Among eight Pedersen sisters, one remained with us until the other day. The seven others had already passed into the next world; some older, some younger, my mom among them.  My Aunt Myrt has now followed most of her ten siblings, along with her son, her husband, her parents and others she loved. 

The sisters were well known to their neighbors and friends as caring, loyal and fun-loving women who looked very much alike.  Mom and Aunt Myrt were so very similar that when they both had Facebook accounts, the internet would tag Mom as Myrt or Myrt as Mom. 

The last sibling is now their youngest brother, Alden.  I can’t fathom being in his place right now.  I’ve been blessed with four siblings myself, and they are all still with me.  The yoke of that burden has to be heavy, but he has plenty of nephews and nieces who can help him carry the memories of this Silent Generation for years to come.  And as I face the idea that ours is becoming the oldest portion of the population, I can’t help but feel we are lacking the wisdom and the resolve of whom I feel has been one of the most humble yet wise of generations, who conquered much evil in the world and provided us with plenty.  By sharing what we know of their history, perhaps we can extend that determination to our children and their children.

Myrt spent her last years in pain, with not much to ameliorate it but the occupancy of her mind with the love of her family.  She never wavered in showing her love to others, even when faced with her own issues.  Her children, grandchildren and even great-grandchildren were with her often. They spent many a holiday together, even after younger generations moved far away.  At our family reunions, hers has been the family most consistently in attendance and well represented.  They still wear their designated yellow shirts to identify them as the Lecy family, while the rest of us have gradually let that tradition fade.

She started life as the eighth of 11 children of a Danish & Norwegian-American farm couple in central Wisconsin.  The sand that surrounded their home held enough potency to grow corn, potatoes, vegetables and flowers enough to feed them all, and a small herd of dairy cattle and chickens afforded them meat and dairy. 

Myrt was a live-wire, always one of the social sparks in a family of apparent introverts. (They were known as quiet to others, but in their own element, they were hardy and carefree.)  At family parties, you might find her wearing her dad’s bib overalls or some other pulled-together outlandish outfit with an odd-looking hat and makeup, dancing around in silliness galore.  Her laughter was infectious and her spirit animated.  We’d find ourselves laughing, clapping or even joining in the fun.  Having been born on Grandpa’s birthday, I believe she possessed some of his jovial and mischievous personality.

She was known for her boutique taste and was always dressed to the nines with fashion accessories that belied her plain-clothes roots—wearing colorful scarves, jewelry and jackets with style.  She and her sisters had been known to wear flour-sack dresses sewn on Grandma’s old White treadle sewing machine as well as hand-me downs during their formative years.  She worked at a local shop in Adams-Friendship, and I believe she likely spent any earnings there too.

She married Uncle Helmer in the 50’s in a lovely tea-length gown with veil.  Mom & Dad and even my older brother, Fred, were part of the wedding party.    My cousin Janice refashioned her wedding dress to floor-length and wore it in her own wedding in the 1980s, proving that Myrt’s wardrobe choices were usually timeless.

A product of the times and place, Myrt took her position as a farm wife seriously; taking care of the home and children as well as myriad farm animals who needed her.  But she was also a champion of her local community, taking part in many social service organizations through her church and township that kept her very busy.  While Uncle Helmer climbed the ranks of the local Lions Club leadership and into international status, she was at his side, graciously doing her part to further her husband’s ambitions as well as to put a beautiful face on their representation of their home community.

Myrt was a born servant.  She supported others whenever needed, from assisting her elderly parents and other relatives, to opening her home to me, my siblings and even our friends with a soft pillow, warm bed and tasty food during our many visits to Arkdale.  While so many of us offer platitudes and help by saying, “Just call if you need me, or tell me how I can help,” Myrt showed up.  She didn’t wait for someone to ask.  She was there.

She never stopped serving others outside her circle, but she was well known to locals as the “Soup Lady.”  Should anyone nearby, whether family, neighbor or friend, be under the weather, she’d appear with a container of delicious homemade soup to nourish them back to health.  It became her signature and calling card.

Today, as I ponder how I can leave my imprint on this world, I think of Aunt Myrt and those who have gone before her.  I know they’re watching us.  I know they are shaking their heads at the problems we are facing, and they are urging us on–to keep moving forward, no matter the troubles we face.  We may be frustrated with one-another.  We may be angry at the world and wishing that things were different.  We may be sick or in pain.  But we only need to ladle ourselves some good soup, take a spoonful, slurp it up and think of Myrt, of our family, and of all those who’ve gone ahead.  The warmth and nourishment of those memories will sustain us in the most spartan of times.  We only need to remember the love they’ve given us through their lifetimes to know that we will always bask in that light wherever we go.

To Aunt Myrt, you are one of our shining stars.  I pray that you are no longer in pain and are held in Uncle Helmer’s arms, surrounded by your sisters and brothers, your son and nephews, and your parents as well as others who are welcoming you to their realm.  Godspeed.