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Threads of Life
Weekend Writing Warriors 30 March 2013

Again I am writing of my great grandparents, August Schumann and Auguste Freimann Schumann. This time it is written in the voice of Auguste.

"It has been one year since my children died. At first, I did not want another, but when Emma gave her to August and he placed her at my breast, I knew the joy of a new birth. We named her Emma, for the sister of August who was there at the time of birth. We are so thankful for the parents of August, for Ludwig being the leader of this colony. It was he who did the prayers when we buried the children and comforted us in the days that followed. Life is so hard here, but being surrounded by family helps us all to endure. August has been my rock; he is so strong. Sometimes he, I, and Emma go to visit the graves of our other children."

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Weekend Writing Warriors
23 March 2013

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August has gone to get his sister; it seems so long ago. The straw mat is on the floor to catch the fluid from birthing and there is a sharp, clean knife to cut the cord plus string to tie it off. Auguste is sitting on the very edge of a wooden chair as the forces of birth are bearing down on her with the weight of the world. She’s had four previous children, all born fine, but Emma had a child who could not be born alive after many hours. Things do go wrong with births and she has had four children already die.  The baby’s head is pushing out as she leans back in the chair, yet trying to catch it.  The baby pushes out as Emma and August burst through the door. As Emma takes over, Auguste can hear the cry of a baby.

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Threads of Life

3/16/2013 Weekend Writing Warrior
I am continuing my family story of my great-grandparents, August and Auguste Schumann. They lost 3 children to Diphtheria this past summer. It has been a hard year.

"The year-end passed in the blustery cold. November, December….no gifts for Christmas this year but Auguste did a special job of patching the shirt of August.  She sewed a tiny heart on it in a place that would not be seen by others, but he would see it every time he buttoned the shirt.  He was her special sunshine of life when little of her life had any sunshine. He, in turn, wove a lovely little grass basket for her sewing.  January came with the wind whipping the snow. February had Auguste feeling that life dragged her down with every step. The little one inside her was moving a lot now and keeping her awake at night. She had made arrangements with the sister of August to help her at the time of birth, but could she make it here through the deep snow?"

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Threads of Life
Weekend Writing Warriors - 8 Sentences - Week 6

I am writing about my ancestral family, thus far of August Schumann and Auguste Freimann and their family. They have just lost 3 young children to Diphtheria in the midst of summer crops. There has been little time to reflect, although that sense of loss is always present. They have begun gathering fuel for winter.  Today, August is looking around the house to prepare for winter. As she does, the baby is now moving within her womb.

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"There is still that small box of children’s clothes sitting in the corner, the clothing of  Auguste Pauline age 4 ½,  Karl age 3 ¼, and Friedrich age 1 ½ at the time of their death.  Friedrich was still in the smocks for summer outdoors, so he could urinate freely. Auguste had just sewn the first pair of pants for Karl, now that he had some control. Pauline’s little smocks, reminded her that Pauline had been mother’s little helper with the boys. They had been able to be outdoors with the help of Pauline, as Auguste ran in and out with the daily tasks of motherhood. Pauline would keep them away from the hot clay outdoor oven and stove.  Auguste had loved hearing their giggles and chatter as she worked.  Could she give these clothes, which she had sewn for them, to other children?"

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Threads of Life
Weekend Writing Warriors #5

My great-grandparents, August and Auguste Schumann,  lost three children from diphtheria in two days during the middle of grain harvest, July of 1887. This appears to have been all their living children. But life goes on for the living. During that illness, Auguste was already three months pregnant with another child.

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"Auguste thinks, “Thank God, the mornings of nausea are past. Thank God, this child within me was protected from the disease. I do not know if I even want another child. Are they all meant to die so young?” Each day, for many days after the deaths, Auguste walked to their graves and sat on the ground for a while before she prepared the evening meal. She and August have taken to eating their meal in silence and then going straight to bed. They had stumbled through the grain harvest of summer together. Now they were gathering fuel from the sparse fallen trees for those cold, wind-swept winters that lay ahead."

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