Some of the family stories that were told when I was a child were repeated often enough that I can re-tell them in a manner that seems to me to be faithful to the way the stories were told to me. There is a story of a Christmas when my father’s parents went to town leaving the older children to take care of the young ones. There was nothing uncommon about the kids being in charge for a day. This particular trip, however, was just before Christmas and the parents were going to bring home Christmas gifts. A blizzard raged through the area and the parents were unable to make the return trip when they had planned. I am not sure of the length of the delay - perhaps it was just a single overnight, or maybe a couple of days. At any rate, the kids at home had to take care of themselves for an extra amount of time and Christmas was delayed. When the story was told, there was no sense of danger. The children at home had plenty of food and were warm and safe from the storm. They knew how to behave and how to get their chores done without danger.The story was told with a bit of worry - they didn’t know whether the parents were stranded somewhere out on the road or safe in town. But the story also has a happy ending. The parents returned, Christmas came, and there were presents and a special Christmas feast for all.

There are, however, other family stories that I know only in part. Somewhere in one of my father’s stories there is a mention of Snow Goose, an Indian maiden. I don’t know any details. I think that the story is that somewhere in our family tree there is indigenous blood, but I have no memory of my father ever saying how this person fit in. I don’t know if it is on his mother’s side of the family or his father’s. I don’t know if there was a marriage or if the relationship was less formal. Were I to try to unravel the story, it might make sense to follow my father’s mother’s side of the family. His father’s side of the family were in Dakota Territory for only parts of three generations. They homesteaded, starting with a half-buried sod-home and build a reasonable farming operation near Spirit Lake, also known as Devil’s Lake in eastern North Dakota. His mother’s family had a slightly longer tenure in the land, having come from the Red River region that was settled by Scotts and Metis a few decades earlier.

But I don’t have enough information to know how to learn more of the story. The name Snow Goose, seems almost made-up. It could be the translation of a Dakota name, or it could be a bit of family lore.

there are a lot of other stories of a similar vein. I have bits and pieces of the family story, but don’t know many details.

It is slightly different with my mother’s side of the family. There are some pretty complete journals that were kept by relatives to which we still have access. Among the most complete are the journals of Roy Russell, my mother’s maternal grandfather. Roy was a trained court reporter and was present for some pretty dramatic moments in the early days of the formation of the Montana territorial government. In addition, the family were staunch Methodists and he would occasionally record most of a sermon that he heard. Among the sermons he kept were a few by Brother Van, a pioneer Methodist circuit rider who achieved a prominent place in the story of the Methodist Church in Montana. A second-cousin of mine did extensive research on Brother Van and presented a paper at a Methodist Conference a few years back. I was able to attend the conference and listen to a panel discussion that also included Robert Lind who wrote a book about Brother Van. Brother Van is credited with founding more than 100 churches, a half dozen hospitals and children’s homes and a college. My grandfather served on the board of trustees of that college and both he and my father served on the board of trustees of Rocky Mountain College which was the result of a merger of three historic colleges, including the one Brother Van started.

Brother Van was extremely charismatic and was very capable at drawing people to his projects and ventures. But he didn’t preach from manuscripts. There are no copies of his sermons left. So grandpa Roy’s journals are the most complete and accurate records of his preaching that exist.

Of course the stories of Brother Van have become more important to me than to some other members of the family because of my chosen vocation. My brother, who has made multiple cross-continent bicycle trips is more interested in Grandpa Roy’s travels by bicycle. Part of our family folklore is that Grandpa Roy traveled to both Yellowstone and Glacier Park regions by bicycle. It was a pretty significant feat in the days of horse travel. There were no paved roads in either area at the time.

Of course family stories are always vulnerable. Each generation sifts and sorts. Some stories get told and others do not. I’m unlikely to tell stories of Snow Goose to my grandchildren. I don’t have enough information to have a story to tell and the name itself may fade from our family memory. Already it has very little significance for me.

What I do remember is that my father told the Snow Goose story as a way of teaching tolerance and respect for Native Americans. We lived near the Crow Reservation and there were plenty of people in our town who were derogatory and even explicitly racist in their talk and interactions with Native people. My father didn’t approve of those attitudes and would tell about Snow Goose to make a connection - to say that we may have common ancestors.

Perhaps, even if I don’t know enough of the story to tell it, I might at least remember to attitude of respect and connection with different cultures and find a story for my grandchildren that will pass down the values that I was taught.

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