Hillary

 

Edna M. Olson

Sioux Falls

Edna Olson newspaper    Edna Margaret Olson, 97, of Sioux Falls, died Thursday, Feb. 20, 2014 at the Good Samaritan Village in Sioux Falls.
Funeral services were Saturday, Feb. 22 at First Lutheran Church, Artesian. Burial was in the Mount Pleasant Cemetery, Artesian. Arrangements were under the direction of Bittner Funeral Chapel, Mitchell.
Edna was born Sept. 25, 1916 in Sanborn County to Joseph and Ida (Moseson) Olson. She graduated from Artesian High School. In 1942 she moved to Portland, Ore., and was employed at McCann-Erickson Advertising for thirty-four years. After retiring she enjoyed traveling. Several years later she moved back to Sioux Falls to be close to family.
She was baptized and confirmed at First Lutheran Church in Artesian. Since in Sioux Falls, she was a member of Our Savior Lutheran Church. She was very active in volunteer work, loved playing bridge and traveling.
She is survived by one sister, Irene Eining of Mitchell; nieces and nephews, Barb (LaMoine) Torgerson of Mitchell, Darrell (Judy) Olson of Mitchell, Doug (Joyce) Olson of Mitchell, Carol (Gene) Luidahl of Rapid City, Char Barta of Huron, Gayle (Bill) Klein of Dell Rapids, Shirley Olson, Neal (Kathy) Olson all of Artesian, Nancy (Bob) Arend of Sioux Falls and Sharon (Charles) Weatherford and Steve Olson all of New Boston, Texas; and many great nieces and nephews.
She was preceded in death by her parents; four brothers, Orlando, Victor, Otto and  Leonard “Lyle”; one sister, Alice Olson; one niece, Norma (Olson) Deckert; and three nephews, Doyle, Harlan and in infancy, Roger Olson.

Elwyn Starr

Edgewood, Iowa

starr elwyn_001    Elwyn DeLancey Starr, 98, of Edgewood, formerly of South Dakota, passed away Thursday, Feb. 20, 2014 at the Edgewood Convalescent Home, Edgewood, Iowa.
Funeral Services were held  Monday, Feb. 24 at the Edgewood Bible Church in Edgewood with Rev. James Rinehart officiating. Family greet ed friends from 3–6 p.m. at the Bohnenkamp-Murdoch Funeral Home & Cremation Services in Manchester and one hour prior to services at the church. Burial was in the Greenwood Cemetery, Masonville, Iowa.
Elwyn was born May 1, 1915 in Woonsocket, the son of James and Mary Sophia (DeLancey) Starr. He attended the public schools there and started farming with his father and brother at an early age.
On Oct. 25, 1937, Elwyn was united in marriage to Louise Martha Ann Wild at the Little Brown Church in Nashua. The couple farmed in the Woonsocket area until 1989 when they retired to a home in Huron. In 2004, the couple moved to Edgewood, Iowa.
Farming was always Elwyn’s main interest, especially the livestock. He continued buying and selling livestock for more than 10 years after he left the farm.
He will be remembered for his integrity and friendly smile, and he was proud to become a member of the Edgewood Bible Church at age 95.
Louise passed away in 2010 after 72 years of marriage.
Elwyn is survived by two sons, Craig (Shirley) Starr of Masonville and Norman (Barbara) Starr of Glidden; five grandchildren; twelve great-grandchildren; a brother-in-law, Jack Wild of Vinton,Va.; and numerous nieces and nephews.
Elwyn was preceded in death by his parents; his wife, Louise; a brother, Dale; and a brother-in-law, Wayne Wild.
Memorials may be directed to the Edgewood Bible Church.
Please sign the online guestbook for Elwyn at www.murdochfuneralhome.com under obituaries.

Woony Memories

Drift Away

By Dan Hagman, Corona, Calif.
I’ve spent the last month or so recovering from knee replacement. That’s a lot of time sitting around, listening to music and daydreaming. I tend to drift away during some of those dreams. One of my favorite mental things to do is to walk around my Grandpa’s farm.
It’s been gone for 30 years, but I can see it perfectly. I go in the barn, climb into the hay mow and chase away the pigeons. The shop still has the corrugated tin roof and a wall of tools. There’s the wood pile, pig barn and chicken coop. I walk into the granary and smell the dusty stuffiness of the old burlap bags. A few Hereford cows drink from the circular water tank close by. It’s all stuck in 1976, the year Grandpa died.
In reality, there is a big hole in the ground where the house used to be and weeds cover the well pipe. That beautiful shelter belt was killed off in one of the nasty winters for which South Dakota is famous. All those ugly dead trees don’t matter because I can edit the view.
In my mind’s eye, I can see lots of perfect branches for a tree fort and we can still pick chokecherries or plums. The apple tree along the path is still producing. The lilac smell is so strong, that it nearly makes me sick. The gorgeous blue spruce still stands 30-foot tall to the south of the house. It was never cut down to move the house off its foundation. Grandma’s gladiolas are in bloom and the strawberries are to die for…especially if you put a little real cream on them. Rhubarb keeps growing every year and the asparagus keeps up as well.
I can hear the cows crying out for their hay breakfast and see their warm breath as they crowd around the chilly morn feeding pile. If I happened to look in a mirror right then, I’d see an eight-year-old boy in coveralls with rubber snap boots and a dorky stocking cap. He would kill to jump off the back of the tractor to open one more gate for his Grandpa.
I think I just figured out why people farm. It’s the senses…all five. You are totally alive when you are out in the elements of a family farm. Oh, it can be brutally hard. South Dakota is the recipient of all four seasons to the extreme. But how could it possibly get better than living this full gamut of the sights, sounds and scents on a Sanborn prairie?
The few years that I lived out on that farm filled me with a form of spirituality. It’s in my cells and difficult to explain. It must be the fulfillment that one gets when all your senses activate.
If you’ve never smelled silage in the winter after it’s been uncovered or felt the sting of a 30 below northerly… if you’ve never seen a hill covered in crocuses or smelled a branding… if you’ve never washed a truck in the rain or walked in snowshoes to the mailbox… if you’ve never touched an electric fence or heard a pheasant call, then perhaps you still have some sensory work to do. These experiences aren’t all necessarily enjoyable, but they accumulate in a way that completes a person.
My visits home, whether actual or mental, remind me how lucky I was to have lived this sort of sensory spectrum. It’s no wonder Grandpa never wanted to go anywhere. He was most alive out there on that prairie land. And so am I when I drift away.

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