Book 2 - Nathan, Amy, Madison and Ethan Berga

asement was gone and everything in the basement
with it.
My dad made a decision to leave the Valley altogether.
He was tired of floods and loss. Many of his friends
thought he was deserting them. It was a major decision.
My Uncle Victor, living in Minneapolis, encouraged
him to leave. Dad left as soon as possible to find
work, knowing there were jobs available because of
WWII. He lived with my Aunt and Uncle during this
time.
The men in the family moved what could be salvaged
to Grandmother’s farm. Everything that could be
washed and dried was hung outside. A large amount
of our things could not be saved. Mother, Jerry and I
stayed on the farm for six weeks. I walked two miles
across the dew saturated fields in my uncle’s large
boots, to attend South-Hill Country School. I would
leave the boots on the porch of the original Vanasse
house to walk the country road to the school. I wore
them home every day. It was not an easy adjustment.
I was the only person in third grade, in the one-room
school house. Several boy cousins attended with me.
Everyone starred at me because I was from “town.”
Looking back, I think the loss of my home, my dad
being away, and knowing a big move was ahead, at ten
years old, was enough without attending a new school
for six weeks.
Dad returned to tell us he was working on a machine
he had never seen before, making armaments for the
war and it was going well. He was ready to take us
to the city. Mother, Jerry, and I, boarded a bus to the
city. Dad hired a man, with an old truck, to carry our
things to the house which he had rented for us. We did
not own a car. Neither Dad, nor the truck driver, saw
the signs forbidding trucks on Minnehaha Parkway;
and drove straight along the entire distance, arriving
safely. Even though the relatives offered to build us a
house in Spring Valley, Dad stuck to his decision saying,
“No more floods!” Dad didn’t listen to people telling
him he was a “quitter.” Some Valley people moved
to the country. Some country people moved to town.
Businessmen raised the floors in their building to
avert high water, but did not avoid it until the Earthen
Dam was built twenty years later. The lake behind
the dam became a recreational area connected with a
golf course. Ironically, the dam was located across the
road from where my mother was born. The landmark
of the Iron Smelter’s red, brick chimney, where my
grandfather was an engineer in 1900, still stood tall.
Nearby was where Mr. Zimmer cut ice for refrigerators
fifty years earlier.
It was difficult for my parents to leave family and
friends and move to a large city. Because of the war,
food rations and other restrictions were in place. Our
family experienced new things: cereal in cardboard
boxes, trolley cars, black people, and a much larger
school and church. The large, loud military planes
barley missed our roof before landing at the Base.
We could see the detail of the underside of the planes
from our house. Dad was scheduled for a physical
and possible call to action when the war ended. He
was 35. Beginning in November of 1942, I listened
to President Roosevelt on the radio, did the grocery
shopping for my family, skated on frozen Minnehaha
creek, played the Parade of the Wooden Soldiers on the
piano for school assembly, built a winter ice house in
the back yard with my friends, cooked pancakes on
a coffee can in the alley as a result of what I learned
in Camp-Fire Girls, ate fresh plums from the tree in
our yard in the summer, took piano lessons from the
lady next door, played movie stars with my friends,
and enjoyed rebuilding my life; until we moved three
years later to a new house in the suburbs. I was always
glad Dad had made the decision he did. About
every other week we rode with my Uncle Vic, Aunt Alice,
and Cousin Bob, to grandma’s house near Spring
Valley for chicken dinner. It was always special and
I never wanted to leave. Grandma came on the bus
to visit us once. Many years later when my children
were growing up, we made a tradition of driving to
the coolie in Spring Valley on Memorial Day, to enjoy
a picnic where our names were written in the walls of
the caves and the spring water bubbled through the
country side. 19
58