Garhart (G. N.) and Susanna (Winkler) Becker
by Ruth Harris
(Transcribed, with permission from the Mellette County Historical Society, from "Mellette County 1911-1986" published by the Mellette County Historical Society)
My parents came to Mellette County in 1912 as
almost newlyweds and homesteaded on a quarter of
land about three miles northeast of the town of White
River and near the meandering Little White River,
which provided water for both home and stock, a
definite plus in those early days.
Pioneering was doubly hard for my mother. She
was born and grew up in Germany, coming to the USA
in the spring of 1911 when she was nearly 22 years
old. She came with an uncle who had lived in America
several years and who had gone to Germany for a visit.
Before he left Atkinson, Nebraska, on the trip, he
jokingly asked a group of men what he should bring
them from Germany and my dad said, ''Bring me a
wife." At this time my dad was considered an old
bachelor. However, when my great-uncle returned with his niece, Dad was very ill with pneumonia and my grandmother was in need of help, so uncle volunteered his niece. Dad recovered, Mother went to other jobs in the area, but in October of that year they were married and the following spring talked of homesteading in Mellette County.
Although the climate in South Dakota wasn't much different than Germany, the environment was and the language barrier also made it difficult for my mother. One story I remember her telling about was this—one hot summer day when she had been baking cookies and had a dishpan full, an Indian neighbor woman who had walked about a mile stopped in for a drink. She spoke only Indian, Mother only German, but hospitality was there and Mom offered the panful of cookies for her to help herself. She did. She took the whole panful, dumped them in her skirt, folded it up and left. Needless to say, my mother was warm from more than the heat of the old wood range and the weather.
However, this was their home and they worked and had friends and neighbors. In the spring of 1913 their first child was born, a son, Garhart, who stills lives in White River. Later that year they decided to rent the farm and return to Nebraska. But after a year there, they again returned to the homestead and in the summer of 1916 their second child—me—was born. I arrived while Dad went to get the midwife who lived about a mile away. The story goes, Mom had eaten several large roasting ears for supper and Dad told her she'd get a tummy ache. So she waited a bit too long to wake him. By the time he got the horse and buggy ready, my brother up and went after the midwife (and I'm sure the horse felt the whip on the way) — it all took time and when they returned they could hear me protesting loudly. But all was well, except 35 years later I needed a birth certificate and there wasn't a record of me. Guess the midwife thought that since she hadn't delivered me, she didn't need to record it. As a climax to this story—I really like roasting ears!
Life went on. The one-room tar paper shack became a two-story tar-paper house. Times were rough and it was time for Garhart to start school, so again the folks rented the farm and moved into town where Dad did carpenter work, janitor work and any other available job. About this time my mother had to learn to speak English, especially at home as my brother was having difficulty in school. I guess one could say they both learned to speak English instead of fluent German. From then on about the only time that the folks ever spoke German was when they didn't want us kids to know what they were talking about, or with old friends and family grown-ups.
We lived in town for several years and here in January 1924 their third child, Rosemarie, was born. 1 have lots of memories of this period. The big fire-Dad killing a rabid cat—starting to school and many more. When Sis was about one and one-half years old, we again moved back to the farm, as the renter wanted to leave. For a few years we sort of roughed it in a lot of ways. Part of that time, I remember my brother and I driving a balky horse hitched to a two-wheeled cart to get to school and in the old lumber wagon on Sunday mornings to church. Despite hot flat irons, straw bedding, blankets and long Johns, the three miles were sometimes a long, cold trip. Shortly before Christmas in 1928, it was a gala day. Mom brought up the old fruit jar from the cellar and counted out the precious pennies from eggs, chickens, cream, garden produce and whatever, and we bought a Model T Ford. What a Christmas!
In 1930, it was decided to build a better house. A friend brought a scraper and a basement was dug. As soon as the walls were plastered and a roof and floor finished, we moved into it, tore down the old frame house and laid the tile walls for a three-bedroom house. Most of the work was done by Dad and us kids, both inside and out, and we were all very proud when it was finished. During these years Dad did carpenter work, also WPA and helped in building of the White River school house as well as farming, gardening, raising turkeys, chickens, livestock etc. We went through the Dirty Thirties, the grasshoppers, beetles, prairie fires, but still we managed to get by.
We kids grew up, married and left home but didn't get too far away. Garhart served in the Armed Forces in WWII with overseas duty. Also sons-in-law George Harris and James Wilder were in WWII with overseas duty. The folks lived on the farm until 1965 when the work got too much for Dad. He had lost his right hand and lower arm to skin cancer and radiation burn and then the finger tips of his left hand to a radiator fan. So they sold out and moved to Norris where all three of their children lived. But after a few months there, they missed their friends and White River, so they bought a house there and returned HOME. There they lived the balance of their allotted years.
They celebrated their Golden Wedding Anniversary in October of 1961 with all the immediate family present and many friends and neighbors. They added nearly seven more years together before Dad passed away in September of 1968. Mother continued living in her own home until she passed away in June of 1972. Dad was 90 and Mother was 83. They had a long life, a good life, although at times a hard life. They were truly pioneers and residents of Mellette County for 60 years—and could still say, residents at the White River cemetery, among friends.
by Ruth Harris
(Transcribed, with permission from the Mellette County Historical Society, from "Mellette County 1911-1986" published by the Mellette County Historical Society)
My parents came to Mellette County in 1912 as
almost newlyweds and homesteaded on a quarter of
land about three miles northeast of the town of White
River and near the meandering Little White River,
which provided water for both home and stock, a
definite plus in those early days.
Pioneering was doubly hard for my mother. She
was born and grew up in Germany, coming to the USA
in the spring of 1911 when she was nearly 22 years
old. She came with an uncle who had lived in America
several years and who had gone to Germany for a visit.
Before he left Atkinson, Nebraska, on the trip, he
jokingly asked a group of men what he should bring
them from Germany and my dad said, ''Bring me a
wife." At this time my dad was considered an old
bachelor. However, when my great-uncle returned with his niece, Dad was very ill with pneumonia and my grandmother was in need of help, so uncle volunteered his niece. Dad recovered, Mother went to other jobs in the area, but in October of that year they were married and the following spring talked of homesteading in Mellette County.
Although the climate in South Dakota wasn't much different than Germany, the environment was and the language barrier also made it difficult for my mother. One story I remember her telling about was this—one hot summer day when she had been baking cookies and had a dishpan full, an Indian neighbor woman who had walked about a mile stopped in for a drink. She spoke only Indian, Mother only German, but hospitality was there and Mom offered the panful of cookies for her to help herself. She did. She took the whole panful, dumped them in her skirt, folded it up and left. Needless to say, my mother was warm from more than the heat of the old wood range and the weather.
However, this was their home and they worked and had friends and neighbors. In the spring of 1913 their first child was born, a son, Garhart, who stills lives in White River. Later that year they decided to rent the farm and return to Nebraska. But after a year there, they again returned to the homestead and in the summer of 1916 their second child—me—was born. I arrived while Dad went to get the midwife who lived about a mile away. The story goes, Mom had eaten several large roasting ears for supper and Dad told her she'd get a tummy ache. So she waited a bit too long to wake him. By the time he got the horse and buggy ready, my brother up and went after the midwife (and I'm sure the horse felt the whip on the way) — it all took time and when they returned they could hear me protesting loudly. But all was well, except 35 years later I needed a birth certificate and there wasn't a record of me. Guess the midwife thought that since she hadn't delivered me, she didn't need to record it. As a climax to this story—I really like roasting ears!
Life went on. The one-room tar paper shack became a two-story tar-paper house. Times were rough and it was time for Garhart to start school, so again the folks rented the farm and moved into town where Dad did carpenter work, janitor work and any other available job. About this time my mother had to learn to speak English, especially at home as my brother was having difficulty in school. I guess one could say they both learned to speak English instead of fluent German. From then on about the only time that the folks ever spoke German was when they didn't want us kids to know what they were talking about, or with old friends and family grown-ups.
We lived in town for several years and here in January 1924 their third child, Rosemarie, was born. 1 have lots of memories of this period. The big fire-Dad killing a rabid cat—starting to school and many more. When Sis was about one and one-half years old, we again moved back to the farm, as the renter wanted to leave. For a few years we sort of roughed it in a lot of ways. Part of that time, I remember my brother and I driving a balky horse hitched to a two-wheeled cart to get to school and in the old lumber wagon on Sunday mornings to church. Despite hot flat irons, straw bedding, blankets and long Johns, the three miles were sometimes a long, cold trip. Shortly before Christmas in 1928, it was a gala day. Mom brought up the old fruit jar from the cellar and counted out the precious pennies from eggs, chickens, cream, garden produce and whatever, and we bought a Model T Ford. What a Christmas!
In 1930, it was decided to build a better house. A friend brought a scraper and a basement was dug. As soon as the walls were plastered and a roof and floor finished, we moved into it, tore down the old frame house and laid the tile walls for a three-bedroom house. Most of the work was done by Dad and us kids, both inside and out, and we were all very proud when it was finished. During these years Dad did carpenter work, also WPA and helped in building of the White River school house as well as farming, gardening, raising turkeys, chickens, livestock etc. We went through the Dirty Thirties, the grasshoppers, beetles, prairie fires, but still we managed to get by.
We kids grew up, married and left home but didn't get too far away. Garhart served in the Armed Forces in WWII with overseas duty. Also sons-in-law George Harris and James Wilder were in WWII with overseas duty. The folks lived on the farm until 1965 when the work got too much for Dad. He had lost his right hand and lower arm to skin cancer and radiation burn and then the finger tips of his left hand to a radiator fan. So they sold out and moved to Norris where all three of their children lived. But after a few months there, they missed their friends and White River, so they bought a house there and returned HOME. There they lived the balance of their allotted years.
They celebrated their Golden Wedding Anniversary in October of 1961 with all the immediate family present and many friends and neighbors. They added nearly seven more years together before Dad passed away in September of 1968. Mother continued living in her own home until she passed away in June of 1972. Dad was 90 and Mother was 83. They had a long life, a good life, although at times a hard life. They were truly pioneers and residents of Mellette County for 60 years—and could still say, residents at the White River cemetery, among friends.
Mellette County, South Dakota
Family Histories & Biographies - Becker Surname
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Becker Surname
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G. N. Becker, Susan Becker, Garhart, Ruth and Rose
Becker Homestead
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