Yesterday I went to Dwight.

If this were the 1890s, you might assume that I went to Dwight, Illinois, to get help at for a “liquor habit” or, as a woman, for an addiction to laudanum (a form of opium.)

I actually went to Dwight to continue my research on The Pillars. Here’s the fun story:
After three trips to the Kendall County Records office, I managed to come up with a pretty good idea of the Chain of Title for the house, a record of ownership and title transfers. Using the newspaper archives and Ancestry.com, I was able to learn a little about each family who owned the house. Except one.

The second owner of the house was Mary E. Keeley from Chicago. She purchased the property in 1913, as well as two more parcels of adjoining land to the southwest, more than doubling the size of the property. She probably added an addition, clay tennis court and a pool and pool house. She definitely hired a gardener as reported in the newspaper, which also noted that she sent her effects to California when she sold the home in 1918. She was listed as a widow on the 1918 warranty deed.

I tried searching for Mary E. Keeley in Chicago and came up with a few possibilities, but none of them seemed to fit. I asked about her at the historical museum and searched for her at both the Oswego and Aurora public libraries. Nada.

Then one night I had dinner with one of Laura’s neighbors–Roxy–who happened to mention something about the “Keeley Cure for Alcoholism.” Bingo! I immediately glommed onto the name and went home to google it. It turns out that Mary E. Keeley was the wife/widow of Leslie E. Keeley, a doctor who studied alcoholism, believing it to be a disease rather than a moral failure. He and the chemist who worked in the drug store below his office collaborated to develop the “bichloride of gold” treatment, eventually claiming that alcoholism was a disease that could be cured. Over the next twenty years, they treated thousands of men and women, most of whom went on to live productive and alcohol-free lives. They trained others and started clinics in other states and countries until there were more than 80 Keeley Clinics around the world. Graduates of the program went on to form clubs, a kind of precursor to Alcoholics Anonymous and several national conventions followed. There was even a Keeley Day at the Chicago Exposition of 1893. This was also a time of huge temperance movements and Prohibition, which lasted from 1920-1933. Although Keeley’s methods seem a bit “quackish” in light of modern medicine, they really were in line with how medicine was practiced in those times. Still, opinions vary to this day, some calling him an opportunist quack and others that are more positive.

The town of Dwight underwent a huge boom of growth and wealth. Now a small town on historic Route 66, there are massive buildings and large beautiful homes and parks that look out of place in such a small town. An elegant hotel now stands empty and his partner’s home is an empty restaurant with a For Sale sign in front.

Dr. Keeley died in 1900 leaving an estate of over $1,000.000, most of it to his wife, “our” Mary E. Keeley.

I do not know a whole lot about Mary, but I do know that she bought the Oswego home, improved it and then sold it five years later. She moved to Pasadena, where I also know she “devoted her life to the furtherance of the Christian Science cause” and donated large amounts of money to the local Church of Christ, Scientist. I also know that she had an extensive collection of Christian Science literature and Bibles dating back to the 1500 and 1300s. This information is from her obituary when she died in 1931. Both she and Dr. Keeley are buried in an impressive mausoleum in the Dwight Oaklawn Cemetery.

I believe that her improvements to the PIllar’s property may have been to develop a place to treat men (or more likely women?) for alcoholism or drug addiction. I am guessing that the addition on the house, as well as the gardens, tennis court and pool were intended to provide a place where the Keeley cure could be administered. I don’t know if that ever happened or if it was a plan and a dream that was never realized.

I also know that she was Mary E. Dow before marrying Dr. Keeley in 1887, at age 38, twelve years younger than him. They never had children. Mary also studied the Christian Science faith (possibly a student of Mary Baker Eddy) and probably convinced her husband to embrace the faith late in his life as well. Interestingly, the Pillars was owned by Christian Scientists for the next 70+ years and through the tenure of three families, all Swedes with surnames ending with “–sons.” The Hansons (1918-1947), the Carlsons (1947-1969) and the Erlansons (1969-1996.)

I am still looking for answers but the story just got a lot more interesting. (I realize that genealogy stories may be boring to some and even more so, stories that aren’t actually related to anything but a house, but I am having a great time.)

Today I finished the 60.3 miles of the virtual Kilimanjaro challenge–3 days ahead of my goal time of 21 days. I picked up Kellen, Oaks and Olive to walk the last 1.7 miles around a forest preserve and up the sled hill for my “summit.” We had smoothies as a reward.

First of all, the Oakhurst Sled Hill is where our two friends (and sometimes John) trained for the real Kilimanjaro trip, which they took in the middle of August. The two/three of them would don hiking boots and walk/run up and down the hill 10-15 times to build up their strength for climbing. (Dan’s family paid for Dan and one friend to travel to and climb Kilimanjaro as a special treat.)

What they couldn’t train for was altitude. Kilimanjaro is the highest mountain in Africa and the highest free-standing mountain in the world. It rises from its base almost 5,000 feet to its peak at 19,341 feet. It is one of the Seven Summits in the world. It’s difficult to predict who will be challenged with altitude sickness; it doesn’t really depend on conditioning. One of our two friends was able to summit; the other experienced severe altitude sickness and had to forego summiting.

I walked my 60+ miles on relatively flat terrain. We live on one of the highest points of our relatively flat neighborhood so I liked to joke about “summiting” as I climbed the gentle slope back to our house. John says the grade might be 2%. The sledding hill may be as much as a 40% grade but it’s a pretty short path to the top and I only did that once at the very end of my challenge.

It was fun taking this virtual challenge “with” our friends (and virtually with Connie and one of the friends’ wife.) My biggest challenge was getting up early to walk before the heat of the day in this very hot summer.

I’ve already signed up for the next challenge: a 480 mile pilgrimage beginning in France and ending in Spain called the Camino de Santiago. I’m not planning to hurry along this path, but keep up a tortoise-like pace through the fall, winter and even into the spring, if need be.

Since the Camino is an ancient religious pilgrimage, I want to make mine a spiritual pilgrimage of sorts. I’ve loaded up on a few books and plan to correlate my walk with the BSF study of Matthew and reading of the Gospels, as well as using Peterson’s A Long Obedience (Psalm2 120-134) pilgrimage metaphor and maybe some ancient prayers and spiritual disciplines.

I’ll keep you posted!

While we have been celebrating the birth of a grandchild (March) and the Birkey’s new house (May), a quieter event has been developing in our family that is definitely something to celebrate: This weekend marks a milestone in Johnny’s journey of living without alcohol. It has been six months since he had his last drink.

Although we were certainly aware of his increasing habit of drinking and hoped for change, this has come as a surprise both to us and to him. He was sick for a few days in mid-February. When he started to feel better, he realized he’d already gone through the first effects of withdrawal so he decided he would “give up alcohol for Lent.” As the days progressed he started realizing that he slept better and felt better. He also realized that when he had crises, he could turn them around more quickly without alcohol in his system. (I used to call it throwing gasoline on a fire.) Days, weeks and now six months have gone by and he is committed to continuing.

This has been a hard year for everyone but especially difficult for someone like Johnny. 2019, the year we “kicked him out”–was hard, but he managed to work for almost a full year and was learning to live independently. A broken foot complicated things, but he still managed to hobble into work and was just given the go-ahead to return to normal physical activities (including tap) when Covid hit. He was staying with us at the time and continued to do so through the first uncertain months of the pandemic. By mid-summer, we moved him into an apartment, but allowed for a gradual transition, especially after he re-injured his foot, requiring another 12 weeks on crutches. Alcohol became part of his daily routine for managing anxiety and sleep problems.

This is just one part of a complex story, one good decision, made daily at first, with a growing commitment to a healthier life (and relationships.) It is definitely worth celebrating.*

*Most of this was written last May when he celebrated his three-month anniversary. We can’t believe another three months have flown by. He has something else to celebrate this month as he returns to school, hoping to complete his college career started so many years ago. He plans to major in Special Education or Special Populations at Northern Illinois University, starting next week. Hopefully he will work part-time on campus to help pay his other bills. He still has his apartment, right next to I-88 where he can begin the 40 minute commute.

I walked a lot this year.

In January I signed up to walk 100 miles with the Pine Pacer Challenge at the Morton Arboretum. I managed 88 miles, finishing 100 miles mid-February. I decided to keep going and added another 60 miles by early April. Connie introduced me to The Conquerors website and we began a virtual walk across the South Island of New Zealand, the Alps-to-Ocean challenge. Early on I worried that couldn’t keep up with Connie’s walking pace and added biking to my routine. First trip out I fell and broke my wrist 🙁 Fortunately it wasn’t a bad break. I couldn’t ride anymore, but I could keep walking.

In mid-May, we decided that if we pushed a bit, we could finish our walk together when she and Larry visited Memorial Day weekend. We both walked 4-5 miles a day to be accomplish this just before the beginning of the parade in Oswego. 180 miles in 50 days. That was fun, though I paid a price with sore feet and a trip the podiatrist. New shoes seemed to solve the problem.

In June we started off on the Cabot Trail in Nova Scotia, once again virtually. I decided that a steady three miles a day would accomplish my goal and quickly learned to get the first two miles in early before the heat of the day. I usually finished the last mile or so in the evening.

I did well through June and then my knee began to hurt. At first I tried walking through the pain but eventually that wasn’t possible. I visited Dr. O’Rourke who diagnosed patellar tendonitis and recommended rest, NSAIDs and quadricep strengthening.

Meanwhile, the hare plunged ahead, outdistancing me by about 20 miles!
This week, I started walking 1 mile each morning and evening.

I am the tortoise*.

A tortoise might be a good metaphor for my cancer treatment as well. Every 4 weeks I have labs drawn, visit my oncologist and get a Prolia injection. My numbers are staying steady month after month, which means my medications are still working to keep the cancer at bay and hemoglobin in the normal range. I was recently told I was a boring patient. That’s okay by me; tortoises are pretty boring too.

*I won’t achieve my Cabot Trail (186 miles) goal by the end of July as planned, but I am okay with that. In August I only have a 60 mile trail (Kilimanjaro) as my goal. After that we are going for the 480 mile Camino de Santiago, which I’m guessing will take us me most of the fall, winter and spring.

For the past five months a good part of my mental energy has been wrapped up in on old house in downtown Oswego. When Laura first invited us to see the house, I glanced through the Zillow pictures and decided not to go since I didn’t think they were going to like it. Was I ever wrong! “The Pillars” became the standard by which they evaluated every other home they visited.

When the Birkey’s started to look for a new home, I expected them to choose a slightly larger home with a full basement in an average Aurora neighborhood. It turned out that land was a higher value for them and then “old” started to charm them. After months of waiting and several negotiations, they moved in last Saturday.

This old house was built in 1902 and is situated on two acres of land that borders on the Fox River. Next door is another 3-4 acre undeveloped park that the kids are welcome to roam. It has 36-37 pillars in and around the house, which gives it a presidential look. Early on, when Laura hoped for a January move-in date she suggested we could have an inauguration, #Lauraforpresident. (One day during Laura’s senior year of high school she came home and declared that she wanted to become the President. She was frustrated by the three-year road construction process on the main route to her high school. She was sure she could have managed that better.)

The house is spacious–five bedrooms, three-and-a half baths, a library, two porches (one screened in and one all-season, two stairways up to the second floor) kitchen, dining room, family room and living room. It also has a port-cochére, a carriage house, and two butler bells 🙂 It has a full unfinished attic and an unfinished basement. The property is wooded, full of trees and flowers and a large old grape arbor. I’m really enjoying watching the flowering trees and perennials that keep blooming. The yard and neighborhood are perfect for the kids. Papa and Kellen are already designing a tree house.

It also has a history, which we are still learning. In the 1960s it was split into apartments. In the 80s, a family moved in and restored it to a family home with a kitchen that was featured in Better Homes and Gardens. The last family to own the home (2000-ish) remodeled it to preserve its historical heritage. It has “good bones” and a new roof, so we’re hoping Laura and Taylor will enjoy fixing it up without major expense.

On closing day, we were invited to join them for dessert to celebrate. I decided to try to make a cake that looked like the house. I bought pillars in the cake section at the craft store and went home to create a facsimile of the house. If any of you are familiar with Lamb Cakes, you may have seen this meme:

Here’s how my cake turned out. Definitely nailed it (Not!) but my grandkids still thought it was awesome.

I did a better job at Christmastime. Laura said the only thing she wanted for Christmas was a house. Here is my Lego version of The Pillars.

It’s also just 15 minutes away from us, either by back roads through farmland or across the mile-long main strip of big box stores where we do most of our shopping. Oswego is a great little and developing town. I’ve walked miles through its park and frequent its library, coffee shop, and the neighborhood of unique homes, many even older than the Pillars. I’m loving this!

Theodore Emmitt Bruce safely arrived on Friday morning, March 26. We were experiencing the drama of his birth from the other side of the International Date Line, so it felt like he was born in the afternoon of March 25, as it was late in the day when we finally got the text saying “Baby is here. Annie did awesome.”

I’ve been fortunate to be local for the births of each of my other grandchildren but Covid and the closed borders of New Zealand kept me away from this birth. It was a little maddening to be so far away and relegated to text messages. Fortunately, Facetime allowed us to chat with James and Anne a few hours later and then watch the girls meet their new baby brother later in the day. I’m so grateful for this technology.

I had four prayer requests for this birth: timing, safety, no c-section, and the arrival of the boxes we mailed three and five weeks in advance. Both packages arrived this week, just before Theo’s birthday. Anne was able to safely deliver the baby without intervention and without a c-section. Lastly, Theo arrived just a couple days after his Kiwi grandparents arrived to help out. (Both of them left aging ill parents back home so there has been a lot of concern about the timing of their trip and the baby’s arrival.)

Tucked in the packages was a baby quilt for Theo. When I decided I should get the quilt done and in the mail, I looked for ideas for a safari quilt. I found a pattern and made two lions, thinking one would be for a baby quilt and the other could be part of a larger bed quilt that I can take when I am able to travel to New Zealand. I cut out a zillion pieces without marking them and then really struggled to make the two lions–a confusing puzzle that wasn’t much fun. While I sewed I kept thinking that Simee ought to get the lion quilt since her middle name means “Lion of God.” Eventually I made an elephant piece for the new baby, in blue. This time I made one and marked the pieces carefully as I cut them. I was able to get it longarmed (quilted) in just a week and sent it off in the first box.

While Annie was in labor, I made a new elephant for the big quilt, channeling my tension into a creative project. I have finished a lion, an elephant, a rhino, a zebra, and a giraffe. It’s a lot more fun to make these one animals at a time. It’s nice to not be in a hurry and just make one every few days or weeks whenever I am motivated.

So here’s wee Theo on his quilt. He is being lovingly embraced by his family: Mum, Dad, Charlee, Simee, Granny and Grandad and cherished from afar by his American family as well.

And yes, he is adorable.

One year ago, on March 20th, life changed dramatically for most of us. A global pandemic was officially announced; we were told to Shelter at Home and to wear masks, wash our hands and social distance if we had to be out. Appointments were cancelled and we all learned to Zoom for church, Bible study, school, and even work. People got sick and died, often alone without family to support them. Others tested positive but were able to heal (and isolate) at home. Who thought that a year later some of these restrictions would still be in place?

One year ago, also on March 20th, I was diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer after having a CT earlier in the day. Within a week I saw two oncologists, had a bone marrow biopsy, a PET scan and began treatment, which fortunately was a simple change in my estrogen blocker. Within a three or four months, my numbers returned to near normal ranges and I felt much better. Over time they added monthly Prolia injections and a adjunctive medicine to block an enzyme to extend the efficacy of the estrogen blocker. Every month I have lab work and a visit to the oncologist to assess how well this treatment is working. When it stops working–and it will–there are a few more treatment regimens known to keep the cancer at bay. It won’t ever really go away, but it can be kept from growing and spreading (until it can’t.)

One year ago, on March 4th, I flew home from New Zealand. There were signs about coronavirus around the airport and some people were wearing masks, but it really wasn’t clear yet how big this was going to become. By early April, New Zealand closed its borders and went “early and hard” into lockdown. As of today, they have had only 25 deaths and have kept a lid on the pandemic, but they aren’t going to open their borders for many more months which means I can’t see my kids or grandkids any time in the near future. I’m hoping for late fall or Christmas. Facetime is wonderful but I miss being able to physically be with Charlee and Simee and will really miss out on being able to cuddle their new baby boy, due any day now.

One year. I don’t know how other people feel but with a sense that there is a very real expiration date on my life (even if I don’t know what it is) it seems unfair that one year has been spent this way. There have been many good things about the year–I’m not complaining about that–but I would have preferred to spend it differently. I’m sure that is particularly true for older people who have had to spend this year quarantined away from their families.

I don’t exactly have a bucket list, but I do have some priorities about what matters and how I want to fill the time I have left. Learning to number my days, has made some of my priorities more clear–and yet, circumstances have limited my choices (as well as yours.)

One year…but what a year!

America is a nation of immigrants, of people who left their homes and came to a new country looking for opportunities, whether religious or financial. My Marshall and Bitcon grandparents came in the early 1900s to “find their fortune”, as Gramma Christie once told me at the end of her life. In the 1880s, the Freebergs and the Hurnis left Sweden and Switzerland and traveled with young families to America.
Three of John’s grandparents have much deeper roots in American soil. In fact, at least six of his family lines were here before the founding of the United States.

Theuniz Thomsen Quick emigrated from Holland in 1642 and settled in New Amsterdam, now New York City. Five generations later his ggg-grandaughter, Annatje married Benjamin Markle, whose grandfather, Frederick Merkel, had come from the Palatinate region of Germany in 1710. Earlier, Tomys Swartwout emigrated from Holland to New Amsterdam in 1651, part of a large and influential family that helped shape America through nine generations to Lila Lorea Swarthout, John’s paternal grandmother. They served as sheriffs, J.P.’s, soldiers, statesmen and community leaders. One (not directly ascendant) was a friend of Aaron Burr and helped him leave town after he shot Hamilton. Their friendship almost embroiled Swarthout in the charges of treason that Burr later faced. Another Swartwout family was massacred by the Delaware Indians in their home in New Jersey. Along our direct line, there were several Revolutionary War and Civil War soldiers, including James J. Swarthout, whose picture looks surprisingly like John did in the 1970s. Aaron Swarthout served as a fifer in the New York Infantry.
Caspar Rieth emigrated with other family members in 1729, also from Germany. He settled in New York, first in the Hudson Valley and then moved to Pennsylvania, where conditions were more hospitable. Six generations of Reeds later, John’s maternal grandmother was born in Shamokin, PA. Jacob Fegley, another German, emigrated in 1733, settling in Berks County. PA. Five generations later, Flora Fegley married Charles Henry Reed and settled in Shamokin. Valentine Welker emigrated from Germany in 1772, also settling in Pennsylvania. The Rieth/Reeds, Fagleys and Welkers all served in both the Revolutionary and Civil Wars, which were fought in and around their new home turf.
August C. Herr was a relative latecomer, jumping ship in Hoboken, NJ, and staying in the United States in the early 1870s. He worked in the coal mines for many years and raised a large family in Shamokin with his wife, Minerva Milbrand (whose parents were “lost at sea” when she emigrated with her family. I haven’t been able to learn any more about them.)

Since Covid began last March, I have been working on our family genealogy. Last year I’d started a family tree wall of photographs, completing my side of the family. This year’s project was to work on John’s half of the tree. I started compiling information about the Hurnes, Reeds, and Maricles many years ago when I first was introduced to the family at a Hurne Reunion in 1976, The year after we were married, I took a trip with John’s parents to their hometowns in New York and Pennsylvania and met older relatives, saw gravesites and took pictures of pictures as I was able. I worked on genealogy throughout the years but that was back in the day when genealogy required visits to libraries, graveyards, and handwritten letters. The Internet has exploded the possibilities for genealogists but also made it more difficult to do careful research. Or maybe, the internet has made sloppy research much more accessible.

Alongside the wall of photos, I have made two notebooks to share my research and stories. I’m pretty sure no one in my family will want to dig through my old files so this will make the family stories more available to them and explain the pictures on the wall.
It has been fun to learn about the deep American roots on the Hurne* side of the family. We hoped to travel east this summer or fall to visit family and some of the locations where these stories took place and to do more research, but Covid has kept us home (as well as closing many of the repositories of information.) I’m still hoping that will happen in 2021.


* You may have noticed multiple spellings of the family names: Rieths became Reeds; Swartwout became—in some cases—Swarthout; Merkel was spelled multiple ways throughout the generations, as well as Fegley, Fagley, etc. We even contributed to this pattern when we legally changed our surname from Hurne to Hurni in 1981, the original spelling in Switzerland. It had been anglicized when Samuel Hurni came to New York in 1880, supposedly because the immigration personnel misunderstood his pronunciation of the German “i”. I talked John into changing it back, assuming that maybe some of the other Hurnes would follow suit. None of them did so now we are the “Hurni’s with the i” and have to write Hurne/i to include the whole family. One nephew got tired of correcting the pronunciation of his family name and has gone by the name Hurne with a silent e for many years.

Speaking of pronunciation, last winter in New Zealand, I met a young man from Bern, Switzerland, about 30 minutes from the small town of Gurbrü where the Hurnis lived. I told him our family name and he seemed very puzzled by it. A few minutes later, he realized that my pronunciation was way off and told me how it would be said there. I tried to video him saying it correctly but the sound didn’t pick up so I missed my opportunity. Let’s just say it had a much deeper German inflection.

Boden James Birkey arrived early on June 6th, 2020; for us a bright ray of joy in troubled times.

His name means shelter or sheltered (or a whole list of other things depending on which baby name site you choose.) He is certainly being sheltered in his new home and family and he is reminding us of where we need to put our hope–in the God who offers us shelter “under his wings.” Psalm 91.

We have been so grateful for our home, our shelter-in-place venue for the last four months. We recognized the privilege that we’ve experienced to be able to stay home and feel protected. We know it has been much more difficult for others and the recent protests have made that even more evident. How do we appreciate all the good without ignoring injustice and compassion?

Not that everything is peaceful and sweet here within the walls of our home. We have allowed Johnny to shelter with us, which has been mostly a good thing, but not easy. There is a sense of taking two steps backwards in all the progress of the last year as he hasn’t been able to work during this time, a factor that normally gives structure and stability to his life. He hasn’t been particularly problematic, but he has slipped downward into increased depression, which is difficult to watch–and live with. Lizi has experienced more anxiety, missing the structure of work in her life as well. Cancer symptoms and treatment have added stress, worry and a lot of questions.

Still, we are sheltered, protected, and for the most part, we are trusting God as our Sovereign Lord over all the details of life. It’s just that there are so many details!

Like so many other grandparents, being “sheltered” away from our children and grandchildren has been an added sorrow. During the first few months, we had the local grandkids over a couple times to play (or swim) in our backyard, socially distancing with them from our high deck while they played in the yard. Sometimes they showed up on our doorstep with the groceries their parents faithfully delivered to us. Facetime phone calls to New Zealand have continued as always, but it is a hard to not know when we will be able to see them again.

When Taylor called us in the early morning hours of Boden’s birthday, we went to stay with the kids while Mom and Dad were at the hospital. Upon awakening, the kids snuggled up to us–our first hugs in 3 months–to await news of the baby’s birth. While we still are cautious when visiting their home and holding little Boden, his arrival opened up that part of our lives again. What a relief! For now, I’m focusing on being with my family and just a few close friends (outdoor deck dates or walks in the outdoor air.)

While sheltering, I’ve focused on quilting, genealogy, and completing a family scrapbook. I finished a bed quilt for Simee, who turned two this week, and a baby quilt for Boden. For once I dug into my quilt stash and decided to make a “bee” quilt out of fabric that I had previously bought to make a quilt for their “Bee School” homeschool several years ago. I kept telling Laura that they should name the baby with a “B” name to go with my quilt, never imagining that they were already thinking Boden. (She enjoyed chuckling over my suggestions.) The quilt also features six pieced bees–one for each of the Birkeys. Small things, but coincidences that make me happy 🙂

I really love his name for its meaning in the midst of a hard season of life (for practicably everybody.) I like that his middle names is James and that he was born on our James’ birthday. And I like my B/bee quilt for all the above reasons. But what I really enjoy are those moments of holding our sweet baby boy and resting with him in my arms.