An Update to Our Collection Donation Policy

We have recently updated our collections donation policy, and this seemed like a good way to reach a large majority of people. First, a recap of how our old policy worked. In the past we welcomed individuals to bring in donation for the staff to evaluate off the street or by giving us a call/email ahead of time. If the items we accepted into the collection we would send you deed of gift paper work to be filled out and returned. If the items we not accepted we would notify you and ask you to retrieve them.

While this system worked well for us in the past, we realized that many donations were set for return and we hampering our ability to care for those being accepted, as well as caring for those yet to be collected by donors. We want to ensure that all items that come through our doors can receive the best care possible. In order to make sure that can be accomplished; we have made a change to our donation policy as follows. We are no longer accepting walk in donations off the street. We ask that those looking to donate items to us always contact us first.

The goal of this change is two-fold: 1) We want to make sure that we have the space and means to care for everything in the building without causing harm to other items or staff, 2) If we decide that an item does not fit our collection, this saves the donor the hassle of pulling the item from storage and hauling it to the museum only to have to take it back to their home at a later date. We encourage donors to provide pictures and any background information on donations when contacting us. If donations are accepted we will still be sending out deed of gift information to be filled out. As always, if an item doesn’t fit our mission and collection we are happy to provide names and contact information for organizations which might be interested in the items.

We hope this change to our policy will make the donation process easier for everyone going forward; and we appreciate everyone’s understanding as we implement this change. If you have any questions regarding the change please give us a call and we will be happy to answer any questions you may have.

Written by Dave Nichols, Curator

Early Childhood in Credit River in the 1940s: Part 3

Part 3
Written by Angeline Mares Stone for the Credit River Reunion, January 17th, 1999

Steam powered thresher, 1965, from the SCHS Collections

During the summer, we got to see the Kalal kids, Mary and Willy, and play with them. Our parents were friends and the families worked together at threshing time, a high point of the harvest season. Along with the Kalinas, our relatives, the crews arrived in the early morning after livestock chores were done. The air of excitement, of great work, was unmistakable. The work was hard, I dare say, especially for the women, for I remember that Mom would work in the fields, shucking wheat, and still plan and prepare the meal that would be served to the very hungry men. My sister, Mary Jo, as her assistant during those years. Our tasks as children were limited to taking lemonade out to the men as they worked in the hot afternoon sun. They were always appreciative of our efforts and made us feel useful. Another task we often had was to even out the grain as it came tumbling into the wagon from the thresher. We were barefoot and the grain would tickle our toes.

These were the assigned tasks, but on one occasion, my sister Nancy and I were given another task, snapping the fresh green beans; it seemed like mountains of them. We sat on the front stoop, snapping away. “Tsk, tsk” said one of the ladies, arriving that morning as she passed her way into the house. We hung our heads in shame- and sorrow. We would rather have been playing with the Kalal kids, like we did the day before But the day before we let ourselves get carried away in fun, and thought it would be really great throw lots of straw into the outdoor stock tank and splash around in it. We gave no thought to what affects this would have on livestock looking for water or anything else. We were just having fun. But our misdeeds became known during evening chores and we were punished in the worst way- we could not have company the next day. The chore of snapping beans was the mild punishment because we really liked the Kalal kids.

St. Wenceslaus Catholic School in New Prague, early 1930s. From the SCHS collections.

Our experiences were not limited to farm and school. During my second grade I attended St. Wenceslaus School in New Prague in order to prepare for First Holy Communion My father had made the decision to take our family to New Prague to church after going to Credit River for awhile. New Prague became a spiritual home for us and I was comfortable there. When my parents were given the option of keeping Ewald buried in the American soldiers cemetery in Margraaten, Holland or having him brought back to America, they chose to have him brought back and buried in New Prague. On October 12, 1948, a funeral Mass was held at St Wenceslaus for Ewald. It was also our parents’ thirtieth anniversary. The support of the Credit River and New Prague people gave our family a solid sense of community. And I acquired a sense of a much larger world.

We were connected to the Twin Cities too mostly through relatives living there. My sister, Edith, having just graduated from high school became part of the household staff at the Archibald Bush home on Summit Avenue, and once in a while we got to visit her. I felt lost in that huge mansion- nothing in it seemed familiar. While Edith worked in St Paul she met Dorothy Broshofke who would later become Mile’s wife. Dorothy began to visit our home and play the piano. I remember my mother loving this and she made known her favorite songs. Two that I remember are “Juanita” and “The Swiss Boy”. My own repertoire of songs increased greatly because of those songfests and there was one more reason to be joyful.
In June of 1949, Miles and Dorothy were married. They had two wedding dances, one in St Paul and one at Armie and Mac’s in “downtown Credit River”, the nerve center of the Credit River community at that time. Everyone knew everyone else and they danced their hearts out at that place. We would dance there again soon, for we were about to say “good-bye” to our life in Credit River.

Dad bought the Bill Deegan farm in Lakeville and in the all of 1949 we moved. During the week that we moved, a windstorm blew the roof off a chicken coop at our new place. And somehow, when the livestock moved, my new pet chicken Annie got lost. She didn’t make it to our new home. And so I grieved the loss of her and the end of my life in Credit River. But I would keep forever in my heart the memory of rich experiences I had when I lived there.

Early Childhood in Credit River in the 1940s: Part 2

Part 2: School
Written by Angeline Mares Stone for the Credit River Reunion, January 17th, 1999

Schoolhouse, district 37, around 1960. From the SCHS Collections

In September of 1945, I was old enough to start school. Scott County’s District 30 school building was located at the end of our long driveway and the walk to school was in itself a journey. There were three hills, of which the middle one was named “the big hill”. A kid could walk and walk and not see the school building until he or she reached the big hill. Coming home, one could to see the farmhouse until the hill was climbed. A metaphor for life- we work the little hills and hope for a chance, once in a while, to see the big picture from the highest hill. The imagery has stayed with me to this day.

I liked school, but parts of it seemed scary. Everyone, except for my first grade classmates Nancy and Pat Kane, was bigger then me. In an eight-grade schoolhouse, watching the big kids could be intimidating and occasionally amusing. I remember intense arguments at recess about the merits of John Deere tractors versus the Ford tractor. The big boys got physical with each other hem their verbal debating skills had reached their limit and would look pretty scare to the resto f us. But the big boys were entertaining. I remember the spring day when two or three of them jumped on an ice flow on the creek which ran behind the school. The melting ice sent the water rushing and the boys “rode the rapids”. They looked brave and ridiculous all at once, for they had put themselves in more danger than they had planned to. Somehow they got off the ice before it carried them away. Mr. Herzog, the school superintendent, visited us and from thereon we were forbidden to cross the fence and play near the creek. Life became just a bit duller at District 30.

But learning was fun and it was enriched for us younger students because we were right there as the eighth graders read aloud the poem “Evangeline”, Longfellow’s story of young lovers torn apart as the French settlers were driven from their homes in Nova Scotia.

I was in fourth grade when my sister, Nancy, Started school. By then the old coal furnace had been replaced by an oil heater. Mrs. Hedlund had it replaced the year before. And then Mrs. Hedlund was replaced by Miss Cates. My family thought it would be cute if my sister, while reading Dick and Jane aloud, would substitute Czech for English when reading “One Two Three”. I watched as they tutored her to get the words right; “Jeden, Dva, Tri”. The next day, O watched from the next row of seats, stifling myself, knowing Nancy would be translating the written words. She carried it out, I giggled. Miss Cates, surprised at first and then annoyed, made it clear there was to be no more of that. There wasn’t.

At school, we got to know the neighborhood kids, the Schneiders, the Kalals, the Troms and the Kanes, Ralph Borka, LeRoy Farrell, and Barb McMahon. We would play London Bridge, Baseball and a real favorite, Prisoners Base. When the boys weren’t arguing about tractors, I really loved recess!

Early Childhood in Credit River in the 1940s

Part One: World War 2
Written by Angeline Mares Stone for the Credit River Reunion, January 17th, 1999

I was not quite ten years old when our family moved from Credit River to Lakeville, but those first years were filled with rich experiences. those ten years included a world war in which two brothers, Miles and Ewald became soldiers, and another brother, Clem, helped my parents Frank and Emma Mares run the 196 acre farm.

I was the sixth child in a family of seven children. From my vantage point, I watched the constantly busy lives of people older than I. The events in the wider world were contrasted by the pastoral setting of the white frame farmhouse set on a hill, surrounded on one side by a grove of Chinese elms, and on the other side by farm buildings. The daily lives of grown ups were immersed in caring for livestock, growing crops, and maintaining the farm and household. Amidst the tasks of daily living, they had to absorb the realities of a war far away on two fronts, Europe and Japan.

1943 US Army jacket from WW2. From the SCHS Collections.

And yet so close, for there were letters from Ewald and Myles which arrived with regularity, describing parts of that far away world. The letters supplemented the radio broadcasts, and I do remember the muffled voice of the overseas correspondents, especially the name David Shoenbrun. The necessity of rationing to conserve materials for the war effort also brought the war into the daily lives; it required real ingenuity and resourcefulness to maintain a farm and household under those conditions, Through determination, a certain daily rhythm was established.

The hailstorm of July, 1944 abruptly disturbed that rhythm. I was four and I remember that the windows in our kitchen were shattered, broken glass lying all over the floor. My mother picked me up as she went to light a fire in the stove. I can remember her hands trembling as she did so , and I remember piles of hail outside our back door. In the aftermath, I realized that my little black pet hen had become a victim of the storm.  A machine shed was destroyed, crops were destroyed and once again the grownups were required to reestablish their lives.

Somehow they did. In Europe, the Normandy Invasion had take place the month before, and now letters from Ewald were written from France.After her long days of work, my mother would take time to sit at the kitchen table and write letters to her sons. I remember her letting me draw an outline of my hand and color it to send off with her letter. I was four and could not write then but I wanted to say something I guess.

The announcement that the war was over in Europe was good news in our home. But my mother worried aloud when the mailbox at the end of our long driveway failed to yield a letter from Ewald. Her worst fears were realized on May 16, 1945. I hardly remember anything about that day except for its very ending. My brother, Clem, tells me that it was a sunny spring day, that he had just finished planting corn and had put the work horses into the barn for the night. It should have been a good day. 

I Remember a man coming to our front porch door one never used by friends and relatives. I stood off to the right of the porch and watched as my mother began to tremble and my father fell to the ground and rolled in agony. Ewald had been killed in Germany on May 3rd, five days before Germany surrendered, My Aunt Ann walked me and my younger sister Nancy away from the house and I remember her trying to explain to that not-quite-three-year-old what death meant.

This intense memory was the opening of my awakened childhood. I knew that a brother was killed in the war, a brother of whom I had only one memory- that of him standing in the doorway, seeming to fill it with his large frame. I witnessed the sadness of my mother and the anger of my father and felt both myself.

Yet there was also joy at times. The war was over in August of that year. My older brother Myles came home and I remember a party given to celebrate his return. A large container of ice cream, housed in canvas to keep it cold, was placed near a door in the large kitchen. The party spilled over into the dining room as more people arrived and the atmosphere of celebration signaled permission to be happy once again.