From Wheat Fields to Teaching Fields My Family’s Migration

“July 8, 1923, was the day of my ninth birthday. What a wonderful day it promised to be. I had spent all my life on our family wheat farm in North Dakota. Now we were going to start on a long trip to Minnesota, where my father lived when he was a boy.”

Georgia Hellen McQuillen Scheer (1914-2012)

My maternal grandmother, Georgia Hellen McQuillen, was born in 1914 to Palmer James “PJ” and Emily, near Wildrose, North Dakota. Although named after her mother’s brother, George Figgins, a state representative from Iowa, she was always called Hellen. She remembers that the wheat was taller than she was and was told a child could just disappear. For that reason, Hellen was not allowed in the field unless she was with an older sibling.

It was in 1923, Hellen’s parents made the difficult decision to leave their home, all the land that they had laboriously coaxed into crops, and the gravesite of their firstborn. When Grandma Hellen was in her 90s, she shared with me what she remembered about this year. I am honored that my grandma trusted me with this history. My research to fill in the gaps took me to the county of her birth several times, as well as the North Dakota State Historical Society.

Twenty-seven-year-old PJ traveled from his home in Forest Lake, Minnesota, to Williams County, in the northwest corner of North Dakota, where he filed a homestead claim on 160-acres in 1903. He was courting Miss Emily Figgins of Red Oak, Iowa. After his first harvest of wheat, he convinced her to file a claim on similar acreage within a couple of miles of his.

Emily’s youngest sister, Jessie Canfield, and her husband lived near Devils Lake and were witnesses to PJ and Emily’s marriage in January 1906. Jessie recalled, “Emily wore a black dress. However, she also had a pink feather boa,” as part of her wedding attire. The black dress exemplified prairie practicality and the feather boa, whoever it was provided by, showed the importance of a sense of humor. Soon after the wedding, they moved the 12’x16’ building Emily lived in, to the one of a similar size on PJ’s property. By attaching the buildings together, they had a larger home where they lived and raised their children for nearly two decades.

Wheat farming is a gamble. One year may be a boom and the next year a bust. There are so many things that can go wrong during the growing seasons; too hot, too cold, pestilence, drought, or flooding. Hail or wind could destroy the wheat up to the day before the harvest. And fire, a constant worry on the prairie, could take much more than just the crops.

PJ was a hard-working farmer, but he and Emily seriously considered moving somewhere else and starting over in the early 1920s. They owed taxes on the property and had had another bad year. Their farm was foreclosed on. One of Hellen’s heartbreaking memories was watching the auction of their personal belongings conducted by the bank. In fact, she refused to attend another farm auction her entire life.

Often in situations like this, local farmers bid low on items the family would need, and then “sold” them back. With money probably borrowed from someone in Emily’s family, the McQuillens made plans to move to Minnesota. PJ knew that if they were near Minneapolis, he could resume work as a teamster. He also knew his three oldest children, who had all finished eighth grade in the country school, could attend a high school. His goal was to get the family settled before the start of fall term.

Since the birth of her last child in 1921, Emily had been in poor health, often remaining in bed for days at a time. So, PJ did most of the preparation for their anticipated 600-mile journey with the help of Hellen and her older siblings. Because the bank took the house, the family of eight stayed with a bachelor neighbor for a couple weeks while they got ready to leave.

Hellen clearly remembered all that went into the moving process. “My dad bought large wooden bows (frames) and a huge canvas to put over the top of the wagon, and two black trunks through Montgomery Wards.”

PJ had learned to bake bread when he was about eight years old, and boarded with an elderly woman while he attended school. Crippled with arthritis, she could no longer knead dough, so that became PJ’s job. He didn’t mind kitchen chores, which served him well during his bachelor days. “Dad also bought crocks that were different sizes, some held about four gallons. In these he prepared and packed food we would use on the way. I helped him so I knew exactly what was in each. One had eggs packed in salt which would keep them fresh. Then there were meatballs packed in fresh lard and another held potatoes packed in sand. We took dry beans which we could cook on the way in an iron kettle. Best of all were three big cheeses made from milk from our cows. These were packed in a wooden box wrapped in waxed canvas.”

Finally, with the help of a neighbor, PJ secured the heavy canvas cover that he had sewn over the arched frames on the farm wagon. In it, they packed the food, bedding, and cooking utensils they would use every day. Another wagon was loaded with tools, supplies, chickens, and whatever else they needed to begin again. Painful decisions were made about what to take and what to leave behind. Items that could withstand the weather and rugged travel were hung on the outside of the wagon box. Each was pulled by a team of two horses. PJ drove the covered wagon and his eldest son, 14-year-old Ivan, drove the other.

All the children, except for baby Evelyn, walked for hours at a stretch, and their dog Jack trotted the entire way. Hellen shared that someone had asked if they were gypsies and one lady had given Evelyn a doll. When they could, the family spent the nights at schoolhouses, as there was usually water and an outhouse. Emily and the younger children slept in the wagon, while PJ and the older ones made their bed underneath.

Their first stop was Devils Lake, where Emily’s sister’s family, the Canfields, had a large wheat farm. Travel by loaded wagon was slow so it took almost three weeks to cover the 225 miles. The McQuillens stayed ten days to visit the cousins they had never met and to help with the threshing. PJ realized they would not make it to Minneapolis before school started. So, he consulted his map and asked for suggestions about where they might settle for the upcoming school year.

Someone suggested the Finnish community of New York Mills. PJ learned that the Finnish settlers had come to the west central part of Minnesota because of advertisements in the newspapers in Finland offering free land to homesteaders. In the 1920s, the community was one of the biggest groups of rural Finns in the state. They were industrious, had large families, and prosperous farms.

And the town had erected a brick school for grades one through twelve a few years earlier. After PJ learned there was a school his children could graduate from, that’s where he decided they would go.

Restocked with supplies and well-rested horses, the family caravan left on August 19, in hopes of arriving in New York Mills by Labor Day. The days were long, but the travelers were in good spirits because there were lakes and trees. And the knowledge that they would settle somewhere soon.

Two days before Labor Day, they spent the night on the edge of town. In the morning, PJ found a three-bedroom farmhouse to rent, a mile from the school. As they drove through town, he pointed out several churches, the creamery, and the school. After the most important items were unloaded, Hellen’s older sisters unpacked their clothing. It was important to them that they made a good impression on the first day at their new school, so they spent the holiday ironing, bathing, and washing their hair. PJ found a political meeting to attend, and the neighbors invited them to a picnic at the church.

Hellen was excited and nervous about the first day of school. Her third-grade classroom had nearly thirty boys and girls. At the school in North Dakota there were fewer than twenty students in all. The teacher, Miss Oswald, wanted Hellen’s last report card. She sent Hellen, and another little girl, Esther, to the McQuillen’s house to get it. Hellen found the paperwork while Esther looked around the house. When the girls got back to school, and much to Hellen’s chagrin, Esther “took it upon herself to inform the others at school that ‘they didn’t even have a clock!’” Hellen was embarrassed because they hadn’t finished unpacking yet.

Years later, Hellen shared another anecdote of that first week. “The most intimidating situation to me was the indoor toilet. I was afraid it would swallow me if I didn’t get out of there before the water went down. It took quite a while before I felt comfortable in this situation.”

The McQuillen family liked the community, and PJ was pleased with the education his children received. As an active member in the Nonpartisan League while in North Dakota, PJ probably understood the thinking and philosophy of the Communist faction in the area and respected the political discussions. Rather than move to Minneapolis the following summer, PJ and Emily decided to stay until the three oldest graduated.

They found a larger house to rent with enough land to grow one of the local crops—pickles. In other words, they grew cucumbers to be shipped to the Gedney Pickle Factory in St. Cloud. Hellen helped her dad make sauerkraut which she sold door-to-door. “I’d carry it in a covered pail and the buyer would scoop out what they wanted and pay what they thought it was worth.” Even in her 90s Hellen reminded her great-grandchildren to be careful with kitchen tools, as she had a scar on her knuckle from shredding cabbage to make the sauerkraut.

The family enjoyed the social and political events of the Finnish people. When they lived on their 160 acres in North Dakota, the only events were those that took place at the one-room school building a couple of times a year. Hellen liked visiting school friends, something she never did in North Dakota. “Some of my classmates spoke some Finnish, but mostly the swear words! I remember visiting friends whose mothers and grandmothers wore white caps on their heads made from bleached salt sacks. They were always knitting or weaving.”

The McQuillen family still barely eked out a living, but there were trees and lakes. And community. In May 1927, Ivan, Irene, and Louise received their high school diplomas along with fewer than two dozen other New York Mills students. PJ and Emily were ready to move again. Emily had another sister who settled near Grand Rapids, Minnesota, where there happened to be a Normal School. In June 1928, Irene and Louise received teaching certificates after attending this school. By fall, they were both teaching in rural schools. Hellen, who also would become a teacher, was the first of the family to attend a two-year program at the Bemidji State Teacher’s College. Her first several years were in rural schools where her contract also stipulated, she was to keep the wood-burning stove stoked and the classroom clean.

My grandma Hellen was a remarkable woman. Her teaching career spanned nearly fifty years. When Grandpa courted her in 1937, teachers weren’t allowed to teach if they married, but she was smitten. She became a wife and mother. During WWII, when there was a shortage of teachers, the rules relaxed.

In 1942, with Grandpa in the army, Grandma began teaching in the rural schools again. As before, she boarded with a family near the school, and so did her one and four-year-old daughters. Fortunately, she found homes for a couple of years, where all three of them were welcome. Grandma continued taking education classes and in 1963 received a Master of Education degree. Working with special need students, she taught into her early seventies, and inspired me to get a teaching degree as well.