photo by April Sauers
The Schreder family recently gathered for a reunion at the St. Cloud Holiday Inn, a weekend made special by the family’s mother, Fay, presenting all of her children and grandchildren with a book of memoirs, to which they had all contributed. In the front row (from left to right) are Mari Schreder, San Diego, Calif.; Amy Pallansch, Sartell; mother Fay; Debbie Bremsers, Tucson, Ariz.; and Nancy Vossen, Midland, Mich.: (back row) Brian and Pat Schreder, both of Sauk Rapids; Mike Schreder, Fairbanks, Alaska; Scott Schreder, Seattle, Wash.; Jamie Schreder, St. Cloud; and Bonnie Schreder, North Branch.

When Fay Schreder’s 10 children arrived for the first all-family reunion in many years, they were happily stunned when their mother presented each of them with a just-published book about their growing-up years.

The book of memoirs, entitled “Schreder Time . . . In Our Own Words,” is unusual because it is a book of many voices, like a symphony orchestra – all of the “instruments” intertwined throughout the book. It is a family album in words and photos – literally hundreds of photos.

Schreder herself wrote the introductory and closing chapters, which serve as a historical framework for the large mid-section of the book. In that section, Schreder chose to write a long, heartfelt letter to each of her children, explaining why each child is so special, and the love Schreder has always felt – and still feels – for each and every one of them. After each letter, there is a letter or essay written by the child to whom the letter is addressed. About a year ago, Schreder had asked each of the children to write a letter for a family book she was planning to write. They did not know, however, exactly how their efforts would fit within Schreder’s creative plan.

On the last weekend of November, when the Schreder children and their children and grandchildren gathered for the reunion at the St. Cloud Holiday Inn, they were thrilled to see what their mother had done with the letters and essays. All through the weekend, the Schreders kept burying their noses in the book, reminiscing, laughing, ribbing one another about the good old days when they were growing up on a farm in rural Sauk Rapids.

Sadly, one of Schreder’s 11 children, Kevin, was conspicuously absent from the happy reunion. In 1977, when he was only 17, two days before Christmas, Kevin was accidentally asphyxiated while working on a truck in a closed garage. Kevin, however, was with his mother and siblings in spirit. The book is dedicated to him, and his mother included many of his youthful photos and an essay he wrote in high school.

Although “Schreder Time . . . In Our Own Words” is a personalized family book, it transcends its genre because it evokes the strong, unbreakable bonds forged by a large family through many ups and downs, trials and tribulations, disappointments and accomplishments, sorrows and joys, hard work, tough times – and loads of personal talents. It is a saga to which most readers would relate.

Schreder, the author of two previous memoirs, had another reason to be happy during the Holiday Inn family reunion. She turned 75 that Friday. The thirty-six people at the weekend had plenty to celebrate. The participants came from far and wide – as far away as San Diego and Fairbanks, Alaska and as close by as Sartell. Schreder is a Sartell resident, as is her daughter Amy Pallansch.

Schreder’s early chapters detail her very busy life as a housewife and mother, starting after her marriage to Jim Schreder in 1958. (Her maiden name is Bromenschenkel.) Times were tough, and the family had to work very hard to earn everything they needed. Schreder cooked, sewed, canned, washed, mended, crocheted, changed and cleaned diapers, mopped and dusted, helped the children with homework and nursed the children’s cuts, scrapes and bruised feelings. She was busy in every season, ‘round the clock, and her main contact with the larger world was the radio she listened to during her busy chores.

One of her vivid radio memories is the time she heard that President John F. Kennedy was shot in Dallas.

“My little ones were down for a nap,” Schreder wrote, “and I was doing the ironing in our farmhouse living room in 1963, when my radio told me John Kennedy was shot. Maybe a bullet grazed him, but surely not seriously injured! I tried to convince myself. Scarcely an hour later, another news bulletin told me he was dead.

The first president to my knowledge to actively work for civil rights for minorities, I suspected it was the work of a bigot and discussed it with my cousin, Agnes, who called when she heard the news. We were both shocked and saddened and visited by phone for an hour and a half until I finished all my ironing and my children awoke from their naps.”

One of Schreder’s early chapters tells the terrifying story of a mid-winter fire in the blizzard winter of 1965 when the family farm house burned up in a blazing fire. Fortunately, all of the Schreders managed to escape the fire. They all bundled up together in the car as they watched their house burn to rubble.

Months later, they took out a loan and built another house. Money was so scarce after the fire the family had to scrimp even on the bare necessities.

“We baked our own bread, raised a big garden, canned fruits and vegetables and stretched the groceries as far as they would go,” Schreder wrote.

What helped the growing Schreder clan get through even the leanest times were the bonds of deep and abiding love, combined with a hardy camaraderie among them.

One of Schreder’s poems expresse that love:
Sons and Daughters
They come
in tiny
bundles
Fill life
with
a
sweet glow
Lodge
forever
in
mother’s heart
Small
or tall
each one
A
perfect
fit

The following are excerpts from Schreder’s letters to her children and the children’s letters to the family:

Letter for Debbie:
“Though we had little money, when you children were babies, everything we could do for you made us happy.

For the second winter, Debbie, we bought you a red, fleecy coat, bonnet and snow pants. You looked so beautiful and we were so proud of you we took you everywhere we went and reveled in every compliment folks bestowed upon you.”

From Debbie:
“We loved playing in what we called the attic, and which may have only been just a spare bedroom. To us it was a treasure room, especially when we went to play dress-up. Our favorite was what we called our “Mrs. Jones” dress. I can still see it, a short-sleeve silky navy print dress with a side zipper as was the fashion and on us it dragged as we walked . . . We could play “Mrs. Jones for hours on end.”

Letter for Bonnie:
“It was a special honor for your singing group to be invited to entertain in Washington, D.C. for the 1976 bicentennial celebration of our country. You were part of Sauk Rapids High School’s well known and popular group led by Mr. Carmen Peters, called “The Pop Singers.” While in Washington, you were introduced to Sen. Hubert Humphrey (former vice president), a fellow Minnesotan, as well as our other state senator and state representatives.”

From Bonnie:
“Band and homework were my life as a teenager. There were so many chores that practicing my flute, piccolo and sax became an escape. It was a world of music, dancing and an easy transition into a world where I could be free, angry, happy or whatever emotion I wanted to express at the moment. I was in full control of this world. It was at my command. My spirit grew wings as I mastered each passage. For the moment, I was confident and sure, relaxed and spiritually renewed.”

Letter for Mike:
“One year on Mother’s Day, when you were six and Debbie and Bonnie seven and eight years old, the three of you got up early to make me breakfast in bed. The plan was to make pancakes, but we used all the milk the night before, so you went to the barn and milked the cow. Then you all got out the recipe book and stirred up the pancakes. When the three of you brought them in for my breakfast, those soggy, half-cooked pancakes were the best Mother’s Day gift ever, and that Mother’s Day is one close to my heart.”

From Mike:
“(While hunting) I sat quietly for awhile, being careful not to make any sudden movements that would give me away. All of a sudden I heard the rustling sound of crisp leaves directly behind me. I felt the hair stand straight up on my head. Could it be a deer, a real live deer? My heart was pumping so fast and loud I was afraid of scaring whatever it was away. Almost motionless, I reached for my rifle and grasped it tightly. My mouth and lips were as dry as dust. I slowly twisted around, just in time to see the flickering tail of a gray squirrel as it scampered up a tree.”

Letter for Kevin:
“After almost 35 years, the sadness of your death has finally been tempered with the joy of having so many good memories of you. I could write so many more. I love you so much, Kevin. You are forever in my heart as a youngster who was friendly to everyone, somewhat shy, appreciative of every kindness you received, and wanted love and peace in your world more than anything else.”

From Kevin:
From an essay entitled “The Care of a Dairy Herd” he wrote when he was 17:
“Each cow has to be milked twice a day. On an average, a strong milking cow should give 50 pounds of milk a day. A gallon of milk contains approximately 8.2 pounds. When milking, for best results the same person should milk all the time to get the cow used to the same style. A cow must first have her udder washed and then a leather strap placed upon her back. A milk bucket is attached to it and removed when done.”

Letter for Scott:
“Most importantly, Scott, you have always been a person with a strong sense of fairness and justice . . . A fair and just society is what you want for everyone, and people are drawn to you and trust you. You have the respect of everyone who knows you. Along with that, you have a delightful, wry sense of humor that constantly amuses and makes you fun to be around.”

From Scott:
(Like many of his siblings, Scott employed heavy-duty sarcasm and pointed humor to describe the dreaded farm chore of picking rocks.)

“Spring rock picking season opens with an ughh! It’s not like you missed any of them last season in the countless hay wagon loads lovingly picked by hand and carried to their “Happy Place” on the rock pile or to a hole dug by Dad with a machine he brought home from work. I didn’t know if the good rocks went on the rock pile to bask in the sun and weather to enjoy the four seasons . . . The answer is there are no good or bad rocks – only heavy and heavier rocks.”

Letter for Pat:
“At bedtime on your first (school) day, you were talking about school and I asked what your teacher’s name was. You paused for a moment trying to remember. With a big smile and shining eyes, you announced, “It’s Mrs. Sheepwool!” It was a good try, as her name was Mrs. Lampher. Every day you wore a big smile and your blond hair shone in the sun as you ran down the driveway to catch the school bus with your older brothers and sisters.”

From Pat:
“Talk about pranks. The best ever was being in the 60 silo in mid August, pitching silage to feed to the cows. Keep in mind we had no phone calls from anyone all summer. Your brother on the ground hollers, “(Pat), you have a phone call!” You hurry down the 60 feet and there’s no one on the phone, so back up the silo you go.

Five minutes later, “Pat, phone call!” Down you go again. They must have hung up. Third time, “Pat, phone call!”

“Tell them to call later or leave a message. I’m not so dumb!”

Letter for Jamie:
“When you were barely old enough to walk and talk, and I was so busy, you’d come up to me shyly and say, “I didn’t have my hug yet today.” When I crouched down to hug you, I was glad to be reminded of what was important . . . You’ve been a very gentle person all your life.”

From Jamie:
“I remember putting the saddle on Lightning (horse) and Pat and I riding way out into the fields . . . I rode up and down the driveway and around the yard bareback. Once, I was riding Lightning very fast on the road and got a speeding ticket. The patrolman said, ‘No matter what you are driving, if you exceed the speed limit you get a ticket!’ “

Letter for Brian:
“You were born seven weeks after we lost all our possessions in the house fire. Your birth was like fresh air after a storm. You and your siblings kept us focused on caring for our family rather than on what we lost. The timing was perfect; you were a wonderful reminder of what was most important in life.”

From Brian:
“Mayhew Lake was not a big lake and not a small lake but the only lake I knew. In about 1990 I brought my 4-year-old son Josh to the lake. We walked to my favorite spot with worms in hand. We were about to have the adventure of his short lifetime. I straddled the electric fence and led the way through the weeds to my favorite (Mayhew Lake fishing spot). Josh followed. Legs a little shorter, he didn’t think this was so much fun. He barked like a little dog when he knew his legs were too short to follow Dad.”

Letter for Nancy:
“It warms my heart when we have the opportunity to visit by phone or in person. We discuss whatever it is that’s going on in our lives at the moment, whether it’s children, jobs or relationships. We give each other little pieces of advice, but mostly we sort it out for ourselves by talking it through. These moments are special to me.”

From Nancy:
“I always felt that being the next girl after six boys was an honorable position, somehow related to royalty. I believed this because of the gift of story-telling Mom had. She always made me feel that everyone in the family was anxiously awaiting for the arrival of a new sister. Well, I appreciated that, but I was not certain the group of six boys really felt the need of another girl. After all, they were ruling the place!”

Letter for Mari:
“You set high standards for yourself in parenting your children, Tevah and Treh. You also challenge yourself to the maximum in the classes you take. This summer, you are again taking a big leap in independence and self-reliance with a science research trip to a tiny island in the South Pacific called Hoga Island. It is an area so remote that it takes days to reach it from the island of Bali. You have been a wonderful daughter to me, Mari . . . “

From Mari:
“I think about the exciting house with anywhere from 10-12 people living there at a time, hand-me-down clothes with patches on the knees, hours of adventure in our own back yard and camping with the entire family in a canvas tent that took hours to set up. I am glad I grew up with the family I did.”

Letter for Amy:
“As the youngest in a large family, you have received much love. You have taken this love and given it to others many times over. What makes you so special is how you constantly give without considering the cost to yourself . . . I feel very blessed in having you for a daughter all these years.”

From Amy:
“The strong sense of family and work ethic were instilled in me from a young age, and I hope to pass these traits on to my children. I want them to realize three things that I was taught by my family:
1. No sacrifice is too great for your children.
2. No matter what happens in your life, if you work hard, things will work out.
3. Be proud of your accomplishments.

I feel blessed to be the baby of the Schreder family. You are all special to me. I love you!