Volga German

The past few years I have been dabbling in the family heritage.  My father was born here in the US, however, my grandparents are of German Russian decent. I never knew my grandparents, but as a small child I met them.  They lived on fourth avenue in Gering, Nebraska.  My father took me to meet them.  On that occasion, I was frightened by meeting these strange people.  My grandfather, Conrad, was sitting on a chair in the kitchen and my grandmother was making strawberry preserves on an old wood burning stove.  I can remember them.  My grandfather with his large nose and his face was hidden by the shadows of the brim of his hat.  Grandmother was stirring her preserves.  I stayed close to my father, fearing the strange new people we were visiting.  My father, said, stay away from the corners of the counter.  They did not talk to me, however, they talked to him.  They were speaking a language I had never heard before. My father later told me it was German.

A month or so later, I was back in Gering, attending a funeral for my grandfather.  I remember my father tell me, don't cry.  The day was rainy and all these strangers were huddled around a casket. I never even knew him.

Many years passed and I still remember the day in my grandmother's kitchen.  I often wondered if she thought about me in her last days.  Did she want to know me, or even care to love me?  I think she did.  As I have visited them in the Gering Cemetery, I have asked them questions.  Many of those questions seemed to have been answered in my quest.  I have found distant relatives; which have sent me photos and told stories of the life and times of the German Russians.