Look at what we found!

If you’ve read my Celia’s Gifts series, you might already know a little about my Aunt Mary. Her life inspired that series. I always like to say she was a “woman before her time,” and she helped pave the way for other women in business.

Mary K. Nierling was my grandmother’s oldest sister, and our real life “Celia.” She was the matriarch of our family on my mother’s side. I have snippets of memories of time spent at Aunt Mary’s house, eating fancy hors d’oeuvres off individual silver trays and sipping 7-Up from gold embossed glasses before a nice dinner out with her at a fancy restaurant.

We lived a few blocks from Mary’s pink, two-story home. I remember her third-floor attic, the mural on the wall flanking the stairs, the hushed atmosphere and unique smell of the house, and the way the floor squeaked in the hallway leading to her kitchen. It was a large, stately home for a single woman.

I wish I’d taken the time to get to know her better, but I was young and intimidated by her forceful presence. She died a few years after I graduated from college. I’m left with countless questions I’ll never have the chance to ask. I wish I could sit down with her now to hear a firsthand account of the full life she lived. Or at least however much of it she’d be willing to share!

It’s fun to ask questions of those who knew her, but she died in 1992. Thirty-plus years dims memories. One thing my dad mentioned during our talks about the woman was a wall hanging of some sort in a local car dealership. He remembered it related to an exceptionally large equipment order that involved our very own Aunt Mary.

According to their website, the R.M. Stoudt, Inc. dealership of Jamestown, ND was founded in 1941. But they’d moved their offices in the years since Dad last saw the wall hanging, so we had no idea if it still existed.

Fast forward to last week, when we swung by the dealership’s newer showroom to check if someone might remember anything about a framed invoice. You can imagine our delight when the first person we asked marched us right over to a beautifully framed shadow box, hanging prominently on their showroom wall.

I did my best to minimize the glare on the glass.

The salesman laughed as he told us how they often reference the invoice in the center of the display. Why? Look at some details of the order and you’ll understand.

I’ll summarize the high points as the glare makes it a little difficult to read:

• Dated January 22, 1946
• Items purchased included the following:
• 20 Ford 1½ ton trucks for $35,927.40
• 11 Ford ½ ton pickups for $11,369.71
• 2 Ford Deluxe 4 doors for $2,290.00
• 1 Mercury 4 door for $1,380.00
• Red Trucks—Green Pickups—Black Fords—Tan Mercury (I love this description!)
• Heaters included in cars but 11 heaters for pickups $258.50 (this was ND, I hope the 20 larger trucks had heaters.)
• Total Purchase Price $51,225.69 plus Tax $646.70 (a whopping 1.26% tax rate.)

I have no idea what a Ford 1½ ton truck sells for these days, but I know ½ ton pickups cost wayyyyy more than $1,033 each!

The final tally after 29 various older pickups and trucks were traded in came in at $32,981.39. That probably wouldn’t even buy you one half of a brand-new pickup these days, but that would have been a large sum of money in 1946. All these years later, the prices are fascinating, but I find the bottom portion of the invoice to be the best part of all:

​“M. Nierling” was none other than our very own Aunt Mary. I recognize her signature. When I showed this to my son, he said it looked like my handwriting.

A woman’s signature on the bottom of a sizable invoice in 2023 wouldn’t be remarkable, but this evolution didn’t happen by accident. Brave women like Mary K. Nierling, aka Aunt Mary, defied the odds and carved a path through what was very much a man’s world in the mid 1900’s. For me, this invoice is evidence that Mary really was a force in the business world.

Since I didn’t ask the questions of her while she was still alive, I’m attempting to pull together bits and pieces of her career through old documents. An afternoon spent at the Jamestown Public Library revealed a few things, but I’ll dig deeper. I knew Mary rose to the level of partner during her career at the road construction company. According to her obituary, she retired in 1956 at 53 years old. Her death certificate lists her as “owner / operator / partner in a road construction company”. I’ve even uncovered some answers as to what became of W.H. Noel Construction, but I have more research to do.

Another fascinating piece of information a distant cousin shared with me about Aunt Mary is a brief article from our hometown paper, The Jamestown Sun.

​Mary was only 34 years old in 1937; the date penciled onto the clipping. It’s doubtful that many women held the title of President of their state’s Highway Contractors Association back then. I love the quote that she “feels no qualms about stepping into roles usually reserved for men.”

I can’t allow Aunt Mary’s story to die with her. The tidbits I know about her inspired my fictional Celia, but the more I learn of Mary’s actual story, the hungrier I become for more details. I shared some of this history in the back of my book “Celia’s Legacy,” but discovering the Stoudt invoice has reignited my curiosity.

My work continues, but if you haven’t yet read my Celia’s Gifts series, I invite you to take a look. Start with Whispering Pines, Book 1, and enjoy Celia’s tight knit family through all seven books.

​Many of our family’s real-life traditions pop up in these books, keeping Mary’s legacy alive.
 
Thank you, Aunt Mary, for living such an inspiring, generous life. And thank you, Dad, for remembering an old framed document. I suspect those at the dealership would thank Mary, too, for the sizeable chunk of business they received during their early years. After all, the invoice still holds a place of honor in their showroom after seventy-seven years.

​Did you go through a scrapbooking phase like I did? In the mid-nineties, when we were having our first of three kids, I stocked up on all the supplies and spent fun weekends with girlfriends, working on our books and enjoying the winter days at a lodge in Minnesota.
 
But I think I got one thing wrong. Like most new moms, I tried to do too much.
 
The first book I made for our oldest is so thick the binders can hardly hold it together, and it only captured his first year! Over the next few years, I continued building these keepsake books, and admittedly they got a little smaller each time, but my drive to “do it all” led to burnout. I’ve done little scrapbooking since.
 
My mom didn’t normally scrapbook, however, she spent countless nights leading up to Christmas 2000, creating three books: one for me and one for each of my two brothers. My book is thick, but she captured highlights from the first 34 years of my life on those pages. As a bonus, the first few pages are all about our great-grandparents, grandparents, and other relatives that are now long gone. She included photographs I’d never seen before.

​Mom took the time to handwrite so many important snippets of our history on those pages. Her own handwriting on every page makes this book even more priceless to me. 

​Here is a picture of part of one page in the book she created for me. The one of a little girl in the lap of a woman is actually me at two years old and my Great Aunt Mary. I included a photocopy of this picture on the Author Bio page of my holiday novel, "Capturing Wishes". The next page in my scrapbook included a quick summary of what early Christmases looked like for Mom (Linda) as a child. She grew up with three sisters and her mother was Onie Johnson (sister to Aunt Mary Nierling):

“The Johnsons spent every Christmas with the Nierlings. They would have tuna hotdish on Christmas Eve at home, then go to Aunt Mary’s. Each of the kids would have their own corner where Santa would leave their gift. After opening all the gifts, everyone would go to Midnight Mass, then back to Aunt Mary’s for a huge breakfast. On Christmas morning, Onie would shorten new Christmas dresses for all four girls. Linda’s most memorable gift was a Toni Doll and lots of clothes made by Onie, who had stayed up night after night—sewing after all were in bed. We would join all our cousins at Aunt Mary’s for a big turkey dinner and play with all our new games!” 

​This brief paragraph conjures up so many fun, vivid images in my mind. I can just picture my dear grandmother, hunched over an old Singer sewing machine, working on doll clothes and new dresses for her four young daughters. I spent time at Aunt Mary’s house when I was young, and I wonder which corner was assigned to my mom.
 
Revisiting my scrapbook this morning has inspired me to, maybe, pull out my old “work in process” books for our three kids during the new year. I’d be more selective in the pictures I include, and spend more time on the “stories” behind the images, including names, so when someone runs across those pictures in the years to come, they won’t just be looking at nameless faces.
 
These days, we take countless snapshots with the phones that are almost constantly in our hands. But how many of those do we bother to convert from a digital image, so easily lost, into something more tangible that could tell our stories to future generations?
 
Thank you, Mom, for taking so much time during those fall and winter evenings, twenty-two years ago, to record our stories. It is a gift I’ll treasure forever.

“I wonder if Grandpa Les ever knew Louis L’ Amour?”
 
The question popped into my brain a few weeks ago as I stood in front of a plexiglass-covered display case holding an impressive collection of vintage paperback westerns, all written by Louis L’ Amour. The compilation resides inside a quaint writing shack at the Frontier Fort, a tourist attraction located in Jamestown, ND. The town has a population of less than twenty thousand, but it proudly boasts of being hometown to a number of famous individuals including singer Peggy Lee and writer Louis L’ Amour. 

​I remember Grandpa Les, my maternal grandfather, as a quiet man who played lots of golf after retiring from the post office. Grandpa almost always left a Louis L’ Amour paperback sitting on the table next to his recliner.
 
Isn’t it funny what our minds recall about our loved ones from our early years?
 
Jamestown also happens to be my hometown. If you’ve ever driven through central North Dakota on I94 and passed by, chances are you did a double take if you spied the “World’s Largest Buffalo” just off the highway. This 26’ tall concrete structure has stood over the Frontier Fort since before I was born, and I know I’ve visited ‘the Buffalo’ at least once, every single summer.
 
Favorite activities during these annual visits used to include playing in the railroad cars, followed by sticky fingers from dripping cones piled high with scoops of hard ice cream. I even have vague memories of skipping down to a cave in the hillside below the giant statue when I was a kid, but there are no caves now, so either my mind is playing tricks on me or the cave was filled in, perhaps deemed unsafe. This year, a rope blocks the entrance to the remaining railroad car and the shop with the ice cream was empty.
 
While some old favorites at ‘the Buffalo’ (we never call it the Frontier Fort) are gone, new exhibits are being added. Change is a constant, even back home.
 
This brings me back to where I started with this post, and why I insisted on visiting the Louis L’ Amour writing shack before it closed for the season. I’d picked up a well-loved (aka worn) copy of one of his books from a used bookstore earlier this summer, and I wanted to get some pictures of it alongside other mementos from the famous author’s career. 

​This writing shack exhibit has grown in significance for me as I continue to immerse myself in the world of writing. Chances are that if you love old westerns, you’ve heard of Louis L’ Amour. As I stood reading the information on display about him, it occurred to me that he might have been around the same age as my grandfather.
 
Was there any chance Grandpa Les knew Louis personally? I know Grandpa liked his books.
 
Anytime I’m curious about something related to our family’s history, the first call I make is to my sister-in-law, Joey. I posed my question to her, immediately piquing her interest, too. She remembered Mom telling her that Grandpa Les was born in Wisconsin, but somewhere along the line he moved to Jamestown, well before my mother was born.
 
If his move wasn’t until after 1923, the year the sign in the writer’s shack said Louis and his family moved away from Jamestown, then I probably had a disappointing answer to my musings.
 
But Joey loves a mystery, so she got digging. The girl is a wizard when it comes to genealogy. It didn’t take her long to locate census records from that time period.
 
Now we were getting somewhere. Grandpa was born on September 23, 1907, in Merrill, WI. Louis was born on March 22, 1908 in Jamestown, ND. Census records show Grandpa still living in Wisconsin with his family in 1910, but by 1920, the records indicate they’d moved to Jamestown.
 
Suddenly, it was at least possible that these two boys, only six months apart in age, may have played basketball together at Franklin School. Or maybe they shared a table at the Alfred Dickey Free Library, crafting poems or short stories together. We know Louis blossomed into a very successful and prolific author, but I also have a booklet from Grandpa’s high school days that include pieces he (Les) wrote. 

​The school and the library are both included as part of a walking tour which highlights locations important to Louis in his early years.

​Both men left this earth years ago, but their legacies live on. Louis’s legacy includes his many books, short stories, and poems, as well as numerous movies and TV shows based on his work. Grandpa’s legacy lives on and continues to expand through our family. 

​Call me sentimental, but I’m always struck when I consider the many ways we continue to follow in the steps of those who have gone before us.
 
I’ll never know if my Grandpa Les and Mr. Louis L’Amour played basketball together at Franklin School, but I know I played some ball there. Did the two of them both write in the library? Yes, I suspect they might have, but maybe not at the same time. I know I spent many hours there, researching papers throughout my high school years. Even now, copies of the novels I’ve written sit on the shelves in the Alfred Dickey Library. There is a whole section in the library dedicated to Louis.

​During my visit to the writing shack, it felt surreal to place my fingers on an old typewriter Louis might have used to craft his best-selling stories. As I sat at that desk, my daughter-in-law juggled her phone in one hand, snapping pictures of me as I “played” at what it might have felt like to be an author back in Louis’s day, while she also held my five-month-old grandson in her arms.

I can still picture Grandpa’s face the first time he held my first born. Now it’s my son’s baby visiting an exhibit that honors the work and life of the man I suspect was the baby’s great great grandfather’s favorite author.
 
Were Les and Louis ever friends? I’ll never know. But Jamestown is a small town, and I suspect their paths crossed. Maybe they even helped each other celebrate a birthday or two. It’s a fun thought, regardless.
 
Happy heavenly birthday, Grandpa. I miss you. Thank you for passing on your love of books to me. And thank you, Louis, for sharing your talent with the world. You both left your marks on this earth.
 
Keep watching for those connections,  Kim
​

​We are empty nesters. I used to think I'd hate this stage in our lives. I was wrong.

​Our three grown children have (mostly) flown the coop. Years ago, I'd fret about how fast they were growing up. But then my Grandma Onie gave me a simple yet priceless piece of advice. All she said was be sure to enjoy your children at every single stage.
 
That one short sentence shifted the way I viewed life with my growing children. I was able to (mostly) release the ache in my heart when they'd hit yet another milestone.
 
I still cried when I dropped them off at daycare, kindergarten, and first grade. I worried when each one transitioned from grade school to middle school to high school to college. Whether we were taking off the training wheels or handing car keys over to a student driver, I had to fight the panic.
 
But I've tried my best to follow Grandma's advice. It wasn't always easy, but she was right. Young or old, kids are a wonder. When they eventually reach the age where they are self-sufficient, we get a little time back for ourselves. I'm fascinated by the opportunities this new time freedom represents.
 
When I look back, I love that I can't even pick an age that was my favorite with our kids. Unless maybe it's today. Thank you, Grandma Onie, for helping me realize early in our parenting journey that every age is special, before the time slipped away.
 
Baby snuggles, toddler tantrums, grade-school ball games, teen trials and triumphs, first jobs and first heartbreaks, college graduations, and walking them down the aisle: every stage is a gift. I'm excited for the future, I cherish the past, but I vow to enjoy my ever-evolving role as a parent.

Always cheering you on,  Kim