As soon as we became members of different churches, I deemed we confiscated being Mennonites. In my opinion, I gave up being Mennonite when I became a member of the Carlyle United Church after marriage. Sure, I still have Mennonite roots, but I was no longer a true-blue Mennonite. Likewise, with the other siblings who joined non-Mennonite churches.
My future husband, Dr. Wilbert Harold Hewitt, also often talked about growing up under similar dire circumstances during wartimes and the worldwide Great Depression. We both remembered how the wood fires would go out at night and how the water in the wash basins would be frozen solid by morning. Later a bagful of coals might arrive and a few coals in each wood burning stove would keep the fire smoldering overnight. But these were an expense which was not always affordable. Imagine getting up and getting dressed when the house was that cold! But my father-in-law whom I never knew, Norman Hewitt, was a hunter and fisherman. Thus, he supplied his family with meat to eat which we did not always have.
I trust that all my children, grandchildren, nieces and nephews, siblings, and whoever else may chance to read my memories will value the historical background and appreciate their parents for helping to pay their educational expenses which I did not have. Enjoy the reading!
Agnes Neta Buhr-Hewitt
CHAPTER 1: PLUM COULEE, MANITOBA
IN YOUR JOURNEY OF LIFE, YOU SHOULD LEAVE AT LEAST ONE CHAPTER.
This is your Life, your very own life. Get to know your soul. Dance your dance, sing your song, take charge of your story, Love your day. Let your heavy stuff go, embrace your blessings. Stand in your power, forgive your mistakes, forgive your enemies. Drain your secrets of their poison, heal your pain, rest your body, share your talents, practice your passions, find your bliss. Live your Life, love your Life, because the best years of your life will happen as soon as you open your hands to your happiness.”
- The Mustard Seed Express
Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you; before you came to birth, I consecrated you”
- Jeremiah 1:5
THE BEGINNING
My Unheralded Birth
I was the seventh child born to my parents, Tina and Peter Buhr. I was born in a farmhouse at Plum Coulee, Manitoba in Canada.
It was an early Monday morning on July 8th, 1930 when I decided to enter this world during the height of the Great Depression. I must have been trying to warn my parents the day before that I was about to have my coming out party because my dad had taken my six older siblings to the neighbours for the night. I imagine that my Dad went reluctantly and unhurriedly with horse and buggy to fetch the doctor at four o’clock in the morning. But neither he nor the doctor arrived on time because I decided, “this is it!” even though my mother was alone in the house.
There was no one there to pat me on the back and make sure my lungs were clear but apparently, I screamed voluntarily, and my mother wept bitterly as she had done throughout her pregnancy with me as, as she confided in me many years later. “One more mouth to feed! One more child to care for!”
“But what a blessing you turned out to be,” she also told me years later. Don’t worry, I was kept very humble by my siblings. My self-esteem was always at low ebb. I certainly was not a planned child, but I was a survivor, without the proverbial slap on the back, without someone to encourage my mother by saying, “Mrs. Buhr, you have a lovely daughter.” No frills or niceties to welcome me into this world! The doctor must have done his thing when he eventually arrived; cut the umbilical cord and attended to my mother and possibly to me. Someone must have wrapped a little blanket around me and set me to nursing.
Before long, my dad had to fetch my siblings from the neighbours. My nine-year-old sister, Dorothy, was smitten with disbelief, as she told me years later. She ran all the way home, panting, “Is it true? Is it true? Do I really have a little sister?” Between her and me she had welcomed four brothers, plus she had one brother older than herself. She had wished for a little sister for a long, long time. Finally, here I was to fulfill her dreams and hopes.
Next began the parade of onlookers from my siblings. Dorothy had already enveloped and adopted me. After all, I was the answer to her prayers. A sister for a change, for her to dress and care for. Then the oldest, Bill: going-on-eleven with somewhat ruddy hair. Just another baby in the house but a girl for a change. Then, eight-year-old John: lean and lanky as he remained all his life, more curious than impressed. Then, five-year-old Ed with his soft, sensitive eyes – probably thinking he would never, ever hurt her. Gentle protector he always remained. Then, three-year old Paul: already somewhat rough and tumble, hoping I would be tough – yes, tough I would become. Ben: only fifteen months old, almost still a baby himself, barely walking and feeding himself. Ben and I were to become close playmates throughout our childhood years.
My poor, poor mother. She had three children in diapers (Paul, Ben, and me) and only six diapers between us to share. Each had to be washed – stat! – the minute messed and hung up to dry beside the pot-bellied wood heater. Where were the Central Relief Committees at the time to lighten mother’s load with a dozen diapers at least? Unheard of it seemed. There were no Pampers. Cloth diapers were the order of the day and washable over and over again from baby to baby. But the bright spot in her life was the tiny one, the little girl who was trained ahead of her brothers. I was quick and clever and walked early, so I was told by Mother.
I have few memories of Plum Coulee but my Aunt Agnes, Mother’s sister, sent me a picture of the house where I and probably all six older siblings were born, stating that she and Uncle Henry Penner and their family had lived in that same house for thirteen years after my parents vacated it. I asked my Aunt Agnes if there had been a creek with a footbridge nearby. She said, “yes there was.” I vaguely remember we were all told never to walk on that footbridge, but I defied that order and crossed it one day. I also remember a very severe spanking for having disobeyed. Many years later as an adult I understood that order was for our protection in case we would fall in and drown, being too far from the house for any cries to be heard. It blows my mind that I can remember to this day some things that happened when I was age two.
I also remember mother telling me that I had a girl cousin born to Aunt Annie Siemens the next day. It was still born. Sadly, they had three sons and wanted a daughter so badly. Mother knew that through the years her sister often looked at me thinking, “that’s the age and size our little girl would be by now.” She was sure my Aunt Annie favored me in comparison to other cousins, wishfully thinking how unfair life is. They were wealthy and could have afforded to give me so much when there were seven children in my mother’s life. Why did her sister’s daughter live and their little daughter died? She must have lived with that question for the rest of her life.
My maternal grandparents were Johann and Anna Braun. My mother’s grandfather’s name was Schwartz. A German interpretation of the word “schwartz” means black. It seems mother used to joke about her name, stating in German, “I come from the Black Brauns. What isn’t black is brown.” True to form, my Mother’s hair was black, and her eyes were brown. Oh, that I might have inherited her coloring! I always considered her beautiful.
My paternal grandparents were Peter and Aganetha Buhr. It is obvious whom I was named after excepting my name was broken up into two names: Agnes Neta Buhr. My birth certificate says only Neta, but I have been called Agnes since
