John August Johnson - Part 1 Life in Sweden

Plätt Farm is situated on flat, grassy acreage, spotted by light woodlands, near the town of Väggeryd, in Byarum Parish in Jönköping Lan, Sweden. Houses, barns, and other buildings, cranberry red trimmed in traditional white, are arranged in a cluster around a common yard with fields and wooded areas all around. In the summer, lingonberry bushes, ferns and wild flowers dust the ground around the roots of the trees flanking the road that leads to the farm.

I can picture Plätt farm in my mind and as I think of my ancestors’ stories, I see events from their lives happening around me.  

"Johannes!" Inga cries out in the night, shaking her husband from a deep sleep. "Wake up! I think it's time. The baby is coming!" Johannes starts and scrambles to stand, facing his wife; coming to his senses as his feet touch the cold floor. "You're sure?" he asks.

"I may be 22 but I've seen many babies born in my life. I am sure! Run and get Lena. With six children already, she'll know how to help."

Johannes pulls on his clothes and drags his heavy coat off the hook. The embers dosing in the hearth crackle and hiss as he tosses a log on them. He tugs on his boots and heads to the door. "Stay in bed." He commands over his shoulder. "I'll be back soon."

As he pulls open the door the icy wind punches him in the face, he frowns anxiously, turning back toward her small form lying in the bed. She may have seen babies born but his experience is with livestock and he knows many things could happen during birth. Dangerous things... and this is his wife. No time for worry now, he tells himself as he secures the door, trapping the warmth inside. His boots slog through the late February snow to Christopher and Lena's cottage across the farmyard.

John A. Johnson, as he was known later in his life, was born Johan August Johannesson on the 28th of February in 1847 on Plätt Farm. He was the first born of Johannes Ivarsson and Inga Christina Svensdotter.

In my imagination, I see little Johann August, bundled and curled up in his mother's arms as Inga eased herself onto the bed. It's the 1st day of March 1847. Baby, born and baptized. New mother, tired but satisfied and father, proud and very relieved. Now life will begin as a family.

By the time Johan was 10 he was elder brother to 5 brothers and sisters; Britta Wilhelmina, Emilia, Christina Carolina, Sven Edvard, and Anders Gustaf.

Life on the farm was hard work and, in order to feed and clothe a family of eight, everyone's help was required. Six children must have livened up the farm a bit.

From the age of about 7 or 8, until age 12, Byarum children went to folkschola from fall to spring when the weather allowed. The rest of their time was spent in chores and play.

Household Records show the residents of a cottage on Plätt farm. Names that are crossed out on this page all died of rödsot in September of 1857. New husband is written in above Johannes.

In the 19th Century, diseases such as dysentery rolled across Europe in unpredictable waves of devastation. Jönköping was hit hard with an epidemic of rödsot, what we know as dysentery, in 1857. The household records kept by the parish priest give stark facts without a hint of the despair and grief that must have ripped through their communities.
Byarum wasn't spared this disease, and in the fall of 1857, dysentery circulated through the farms; taking many people with it. On the 9th of September, when Johan was ten years old, his four-year-old sister Christina, and two-year-old brother Sven, succumbed to the illness. Just five days later, their father, Johannes, also died.
As a mother, it’s a scene I loathe to imagine.

Johan started and sat up in bed, woken by a sharp sob from the corner of the dark room. There was movement in the dark and he recognized the familiar shape of his mother bending over his little sister and brother who lay in their parents’ bed. Four-year-old Christina cried out again and Mama shushed her gently. Johan could now see Papa, in the firelight, standing nearby with baby Anders in his arms. First it had been Sven. He had gotten sick last night. Mama was sitting over her two-year-old son as he fitfully slept, when Johan had finally fallen asleep. Now, it was early morning and two were sick.

Mama held a cup to Christina’s lips, set it down and turned to Papa; worry and exhaustion washing over her face. They looked at each other for a moment and she took Anders in her arms and started toward our bed.

“Mama, will they be okay?” Johan whispered as she approached. “If God wills it.” she whispered back; quickly looking away. “You’ll need to get up now. Papa needs your help. We need more wood for the fire and water from the creek.”

Johan began pulling on his clothes as Mama gently shook his sister awake. Britta sat up, rubbing her eyes. She sleepily looked into Mama’s eyes, and then was suddenly wide awake. Mama wordlessly laid Anders in her lap and walked back to the other bed where weak cries were beginning again.

Johan pulled his boots on and followed Papa out the door. They walked silently to the barn, ignoring the drizzle that had been falling nonstop for a week. The dreariness of the damp air matched Johan’s mood. He was worried.

The normal activity of late summer had stopped suddenly in Byarum. School had been postponed for two weeks. Too many students were sick at home, and word had come from the village that one of his classmates had died of this horrible illness just the night before.

Papa opened the big barn door and started preparing to feed the livestock. Johan walked to the side of the barn and pulled open the door to the wood bin. The moaning hinge reminded him of the sounds his sister had made from her bed. Would they be okay? He bent over the edge of the bin, noticing how much lower the pile of logs was. The cold, damp weeks made it necessary to keep the fire going. He’d tell Papa about it later. He began picking logs from the top of the pile and soon had an armful to take back to the house.

Johan pulled the door open and Mama shut it behind him. He quietly let the wood fall to the floor in front of the fireplace and then placed the rough logs into the fire one at a time. Standing and brushing his hands on his trousers, he turned back to the room. Mama was standing at the window with the covering slightly open.

“Johan, Lena is awake now. Run across and tell her about Christina and Sven. I think I’d like you children to stay with her for a few days. Just until the little ones are better. Britta will need to watch Emilia and Anders there.”

Damp, dreary days went by at Christopher and Lena's. Britta played with Emilia while Anders dosed on the bed in the corner. Mama had made Emilia a special doll for her seventh birthday. Was it really just one week ago? It wasn’t fancy but it’s embroidered face smiled at Emilia and made her happy. It was her favorite choice of activity. Lena had pulled a few scraps of fabric from her sewing basket to keep them busy and the girls spent their free time turning them into a new costume for the doll.

Britta sat on the floor with Emilia. What day was it anyway? It had been so long since life had felt normal that she had a hard time remembering. If she’d been in school, she would know. Dates were important at school. She decided it must be September 9th. They had been at Lena’s for three days. “I’m changing the name of my doll to Christina.” Emilia said, shaking Britta out of her thoughts. At the same moment, Johan had opened the door and stood there, shaking the rain off his clothes in the doorway. Looking around for Lena. He smiled at Emilia. “Christina would like to hear that.” He said. “Mama sent me for Lena. Sven is really sick today.” Britta rose from the floor and walked to the bed where Anders was laying. “Lena is in the pantry. I’ll get her. Anders is getting hungry anyway. Maybe she can take him to Mama when she goes.”

The sky was getting dark and Britta shivered as she looked across the yard at their dark house. Lena had left hours ago. She wanted to run across just for a minute to see what was taking her so long. She stood at the window and felt Emilia come up behind her. “Do you think everything is okay? She asked. “I’m sure…” but she didn’t finish her sentence. The door to their house had opened and Mama was running toward them. In the dim evening light, Britta could see her mother’s tear streaked face. Before Britta could reach the door, Mama had opened it and rushed toward them. Dropping to her knees, she gathered her girls into her arms.

Inga Stina and her children remained at Plätt and she married Johannes Jonasson in 1858. It was a marriage of necessity. Anders would tell his children, years later, that his step-father was not a good person and a very difficult man to please. Sad times weren't over for Inga Stina as the two sons she gave birth to during her second marriage died young and close together in 1863.

The Inga Stina and her children remained at Plätt and she remarried in 1858. Sad times weren't over for her as the two sons she gave birth to in her second marriage had very short lives. Both died in 1863.

Sweden experienced wide-spread drought between the years of 1866 and 1868 which caused years of poor crops and subsequent famine. Many Swedes decided to leave Sweden to make better lives in America. By doing this, they hoped the smaller family could survive easier until the drought was over.

In the 1860's, there was pressure from the government for all young men to join the army. That meant at least six years. Johan didn't want to be a soldier and he didn't want to give six years of his life to service. John told his own children, years later, that the bad crop years, the 6 year military conscription in Sweden and the push at that time for young men to volunteer contributed to his decision to emigrate. 

The Stone

A stone sits on a shelf in my genealogy office, just in front of an old picture of my Great Grandpa, John Johnson and his young family. The rock is small enough to fit in the hollow of my hand and cool to the touch. I could probably go outside of my home in Kansas right now and find one very similar to it in every way, but one. I found this rock in Sweden, on the very farm on which my Great Grandpa was born and raised.

My cousins had driven me to Plätt farm, in the township of Byarum in Southern Sweden, during a dream trip I took with my sister in June 2015. As I wandered around, trying to absorb my surroundings for recall when I returned to America, Christer turned to me and said, "Find a stone." "Excuse me?" I said as I turned toward him shaking off the enchantment of the last few minutes. He repeated with his Swedish accent, "You'll want to take something home with you from here. Pick up a stone." My eyes wandered over the ground in front of the cranberry red buildings with their traditional white trim. He was right. I needed something concrete with which to remember this experience. That's when I spotted it. It was covered with soil and as I dug it out of the earth I wondered how long it had been there.

Had it been there when my twice Great Grandpa had moved to Plätt farm in the early 1840's? Had Johannes stepped on it as he moved in, pushing the red stone further into the soil? Was it there when he married Inga Stina on the last day of May in 1846?

Where was it when my Great Grandpa, Johan, was born? When he was a boy, did he dig it out of the earth to throw at a tree or the side of the barn?

In my mind I see Johan and his younger brothers and sisters playing in the farmyard on cool afternoons. It could have been there when he learned to help his dad with the chores on the farm or when his youngest brother, Anders, was born. 

It must have been witness to the hard work, joy, laughter, and eventually, sickness and sorrow. Did it recognize the unyielding resolve to survive, even if it meant separation that my family in Sweden had shown a hundred and fifty years ago?

This rock is silent. The pictures, the facts, the scribbles in a parish household record by an ancient hand; they speak.

There is no way of knowing the answers to any of these questions but, holding the stone in my hand, I can imagine. Rocks are old.

Travel Tuesday - Sweden Trip

Last post, I wrote about a Swedish cousin, Gunnel, who found me on Ancestry and made all of my genealogy research on that branch of the family much more real! 

Once I knew I had relatives in Sweden, I had a great desire to meet them. Gunnel had sent me pictures of the part of our family who had stayed in Sweden through email. My sister, Kris, and I began to plan a trip to Sweden that fall and it seemed to be the perfect retirement celebration for me as I retired this spring from 35 years of teaching. I emailed my cousin, Gunnel, with our plans and learned that she was very excited to meet us also. 

This was the first visit to Sweden for Kris and I and we immediately felt as if we were home. We grew up in a very Swedish-American culture so actually being in Sweden validated so much of our lives and childhoods in ways nothing else could. On our way to Jönköping, we visited the western and southern cities of Gothenburg, Ängelholm (to meet Susann, an ebay / Facebook friend) and Malmö / Copenhagen. Then we were on to Jönköping and our family!

Altogether, we met 14 relatives! Our cousins welcomed us with open arms and we immediately felt like family!  We stayed with Gunnel for a few days and celebrated Midsommar with them in Jönköping and later, in Dalarna. 

One cousin's husband, who is also a genealogist, presented me with a large notebook containing his work on the history of our family. Besides the family tree information, it's full of pictures of family and beautiful color pictures of the inside of some of the homes belonging to them over the years! 

We all traveled south of Jönköping to the towns of Vaggeryd and Byarum. We visited Plätt Farm where my great grandpa John August Johnson and his younger brother, Gunnel's grandpa Anders, were born and raised. We ate traditional meals and talked over fika at an old house at Byarums hembygdsgård.

I was overjoyed and very touched with the warm welcome and acceptance! 

We just got home a few days ago and the last month still feels like a dream! I would never have believed this could happen to us, even two years ago!

Take-Away: Never give up on the missing branches in your family tree and always try to keep a public tree open! Someone might be looking for YOU!

If you're looking for family, keep a public tree!

 My great grandfather, Johan August Johannesson came to America from Jönköping in 1869 and settled near McPherson, Kansas. He homesteaded there and married the neighbor girl, Ida Matilda Johnsdotter (Johnson) from Kalmar. He always told about a younger brother back in Sweden but by the time we began looking 100 years or more later, too much time had gone by and ties had been broken.

Uncle Don (one of my dad's brothers) and I have looked for relatives in Sweden for years with no luck. I put what I knew on Ancestry in my public tree there several years ago. As I learned how to use Arkivdigital, I added what I found to that file. It was online for years and although it had been instrumental in finding many cousins on my mom's side, we never made any progress on the Swedish branches.

Meanwhile, in Jönköping, Sweden, a woman in her mid eighties named Gunnel, often wondered what happened to the part of the family that had gone to America. Her grandfather, Anders Johannesson told of a brother, Johan and a sister, Brita who had emigrated from Sweden to America in the 1860's.

Then at Christmas 2012, Gunnel received an iPad as a gift from her children. She told her children she was going use it to find out what happened to the family that moved to America. They recalled saying, "Okay, Mom!" at the time, not really believing anything would come of it. As she learned how to use her new iPad, she decided it was time to try to find her family in America.

Johan August Johannesson
and family in Kansas

Anders and his family in Sweden.

In April of that year, I received a message on Ancestry from an 86 year old woman from Jönköping (from her new ipad) saying that she thought we were related. I was very excited but also afraid of being disappointed if I found out that it wasn't a match. After MUCH checking and matching of our information, I finally allowed myself to believe I was communicating with the granddaughter of my great grandpa's youngest brother, Anders. I just about reached hero status among my aunts and uncles and of course my own dad who has since, died, just for having put the family tree on ancestry where it was found.

Gunnel and I have been emailing back and forth for the last two years. We send greetings, family information, questions and answers, and plenty of pictures (old and new). It has been wonderful!

I'm writing this to motivate others to keep a public tree online. The benefits outweigh all.

Come back tomorrow for Travel Tuesday. Yes, it's what you think! (hint, hint!)

Ida Matilda Johnson - 52 Ancestors

Ida Mathilda Jonsdotter was born 21 October 1865 in Brånhorvan, Vena, Kalmar län, Sweden. She left Sweden with her family when she was 5 years old. Her family homesteaded on land northeast of McPherson, Kansas.  


She grew up on the farm and when she was 16, married the next door neighbor, Johan August Johannesson on 1 Sept 1882 in McPherson. Because of a shortage of marriageable women in the area, John waited until Ida was old enough to marry and married her. Their American names were Ida M. and John A. Johnson. Ida moved next door and so, came to live in the house that she had always been able to see from the window in her parents’ home.

They had 9 sons and 2 daughters. All but the first 2 sons survived and helped run the farm.

Arthur and John (both died as children)
Emil
Arthur (my grandpa)
Albin
Martin
Mabel
Edith
Reuben

By 1920, they had left the running of the farm to their son, Arthur and his wife, Ida, and moved to the Rio Grande Valley in the southern tip of Texas. They built a vegetable and fruit farm near Alamo, Texas.  Several of their children helped them with both of the farms.

After John died in 1940, Ida and Edith stayed in Texas; moving to the house at the right. This is the last house they lived in. Ida died 17 August 1952 in Alamo, Hidalgo, Texas.