Vanderhill, Anita Hamre

HAMRE, KENNEDY, BRILL

Posted By: Anita Hamre Vanderhill (email)
Date: 4/30/2010 at 16:44:09

Granddaughter Remembers Hamilton County

(Parents: Merle Hamre and Donna Kennedy Hamre)

When I was growing up in the 50's my family made the 8-hour trip to Hamilton Country a few times a year to visit my grandparents: Ben and Edna Hamre in Jewell, and Otto and Margaret in Kamrar.

We were living in Park Forest, Illinois, which is a suburb of Chicago where my father, Merle Hamre worked as an FBI agent, and making the Iowa trek back to their roots was like going back in time to place which fascinated me. In Park Forest everything was new and modern--a village built by WWII veterans. All of the houses and schools were no more than 10 years old, and the trees were little spindles on recently planted lawns. Everything was newly built, newly planted. Park Forest also boasted the very first shopping mall! So, by comparison, the trip to see our grandparents was like entering a different world altogether.

We always left Park Forest before dawn so my dad could beat the commuter traffic through Chicago, which hardly mattered to us kids since we slept right through it. By the time we awoke we were crossing state boundaries, and passing through miles and miles of corn fields alternating with vintage little towns that looked an Andy Hardy movie lot. We kids kept our eyes peeled for the Jewell water tower that marked our destiny. (We started looking hours ahead of time, asking, "Are we getting any closer"
since it always seemed that the trip took days!)

Our arrival in Jewell always started the same way: Edna and Ben
(who lived in one of the oldest houses in town with an alley in the back and a barrel for burning trash--and I had never even heard the word "alley" in Park Forest!) would grab us kids one by
one in a head-lock hug that squeezed the life and air out of a body. Then my siblings and I would begin to roam the house as if on a treasure hunt where doors creaked and drawers held old pictures, hankies by the score, ration stamps, and such oddities as spats my father had worn in high school and a stereoscope from his childhood.

In restrospect I think my grandmother was a saint to let us have the run of her house, snooping wherever we pleased. But, then, my grandmother denied us nothing, including our fill of lefse and kringle. I realize now that this was a tiny, modest house with a staircase so vertical it was like climbing a ladder, yet it seemed like a castle to us since we were treated like royalty.

The town of Jewell reminded me of a turn-of-the century postcard where stores are lined up on either side of a rather narrow road and cars are neatly parked side-by-side. The safety of this town was remarkable! We kids were allowed to walk up and down the street unattended, looking in windows and then reporting to my grandma what we had seen, in the hopes she would buy some little item for us, which she always did. Later on when she walked into the store with us the owner would say, "Hi, Edna. I see your grandkids are in town." (Now,
how in the world could they know us? I didn't realize my grandma had already told the shop owners we were coming to town.)

A particularly amazing event I recall was when my grandma sent me across the alley to a store within steps of her house to get a loaf of bread. "Just say your grandma needs a loaf of bread", which I did and TO MY AMAZEMENT, there was no charge! A store where you didn't need money! Well, of course my grandma had a tab there. But this would never happen in Park Forest.

My grandma Hamre set a table for supper that reminded me of
the Old Country Buffet. And to think we could sprinkle sugar on lefse, eat it like a jellyroll, and then eat another one! Our own mother rarely served desserts--we had great teeth, but always craved the sweets.

At night we kids slept in a big, iron, creaky bed upstairs with flannel sheets. I had never felt sheets like this and thought they were thin blankets. Maybe they didn't know about sheets in Iowa. While my grandma listened to our prayers, tears would fill her eyes and she would tell us we were such wonderful children and Jesus must love us very much.

The next morning we were back in the car, back down the road with corn fields on either side, headed for Kamrar and looking for its wate rtower. The trip from Jewell to Kamrar is about ten miles, but our eagerness to see my mother's parents made it seem much longer. The hugs and kisses were pretty much the same from all four grandparents, absolutely bone-crushing. Again, my grandma and grandpa Kennedy let us roam their house, prying open closets, trunks, and drawers. I found toys my mother had played with--a celluloid kewpie doll with a slightly dented face, a set of cardboard nesting eggs, quilts made of men's suit samples, and stacks of linens including some flannel sheets which I regarded as some kind of Iowa custom.

Sometime during the visit, my mother's siblings and their families would provide a family reunion. Aunt Theda, Aunt Leah, Aunt Faye, and Uncle Evan would show up with scads of children and food. While the aunts gathered in the kitchen, we kids would pretty much take over the house, running here and there, and eventually outside. At that time the school house
which all my aunts attended was still practically next door. I recall that my cousin pulled the fire alarm and we all got into trouble. Not much trouble, however, since everyone seemed to enjoy the prank years later when the story was told over and over. The old school house is gone now, but it was a landmark
in Kamrar and a fond memory for a our family. (My mother tells me that the school bell rang when the Kamrar girls' basketball team won tournaments--both my mother DONNA KENNEDY and
Aunt FAYE KENNEDY played on winning teams.)

So many years have passed since our travelled to Iowa. In my mind it looks and feels the same. The towering trees still shade
homes with front porches, and towns people still say hello to strangers as though they were visiting kin.

Postscript:
My parents, Merle and Donna Kennedy, now live in Kalamazoo.

My father (now 91) was an FBI agent in Chicago, retired to Paw Paw, Michigan. My parents then moved to Orlando, Florida where my dad taught college in for a number of years.

My mother, Donna (now 85) is still a wonderful home-maker and the hub of all news and family events.

I am a retired teacher living in Holland, Michigan. And part of my heart belongs to Iowa.