Tuesday, April 3, 2007 at 1:01am
Easter's essence is renewal
Column: Life at First Sight
I've been tracing a path of family history lately, following portions of the route that brought my parents together in England during World War II and eventually resulted in my speaking German almost as early as I spoke my mother tongue.
During the U.S. occupation of Europe after the war, my military family spent three tours in Germany, the last of which holds my oldest memories. It was early spring when we sailed across the Atlantic to a very new life. As military housing was at a premium, we lived "on the economy," moving into a tiny village 45 minutes from Frankfurt where members of a family named Geis welcomed us into the ground floor of their home while they squeezed upstairs to make room for us.
I say welcomed because, contrary to popular belief about German-American relations at the time, that's exactly how it feels in my memory. They were kind — generous, really, even though they had very little, particularly after the war. But while they no doubt also welcomed the money they were paid for sharing that clean, accommodating space, they always felt far more like hosts or friendly relatives than landlords to me.
What I remember most is how cheerful and happy they always were. I later learned that Herr Geis, like my family, was a recent arrival in Germany. Before that, his wife and children had waited 15 long years while he was a prisoner of war in a Russian prison camp, wondering whether they'd ever see him again. I understand now that after he came home, they saw every day as a new beginning and treated it like something too precious to waste on anything but gratitude and joy.
It was during Easter week that the couple and I shared one of my earliest intercultural exchanges. One day my parents had some complicated appointments and errands, and the Geises offered to watch me while they were away. My 4-year-old self delighted in the day's pursuits, which actually involved little more than following along behind the couple as they did their chores, preparing the field behind their home for planting, and helping me discover some stray potatoes they'd missed at harvest time.
After we'd eaten those at the mid-day meal, together with eggs we'd collected from their hens, they introduced me to my first Easter eggs.
We were coloring them when my parents appeared at their kitchen door, bearing some traditional American fare — Hershey bars and a big bowl of popcorn — that they'd brought as an Easter gift and thank-you.
Most Germans had never seen popcorn, since corn was grown only for animal feed in Europe in those days. That bowl lasted for hours as the Geises removed a piece at a time, holding it up and marveling as they named the creature or object that its shape approximated. Eventually, we all began to do the same amid lots of laughter, and a pretty good vocabulary lesson on both sides of our collective language barrier.
This event stands out in my memory because it signals such a perceptible shift in my family's bond with the Geises, the kind that meant they'd become regular guests at our on-base apartment long after we'd moved from our temporary shelter in their house. Few other American families had this kind of friendship, and after my mother's horrific experiences during the Blitz in Britain, most anyone would have forgiven her if she'd been hesitant to embrace Germans. I'm awfully grateful that my parents were always able to see the humanity in any situation above and beyond any past history or politics.
A German friend recently shared a story with some very similar parallels to that of the Geises and their American guests, yet one that gives a glimpse into the German family's experience, too. Toward the very end of the war, on Good Friday, they expected their tiny village to be overrun at any moment by U.S. soldiers. The German troops were retreating, and my friend's family members, six adults and two children, were trying to decide whether they should stay put or hide in hills above the village.
In a previous war, their village had been wiped out in a similar situation, with every single person killed, so they were quite fearful. They also had a family member who was a prisoner of war overseas, one with whom they would later be reunited, and who would become my friend's father. Like the Geises, these folks were just trying to eke out their simple lives in terrible times, during a war that they'd just as soon had never happened.
They decided to stay in their home, and within hours, several vehicles pulled into their farmyard and U.S. soldiers climbed out and ordered them upstairs while the soldiers took over the lower floor of the house. What my friend's aunt, who was among those present, most remembers is how young these soldiers looked to her at the time. As she and her sister peeked down from upstairs, she saw that the soldiers were having trouble figuring out how to light the cook stove, and so, to her family's horror, she bounded down to help them. (Her sister would later tease her that the only reason she'd done this was because those soldiers were so handsome.) That weekend, they all eventually feasted together on the farm's fresh eggs and the soldiers' rations in a shared meal around that kitchen table. On Easter Sunday morning, the family came downstairs to find the soldiers gone, along with a basket of hardboiled eggs that the family had colored earlier that week. In the basket's place was a huge stash of chocolate.
"My family hadn't seen chocolate for years," my friend says, "and this, combined with how carefully the soldiers had left everything in its place when my family had expected them to ransack the house, gave everyone great heart, and the possibility of believing that maybe things would be all right after all." The miracle of his father's return a short while later was the very best evidence of that, of course, and soon spring bulbs were blooming in the yard and, despite the ravages of the war, his family knew that they'd see green fields again.
It's no coincidence that the essence of Easter - resurrection — is about restoration and renewal. Whatever our faith, or lack of it, spring brings that glorious reminder that, no matter what has happened, no matter how long our personal winters may have been, the new life in the spiritual pulse of springtime always offers us another chance.
"The turning and falling of the autumn leaves is past; the bleakness of the winter time is over. The new year hath appeared and the spiritual springtime is at hand." — from the writings of the Bahá'í Faith.
— — —
Phyllis Edgerly Ring, mother of two, is a writer and editor. Her current book project addresses how adults can recognize and nurture children's spiritual nature. She is a former program director at Green Acre Baha'i School in Eliot, Maine, and has been a member of the Baha'i Faith for more than 30 years. Email her at {email columns@bahai.us}columns@bahai.us{/email}. See the website of the Baha'is of the United States for more information. © copyright 2007 by Phyllis Edgerly Ring
During the U.S. occupation of Europe after the war, my military family spent three tours in Germany, the last of which holds my oldest memories. It was early spring when we sailed across the Atlantic to a very new life. As military housing was at a premium, we lived "on the economy," moving into a tiny village 45 minutes from Frankfurt where members of a family named Geis welcomed us into the ground floor of their home while they squeezed upstairs to make room for us.
I say welcomed because, contrary to popular belief about German-American relations at the time, that's exactly how it feels in my memory. They were kind — generous, really, even though they had very little, particularly after the war. But while they no doubt also welcomed the money they were paid for sharing that clean, accommodating space, they always felt far more like hosts or friendly relatives than landlords to me.
What I remember most is how cheerful and happy they always were. I later learned that Herr Geis, like my family, was a recent arrival in Germany. Before that, his wife and children had waited 15 long years while he was a prisoner of war in a Russian prison camp, wondering whether they'd ever see him again. I understand now that after he came home, they saw every day as a new beginning and treated it like something too precious to waste on anything but gratitude and joy.
It was during Easter week that the couple and I shared one of my earliest intercultural exchanges. One day my parents had some complicated appointments and errands, and the Geises offered to watch me while they were away. My 4-year-old self delighted in the day's pursuits, which actually involved little more than following along behind the couple as they did their chores, preparing the field behind their home for planting, and helping me discover some stray potatoes they'd missed at harvest time.
After we'd eaten those at the mid-day meal, together with eggs we'd collected from their hens, they introduced me to my first Easter eggs.
We were coloring them when my parents appeared at their kitchen door, bearing some traditional American fare — Hershey bars and a big bowl of popcorn — that they'd brought as an Easter gift and thank-you.
Most Germans had never seen popcorn, since corn was grown only for animal feed in Europe in those days. That bowl lasted for hours as the Geises removed a piece at a time, holding it up and marveling as they named the creature or object that its shape approximated. Eventually, we all began to do the same amid lots of laughter, and a pretty good vocabulary lesson on both sides of our collective language barrier.
This event stands out in my memory because it signals such a perceptible shift in my family's bond with the Geises, the kind that meant they'd become regular guests at our on-base apartment long after we'd moved from our temporary shelter in their house. Few other American families had this kind of friendship, and after my mother's horrific experiences during the Blitz in Britain, most anyone would have forgiven her if she'd been hesitant to embrace Germans. I'm awfully grateful that my parents were always able to see the humanity in any situation above and beyond any past history or politics.
A German friend recently shared a story with some very similar parallels to that of the Geises and their American guests, yet one that gives a glimpse into the German family's experience, too. Toward the very end of the war, on Good Friday, they expected their tiny village to be overrun at any moment by U.S. soldiers. The German troops were retreating, and my friend's family members, six adults and two children, were trying to decide whether they should stay put or hide in hills above the village.
In a previous war, their village had been wiped out in a similar situation, with every single person killed, so they were quite fearful. They also had a family member who was a prisoner of war overseas, one with whom they would later be reunited, and who would become my friend's father. Like the Geises, these folks were just trying to eke out their simple lives in terrible times, during a war that they'd just as soon had never happened.
They decided to stay in their home, and within hours, several vehicles pulled into their farmyard and U.S. soldiers climbed out and ordered them upstairs while the soldiers took over the lower floor of the house. What my friend's aunt, who was among those present, most remembers is how young these soldiers looked to her at the time. As she and her sister peeked down from upstairs, she saw that the soldiers were having trouble figuring out how to light the cook stove, and so, to her family's horror, she bounded down to help them. (Her sister would later tease her that the only reason she'd done this was because those soldiers were so handsome.) That weekend, they all eventually feasted together on the farm's fresh eggs and the soldiers' rations in a shared meal around that kitchen table. On Easter Sunday morning, the family came downstairs to find the soldiers gone, along with a basket of hardboiled eggs that the family had colored earlier that week. In the basket's place was a huge stash of chocolate.
"My family hadn't seen chocolate for years," my friend says, "and this, combined with how carefully the soldiers had left everything in its place when my family had expected them to ransack the house, gave everyone great heart, and the possibility of believing that maybe things would be all right after all." The miracle of his father's return a short while later was the very best evidence of that, of course, and soon spring bulbs were blooming in the yard and, despite the ravages of the war, his family knew that they'd see green fields again.
It's no coincidence that the essence of Easter - resurrection — is about restoration and renewal. Whatever our faith, or lack of it, spring brings that glorious reminder that, no matter what has happened, no matter how long our personal winters may have been, the new life in the spiritual pulse of springtime always offers us another chance.
"The turning and falling of the autumn leaves is past; the bleakness of the winter time is over. The new year hath appeared and the spiritual springtime is at hand." — from the writings of the Bahá'í Faith.
— — —
Phyllis Edgerly Ring, mother of two, is a writer and editor. Her current book project addresses how adults can recognize and nurture children's spiritual nature. She is a former program director at Green Acre Baha'i School in Eliot, Maine, and has been a member of the Baha'i Faith for more than 30 years. Email her at {email columns@bahai.us}columns@bahai.us{/email}. See the website of the Baha'is of the United States for more information. © copyright 2007 by Phyllis Edgerly Ring