I Am American pt 1
For my first project, I’ve decided to tell you about myself, through my ancestors. I am second generation of German heritage born in the United States of America. My mother’s brother, 2 sisters, and parents came from Kraft, Russia (Kraft was colonized with German immigrants). Mom was born in the U.S. As with most family histories, mine is a wonderful story best told over candle light and a deep red wine. If rain is softly spilling from the skies, well, all the better. So, pretend you smell the freshness of earthy rain and we are sitting on overstuffed chairs while I tell you the stories of my ancestry.
When Catherine the Great married the czar of Russia in 1745, she brought many German families with her, promising them fertile farm ground. I am not a history buff and the stories I’ve heard about the years of that union are sketchy, at best; however, after Catherine died, the German colonies fell apart. The Bolshevik Army inducted the men or sent them to Siberia. Those lucky enough to escape the army and/or death camps immigrated to the United States – some went back to Germany.
After only a few years of marriage and forced to fight for the Bolshevik Army, my grandfather became quite innovative and though my family has no hard-copy proof, his recollection of passage to the U.S. is that he worked his way up to caring for the horse of a general; he became a trusted and valued comrade. Using the trust as a guise, he eventually stole the general’s prize steed and rode throughout the night, finally begging the Czechoslovakian border guards to let him cross the border and enter their country. Now considered a deserter from the Russian Imperial Army; he would be shot on sight. From Czechoslovakia, he found his way home to Kraft. Knowing he was a hunted man, he soon fled to the U.S. via ship, leaving behind his pregnant wife and small daughter. It would be 12 years before they would join him in America.
Though I have searched many websites for written document of my grandfather’s entry into North America, it is a futile endeavor. Grandpa faked his identity and traveled on a ship as the nephew of a man he befriended at the docks. He entered Canada and two years later, documentation shows the American government gave him permission to enter the U.S. That is not the end of my story, though, because his was not the only dangerous and lengthy trek across the ocean. More to come.
When Catherine the Great married the czar of Russia in 1745, she brought many German families with her, promising them fertile farm ground. I am not a history buff and the stories I’ve heard about the years of that union are sketchy, at best; however, after Catherine died, the German colonies fell apart. The Bolshevik Army inducted the men or sent them to Siberia. Those lucky enough to escape the army and/or death camps immigrated to the United States – some went back to Germany.
After only a few years of marriage and forced to fight for the Bolshevik Army, my grandfather became quite innovative and though my family has no hard-copy proof, his recollection of passage to the U.S. is that he worked his way up to caring for the horse of a general; he became a trusted and valued comrade. Using the trust as a guise, he eventually stole the general’s prize steed and rode throughout the night, finally begging the Czechoslovakian border guards to let him cross the border and enter their country. Now considered a deserter from the Russian Imperial Army; he would be shot on sight. From Czechoslovakia, he found his way home to Kraft. Knowing he was a hunted man, he soon fled to the U.S. via ship, leaving behind his pregnant wife and small daughter. It would be 12 years before they would join him in America.
Though I have searched many websites for written document of my grandfather’s entry into North America, it is a futile endeavor. Grandpa faked his identity and traveled on a ship as the nephew of a man he befriended at the docks. He entered Canada and two years later, documentation shows the American government gave him permission to enter the U.S. That is not the end of my story, though, because his was not the only dangerous and lengthy trek across the ocean. More to come.
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