Monday, May 20, 2013

Walk like a Hutterian

I learned about my "roots", in of all places, a Hutterite colony in North East South Dakota.
"The Hutterites are a communal people, living on hundreds of scattered bruderhöfe or colonies throughout the prairies of northwestern North America. On average, fifteen families live and work on the typical Hutterite colony, where they farm, raise livestock and produce manufactured goods for sustenance."
We were allowed to stay a night, in the van, in the middle of their closely constructed communal compound. The winds were too strong that day and I was unable to push several more miles before dark into Roshalt. After meeting with the head-elder to ask for permission to park by the road, and explaining my journey, he showed me where to park by a stand of trees in the communal center, then had one of the Brethren drive me back to North Dakota to retrieve the van. When I returned, the head elder brought me a plate for dinner, before he and the other adults were due in for the common evening meal. The children all spoke a mix of German and English, the girls wore bonnets and dresses, the boys collared shirts and harnessed pants. They were understandably curious but the elders"shooed" them away with authority. After their meal I watched as the entire community went in their homes, emerged wearing formal dress, reverently walk to the chapel for evening service, then back, change to work clothes and return to their jobs. There was something familiar about these people,but I could not put the feeling into words.
A side note:
I can't remember being more pleased that day to see a gentle turn in the road, after we passed into South Dakota. Though I had spent only ten days walking from Fargo; the farmlands of North Dakota were divided every mile in a square grid of roads, the monotony had already become mind-numbing. The grain elevators and water towers could be seen in the distance hours before we passed them, adding to the overwhelming flatness. It was only a slight change from the level "flats" of the Red River Basin, but it was welcome.
The Elder and a few others came to call just before nightfall, we shared conversation and learned about one another. The Elder explained that his people had been driven out of the Tyrols in Austria in the sixteenth century by the Catholics. They went to Russia and in the 1850's began colonizing in America. When I mentioned that my grandparents immigrated from The Tyrols the Elder raised his brow and asked if I were Catholic. Centuries of conflict flashed in his eye when I told him I had been baptized Catholic. Eager to quell the rage in his eye I assured him I carry no "ill" and believe every religion equal...Then I apologized for what my ancestors may, or may not.have been part of. He forgave me, we shared apples, we talked until the evening bell. The Hutterites are "close knit" and during the centuries have not mixed (married/bred) outside of the core group that centuries ago were driven from the valley where my grandparents came from two centuries later...
Weeks went by as I met many Hutterian families on the road. Always there was something about them I could not place. Something was familiar...
All my life I have been told I have a walk that is distinctive. My son, who walked with me during one of our walks, has a distinctive walk. More than one person has told me they saw my son walking on the sidewalks at home. They had never met him, but knew I had a boy and nobody walks like that unless he was mine His mother says we walk exactly alike. I have a sister who was recognized in a crowd by a childhood friend from behind because of her gait. I could go on...

One evening an eighteen wheeler stopped and from across the road the driver waddled over. He was Hutterian, knew of my story and had to stop. We talked as the sun stretched the shadows. When he walked back to his trailer his shadow caught my eye. It looked like my sons shadow, the way It rocked back and forth when I watched him during our travels. Then it hit me, that same shadow, the same rhythm, tilt of the head, shuffle and bounce that follows me...
I now waddle with pride in my ancestral roots from the Austrian Alpine region. Thanks to the Hutterites of the Dakota prairies.



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