Touching the Past

Welcome to the town where my great grandmother once lived.

We were on an adventure with no idea about its outcome.  My great-grandmother had immigrated to the United States from a village in Germany;  we were in the area and set out to find Gottsbueren.

As we drove through the forested hills Smitty asked what I hoped to accomplish by visiting a town which my grandmother had left over one hundred years earlier.  Good question.  Would the buildings of the town be rebuilt due to World War II?  Would I find evidence of any of my relatives in the town?  My great uncle had been to Gottsbueren in 1930, had met some relatives, taken some photos, and recorded his visit in a letter.  My expectations, born out of the reality that I speak baby German, were not so great.  I did have a dream, though, that someone would talk with us, and we would discover a bit more about my history.

Our acquaintance, watering flowers

The thick forest blocked our views causing both Smitty and I to doubt that Gottsbueren even existed.  Then, abruptly, the forest gave way to the village.  Beautifully kept half-timbered homes, an old stone church, and many green spaces welcomed us into a charming village.

We walked, aiming for the church, but also wanting to take in the outside decor and writing which we found so intriguing on many of the homes.  Blessings, wedding announcements, results of fire, and Psalms were written over the doorways of residences.  One caught my attention because a man had a wife whose maiden name was Asshauer.  Next door the inscription, especially difficult to read, caused us to stop, draw closer, and focus.  It was then the owner came around the side of the house to water her plants.  In German, she acknowledged us and began a conversation.  Her daughter read the Psalm to us in German and both shared that many in the town had the last names I hunted-Roettger, Schmitt, Kaufman, and that she, herself, was an Asshauer-my great-grandmother's stepfather's name.  Our conversation, in German, gave me the information for which I searched.

"Philip Bonning and his wife, Sophie, born Asshauer,
built this house with God's help in the year 1871."

I asked about the village church.  She directed us to go around the wall to gain entrance.  The woman went ahead and told the grounds keeper about us.  As we entered the church grounds, he brought us a booklet about the place, explaining the renovations and history.  He encouraged Smitty and I to spend time in the church and on the grounds.

Village Church

We wandered a bit more, but I had accomplished all I had set out to do. Even my dream of speaking with a local had been fulfilled.  As we drove out of town all I could think was I had touched a woman, my great grandmother, who died in 1912.  I visited the place where her life began and experienced a bit of my own history.