Who Am I?

One’s heritage explains much of whom they come to be. I am a product of two people of mainly Dutch decent. My mother was a pure bred, born and raised in De Motte, Indiana. Her father, Frank (Foppe)De Haan, was born April 18, 1888 and came to the States when he was seven years old. His family settled in the Fair Oaks area around De Motte, Indiana. He spent his life as a farmer, was a very humble man, and served as an elder in his church for many terms during my growing up years. Her mother, Grace Bierma was born in De Motte across the street from Eenigenburg’s blueberry farm on Road #1400. Later her father built the home where my paternal grandparents raised their children. Grace’s parents came to the States from Holland. Her father died when she was eleven and then she became an orphan at the early age of fourteen when her mother died in childbirth. She and her five siblings were split up to different family members. Both my grandparents spoke Dutch and would use it frequently when we children were around and they wished to speak in private among the public. I always knew when there was something I wasn’t supposed to understand because they would fall into their mother tongue like falling off a log. I loved them so dearly. When my dad was gone during WWII, I nearly lived with them. My mother and I slept in our home next door (the distance of about a city block in the country) but I spent all my waking time in their home and in their laps as my mom supported our family by teaching school. My mother would carry me in their home on those cold winter mornings and my Grandpa would receive me with open arms. He would reach under my pajamas at my waist and pinch my skin with a smile and say, “ I got your bare skin”. I recall feeling as home there as anywhere in the world. Even after my father came home the day after Thanksgiving of l945, the convenience of having those loving people so near sent me walking down the country road nearly everyday to spend some time with Grandpa and Grandma. I almost always went home with them after church for Sunday dinner. One time when I was about seven or eight, our pastor, who evidently wasn’t very bright about child psychology, walked out of the church door as I was making my way to my grandparent’s car hand in hand with one of them. The pastor looked at me and said, “Gayle, whom do you love the most, your parents or your grandparents?” I recall squirming inside. Just how should I answer that question? The truth was that it was neither. I loved them all with all my heart. I don’t remember how I answered but it was something close to the truth. That pastor’s insensitivity has stayed with me all those years. One doesn’t ask open-ended questions like that of children.
The De Haan grandparents moved to De Motte early in their years in the States. They lived a quiet life of farming, surviving by supplementing with farm animals of various kinds. Grandma canned every vegetable known to the area and there was a larder ever ready and ever full. She also canned meat, beef and chicken so she could put a hot meal on the table in the time it took to cook potatoes. They lived a humble but happy life. Their home was about a hundred years old but was kept painted and coiffed. It was important to Grandma that even though she didn’t have much, what she did have would be well cared for and well presented. Grandma’s time was spent in service to her husband and her grandkids. She always had time to explain the meaning of things or to take me on rides where she would explained the owner’s of the homes we past along vast country roads and tell me stories of their ancestry or significant things about the history of those folks. I learned so much at the knee of my Grandma De Haan. Grandpa died when I was in college but Grandma lived until she was ninety-one. She was as special to my older children as she was to me. She was never too busy for us and was always willing to stay with my first three little ones or ride with me when I had to take a child to the doctor. She had us for dinner occasionally and brought over pots of food that she made. Most of those were Dutch dishes that she knew I enjoyed so much. What a Gram she was.

Because my mother died before my grandmother and they have both been gone for over twenty years, I have heard less frequently the stories of Gram's parents; Great Grandpa and Grandma Bierma. I did write down as many facts as my Gram gave me and have kept them in a file for all these years. My Great Grandmother Bierma, was born Suzanna Achteen. She came to the states when she was seventeen years old and settled in Roseland, a south suburb of Chicago. She died in childbirth at the age of twenty-eight and is buried in the Forest Home Cemetery in Chicago. One Memorial Day many years ago, my husband and I took my Gram there to look for the gravesite of her mother and a sister that also died in childbirth at a premature age. The sister’s name was Teresa. We successfully found the graves which seemed to give Gram a peaceful satisfaction. Though Cornelius, my great grandfather, died at the age of 43, he had lived a productive life. His obituary states, “He was a Hollander by birth and had lived in Keener Township perhaps 13-15 years and previous to that time lived in or near Chicago. He was a man of fine character and education and was probably at the time of his death the most influential man of Holland birth in Jasper County. He was trustee of Keener Township for four years. He was a Republican in politics and always took an active part in political matters.” The obituary adds that my great grandfather died of consumption and had been bed ridden for only two weeks.

Great grandfather on my mother’s paternal side was Stephen De Haan. His wife was Anje Sipkema. I know little of them other than that they, too, were farmers. I know that Stephen’s first wife died young. She was my grandfather’s mother. His step mother's name was Hilda Zandstra. Both Stephen and his second wife are buried in the Dutch cemetery in De Motte near the graves of Gram and Grandpa De Haan.
Psalm 100:5

Tomorrow will be about the grandparents on my father's side.