By Ruth Koehler

Special to the Dispatch

Have you ever wondered about someone in your family you know little about? My person is Aunt Ida, Dad’s younger sister.  I know she was born January 16, 1898, never married, moved around a lot for employment, including Chicago, California, Milwaukee, Minneapolis, Brainerd, and Crosby, Minnesota. She had eight siblings, one brother passing away at a young age of tuberculosis.

Dad said Ida was bright and articulate, left home at a young age to work in jobs as a nurse or waitress. She left many articles of clothing and trunks in a storage room upstairs in our house. That room smelled strong for moth balls, which Ida must have felt did the trick. 

After Ida left home, she rarely visited, yet by her many postcards of which we have a pile, we know she cared about the farm as she always asked how things were going and to send her news. These cards came from various places with each including an address. Although Finnish was her first language, her post cards were always written in beautiful English. She displayed a restless nature.

Mom felt somewhat anxious toward Ida, not quite trusting her intentions. She  felt Ida wasn’t happy when Dad purchased the farm and the siblings got their shares according to Minnesota law. She maybe felt she should have gotten more than she did and was unhappy about the sale, probably exacerbating her behavior.

When my grandparents became elderly and needed assistance, she didn’t come around to visit, just wrote cards asking questions. I’m not sure if she came to their funerals, but am thinking she didn’t. We do still have some letters from her asking about the farm sale and other money matters. She was always interested though it seemed mostly for her own stake in money affairs. Fortunately I have a bill of sale regarding the farm sale and everyone’s financial receipts. Ida received the same as her siblings.

My brother said he visited her when she lived in Minneapolis, finding her address in the phone book. Since he arrived unannounced, she was suspicious and asked for his I.D. Upon seeing his drivers license, she invited him in. He said the small one room apartment was cluttered with newspapers everywhere. She sat on the bed while he stood. She did most of the talking and questioning during the short visit. When he left, he recalled the same strong moth ball scent from our storage room upstairs. Perhaps she traveled with moth balls to keep her items moth free.

After my parents sold the farm, they bought a nice home in New York Mills. One day Mom received a letter from Ida stating she’d like to come visit Dad’s grave and stay with Mom a few days. Although Mom was hesitant, she agreed. Ida rode the Greyhound Bus from Minneapolis and found Mom’s house. She walked from the bus station carrying her suitcase, a distance of a mile. Mom said she was about breathless upon arriving. Since I was also curious to meet her, I drove to Mom’s house.

I was struck by her resemblance to Dad, same blue eyes, slim and active with similar mannerisms. Hoping I didn’t stare too intently, we had a nice visit. She mostly asked questions which I answered. While there, she enjoyed Mom’s cooking, a sauna,  and even walked to the Senior Center to meet some people including my mother-in-law, Taimi, manager of the Center.  After staying a few days and finding out what she wanted, she took the bus back to Minneapolis. Since Ida had no family of her own, it’s not easy finding out about her death, although I plan to check various sites for information.  

I’m chagrined I didn’t sit  down with her then and ask about herself. Where did she go to school, who did she play with? From whom did she learn such beautiful handwriting? She was obviously bright and curious about life, yet felt the farm didn’t satisfy her. She looked for travel and adventure with new surroundings which the farm life didn’t provide. However, it seems she didn’t find a lot of happiness in her ventures. I would ask her if she was happy with her life. Was she ever lonely? Was it easy finding other people with whom she could speak Finnish? She obviously cared about her siblings and the farm since she kept in close touch.

Yes, Aunt Ida was a mystery to me and others. We would all like to know more. I wish I could sit with her and share a robust cup of Finnish coffee while talking about life. It’s said we get wiser with age, although hindsight seems to be the wisest.