Spargelzeit

T minus 9 days until our trip to Germany. I'm deep into the excitement of planning. Could I possibly have more fun on our vacation than I'm having during the planning phase? I kinda doubt it. I keep telling myself that if for some reason we had to cancel our vacation I would still be satisfied.

I'm especially excited about the food. Germany has its drawbacks in that arena, most notably the giant wobbly knuckles of pork that are on many menus. But it's also a country that embraces vegetarian food, and is rapturously enthusiastic about the appearance of some seasonal foods.

Spargelzeit is asparagus season. It is likely that our vacation coincides with Spargelzeit, or as every sidewalk blackboard outside of a German restaurant declares, "SPARGELZEIT!!" Remember my amazing airline meal on the way to Italy? It even had asparagus dessert. This is the kind of thing I'm hoping for.

We're a little early for Grüne Soße season, but I'm hoping. It's a condiment that is heavily identified with Frankfurt, the first stop on our vacation. There is a Grüne Soße season and a
Grüne Soße Festival, the whole nine yards. The festival is in May, so we'll miss it. However I've asked Mr. Piston to help us find some when we're in town. He reports that he loves green sauce. He also loves Girl Scout cookies, and I am bringing him four boxes of Samoas. This is how cultural exchange works. Maybe I'll bring him some cranberry sauce, also. The people of the world love cranberry sauce and it's hard to find elsewhere. I once carried two cans of it to Japan.

Meanwhile, I got my German culcha on yesterday at our local German / English deli.

Many rabbit chocolates abound.

Squirrel Broth

I was on the sofa with a cold last week. One evening I had a hankering to leave the house for a minute and get some fresh air, so I took my blanket out to the deck and watched the sun set. I was going to miss it entirely if I didn't just get up and go, so I ignored mrguy's entreaties to put on some shoes. As happens in such circumstances he called out "Don't go all William Henry Harrison on me," by which he means that he doesn't want me to go to inaugural day without my hat and then die. Then I started talking about squirrel broth, therefore setting off the age-old argument about which president died of a cold and which one, lingering from a gunshot wound, asked for squirrel broth.

So it was on this day that we stopped arguing and looked it up to find that it *was*, in fact, William Henry Harrison who died of a cold. 

I did not die of cold, as I used my blanket to keep my feet from touching the ground. And it was Garfield, lingering after a gunshot wound, who called for squirrel broth.

We can't recall where we learned of this story, but it smacks of Ken Burns. Or Sarah Vowell. And it seemed to be a little too good to be true. So then *that* needed investigating as well, because the story we had heard is that there were two girls who, upon hearing that the president had called out for squirrel broth, sent their pet squirrel to the capital to be made into soup. After some digging in Newspapers.com I was able to verify the names of the girls, and via Ancestry I was able to confirm that these young ladies did, in fact, exist. What actually happened to the squirrel is up for debate. Ellie and Laura Hoke, I hope that your family has held onto and celebrated this story. I am so jealous.

 

 

 Hmmm, did they let it go or did the president's children keep it?

While researching this topic I also learned much about the indignities of Garfield's passing. Newspapers of the day spared their readers of no minute medical detail in reporting on the president's condition. Temperature, pulse rate, what he said to the doctor during a sponge bath and after vomiting. He received nourishment by both mouth and enema. To say I was surprised is an understatement.

The Enquirer had nothing on these people.

So ends the argument about William Henry Harrison v James Garfield. Mrguy is right.

Germany 2017: The Lead Up

I am German, but I'm not German. Some of my ancestors came from there a very long time ago and I enjoy researching their stories and learning about the places where they lived. Until a few years ago I thought this was impossible. This is the story.

25 years ago I knew that my Germans, who had an uncommon surname, had lived in a small town in Ohio. I was able to track them through the census, and learned that they ended their lives in Texas.

A few years ago I decided to put more effort toward finding out more about this family. My ancestor's tombstone mentioned his birthdate and the place, Freiberg, Saxony. Could I somehow learn more about his connection with Freiberg? I did more digging on the American side. He was a soldier in the Mexican War. He had land. He applied for a passport once, and traveled back to Germany.

The breakthrough came via Google Book. There was an obituary for a guy with the same surname. Then I hired a German researcher to figure out whether this could be the father. Over the last few years she and I have worked together to unearth records about the family. She finds specific things for me (like birth records or marriage records), then I do more research using what she's found. I've ended up learning about the Enlightenment in Leipzig, the lives of portrait painters, and about the Sorbs, the smallest Slavic minority.

It's been a blast. In two weeks we're visiting Saxony to visit places and see things that have been uncovered in the research. I cannot wait.

Kiss Me, I'm Gonna Be Irish

Readers of mrsguy know I'm really into genealogy. I love research. I love stories. I love history.

I think many of us of a certain age can credit Alex Haley and Roots for this. The year that it came out, I remember being asked to put together a family tree, and that's what got my dad writing two long bits of narrative about the family that I still refer to for inspiration to this day. My mom did this, as well.

Pop was Irish. This I knew clearly. He grew up with that identity (although his mother was born in Norway) but not very much information about where or when. We were told that the family was from Limerick, and when we visited Ireland many years ago we went there. It took a person on a genealogy forum for Limerick to dispel me of this notion. She knew that my family name wasn't common in that area, and found records in another area that showed the births of ten of my grandfather's siblings. Years later she provided me with the actual birth records.

Pop always wanted to become an Irish citizen. After Brexit, so did I. After our election, I was all LET'S DO THIS THING!! Not that I don't love being American. I do, and I'm never leaving, and it's all going to be ok, but I need a mental escape hatch. I've researched the steps and the many many many pieces of documentation I will need, but I'm going to do this.

On this St. Patrick's Day, kiss me I'm *gonna* be Irish. And mrguy, too, because he's married to me and I'm more Irish than he is.

hahaha

Next year we will break in my new passport on a trip to Ireland.