The above racing team consists of my paternal grandfather, George Washington Longenecker (1864-1951) and one of his American Standardbreds. Grandpa George may be considered an obscure poet; but he was far from obscure in Neillsville, Wisconsin where he served for decades as a preacher in the 1st Congregational Church.
Along with “pastoring” (actually Congregational preachers* are called “Reverend” rather than “Pastor”), Grandpa George raised American Standardbreds and competed in sulky races at local fairs. This activity raised a few legalistic eyebrows in the small Wisconsin community—probably due to the possibility of spectators gambling on the races. But Grandpa’s recreational passions involved horses and poetry, not money.
Having made poems ever since I can recall and pursued a lifelong study of poetry as fine art, I need to mention that most literary poetry aficionados would consider my grandfather’s verses to be doggerel. Although Grandpa was raised on classical literature, his course of study was theology—not the fine arts. Like many Congregational Reverends in his era, he graduated from Ohio’s Oberlin Seminary.
Grandpa George loved the Lord Scripturally, with all his heart and mind. His poems reflect his love, and that’s good enough for me! My grandfather also loved music, specifically the great hymns of the Christian faith which he played on his violin. Much of Grandpa’s poetry contains the cadence and meter of a hymn.
In 1947 Grandpa self-published a book of his work titled SUNSET POEMS—named after my grandparents’ home, “Sunset Point”, on a bluff overlooking Wisconsin’s beautiful Black River. Here is one of the poems:
George W. Longenecker
No feature concerning Grandpa George would be complete apart from mention of his beloved life partner, Emma Rosina Ernst Longenecker (1866-1952), my grandmother. In past blog entries I have celebrated Grandma Rose who was known for her abundant garden produce, homemade bread, and frequent litters of kittens generously shared with people around town.
Here is Grandma Rose when she was a young girl:
*A contemporary novel, GILEAD by Marilynne Robinson, centers on three generations of small town Congregational Reverends from the Civil War to Mid-20th Century. I was riveted to this book and want to read it again, as it reflects my roots. Potentially classic, GILEAD is a quietly-powerful piece of fiction. Marilynne Robinson’s storytelling gift is poignantly beautiful. Two more of her novels, HOME and LILA, form a trilogy with GILEAD.
Margaret L. Been — April 6th, 2016
Thank you for sharing this wonderful piece of history. To me, the photos display an era of more simplicity or did they also feel life was ‘fast-paced’?
The poem says it all especially the final stanza. We often declare that we love, worship, and pray unto the Lord but I am confessing that quite often we do not really kneel and bow the knee in reverence to Him, the Almighty God.
Yes. “Jesus rules and He alone.”
Amen, Beverley. Actually, my grandparents never did seem stressed. Grandpa had an excitable personality but it was upbeat, optimistic excitement. Grandma was always calm, always smiling.
There is a funny story (among many) about them. Always after stuffing down Grandma’s Sunday dinner (often roast pork, potatoes, gravy, pie, etc.) Grandpa would go from table to daybed which was in their dining room. He’d lie down, hold his stomach, and say, “Oh, Rose. I’m going to die!”
At first this terrified me. I asked Grandma, “Is he really going to die?”
And she calmly answered with a smile, “No, he won’t.”
They never had an auto, and they never learned to drive. They took their horse and buggy on the one mile trip into town and around the area for all their visits, etc. This went on until around 1945 when Grandpa retired and they began visiting around to their children’s homes for their remaining years.
The town, Neillsville, is still a quiet little village in North Central Wisconsin — and since there are a number of Amish families up there, you still will see a horse and carriage. Much of Wisconsin is still rural, small towns, and plenty of wild woods and water. 🙂 We do love our state. (And yesterday we rattled Donald Trump’s cage a bit in our primary.)
Grandpa was always small and very slender, no matter how much he ate. Now that’s a big blessing!
What a cute memory of your grandparents and I relish the simplicity of their life. I am considered one who does not get overly involved and am often asked, “Don’t you get bored?” Never. I’ve plenty to read and there are many tasks left undone when you cook and clean for oneself! 😦
Years ago, I travelled for only a couple of days in Wisconsin and always claimed I wanted to go back. Maybe someday. I’ve been praying for my neighbours to the south as election jabs and promises continue to thrive.
Your grandfather’s poem is a wonderful reminder of Whom we put our trust in.
Thank you, Bev! I’m thankful that you liked our state. It is a special place, I think, because people here tend to be very aware of their roots and ethnic history. A friend who had just moved here from Georgia was very puzzled by this. She constantly heard people say, “I’m Irish,” or “I’m Swedish”, etc. My friend said, “Aren’t they Americans?” I tried to explain that we are really an immigrant state–and their is a lot of the good sort of pride in ethnic roots. And we love Wisconsin. I love the wildness of much of the north. We lived full time up north for 8 years, and what a beautiful experience!
Yes, we certainly need your prayers. What a crazy political scene!
❤❤❤
HI, Jess! I hope you can join us on Easter. Call for more info, or ask Martina. Much love, Grandma
Thank you for sharing this timeless piece gotta love the soul searching of ones roots & the poem above epic lots of aroha from Aotearoa NZ 💯💖