Here’s a biographical sketch of my grandparents’ journey to America. I never got to meet them, but I am grateful for learning about them from my father while was he living. Although it saddens me to think that when I first posted this, he was still alive, I’m still happy we had the chance to share this story and that I heard it from his lips. I consider that a gift. My dad is Michael in the story.
Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting the Fictioneers and to her husband, Jan Wayne Fields, for the wonderful photo.
A Journey by Boat
Melchior, a carpenter, couldn’t have known his fate the day he walked into the church of St. Francis. He saw a smile in her eyes and heard his mother tongue of Swiss German once again. It was here that he met Elizabeth, a stranger in this foreign land, but a neighbor who had lived only twenty miles away in their native Switzerland. Six months later, in this same church, they married.
Their twelve children taught them English. Seven left to fight in the war.
At home by the fire, Melchior played the accordion with his youngest, Michael, while Blackie the dog howled at their feet.
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