More family history

As requested, here are a few pictures of Grandpa's paintings.   I've put in the associated stories where I could - there was a book published with some of his paintings and stories that I could copy from. 

Hildebrandt's Flour Mill, Einlage (1981)

"The millwas just off the main street in the town of Einlage, a town that disappeared under water in the late 1920s when a hydro-electric project was developed on the Dnieper River.

In this picture all the customers are Russian men, who always had many dangerous-looking dogs with them.  Some of them are accompanied by their wive, who want to make sure the men don't spend their money foolishly.

I like to tell my grandchildren that the little blonde girl in the blue dress is their grandmother.  When Grandmother was a little girl, and her father was manager of the big mill - well - he needed lunch, and the girls were willing to bring it to him, but they were frightened by all the people, and all the horses.  The horses would kick and the big dogs would growl and bark, and show their teeth.   Holding hands helped a little, but such dangers!

And then came help: a farmer - dirty, and with many patches on his pants and jacket.  He made a deep boy, lifted his cap and offered to help the young ladies.  This is what the man said: "Young ladies."  Right then the young ladies felt a lot better.  Graciously they accepted his help, passed all the dangers and so they came to the office (the white structure near hte back) with Father's lunch."

Home of Kornelius and Ida Hildebrant, Einlage (1974)

"Among the first settler in Einlage were my wife, Sara's, ancestors.  Peter Hildebrandt (born in 1762) and Magdalene Albrecht (born in 1767) came to Russia as young people.  They were married on the joyrney there, late in 1788, and settled in Einlage in 1790.  Four generations of Hildebrandts have lived here, the last were Kornelius and Ida Hildebrant, my wife's parents.  Sara has spoken often of the eight children in the family, all girls: "I have so many memories about our parents' home, house, yard and garden.  Father was a manager of a large mill.  The machinery in the mill was driven by steam and the mill produced lovely white flour.  It was a large operation.  When I was a child I often took Fesper (the afternoon meal) to Father and then he would say: "You, Sara, will help me some day, with all your writing.  You will become my secretary.'  But war and revolution destroyed everything.  Father was murdered and three of my sisters died - all in 1919.  Then, in 1928, Mother had to sell everything: a massive dam was to be built and the whole village of Einlage would be buried under water.  We decided then to emigrate to Canada.  Mother lived there as a widow for many years; she died March 3, 1942 and is buried near Rabbit Lake, Saskatchewan."

This was my wift, Sara's home, in the village of Einlage.  "It was a nicely kept farm," says Sara, "with fruit trees in the front, and bee hives under the big tree at the right."  You can see Sara and her sister, when they were girls, playing with little dolls.

Those Einlager passing by in the carriage at hte front I do not personally know, for I have never been to Einlage myself! At the back, you can see the train crossing the Dnieper River.  Sara saw it when it was bombed during the Revolution, with eighty coaches carrying wounded soldiers and nurses and provision all sent into the river."

This one is called "Farming in Saskatchewan" (1980).

"Only a few years ago John came to Cnada, and now he is a farmer.  Coming home from town, he has ten dollars in his pocket.  It's a lot of money, but it looks small, when he compares it with all the feed it has cost him to raise the pigs.  He can see that the wheat field is gone, all blown away.  The field behind the barn looks green, but with the hot sun and no rain, there will be very little to harvest.  The cream cheque this week was two dollars and thirty cents.  Then again, if everything dries out, there will be no feed, no milk, no cream cheques.  Maybe he should go gopher hunting with the boys.  There is cash money in that; the municipality pays two cents a tail.

His neighbor George, the Canadian, told him a story.  He could not understand it all, but it sounded to him like this.  George had shipped a couple of steers to Winnepeg.   Back comes a letter, very polite - and please send forty-five cents to cover expenses.  And a lot of words nobody can understand.  So George sits down and writes a letter.  That's hard work.  His hands are more used to handling a manure fork than a pen.  "I am sending two roosters, that should cover the cost, etc."  He has to stick a three cent stamp on the envelope, but it cannot be helped.  Back comes a letter again - "One rooster is enough, what shall we do with the second one?"  George writes a second letter, this time in plain English, as he puts it.  Exactly as he talks every day.  "Now, you guys out there in Winnipeg, you keep that damn rooster - I have more steers I want to ship."

George's plain English is not exactly plain; it is very colourful.  With one word he can describe a lot.  His favourite word is "hell."  He can say: "It is hot as hell" and in winter "It is cold as hell."  "We had a hell of a time" can mean anything, good or bad; it depends on how he says it.  But when he talks to his horses, old Barney and Bill, then he really piles it up. 

What a story and what a strange country! But John wants to learn English.  He studies the Eaton's catalogue.  Now he has found something.  He reads:  "Cut plug" - that means "Good plow" - and cheap, only one dollar!  He goes to the neighbors.  George's wife is a teacher; she will write the letter for him.  But George is right there and he explains: "If you send them that dollar, Eaton's is not going to send you a plow; they will send you a box full of tobacco."  Well, John is learning English!

Later, at night, his wife gives him a push.  "John, you snore and you talk strange in your sleep!"  John turns over.  "Strange country.  The Bolsheviks wante dto kill em - I escaped! Canada - a good country."

And these last pictures don't have stories with them, as they weren't published in the book.

This one is a picture of the Sask. farm in the winter.  Somewhere I have a pic of the Ontario farm I think, but not sure where.

This one doesn't really have any historical significance and needs a frame, but it's one of his earlier paintings and it was done shortly after he came out to Alberta for a visit.  It reminds me of family excursions into the Rockies.  Warm fuzzies.

Story source:  A Sunday Afternoon: Paintings by Henry Pauls edited and with an introduction by Hildi Froese Tiessen and Paul Gerard Tiessen. Institute of Anabaptist-Mennonite Studies and Sand Hills Books, 1991.