Reconciling father’s heartbreaking past through the presence of others A voice told me to “ease his pain”

By Lori Sims

A string of coincidences and chance meetings provided a pathway to the past and helped understand the present. This is a family story that began last summer and blossomed into a siblings’ reunion here in July.

Last year my husband Vern and I visited Lanesboro mainly for the Root River Bike Trail, and discovered it came with magnificent bluffs, great beer, funky downtown, fabulous art and theatre, and welcoming people.

I’d always known my dad was born in nearby Granger. But visiting gravesites and digging up family history wasn’t on our vacation plan.

On one of our bike rides, we made a pit stop in Fountain at the Fillmore County Historical Society and Genealogy Library. Executive Director Sara Sturgis greeted us. No harm in asking about the Sims family, I thought.

Sturgis dusted off a 1909 plat map and found the parcel of land my grandfather once owned and where my dad was born. Hand drawn on the corner was a dark square. “What’s that?” I asked. “The farmhouse,” said Sturgis.

I knew I had to go there. But first, meet my dad.

Pershing Sims, named after World War I hero Gen. John J. Pershing

Born during the “other” pandemic, the 1918 Spanish flu, Pershing was the oldest son born in a cabin west of Granger to Elmer and Eunice (Copeman) Sims.

We had little information about why they moved in 1925 to Crookston, Minn. The family grew to 12 children during the Depression, and Elmer had become despondent and irresponsible. My dad and his brother, Curtis, had to step up. They begged neighboring farmers for extra food, and trapped rabbits and squirrels for food.

One day my dad and Curtis were told bury a box outside. In it was their infant baby sister who died at birth. No wonder Dad never wanted to talk about his past.

So. Much. Pain.

After serving in the Army, Dad met my mom, Bernice, and they lived in Wahpeton, N. Dak., and Enderlin, N. Dak., and raised nine children. I’m Number Eight. Mom and Dad have since passed.

The first leg of our journey in 2021

After Sara Sturgis showed us the 1909 plat map, it felt like the movie, “Field of Dreams,” when the voice tells Kevin Costner to “ease his pain.” I was equally driven to bring a sense of healing to a place that so painful for my dad. With just a bit of info, we drove to Granger.

We crept along a desolate gravel road and saw a glint of white buried in the bushes. We pulled back the foliage and found a sign, “Oak Hill Methodist Cemetery.” A narrow grass road between two corn fields brought us to a clearing and the cemetery. A large headstone with SIMS in bold letters welcomed us and almost looked to be saying, “What took you so long?”

As I made my way to the graves of both sets of great-grandparents and other relatives, I felt an overwhelming sense of peace. I channeled their wisdom and love, knowing our next challenge would be finding my dad’s farmstead on the other side of Granger.

Just then a motor roared up the same grass path. Steve and Monica Ortner, out for a joy ride on a yellow four-wheeler. I flashed them a picture of the plat map. Of course, they knew.

“That’s the Hebrink place,” said Steve, who gave us general directions.

But along the way, all the rural intersections didn’t jive, so we decided to turn around at an upcoming farm. While we waited for an approaching pickup, it turned in the same driveway right ahead of us.

Lynn Thomas came to visit the man who lived there, Richard Felland. “You haven’t gone far enough,” said Richard, thumbing down the road. So close and we almost missed it.

We drove on to the farm a couple of driveways down. As I walked toward the house armed with my notes, a man came out and said, “You look like you’re on a mission.”

After spilling out my story, this time with fever-pitch exuberance, Mark and Cindy Hebrink welcomed us with open arms. They confirmed we were exactly where my dad’s farmstead once stood.

Why did I need to walk where my dad walked? Why was I compelled to be in the space where he was born? Why did this place I’d never been feel familiar?  During that entire day, I couldn’t touch something that was his. And yet oddly enough, much of the pain of his past had already subsided.

Fillmore County Historical Society presents inaugural program in July

After sharing this story with my seven living siblings and spouses, most of them decided to meet here for a reunion and opportunity to make the same journey. But this time, it would be even better, thanks to Sara Sturgis.

Sturgis indicated the Historical Society wanted to start hosting reunions and genealogical programs for families with roots in the county. We were honored to be their first.

Five of my siblings and spouses gathered at the Fillmore County Historical Society on July 9. Sturgis delivered an informative and engaging “walk through time” of our family history, with pictures, documents, dates, and places.

Sturgis even found the 1924 Bristol Township school census. Our dad and his older sister would have walked two miles to school when he was just seven years old. We hadn’t known anything about his school, and we were ecstatic with the possibility of finding it.

Sturgis clarified so many details and brought new information to light. For example, we always thought Elmer lost the Granger farm in the Depression. But Sturgis found a bill of sale from 1925, the year his father died, which lead to the assumption Elmer sold and moved to Crookston, where his older brothers had previously relocated. Life went from bad to worse there.

The Sims siblings’ journey to Granger

After Sturgis presented a fuller story and backdrop, my siblings and I traveled to Granger, where we visited Oak Hill Cemetery, the Methodist Church where we believe Dad and his parents attended, and the Hebrink farmstead. Unfortunately, this time Mark and Cindy Hebrink were not available to meet us due to a family gathering of their own.

We had just one more stop. The school… if we could find it.

Using Sturgis’s map, we ambled down the tree-lined single lane road. And, then out of the trees, the old schoolhouse appeared. Sadly, the roof had collapsed but the chalkboard frames and other school relics still remained. It was an unexpected find and so special to know that Dad and his sister were there almost 100 years ago.

Our sentimental journey made an indelible connection to people who are now part of our family story. Dad would have liked everyone we met. All of the new friendships and pleasant experiences did ease the pain of Dad’s past. It doesn’t change what happened to my dad and his siblings, but meeting wonderful people proves there are no strangers in Granger, only friends you haven’t met yet.

Lori Sims is an award-winning freelance writer and Mayflower descendant on her father’s side, which may explain her love of travel, discovery, and adventure. A long-time Midwesterner, she graduated from Minnesota State University in Moorhead. She currently resides in Sarasota, Fla., and spends summers in Lanesboro. (Story in memory of Richard Felland, who sadly passed earlier this year.)  lori-sims@comcast.net