https://www.angelahimsel.com/blog-1 daily 0.75 2018-05-10 https://www.angelahimsel.com/blog-1/2018/5/9/test-1 monthly 0.5 2018-05-10 https://www.angelahimsel.com/blog-1/category/test monthly 0.5 https://www.angelahimsel.com/blog-1/tag/test monthly 0.5 https://www.angelahimsel.com/events daily 0.75 2020-01-23 https://www.angelahimsel.com/events/2018/9/30/upcoming-events monthly 0.5 2021-01-29 https://www.angelahimsel.com/events/2020/1/23/events-and-awards monthly 0.5 2020-01-23 https://www.angelahimsel.com/home daily 1.0 2021-01-29 https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5af2417c8ab7229adf91aac3/t/5afbce0c758d463ef1a50829/1526451727528/Screen+Shot+2018-04-30+at+1.42.59+AM.png Angela Himsel https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5af2417c8ab7229adf91aac3/t/5af3a6c4758d46723817fde0/1612830442687/ARCBAT_coverphoto+%282%29.jpeg Angela Himsel https://www.angelahimsel.com/about daily 0.75 2018-05-23 https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5af2417c8ab7229adf91aac3/t/5af3a9150e2e7224231089ea/1526449081212/Angela+Himsel+photo-2+%281%29.jpg About Angela Himsel https://www.angelahimsel.com/other-writing daily 0.75 2021-01-29 https://www.angelahimsel.com/contact daily 0.75 2018-05-23 https://www.angelahimsel.com/photos daily 0.75 2018-11-05 https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5af2417c8ab7229adf91aac3/5af3bd72f950b7705a7aa7db/5b68eea9562fa70562c4691f/1533604217428/19149138_10155376851896308_3014214155772801825_n.jpg Photo Gallery - Chapter 1 She wore dresses that her mother sewed out of feed sacks. When manufacturers realized their sacks were being used for clothing, they deliberately designed them with flowers and pretty colors. https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5af2417c8ab7229adf91aac3/5af3bd72f950b7705a7aa7db/5b68ecf6562fa70562c41d93/1533604350984/553495_10150656356384912_1493247388_n.jpg Photo Gallery - Chapter 2 We sat in comfortable silence on wooden crates, ripped off the feathers, and brought the bare chickens into the kitchen, where we rested them on the table covered in newspaper. A family tradition: plucking chickens. My great-grandma and my mother in the barnyard https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5af2417c8ab7229adf91aac3/5af3bd72f950b7705a7aa7db/5b68ece5575d1f99a60a855e/1533603921832/15965258_10154865254351308_8356978497920843001_n.jpg Photo Gallery - Chapter 4 Our new home was a dilapidated two-story farmhouse. Cornfields flanked the house, and behind us were woods where we played in the creek. https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5af2417c8ab7229adf91aac3/5af3bd72f950b7705a7aa7db/5b68eca92b6a28624c03f33a/1533603739013/15823623_10154829018136308_8919005302640161634_n.jpg Photo Gallery - Chapter 1 Several years later, at a local dance, this dutiful Lutheran man met my mother, a Catholic woman who once considered becoming a nun. We were all aware of the irony of her going on to give birth to eleven children. https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5af2417c8ab7229adf91aac3/5af3bd72f950b7705a7aa7db/5b68ec9d1ae6cf304f481791/1533603847095/165360_487405264911_821109_n.jpg Photo Gallery - Chapter 10 I had white eyelashes, white eyebrows, and pale skin. Makeup wasn’t a luxury. It was as much a necessity as brushing my teeth. Without mascara, eyebrow pencil, eyeliner, lipstick, and a little blush, I looked like a white rodent with beady blue eyes. https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5af2417c8ab7229adf91aac3/5af3bd72f950b7705a7aa7db/5b68674988251bcc50731c54/1533570031217/10+kids+1973.jpg Photo Gallery - Chapter 6 In the spring of 1973, Abby joined us mushroom hunting in the woods behind our house. In May, around Abby’s thirteenth birthday, she walked along with us behind the barn and down the path to the mulberry tree, then back into the woods to the creek where we’d built our intricate sand castles, and we checked our brothers’ raccoon and mink traps Back row, from left: Paul, Mary, my mother, Ed, Jim, Wanda Front row from left: Sarah, John, Liz, me, Abby https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5af2417c8ab7229adf91aac3/5af3bd72f950b7705a7aa7db/5b04d8ed03ce649de6a8ab36/1530630775566/grandma+and+grandpa+recker+and+kids.jpg Photo Gallery - Chapter One “She grew up on the family farm on Schnellville Road in Jasper, Indiana. She was raised on chicken dumplings, lard sandwiches, sauerkraut, turnip kraut and sausages, frog legs and turtle soup. “ Back row, my mother Viola, my Grandpa Recker, Uncle Junior, Shirley, Lindy; Front row: Grandma holding my aunt Susie, Jane and Rita Mae https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5af2417c8ab7229adf91aac3/5af3bd72f950b7705a7aa7db/5b04d8e28a922da81bbef3ee/1533567967699/Grandma+and+Grandpa+Recker%27s+50th+anniversary.jpg Photo Gallery - My Grandparents' 50th anniversary https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5af2417c8ab7229adf91aac3/5af3bd72f950b7705a7aa7db/5b04d8caaa4a99ccc1039b1a/1530630554307/Grandpa+Recker%2C+grandma+recker%2C+mama%2C+junior%2C+rita+mae.jpg Photo Gallery - Chapter One “My mother, Viola, was born into a staunchly Catholic family, the eldest of seven children.” Left to right, my Grandpa Recker, Uncle Junior, Grandma Recker, my mother viola, Rita Mae, Shirley and Jay https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5af2417c8ab7229adf91aac3/5af3bd72f950b7705a7aa7db/5b04d8c8aa4a99ccc1039b0a/1530630470542/grandpa+recker%2C+great-grandpa%2C+and+my+mom%2C+Rita+mae+and+juior.jpg Photo Gallery - Chapter One “My mother hunted squirrels, set rabbit traps, and caught frogs that she skinned and butchered and then fried in flour, salt, and pepper for supper. “ My great grandfather, my mother Viola, Aunt Rita Mae, Grandpa Recker and Uncle Juinior https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5af2417c8ab7229adf91aac3/5af3bd72f950b7705a7aa7db/5b04d8a1575d1fad819ffe12/1533569343493/oldest+six+at+recker+farm.jpg Photo Gallery - My mother's family farm My mother holding Abby, and front from left to right, Paul, Mary, Wanda, Jim and Ed https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5af2417c8ab7229adf91aac3/5af3bd72f950b7705a7aa7db/5b04d88688251ba6e04cfb33/1533568052699/Recker+family+circa+1976.jpg Photo Gallery - Circa 1970s Back row: Shirley, Junior, my mother, Jay, Lindy Front Row: Grandma, Grandpa, Rita Mae, Susie https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5af2417c8ab7229adf91aac3/5af3bd72f950b7705a7aa7db/5b04d87d88251ba6e04cf9e8/1533567196295/Aunt+Margaret+dancing.jpg Photo Gallery - Chapter 1 When World War II broke out, my great-aunt Margaret fled Germany with her Jewish husband, Walter. The Nazis had come to their apartment building to take Walter, and they escaped to the roof. My grandparents put up the farm as collateral and sponsored them to come to the United States. https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5af2417c8ab7229adf91aac3/5af3bd72f950b7705a7aa7db/5b04d86903ce649de6a898ac/1533603938816/John+young.jpg Photo Gallery - Chapter 5 When Perry Mason was on, I slid closer to John and grabbed his hand when the scary music began. It took very little to frighten me, just a few bars of “bu-dum-dum-dum.” My brother John https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5af2417c8ab7229adf91aac3/5af3bd72f950b7705a7aa7db/5b04d86888251ba6e04cf6a8/1533568063767/my+mother+and+aunt+margaret.jpg Photo Gallery - My mother and Aunt Margaret https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5af2417c8ab7229adf91aac3/5af3bd72f950b7705a7aa7db/5b04d8671ae6cf595cb2d0fd/1533567037096/IMG_4733.JPG Photo Gallery - Chapter 4 My parents took us out of school to celebrate the eight-day holiday of Sukkot. My mother woke up her ten kids before dawn and bundled us into the car to drive to one of the church’s Feast sites. When we pulled onto the empty road, the stars were not yet absorbed into the still-gray sky, and I imagined that only God and my family were awake. https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5af2417c8ab7229adf91aac3/5af3bd72f950b7705a7aa7db/5b04d859758d46cab83548fd/1533568566432/angela+family.jpeg Photo Gallery - Family photo Back row: Me, Ed, My father, Jim, Mary, Paul and John Front Row: Rachael, Wanda, my mother, Liz and Sarah https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5af2417c8ab7229adf91aac3/5af3bd72f950b7705a7aa7db/5b04d859aa4a99ccc1038aa7/1533567380281/angela+family2.jpeg Photo Gallery - Chapter 7 Two and a half years after Abby died, Rachael was born. My parents began to laugh again. To heal from the gaping, bleeding wound that Abby had left inside their hearts. https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5af2417c8ab7229adf91aac3/5af3bd72f950b7705a7aa7db/5af3be19f950b7705a7ac018/1530630227924/Robert%2C+Viola+and+daddy.jpg Photo Gallery - Chapter One My Uncle Robert, Aunt Viola and my father, James Himsel https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5af2417c8ab7229adf91aac3/5af3bd72f950b7705a7aa7db/5af3be0c6d2a73309ff4d87b/1533569400523/on+the+farm.jpg Photo Gallery - My father's family farm Front left: Abby, Liz, Paul, Mary, John Second row: Wanda, me, my dad, my mother holding Sarah, Jim and Ed https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5af2417c8ab7229adf91aac3/5af3bd72f950b7705a7aa7db/5af3bdd0575d1f5d0783315c/1533568240354/Grandma+Himsel+on+the+farm+%281%29.jpg Photo Gallery - Chapter 1 My grandfather had only been able to attend school through sixth grade before leaving to work on the farm, while my grandmother finished high school in Hamburg, regularly attended the opera, and her sister Margaret was a ballerina touring Europe. Ultimately, my grandmother decided that whatever life in the United States offered, it had to be better than remaining in postwar Germany, where hyperinflation rendered millions of marks worthless. By the end of 1923, a loaf of bread in the Weimar Republic cost, literally, a billion marks. Grandma Himsel https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5af2417c8ab7229adf91aac3/5af3bd72f950b7705a7aa7db/5af3bdcff950b7705a7ab54c/1530630008173/family+farm+with+old+log+home.jpg Photo Gallery - Chapter One “In the 1840s, both my mother’s Catholic family and my father’s Lutheran one uprooted themselves and pressed westward across the ocean to America, escaping internal revolts, high taxes, and crop failures in their farming villages.” https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5af2417c8ab7229adf91aac3/5af3bd72f950b7705a7aa7db/5af3bdc7f950b7705a7ab3f9/1533568142593/Daddy%2C+Uncle+Robert+and+Grandma+in+the+70s.jpg Photo Gallery - Chapter 2 Robert wasn’t quite certain what to do with the tribe of boisterous children who clamored to gather eggs, feed the chickens, pump the well water into the tin coffee can on the wooden fence, and investigate the log cabin, with its patches of faded, floral wallpaper from the Depression. Grandma, my father and uncle Robert https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5af2417c8ab7229adf91aac3/5af3bd72f950b7705a7aa7db/5af3bd9a758d4672381b6040/1530630154722/Daddy+on+right%2C+in+army.jpg Photo Gallery - Chapter One “At eighteen, my father was drafted to serve in World War II. He was in an engineering unit, building bridges for the Allies and blowing up enemy bridges from Belgium to Luxembourg to France to Germany. “ - My father, on right https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5af2417c8ab7229adf91aac3/5af3bd72f950b7705a7aa7db/5af3bd932b6a282f738c2ae2/1530630112518/Daddy+and+Uncle+Robert.jpg Photo Gallery - Chapter One “…my father was born in a three-room log cabin that had belonged to his great-grandfather, Johann Conrad Himsel. “ My father, James, holding the goose, and my Uncle Robert https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5af2417c8ab7229adf91aac3/5af3bd72f950b7705a7aa7db/5af3bd90352f5365d4124a78/1533568269997/Abby+young.jpg Photo Gallery - Chapter 4 On summer afternoons, Abby, Liz, John, Sarah, and I packed peanut-butter-and-honey sandwiches on whole-wheat bread and trudged down the path, past the mulberry tree, across the swampy bottom, and into the woods, where we stayed for the day. We dug in the smelly sand alongside the creek, and made dungeons and castles and moats, placing sticks in the castles for flags and flat pieces of bark in the sides for windows. Photo of Abby https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5af2417c8ab7229adf91aac3/5af3bd72f950b7705a7aa7db/5af3bd89352f5365d4124969/1533568079227/abby+with+tinker.jpg Photo Gallery - Abby at 13 https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5af2417c8ab7229adf91aac3/5af3bd72f950b7705a7aa7db/5af3bd83562fa7956811a440/1533568470738/Abby+with+Sarah.jpg Photo Gallery - Chapter 4 With three bedrooms upstairs, two down, and one bathroom, we played musical beds. In Huntingburg, I’d slept with Abby and Mary and Liz. In Jasper, it was mix and match. Photo of Abby and Sarah https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5af2417c8ab7229adf91aac3/5af3bd72f950b7705a7aa7db/5af3bd831ae6cf47e458a0f1/1533568484284/abby+school+pic.jpg Photo Gallery - Abby at about 13 https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5af2417c8ab7229adf91aac3/5af3bd72f950b7705a7aa7db/5af3bd756d2a73309ff4c415/1533568459591/Abby+in+Huntingburg.jpg Photo Gallery - Abby before she became sick https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5af2417c8ab7229adf91aac3/5af3bd72f950b7705a7aa7db/5af3bd7288251b65b1ee347c/1533568423093/Abby+before+sick.jpg Photo Gallery - My sister Abby Caption https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5af2417c8ab7229adf91aac3/5af3bd72f950b7705a7aa7db/5af3bd72562fa7956811a22f/1533568443657/abby+and+me+at+grandparents.jpg Photo Gallery - Abby in vest Caption. https://www.angelahimsel.com/a-river-could-be-a-tree daily 0.75 2019-09-10 https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5af2417c8ab7229adf91aac3/t/5afbbd46f950b71b08ddaf12/1526451459155/Screen+Shot+2018-04-30+at+1.42.59+AM.png A River Could Be A Tree https://www.angelahimsel.com/excerpt daily 0.75 2018-05-10 https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5af2417c8ab7229adf91aac3/t/5af3bad60e2e722423132095/1525936192825/Screen+Shot+2018-04-30+at+1.42.59+AM.png excerpt https://www.angelahimsel.com/radio-and-television daily 0.75 2019-09-10