The Miller’s and the Schnell’s came to America. They fled Nordka, Russia, because the initial cause for them to move to Russia from Germany were the promises to worship freely, no conscription and their own acreage. In the latter part of the 19th Century all bets were off. Flee or die.
They fled, migrating to the United States in the steerage of cattle boats. Somehow a group of them, identified as German Congregationalist, got to Portland, Oregon, set up worship and worked in the garbage business or meat markets. I had a cousin who made the best German sausage and as briefed before, Henry Miller, my father’s father, picked up garbage.
I think of my ancestry today. How I got here, still without a twang, living in Austin, Texas, bathed in beautiful blue and that’s not the sky color. I think of my Portland family. I think of my sons, one in Chicago and the other in Stuttgart.
I give thanks. Deep thanks. With that are also pangs of frustration, even pain and torment. Far beyond the medical issues of Jason, although that is so very major, the pain of what is happening in our country. I wonder. I wonder what Supreme Court Justice John Roberts and his family will discuss today during their Thanksgiving meal. It could go on and on.
In the mix of that, having food to take with Diane to her sister’s warm home, my thousand-year great friend [it seems like that since the early 40’s when we were living a block apart] Doug White sent me the attached. I read it and wept. For the energy and vision of my heritage. For the ways in which my parents planted values, never to be uprooted, integrity and caring and effort. This link is important to read. My take.
I wish each of you a good day, giving thanks. Know that you matter. Each of you.