Learning from the Grandmothers - Hilda
Finding your way in a world that seems to be unraveling
March is the month my dad was born and May was the month he died, so during these next couple of months he’s on my mind a lot. He loved this time of the year, as the daylight lengthened and the temperature rose. It meant we were getting closer and closer to summer which was the season in which he thrived.
I was 30 years old when my dad died, and he was 14 when his dad died. As challenging as it was for me, it must have been earth-shattering for him. In that instant, his father was gone and his mother became the main focal family point. What it must have been like for her. For this 12 Grandmothers exploration I want to talk about his mother, Hilda.
Sometimes it feels like it is the hardest and darkest it has ever been. Is it really?
I keep coming back to Hilda because of the times we are living in right now. There’s just so much. Sometimes it feels like it is the hardest and darkest it has ever been. Is it really? Every generation has its darkness. Ours is a bit different in that our darkness is coupled with social, economic, and environmental unraveling. Yet, I still believe it is important to look back to those who came before. To see what we can learn from their experiences. To learn from them about how to move through darkness.
I didn’t know my grandmother Hilda very well. I only met her a handful of times, and only a couple of those times was I old enough to have a memory of her. I knew her mostly from photos. One photo in particular.
This is the photo that was always around. One copy in my dad’s wallet and one in a picture frame. She seems so elegant and refined in this photo. I knew her to be tough. I also knew she expected a lot from others. She was referred to as “Mother” by my father and “Grandmother Hinson” by us kids. In fact, as I sit here writing this, calling her Hilda seems awkward and way too personal, almost, wrong.
Hilda’s story is not one of elegance, refinement, and ease. It’s about flexibility, strength, willingness to uproot oneself to do what you need to do, and forging your own path in the world when all around you seems to be unraveling. It’s about resilience. Do you see it in her eyes? I do.
Hilda was born in Mississippi in 1904. Before getting married at age 25 she had already experienced:
Arrival of the boll weevil
Jim Crow
Women’s Suffrage Movement
World War I
Red Scare
Spanish Flu Pandemic
Prohibition
Just as her first child was born in 1929, the 1929 Wall Street crash occurred, resulting in the Great Depression. Banks failed; industrial production plummeted; unemployment soared; families suffered. Into that world my aunt was born premature. According to my dad’s cousin:
"The babies were born at home. There were people to help…They made the incubator at home.”
By the time my father was one year old (born in 1931) one of every four workers in the USA was unemployed.
The 1930 and 1940 census shows Hilda, my father, and my aunt living with Hilda’s parent’s. Also living with them were three of my dad’s cousins. Hilda’s mother fed people/strangers during the depression. She also took in borders and all the grandkids were responsible for making lunch for them.
One of my dad’s cousins told a story about my dad being “spoiled rotten” because he had to go everywhere the older kids went - because his grandmother said so. I suppose that was one way to keep him out of his mother’s and grandmother’s hair. There was work to be done and his mother and grandmother were the ones doing it.
The depression slowed, the USA entered World War 2 in 1941, and the war ended in September 1945. The following month my grandfather died. At the time of his death he was a barber at Camp Shelby, about 2-hours south of where the family lived in Jackson. He was back home visiting friends and relatives and was at his oldest brother’s home when he had a heart attack. There are lots of stories around the origin of that heart attack but it certainly came from somewhere and it did the job.
Hilda was 41 years old with two teenagers, my aunt age 16 and my dad age 14, and she had to figure out how she was going to navigate her world without a husband. Hilda was thrust into finding her way in the world, out of obligation and responsibility. Not because of a vision or a goal or a dream, but because she had to take care of her kids and herself. It was 1945 and she had to do it on her own.
Hilda’s aunt and niece had already left Mississippi and moved to Washington, DC. Her aunt was divorced in 1939 and left sometime after the census was enumerated in April 1940. There were lots of employment opportunities in the federal government at the time, and Hilda’s aunt worked for the Pentagon. She wrote a letter to Hilda saying that she believed she could pass the civil service exam and for her to come and apply for a job. Hilda did just that.
She headed north and left my aunt and my dad with her parents, and it was 5 years before the three of them were living together again. She never looked back at Mississippi again.
I don’t know if Hilda went directly to Washington, DC, the paper trail doesn’t provide those clues. What I do know is that in 1946, when her father died in Mississippi, Hilda was living in St. Louis, Missouri.
It appears that Hilda’s time in St. Louis was short, 1945/46 through 1948. My aunt graduated from high school in St. Louis in 1948. By July 1949 Hilda was in Washington, DC (she was summoned to the Chancery Court in Mississippi to officially discharge the last account from her husband’s death and the summons shows her residency as Washington, DC.)
It wasn’t as straight forward as that though. The family seems to have been separated for awhile. My dad was in Washington DC by 1946 with his grandmother and aunt while his mother and sister were in St. Louis. They weren’t all back together again until the 1950 census when everyone was in Washington DC:
Hilda, my dad, and his sister
Hilda’s sister
Hilda’s mother
The following year my dad graduated from high school in Washington, DC (1951) and enlisted in the Navy. The paper trail fades again until Hilda and my aunt appear in Indianapolis, Indiana in 1955, and my dad was discharged from the Navy and returned to the DC area. In 1959 he joined Hilda and his sister in Indianapolis. This was the longest stretch of time Hilda lived in one place since 1945 — she was in Indianapolis from 1955-1963.
In 1963 Hilda retired as a civilian employee of the Department of the Army and the Chief of Finance and moved to Florida. My dad and his sister were living their own lives at this point, one in New Mexico and one in Maryland.
Eventually, Hilda made her way to Arizona in the 1970s and re-married in 1975 at age 71, 30 years after she became a widow.
Distance, Time, & the Resilience of Women
Was Hilda’s story dramatic? Was she an anomaly? Did she have a tougher time than others? Comparisons don’t matter; what matters is that this was the life she lived, and it is remarkable for that reason alone. As I reflect on the time period she lived in, three aspects of her story strike me deeply:
The distance Hilda moved with each transition.
Jackson to St Louis - approximately 500 miles
St Louis to Washington, DC - approximately 850 miles
Washington, DC to Indianapolis - approximately 600 miles
I don’t know how she traveled during each of these moves. Given her affinity for driving and long car trips, I assume that is how she traveled. That first trip must have been bewildering and emotional. Leaving Jackson to go to St. Louis. Leaving everything and everyone she knew to go to a place, not only completely new, but a place where she knew no one. And, most of these moves were made alone. I think about all of the aspects involved in moving. Trying to determine what to take. Driving to the new city. Finding a place to live. Moving in. Making friends. The fortitude it took to do that over and over again, on her own, is remarkable to me. It speaks to me of a deep commitment to doing what she had to do for those she loved, while not being afraid to forge her own path.
How often Hilda moved; or, said another way, how little time she spent in one place. Over the 18 years 1945 - 1963:
St. Louis, MO was 2-3 years (1945/46 through 1948)
Washington, DC was 5 years (1949-1954 at the latest)
Indianapolis, IN was 8 years (1955-1963)
She didn’t stay very long in each city. I suspect it was because she was following the job. It speaks to me of flexibility, and not being afraid to change one’s course.
The resilience of the women, especially in the absence of the men.
Hilda’s sister was divorced, and she moved North to work for the federal government.
Hilda’s husband died, and she moved North to work for the federal government.
Hilda’s father died, and her mother moved North to be with her daughter’s and their children.
My family, historically, has a strong patrilocal tendency, the woman marries the man and moves to be near his family. But that shifted around this time. The women in this family - Hilda, her sisters, mother - were intertwined, relying on each other, even when their husbands were around. Supporting each other through the depression, war, divorces, and deaths. As the men disappeared from the family unit, the women came together even more. They uprooted their lives to be in service of each other. They had the social and economic power in the family. Yes, it was out of necessity. Their instinct, however, was to find their way on their own, yet together.
Is right now the hardest and darkest it has ever been? I don’t know. I also don’t know that it matters. What does matter is: How do we move forward?
When I think about all of the grandmothers, and the weight of what they dealt with during their lives, it all rests heavy on my mind and heart:
the local wars on the land where they lived
the distant wars that took their children forever from them
the depressions and financial panics
the epidemics and infestations
the discrimination and hatred
And, then, I think about where we are right now. It seems like just another turn of the spiral. My generation has already witnessed:
Energy crisis, Watergate, Three Mile Island meltdown, Cold War,
Challenger disaster, hostage crises, terrorist attacks, mass suicides,
a pandemic that showed us what mass death looks like up close and personal,
and now social, economic, and environmental unraveling.
Is right now the hardest and darkest it has ever been? I don’t know. I also don’t know that it matters. What does matter is: How do we move forward? I for one am taking a cue from Hilda. Steps for moving forward: Acknowledge what is happening. Be flexible yet strong. Do what you need to do yet forge your own path. Don’t be afraid to change course. Create community and connection. And above all, generate resilience, hope, and love.
5 Notes
Five final notes on what I’m doing, learning, making, reading, and practicing in yoga.
Doing — I am finally able to begin working with the garden. Don’t worry my gardening friends, I am not cleaning out the existing beds, our pollinator and insect friends still have work to do in last year’s beds. I am working in the new raised beds. I have planted carrots, kale, lettuce, peas, and spinach. This weekend I’ll plant chives and lemon balm. Towards the end of the month, onions will go into the ground. This is also a great time to propagate elderberry. This year I am committed to keeping a garden journal. I love looking back at centuries old garden logs/journals and seeing the meticulous notes and drawings that were kept. Big aspirations. We’ll see what unfold.
Learning — I’m learning to spin and weave! Let me back up a bit. I remember visiting the home of a woman in Virginia back in the 1990s. In a corner of the room, by a window, was a huge loom. She would weave blankets and rugs and all sorts of things. I was fascinated. A couple of decades later, I remember seeing a video of a group of women in Scotland “waulking” the wool - beating newly woven tweed rhythmically against a table to soften it. They sang while they did it. Again, I was fascinated. I put both of these images out of my mind until an opportunity came my way last month to spin, sing, and weave with others. We are the Weavers is an 8-week journey into spinning, weaving, storytelling, and singing from Weaving Remembrance. I’m not sure how I will do, but I am giving it a go!
Making — The next few weeks are my last to make sourdough. I know it seems strange to think of sourdough as having a season but for me it does. I usually bake sourdough bread when the temperatures are cooler - October through April - otherwise the kitchen gets way too hot. During the hot months I tend to make sopes or tortillas as they are done on the stovetop. I’ve decided to use these last few weeks to play with my sourdough recipe and try different flours. Inevitably there will be lots of discard recipes during this time, too - biscuits, crackers, pancakes, pizzas.
Reading — Milldust and Dreaming Bread: Exploring Scottish Folk Belief and Folk Magic by Scott Richardson-Read. For years, I have followed Scott’s work on his website Cailleachs Herbrarium. Scott has such a deep commitment to archival research, storytelling, and Scotland’s past and people. I have learned so much from him over the years. In fact, I’ve integrated some of his recipes into our family practices. This is one of my favorite tea recipe from Scott. Oh, and there’s this bread recipe from Scott. I think you get the point; I could go on about all of the wonderful resources and stories he shares. When Scott decided to crowdfund his new book, I jumped on the opportunity to support his project. The book finally arrived yesterday, and it is gorgeous! Now, I will be sipping some tea and taking this book nice and slow, a journey of reverence and attention into Scottish folk beliefs, traditions and folk magic.
Yoga — As I mentioned above, this time of unraveling has me thinking about all of the grandmothers who came before and their experiences with dark, challenging times. This is also the first new moon of the spring so its a time for release and a new beginnings. Together, my practice right now, looks like: a 2023 class with my teacher Britt Steele called Prepare for Change. It’s all about opening our hearts to what’s coming and opening our hearts to what’s leaving. It’s a powerful asana practice. I keep going back to it right now. Britt’s on-demand classes live here, which is where this class lives.
