The Story of Andy Kjearsgaard
After leaving the farm near Raven, we moved into a small house at the edge of Dickson. Other Danish immigrants, mostly single men, were arriving as well. Many stayed with us until they found work. I remember them sleeping on our living room floor, three or four at a time.
Playmate
We liked living in Dickson. My brother and I made friends with an older boy named Gordon Christiansen. His dad owned the Dickson Store and they had farm animals in their yard. We had a good time playing at his place and around town.
Good Neighbours
Mom and Dad's dream was to own a farm, so they bought a homestead four miles south of town along the Red Deer River. A neighbour, Chris Morck, let us move into his newly built house until we could build our own. Meantime, Dad helped Mr. Morck build a new barn.
One day while the men were having coffee in the house, I went to inspect their work in the barn.They'd just put up the doorjambs. To my eight-year-old eye the two by eight boards needed rounding off. I found a hatchet and did the job. To my surprise, my handiwork was not appreciated. But I was lucky. With Mr. Morck there, all Dad could administer was a double-barreled tongue lashing. With Dad there, Mr. Morck couldn't do anything at all.
1930 was a terrible time to start farming. If it weren't for Gordon's dad, Carl Christiansen, we never would have made it. He let us and many other cash-strapped farm families buy supplies and groceries on credit. He told us to pay him when we could.
Chris Morck and Carl Christiansen. Fine men, gratefully remembered.
Adapted from the 1994 Heritage Book,with permission from the Federation of Danish Associations in Canada
Teaser:
• Andy's Dad––jolly joker or a stern disciplinarian? Find out!
