was a challenge to that possibility as well as being the most fun I've had for a long time. You guys are so much fun to be with. Just didn't get enough of it. Especially liked the thoughts about the state of the church. Great stuff.
Thanks Dorothea and Gordy for prodding us to do it.
Well, Lent is soul work time. I wish I knew what parts of Uncle Don's
life were about Easter.
Uncle Don, Mom's little brother
Doris tells us that when Robert Donald Samsel was born on October 18, 1915, in Windom, Minnesota, his father, Herman, was 37 and his mother, Jennie, was 38. He had four brothers and two sisters. He died on March 16, 2000, in his hometown at the age of 84.Donna Shares Memories of Uncle Don
It's a tiny moment—of sadness, of remembering, of wishing it had been different and we had been a part (more of a part) of Uncle Don's life.I remember when Dianne and I used to go visit Granpa and Granma on the farm. Food scraps in the slop bucket and "Hooee, Hooeeee, pig pig pig" and slosh, and, standing on tiptoe, we could see the pigs and hear their delicious gruntings.
But also I remember the thrilling excitement of so many adventures with Uncle Don's big kids. They would come over from where they lived, and we would tag along. Out to the pasture, beware the big cows, build a fire and cook a rabbit. Did we really eat it? Into the orchard, carefully working for hours to take the bark off of a fallen tree, and then Granpas' anger. It was supposed to be for something else. But also cautious curiosity as I watched these bigger children when we got together—somehow so different from us.
And then of course, the parting of our lives. Was there an actual rift or just that there was not much in common. Mom's family—where education and music were so central and her siblings where it was different.
We went to Minneapolis many times and had great fun at Uncle Bert's and Clint's and Clare's—eating and talking. Visiting Quaker Oats and the car factory—what one was that? Riding the Trolley car with Uncle Bert, or Clint as engineer. What do you remember?
But then loose connections, memories of Uncle Don in later years as fragile in body and in spirit. A drifting away—our weekend together was a challenge to that possibility as well as being the most fun I've had for a long time. You guys are so much fun to be with. Just didn't get enough of it. Especially liked the thoughts about the state of the church. Great stuff.
Thanks Dorothea and Gordy for prodding us to do it.
Well, Lent is soul work time. I wish I knew what parts of Uncle Don's
life were about Easter.
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