Heritage of a Grandmother

When I was a preschooler, I loved books and even pretended to read to my younger sister. I was so excited when I finally got to school and learned to really read for myself. As soon as I began to read chapter books, I discovered the Little House on the Prairie series, the true story of Laura Ingalls Wilder. I read those books multiple times. Her stories mirror my Grandmother’s life very much. I read today the following below:

I’m amazed to see how many of my own policies and beliefs trace back to my grandmother. The same thinking, the same ideas and approach. She taught them to my mother, and I was almost unconsciously reared upon these same precepts.~ Henrietta Mears, (1890-1963) pioneer of Christian education, evangelist, and author.

Here’s a partial story of Sara Schroeder Richert, my maternal grandmother.

Sara Schroeder, was born in 1894. The Schroeder family were homesteaders on the rolling prairies of the Dakota Territories. Sara had five brothers and three sisters. They were a hardworking, godly family. If there was a church nearby, they would attend it weekly. The family was musical and in the evenings, they would sing together and were known for their harmony. She learned early how to cook and bake. Her crescent rolls were flaky and melted in one’s mouth–my mother used her recipe and I know first-hand how good they were. My mother’s rolls were the best. Sara helped her mother with the younger children, while the brothers worked with their father outdoors. The youngest baby, Gus, was almost like her own child.

One spring evening, while Sara was attending choir practice at the church, a handsome man with striking blue eyes, asked if he could drive her home in his buggy. She was flattered that he would invite her–she was only fourteen and younger than him by thirteen years. His name was Jake Richert.

When she came into the house after the ride, her parents were not happy that she had accepted a ride from a man much older than her–unsupervised as well. They told her, “No more rides with him.” Sara obeyed, but she dreamed often about Jake and wished she were older.

Jake lived in another town and through church news, Sara learned he had married.

When she was twenty, Sara farmed her own homestead and lived in a one room shanty where she worked the land, planting crops and harvesting them. She lived alone, in that vast land. I imagine she read a lot. There were no libraries, so I imagine she mostly read her Bible. She cooked and ate alone. Sometimes her sister, Marie, stayed with her, but the majority of the time, she was alone with her dreams and the exciting buggy ride she had with Jake. His horses were so fast. His eyes so blue. He was funny, cracking jokes all the time.

Sara was successful in the first couple of seasons, but she was lonely. Three years passed. There was news that Jake had been widowed and that his in-laws took care of his daughter, Ida, while Jake farmed on his homestead.

I don’t know how Jake and Sara re-connected, but they did and on July 12, 1916, the couple married. Sara at twenty-three years old, became a wife to Jake, and mother to Ida. In October of 1917, Sara gave birth to her first child, Rose Ann, my mother.

Jacob and Sara Richert on their wedding day.

Sara died at age forty-one–so very young with four children still living at home ages 17 down to age 8.

My mother spoke often about her mother and never forgot her. When helping with chores, she would tell me about her childhood. I was struck at her story of how her mother died suddenly of a brain aneurysm. I know she grieved the loss of her mother for many years and although she only had her mother until age seventeen, she was influenced greatly by her.

My mother learned a lot of homemaking skills, from her mother, most importantly, she learned to love her Savior through Sara’s influence. My mother was an excellent teacher–both in school and church, a loving wife, who was an excellent seamstress with a husband who loved her madly. Most of all, she loved Jesus and spoke of him all the time. There were times when I would burst into my parent’s bedroom and found her on her knees, praying.

I imagine, my mother interrupted her mother praying, too.

Although I wish I could have experienced the loving influence of Grandma Richert here on earth, I look forward to meeting her one day in heaven. My mother, Rose and Grandmother Sara, are now reunited in heaven with their Savior.

I give credit to my dear Aunt Ruth Richert Jones, who wrote about our past generations.

Below, my Aunt Ruth and my mother, Rose.