COLUMN: Tales from the Gravel Ridge – The stories within our stories

All of us have memories. And all of those have a context. The background of some of these memories may be of little significance to us. We simply recognize them as a moment in time.

Other memories that we may have however, are loaded with importance and consequences that continue to shape our own personal lives, and the lives of our loved ones, and others too.

One memory in particular that had a profound impact on our family, was the unexpected illness of our father, Cornelius Heinrich Falk, and his death less than two days later on Aug. 25, 1959. So many of our personal stories, and the life of our entire family, are inextricably tied to this sudden event. And since my father’s death occurred while my parents were on a weekend trip to celebrate my uncle’s birthday in another part of southern Manitoba, these members of our extended family also became part of our family’s experience in a very real way.

In a small community such as Rosengard was at the time, the death of one individual affects the entire community to a greater or lesser degree. My father’s death also became part of Rosengard’s history, and that of our immediate neighbourhood.

On that long ago morning when we, the bereaved members of our family came home, we did so without our father’s company and companionship. It was our neighbours, Helen and Jake Penner, who had looked after the chores that needed attention during our unexpected absence, who were the first to greet us when we returned home, and to express their heartfelt condolences.

My father’s funeral was held in the Steinbach Mennonite Brethren Church on Aug. 29, 1959. Among the various people in attendance on that day were Garnet and Phyllis Tolton, a young farming couple from Otterbourne, Manitoba, for whom several members of our family had worked, including my brother Ernie, who was working for the Tolton family at the time of our father’s death. I am quite certain that the young couple had not previously attended a Mennonite funeral, much of it conducted in German, but Garnet and Phyllis were present that day. They had previously experienced deep sorrow when their infant daughter died. My siblings who had worked for the family attended the funeral of little infant, Enid Tolton. Our stories are never truly lived only in a private context.

After we returned home to our Rosengard farm later on Aug. 29, the day of my father’s funeral, my youngest brothers, whose lives were affected so enormously by this sudden development, remained outdoors for awhile, while our mother, Katarina Falk, and other family members and friends were in the house. Bringing their guitars outdoors with them, my brothers Ed and Vern, along with our youngest brother Herb, began singing songs appropriate for the occasion, accompanying themselves on their guitars. For the moment, it was their way of responding to the new circumstances under which they, along with the rest of us, would have to learn to function.

Our father had a great love for music, and had a fine, well-developed voice. Singing was meaningful and enjoyable for him, and by extension, our entire family. It is a legacy that has given us opportunities to sing in various capacities over many years, both privately and publicly. It is a gift that keeps on giving.

For me personally, my father’s gift is in the music that drifts through my head frequently, sometimes sung in the German language. These may be hymns or folk music. They may also be some of the great oratorical music I have heard and sung.

Many years ago I was asked to do a reading at Rest Haven Home in Steinbach. Mrs. Elizabeth Engbrecht was a resident of Rest Haven, but on this particular morning she was feeling somewhat unwell, and was not initially in attendance. A little later that morning Mrs. Engbrecht, feeling better, joined the group. She told me that she could recall perfectly well where my father always liked to sit during a Sunday service. I too had no difficulty recalling that scene. What was truly memorable however was the fact that Mrs. Engbrecht commented on my father’s beautiful voice, and this more than four decades after his death.

My father’s gift and love of music is indeed a gift that keeps on giving.