I am grateful for the many women who inspire me. I am
fortunate to know many of them, to be surrounded by them in fact. Today I think
in particular of one of them: Fern Karsten, whom I always referred to as my
Aunt Fernie. Today would have been her 96th birthday. She wasn’t
really my aunt. She was my maternal grandmother’s sister, so I guess that would
have made her my Great Aunt. But I always knew her as Aunt Fernie and so she
shall always remain in my memory. Strictly speaking she wasn’t even “related”
to me by way of blood, since my mother was adopted. That never mattered to
Fernie. My parents, siblings and I were always family to her, which is one of
the things I cherish about her. She modeled what it means to be family. It’s
not about blood. It’s about the heart.
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| Fernie and my youngest child, May 1999 |
Although I’m sure she was an active presence early in my
life, my earliest memory of Fernie came when I was 6 years old. Our family flew
to Oregon to visit her for summer vacation. She took us to the Oregon Coast and
planted the seeds of my love for the Coast that remains to this day, even when
it is now quite remote. She spoiled my siblings and I, at least mildly. I
remember her buying me a little stuffed animal skunk (why I wanted a skunk, I
do not remember) which I very creatively named Skunky. (Creative names were not
my strength. I had a pink stuffed animal that was named – you guessed it – Pinky.
In fact I still have Pinky.)
When I graduated from high school, Fernie was there. As an
undergraduate I attended college in Seattle, and her apartment in Portland
became my second home, the place I would retreat to on longer breaks because it
wasn’t feasible to fly back to Denver every time. I would hop on the train in
downtown Seattle and she would meet me at the station in Portland. Often she
would have arranged for us to go out to the Coast for a day or two. Of course
she attended the wedding as a member of the family. After I married and while
we still lived in Seattle, my spouse and I would frequently visit her, always
one of our favorite little getaways. Fernie always made me feel welcome and
loved.
Family is not about blood.
It's about the heart.
From my birth until late in her life, Fernie lived in the
same 2-bedroom apartment in the Hollywood district of Portland, with a view
towards downtown and the hills behind the skyscrapers. She always referred to
her apartment complex as the “rabbit hutches” because she thought that’s what
they looked like from the street. When Portland built the MAX line, her
apartment ended up located just a block away from the Hollywood station, making
downtown and points beyond easily accessible. I expect her apartment would command
a hefty rent these days, if it hasn’t been entirely redeveloped. Her home was
simple, cozy, and always comfortable. GemΓΌtlich, the Germans would say,
which is appropriate because the Karstens were of German heritage.
As I reflect on Fernie and her life from the point I am at
now, I think of her as a bold, strong woman. Born in 1923 as the youngest of 12
children, she grew up in a small town in rural Nebraska. She never married and,
to my knowledge, never went to college. During World War II she moved to Washington
D.C. and worked in some capacity in the war effort. When she returned to
Nebraska she settled in a larger town and took my mom under her wing, providing
a second home for her where my mom could be introduced to a somewhat larger
world than was available to her in her smaller hometown. At some point in the
Sixties Fernie moved west to Portland, where she would spend the rest of her
life. I admire her for independence, especially at a time when being a single,
strong, independent woman was not the norm. She didn’t strive to fulfill the
expectations of her society. She set her own path. While she had the usual complaints
about life, I never heard her voice disappointment with things that she didn’t
have, such as a partner, a better job, or more money. That’s not to say she
didn’t feel those things. I don’t know. That was not something she shared freely,
even when I became an adult. But from her demeanor and her actions, I believe
that she was happy and content. She created the life she wanted and she lived
it to the fullest. In that she inspires me and sets an example I want to
emulate.
My children had the opportunity to know Fernie, though not
to the degree that I was able to. She adored them as much as she adored myself
and my siblings. Because we lived overseas she didn’t get to see them often,
especially after their earliest years. The last time they saw her, her health had
declined and she had moved to an assisted living facility in Salem, Oregon. She
still had enough health to recognize and enjoy them, but not the energy to actively
engage with them as she had with me when I was young. That’s natural of course.
By that time she was in her 80s. I’m so glad that they got to know her at least
a little bit. I never really knew my great-grandmothers at all.
Fernie died in May 2008, just a short time before I would
return from overseas for a year, so I missed her passing and her funeral. I
regret that to this day. She hasn’t been present during the journey of
self-understanding I’ve been on the past few years. I wish she were. There are
so many things I’d like to ask her, so many lessons I think I could learn from
her as a single woman in my 50s. I don’t know whether she would accept me. I
choose to believe that she would, though she’d probably have to do some work to
get to that point. I think her deep love for me and her warm, welcoming nature
would overcome any biases she developed from the time and space she grew up in.
Fernie had an expansive heart – another thing that I hope I emulate.
I never got to say good-bye to Fernie. Perhaps this post is
my way of doing so. I love you Fernie. Thank you for setting such a powerful
example. I hope that my life honors yours. Your legacy lives on.
