As I write this, we are well into the ho-ho-holiday season. Thanksgiving is a distant memory, although it was less than two weeks ago. On the horizon, a family birthday, an exciting author event, a series of parties, a wedding, a baby shower, and finally, the holiest twenty-four hours of the year, Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. All of this is packed into the few weeks before we reach 2025.

There haven’t been many quiet Christmases in my life. When I was growing up, my siblings were already raising families (as told in my recent book, Little Sister, A Family Memoir). After we moved to town, everyone that lived nearby came to our house for Christmas Eve. By then, Dad had to give up his precious lutefisk and oyster stew Christmas Eve supper. Mom still rolled out homemade lefsa. And she and the other women made their best holiday dishes, while the men brought the eggnog. There’d be hot German potato salad, ham, pressed chicken, sloppy Joes, and a wide assortment of salads and cookies.

One year I counted twelve adults and fourteen children in our small house. The adults talked, laughed and joked as they jostled babies on their laps. The other kids darted around the house playing games. At some point, the noise, warmth and cigarette smoke got to me. I slipped into my coat and out the front door.

The outside air was refreshingly cold and the sky, cloudless. The moon and stars stood out clearly, and the Milky Way formed a wide band across the sky. I began strolling up the street, my face turned toward the wonder of the night sky.

Little angels at our church two years ago.

It wasn’t hard to imagine the star of Bethlehem. It wasn’t hard to believe in the birth of a special baby over 2,000 years ago. It wasn’t hard to understand there was a God in heaven who watches over us. The words of a Christmas song soared in my heart. It came upon a midnight clear, That glorious song of old, From angels bending near the earth, To touch their harps of gold. Peace on the earth, good will to men, From heaven’s all-gracious King. The world in solemn stillness lay, To hear the angels sing.

For many years after that, I continued to slip out alone on Christmas Eve to view the night sky. The vast universe moving in its majesty brought the sacredness of Christmas home to my soul in a way that jolly activities never could.

I hope you will find a few moments to escape the busyness of the season and look up to find a message from the King of kings in the night sky.

It is the LORD who created the stars, the Pleiades and Orion.

He turns darkness into morning and day into night.

He draws up water from the oceans and pours it down as rain on the land.

The LORD is his name! Amos 5:8 NLT

Writing Update

Little Sister, A Family Memoir has been out for a couple months now. Thank you to all who promptly ordered copies! Since then, so many have phoned, emailed, messaged or sent notes. I can’t tell you how much your responses bless me.

Little Sister and my other books are gentle reads that make great Christmas gifts. If you hurry, it isn’t too late to order them from Amazon, Barnes & Noble or other online stores. Just go to those pages and look for Gayle Larson Schuck.

My last event of the season is Christmas Coffee with the Authors on December 14 in the Missouri River Room at Bismarck Public Library. Four other authors and I are celebrating our published book. If you are in the area, please stop by.

May your days be happy and bright, and filled with the love and peace

that can be found in our Savior!

I’m pleased to announce that Little Sister, a Family Memoir is available on Amazon and in select stores in Bismarck. To celebrate its publication, I recently spent some time in St. Paul with my nieces. One of them made the delicious Little Sister shortbread cookies shown on this page. It was such a thoughtful gift, I may have to get a book cookie cutter and learn to make them.

Little Sister is filled with personal stories that my siblings told about growing up in the 1930s and 40s, and also the stories I remember from the 1950s. Many of the tales were shared around my parents’ kitchen table over cups of Folgers. Not all of the stories are happy. Our family was faced with a series of crises when I was young. Writing gave me new perspective on our lives back then. All of the stories are set in an era that is gone.

Since my six siblings and their spouses have all passed on, their stories are being lost. But now, at least some of them will be preserved. I’m so grateful to the early readers who have given me feedback. They’ve said they can relate to the stories, that they laughed and sometimes shed a few tears while reading the book.

I’ve been working on Little Sister for the last couple years, but it’s been on my heart much longer than that. In fact, I found a notebook from the 1970s declaring that I would write the family’s story. I expected to do that fifty years ago, but life got in the way. More recently I used a childhood diary, begged information from my nieces and nephews, and perused historical documents to lay down the best story I could.

And then there were the photos. After sifting through hundreds of old photos, I wanted to include each one. In the end, a mere sixty are in the book. Little Sister is my memoir and the Larson family history set in our hometown of LaMoure, N.D. But it is also about living in the Heartland, and could be anyone’s story.

Please consider giving Little Sister as a gift to someone who might relate to growing up in the 1950s, in the Midwest, or who was the youngest in their family. To purchase copies go to: Little Sister: Schuck, Gayle Larson: 9781737257127: Amazon.com: Books. You can also contact me for signed copies.

Writing Update 

These are the events on my calendar:

• Nov. 10, Capital Christian Church in Bismarck, I’m speaking at the 50 Plus Thanksgiving potluck in the afternoon
• Nov. 19, Touchmark Vendor Show in Bismarck, 10 a.m. to 2 p.m.
• November 30, 7^th Annual Stop n Shop Holiday Vendor Show, Bismarck Amvets
• December 14, Bismarck Public Library/ Five local authors present their recent books

Happy Thanksgiving!

Thanksgiving doesn’t get much press these days. Wedged between Halloween candy and Christmas festivities, it’s become “Friendsgiving Day” or “Turkey Day.”

Let’s do what we can to preserve the original intent of this national holiday that is dedicated to thanking God for his favor and blessing on our nation. Here’s a sample prayer for your thanks-giving gathering:

God, we thank you for the blessing and joy of family. Thank you for those who are gathered with us today and those who are far away. May we all see the many ways you provide for us, comfort us and protect us. Thank you for the beauty that surrounds us and the bounty of food before us. In the mighty name of Jesus, amen.

“Oh, give thanks to the God of heaven! For His mercy endures forever.” Psalm 136:26 NKJ

I’m pleased to announce that my sixth book has been published.

I’ve been working on Little Sister, a Family Memoir for the last couple years, but in reality, it’s been on my heart much longer than that. As I wrote it, I pillaged a lifetime of notebooks and files in my office and found personal stories, bits of history and photos. Some of the book is funny, but some might make you cry. And, while it’s my memoir, it’s also the Larson family history set in my hometown of LaMoure, N.D.

To give you a taste of the book, I’m including an excerpt from Little Sister at the end of this blog post. I hope you’ll read it and give me some feedback. The book is only available on Amazon at this time. Look for it under Gayle Larson Schuck. Or contact me to order a signed copy, which will be available after Oct. 15.

Another reason I’m celebrating this fall is this is my 90^th blog post! The first one was published in 2015.  I remember when I first heard the word “blog,” which is short for Web Log. That was in the late 1990s and it didn’t seem like an idea that would fly far. Boy, was I wrong. Blogs have become a standard form of communication. Thank you to everyone for sticking with me and not hitting the unsubscribe button.

I had fun speaking at the Touchmark Ladies Night on Sept. 24. There was a nice turnout and so many old friends chose to attend. I talked about writing Little Sister and gave tips for writing their own memoirs. I hope to include those tips in a future blog post. We all have stories that should be recorded. I encourage you to also keep a journal, because today’s mundane events become tomorrow’s history. Thank you to my friend Connie who took this photo.

Writing Update 

These are the book signings that are planned at this time:

October 26, Wilton Fall Fling, Wilton, ND

November 30, 7^th Annual Stop n Shop Holiday Vendor Show, Bismarck Amvets

Date TBD Touchmark, Bismarck

The grass withers and the flowers fall, but the word of our God endures forever.” Isaiah 40:8

Now here is an excerpt from the introduction of Little Sister, A Family Memoir:

From the beginning, I had an inner sense of being set apart, like a yellow tulip in a field of red. I was one of the Larson kids, and yet I wasn’t. This understanding has always influenced my life. The set-apart feeling also added to my insecurities. 

As a child, I suspiciously thought I was adopted. What else would explain my strange place in the family? Finally, a copy of my birth certificate and pure logic put that idea to rest.

Being the baby of the family, and being born a generation later than my siblings, had advantages. They were old enough to have their own incomes, and they gave me lots of gifts. While the family had no luxuries, I had an abundance of toys.

Today, I see another benefit. The adults often forgot I was in the room. I listened to many private conversations as I quietly played with a toy. There wasn’t much else going on in my world. We had no television or computer. The nearest neighborhood children were two miles away. I memorized my surroundings, recorded discussions in my head, and internalized the emotional climate around me.

For a long time, I tried to catch up with my siblings. However, all six of them were married by the time I was ten. By then I was drinking coffee with my sisters and sisters-in-law, and listening to their grownup talk about money, kids and recipes. At that age, I already had eleven nieces and nephews, who were much closer to me in age. They dubbed me Auntie Gayle.

After my mother died in 1986, the rest of my siblings tussled over a cowbell they all wanted as a keepsake. I didn’t even remember the cowbell. I wanted the green sherbet dishes that meant nothing to the rest of them. I was the only one who knew what had become of the four-hundred-day clocks that Bob and Jerry sent home when they were stationed in Europe.

It wasn’t just our childhood memories that separated us. Our teen years were vastly different. They were products of the Depression and World War II. My sisters grew up obedient, practical, and responsible. My brothers were fun loving, but before their voices changed they went to work for neighbors to earn a little money. 

By comparison, I was a product of the promising fifties and rebellious sixties. To my siblings, if you dropped acid, you probably had an accident while working with a battery. By the time I came of age, it was a common term of the drug-laced counterculture of the sixties. I didn’t drop either one.

I almost caught up with my siblings. I married and had two sons before I was twenty years old. Our sons fit in well near the tail end of my parents’ twenty-three grandchildren.     

It wasn’t until I was in my thirties, that it became plain that I would always be a generation behind my siblings. There was no catching up. They were now in their fifties, becoming grandparents and dealing with health issues. I was still taking college classes.

If it was my lot in life to be set apart from my siblings, then it was my privilege to be their Little Sister. They were more than my sisters and brothers, they were my friends and heroes.

https://www.amazon.com/Little-Sister-Gayle-Larson-Schuck

Last week I had the privilege of speaking at the Women’s Connection brunch here in Bismarck. I was filling in for another speaker. With one day to prepare, I used material from my book of essays, Grace Like Snow and a couple unpublished stories. The title of my presentation was “Nurturing the Garden of Your Soul.” I talked about finding peace, hope and grace in a garden setting.

This Saturday I’ll do a similar talk at the Bismarck Garden Expo. The other speakers are horticulturalists and master gardeners. They grow vast gardens and know the Latin names of thousands of plants. Me? Not so much. We have one tiny garden, five rose bushes—assuming they all come up, and a dozen flowerpots.

Still, I offered to do a seminar on Garden Glory and they accepted. On Saturday I’ll click through my PowerPoint presentation and attempt to inspire the audience with family gardening stories.

The Women’s Connection and the Bismarck Garden Expo are happy occasions, compared to one we attended in our hometown on Easter Saturday. That day a “Celebration of Life” was held for my first cousin, Judy. The day was bittersweet. We did celebrate the life of this wonderful woman, even though our hearts were breaking.

Judy will forever be linked to my book Secrets of the Dark Closet, because she owned the house that held the Dark Closet. She also hosted a two-day book signing party for me when the book was published, for which I am indebted.

I’m writing about these three unconnected events, because one person ties them together for me. That’s my grandmother, Bessie. At Women’s Connection, I told of growing up with Judy and my other cousins. We loved to run around Grandma’s big yard and pick leaves from her mint plants. Mint has become a symbol of hope to me.

At the Garden Expo, I will tell about the mint, but also about the rich heritage of gardening that was passed down through Grandma Bessie and her mother.

Today would have been Bessie’s birthday. She was born on April 17, 1888. Although she died when I was seventeen, decades later I think about her every day.

Bessie’s influence was not in what she said, but who she was. I write about her many gardens. I write about her cheerful attitude and grandmotherly ways. It was because of these things that I ended up writing a book about the secrets from her childhood and how she overcame so much.

In our fast-paced era it’s hard to see the influence we might have on future generations, but Grandma Bessie’s example endures.

I’ll close by sharing the last paragraph of my Garden Expo talk, which I hope gives food for thought:

“Methinks that peace might reign in the world if we all tended gardens. To delight in overnight garden miracles, to bless one another with flowers and vegetables, to trade gardening tips for the new growing season. These things are real and close to the earth. They ground us in the goodness and glory of God.”

So Happy Birthday, Bessie! And Happy Spring to all of my readers! Please make time to discover the garden glory of new plants raising their heads to the spring sunshine.

“The glory of gardening: hands in the dirt, head in the sun, heart with nature. To nurture a garden is to feed not just the body, but the soul.” – Alfred Austin.

In early September, I went outside to work in the garden. A clouded, dewy morning greeted me. It was already 70 degrees out. No wind. Too early for neighborhood mowers to cut the silence or Hemi’s to rumble into the peace. I was alone in the silent light of the season’s colorful, full-scented offerings.

Our garden was a tish past prime. The leaves on the green bean and towering tomato plants were turning brown. Still, dozens of new cherry tomatoes appeared each day. We’d already made salsa, spaghetti sauce, and dried cherry tomatoes the day we picked another 18 pounds of tomatoes.

This morning, I took out a strainer and filled it with green beans. What a wonder! From a small handful of seeds, the plants quickly outgrew the poles and fences we put up for them to climb. The beans came early and bountiful, and then they quit producing. The tops of the plants held hundreds of blossoms for a week, two weeks, three weeks. Would they ever deliver more beans? Then one morning, four-inch, five-inch, six-inch beans hung ready to be discovered and picked.

The glory of gardening is stepping into the house with green bean blossoms sprinkled in your hair and on your shirt, and a strainer full of beans in your hand. Unless you’ve reach into the viney depths of a bean patch, you might not know their leaves stick like Velcro to your clothes, or that a passel of beans can remain cleverly hidden right before your searching eyes.

For weeks, we watched swallowtail butterflies and honeybees frequent the zinnias which were in a tub right outside the back door. Sometimes finches flitted in and snitched petals from the flowers. What great entertainment for the price of a packet of seeds and a watering hose.

 “Gardening is cheaper than therapy and you get tomatoes.” – Anonymous

One day I went to check on the flowerpots lined up in front of the house. I was wearing a cotton t-shirt with a row of flowers across the front. Suddenly something flew at me, zipped around me and went back to the flowers. A hummingbird! But, since when do hummingbirds attack people? Upon closer inspection, the tiny winged creature was a moth that looked like a hummingbird. And apparently, it thought my shirt looked like a flower.

While writing this, two women from a different religion came to the front door to talk about faith and politics. However, they got sidetracked from their mission. We spent ten minutes talking about the African Milk Plant that lives in the shelter of our front porch. They departed after a lively discussion about gardening, their original purpose forgotten. Later my husband said that before they rang the doorbell, they snapped a photo of the room-size rose bush in our front yard.

Methinks that peace might reign in the world if we all tended gardens. To delight in overnight garden miracles, to bless one another with flowers and vegetables, to trade gardening tips for the next growing season. These things are real and close to the earth. They ground us in the goodness and glory of God.

“Flowers always make people better, happier, and more helpful;

they are sunshine, food and medicine for the soul.”  –Luther Burbank.

Consider this story a late Mother’s Day post. The inspiration came to me this morning as I considered the next chapter of my memoir, Little Sister. In the end, I decided it didn’t fit well with the chapter I was writing, but it might make a good blog post.

In her early years of motherhood, Mom struggled to raise six kids in the heart of the Depression and Dustbowl. She said that one year my father asked her to clothe all the children for the winter with just twenty dollars.

She became an expert at patching and remaking clothing. The girls wore dresses made from flour sacks. She even made coveralls for the boys, judging by one of the photos from that era.

Her bad-tempered old sewing machine was a constant source of frustration through those years. Then in 1940, Mom did something unheard of—she purchased a sewing machine on credit.

She ordered the Singer treadle sewing machine from Fargo on April 13 for $110. For the next several years, she made $3-5 payments each month with money she earned from selling cream and eggs. The machine had a dressmaker head to handle heavy fabrics, such as denim and wool.

She used that machine for over forty years to make clothing for herself, and her children and grandchildren. She patched jeans, designed winter coats, and sewed formals for her daughters. One of her granddaughters now has the machine. The three original bobbins and the receipts are still in it.

In later years when there was less need to make garments, Mom pieced quilts and sewed them together on her Singer. Then she set up a quilting frame in her living room and quilted them by hand. She seldom bought new fabric for quilts. Instead, they were made of remnants she stored in a clothes hamper.

After I came along and we moved to town, she began working fulltime. She always had a job where she stood on her feet all day. Yet, at night after the household chores were finished, she’d take out her latest sewing project and work on it.

Mom loved to sew the way I love to write. It was her passion.

Perhaps the steady thrum of the thread being pulled along its route, the whirl of the wheel dipping up and down, and the sigh of the treadle moving back and forth brought peace to her insecure life.

When she moved into Grandma Muir’s house, she clipped a copy of the Serenity Prayer from a magazine and framed it. For the rest of her life, it hung over her sewing machine.

The prayer reminds me of an old hymn that Mom surely sang in church for most of her life. What a Friend We Have in Jesus was written by Joseph Scriven, who endured much heartache and hardship in his life. One of the lines says, “What a privilege to carry everything to God in prayer!” There is no greater peace than to trust God for the outcome of things we can’t control.

May you find that serenity today!

Writing Update

Many thanks for ordering my books and sharing them with others. It’s so much fun to hear from readers! That’s especially true because I haven’t been able to do book signings or events yet this year.

Friendship is sewn by love and measured by kindness.- Anonymous