9. Sauntering into Retirement-1976

 After the death of Frits’ stepfather, his mother was anxious to sell the farm and move closer to us. By this time all the animals had gone except her small herd of miniature Sicilian donkeys. Several years earlier Grethe had purchased her first donkey from somewhere in the Midwest. Elsie was delivered riding on the back seat of a Volkswagen Bug.  Standing less than 36 inches at the shoulder this was not as preposterous as you might think. Those long ears however drew some open-mouthed gasps from other travelers on the highway, I’m sure.

The Randolph farm sold quickly to an acquaintance wanting an organic dairy producing facility so by mid summer we knew a larger place had to come sooner rather than later. Our second child was due on a October 2nd so juggling a couple of horses, a herd of donkeys, some chickens, a couple of sheep, a mother, a toddler and a very pregnant wife was plenty for one man. But now we would have to move.

Just up the road the perfect place was waiting. The Bedell Farm hadn’t seen animals in a while and the little red farmhouse, 2 barns and 34 acres were looking for a new owner. The house was mid renovation and would be perfect for Grethe once complete.  The animals would have plenty of room and we could build our second home at a later date. Grethe was willing to commit the money from the sale of her farm to cover part of the purchase price, around $60,000, so the deal was done.

Frits went to work completing the renovation in short order so his mother and donkeys could make the move. Phew, we could take a breath, finish the house and prepare for a new baby. Or so we thought.

Hearing about the purchase of our new property raised interest from a local couple who were house hunting. Well before we were ready to sell, we had an offer. As they say in the real estate market, ‘the first offer if often the best’.  This would appreciate our initial investment of $5,000 to $58,000, albeit with massive amounts of sweat equity. We accepted the offer! Closing would be the middle of September just two weeks before my due date. 

First we had to find a rental, then move and still complete some unfinished projects, namely a full bathroom. The first rental we thought we had secured, a house in town that was for sale, went under contract within days. Then I jumped out of the back of the pickup while holding Devon.  The combined weight of a two year old and an 8 month pregnant belly was too much for my ankle. It crumpled tearing ligaments and requiring a cast. Then 4 weeks before my due date I started having contractions! Rushed to the hospital labor room the contractions were stopped medically but not before I had witnessed a woman brought in by wheelchair about to give birth before even making it to a bed. With no doctor on hand and the nurse not quite understanding the urgency of the situation, this poor woman delivered in a wheelchair with me in a cast on the other side of the curtain. I was able to go home with instructions to do nothing if I wanted this baby to go full term.

With so much at stake you would think we would be panicked. I don’t remember feeling particularly anxious although that seems unlikely now. Both Frits and I had positive attitudes and although we had no money to hire help we had very good and generous friends. Within the next couple of weeks it all came together. The rental we found had three bedrooms, was close to town and had a barn with stalls for our horses. Directing the packing and unpacking from a chair while my friends rushed about with boxes was not the way I like to do things but it had to be. Sarah was born one day early, the night after my mother arrived to help. Since she had been trying to push herself out for several weeks the actual labor and delivery was very quick making it to the hospital with just a half hour to spare.  At least I made it to a bed and didn’t suffer the indignity of a wheelchair birth!

The winter of ‘76/‘77 was perhaps the most difficult for our family. There will be time later to recount these adventures so stayed tuned!

8. Sauntering into Retirement-1971

 Frits and I were married in England in September 1971. At that time couples were not so involved in the wedding plans and we certainly didn’t impose any rules on our guests. The extravagance of some and the need for perfection dictated mostly by the brides has become obscene and ridiculous. I have read of examples where the guests are not welcome unless all body piercing is removed, tattoos covered and even stating a minimum price for their gift. I have never been invited to such an event, I’m happy to say.

Since we lived across the ocean, my mother arranged everything and we just showed up. The day was warm and sunny and the hundred or so guests celebrated with us over a sit-down luncheon with the usual toasts and speeches. My father was not one for extravagance so there was no music or champagne. In his opinion sweet sparkling wine tasted much better than the real stuff. So we were toasted with Asti Spumante. It must have worked.  We are coming.up to our 49th anniversary. Many of today’s couples will not see their 10th or more importantly, grow old together. 

Our honeymoon began at a tiny pub in Windsor with a creaky bed and pub food, and we loved it. The Royals had nothing on us! The next morning we flew to Zurich, Switzerland, rented a car and traveled to Lake Lucerne for a few nights in a small hotel on the banks of the lake. Many years earlier, while traveling with my parents I was so taken by the beauty of the scenery, I decided this was where my husband (still to be determined) and I would be honeymooning. Happily, Frits was on board. 

From there we drove north, first visiting one of Frits’  cousin and family in Hamburg and then to his Morfar (mother’s father) in southern Denmark. Carl Henrik Knudsen by this time was in his eighties and living with his “companion” Blau. Blau showed us to our rooms, note plural, on our honeymoon no less, but grandfather stepped in offering an alternative. A single iron bed in the attic. Morning was announced by Morfar climbing the attic stairs while singing in full voice, a traditional Danish song. I guess he was making sure not to surprise us.

He still drove a car although a Norwegian pony would have been more to his liking. To the village we went, with the two of us in the backseat and our chauffeur rocking and rolling us around the bends at a speed probably not recommended. To be fair, he was driving a British car with right hand drive which might have thrown most of us off.

At the fish market many fish were poked to establish freshness and only the one that flapped the hardest was chosen by our host. Next he was to surprise us with a special treat. Chocolate shops are plentiful in Denmark where the chocolates are displayed in the window. With our noses pressed up against the glass we each pointed to the one that looked the most delectable.  With so many to choose from it was not a quick and easy decision although not one you could fail at! The chocolates were purchased and we mentally prepared for more squealing tires on our return trip.

It was a lovely visit and introduction but all too soon it was time to move on. More Danish family awaited our arrival.

Next stop was Copenhagen.  Most of Frits’ family lived close to the city so gathering them for the bride presentation was easily accomplished.  Frits had not spent much time with the cousins over the years so it was lovely for him to reconnect. Of course they all spoke excellent English so conversation was held in English all for the benefit of this pathetic one-language person. Frits has always spoken good Danish, be it somewhat old fashioned. Improving his language skills was on his to do list so often he could be seen off in a corner deep in a one-to-one with a cousin solving the problems of the world.

The family was so generous and accepting and lots of fun but even though we vowed to be back soon it would be 25 years before I stepped on Danish soil again.  Frits made several trips sometimes with one of the kids. Now in retirement with no commitments we would be planning more travel if not for Covid-19.

7. Sauntering into Retirement - and then there were the dogs

Dogs have always featured heavily in our lives. Growing up I was not allowed to have a dog but that didn’t stop me from ‘adopting’ any agreeable canine I found unattended and dragging it home claiming it was lost. My parents would have to phone the owner, usually identified by the tag on its collar, to come get it. 

So when I met Frits and he came with the beautiful, but intimidating, Beau, mentioned earlier, our future together looked promising. Beau went everywhere with Frits including on our dates.  Anyone approaching Frits’ truck quickly retreated when all 120 pounds of snarling dog threw himself against the closest window with little regard for any passenger in his line of fire. My mother’s shin bore the scar from one of these episodes until her dying day.

On one occasion Beau went visiting a neighbor who generously made the near disastrous decision to drive him home. He hopped willingly into the backseat of her car but would not allow her into the driver’s seat. No way was she going to open that door so with no other resource she called the police. Two officers with guns drawn approached the shaking car and ferocious animal and whipped open the door.  One very meek pup jumped out only too happy to be out of that hot car.

As Beau aged we thought it time to find a puppy to raise along side him.  Back in the day puppies were often free for the taking so it was not long before a Great Dane/Doberman cross joined us.  From that point on two dogs with staggered ages were the norm. We had some wonderful dogs both large and small including a 150 pound Bouvier called Angus, and a silkie terrier we called Daisy.

But one of our most beloved was Chief.  He and his six siblings were left at the humane society at just 5 weeks old on the very same day that I was there in search of a cat.  Not finding just the right kitty and about to leave, these brand new puppies rushed over in their wire cage yelping and whining for attention.  All, that is, but one very round golden pup who waddled from side to side much like some obese folk you see.  He had the sweetest face and softest eyes and I knew I was hooked. I was ready to take him home that minute but until all animals are at least 8 weeks old, vaccinated and neutered they cannot be adopted. First they must be fostered giving the foster parent the pick of the litter.

No more discussion needed. Those seven puppies were delivered the next day with a large wire playpen, food, bowls and toys and other than the slight roll of the eyes, my husband joined in with enthusiasm

Our entry/mud room had a tiled floor and was large enough to accommodate a 5 foot, round pen that we lined with newspaper.  These little bundles of joy happily ate, pooped, played and slept their way through the next four weeks developing very distinct personalities. Frits and I were on constant poop patrol, swiftly changing the sheets before 28 little paws could track said poop all over themselves and their brothers and sisters. They were easily distinguishable from each by their markings and coloring. What was most remarkable was their parentage. It was claimed that their mother was a English Springer Spaniel / Rottweiler cross and their father was a Pekingese! Hard to believe that this could even have happened yet traits of all three dogs could be seen in these puppies. The two golden ones were Chief and his sister Toffee. Clearly Chief had the spaniel’s domed head and love of water, the Rottweiler broad body and the squatty legs and flowing coat of a Pekingese. Others were black and tan like the Rottweiler or black and silky like a spaniel. 

Often during the day two or three puppies came out at a time to run around and socialize with Lucy, our Fox Terrier. It was November so play was confined to the house. Everything went in their mouths so watching both ends to minimize the puddles and furniture chewing kept us on our toes. The whole experience was great fun but it was somewhat of a relief when the time came to return them all for their shots and neutering. A day later we officially adopted Chief and enjoyed him well into his sixteenth year. In this photo he still looks puppyish at 15. 

More dog talk later