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Bella
Sylva
Cemetery
graces a knoll on a high ridge in the
Endless
Mountains
of northeast
Pennsylvania
, four miles from the
village
of
Lopez
, in
Sullivan
County
. Wild cherry trees, blueberry shrubs, and Juneberry bushes border this
small country cemetery. In the evening deer come to graze on the abundant
native grass and wild flowers of this hallowed ground marked with crosses.
A large carved cherry wood sign by the road names this old place of
burial. It is here that Ruth and I had decided many years previously to be
buried in this beautiful and quiet spot near my ancestral home, under a
shared stone that would express our mutual faith, life work, and history.
On
May 31, 1996
, I arrived at the Bella Sylva cemetery for the burial of my beloved wife,
Ruth. As I glanced around and saw so many of the family and Bella Sylva
neighbors gathered, my eyes filled with tears of joy and love. We took our
time greeting and hugging each other and quietly shared memories of Ruth,
expressing what she had meant to us.
With me were my oldest son Bill, daughter Christine,
and Ruth’s mother, Christina. Busy placing pine and spruce branches as
symbols of everlasting life into the grave were our grandsons, Joseph and
Davy, with their parents, our son Hans and his wife Joan, and our
grand-daughter, Hillary, with her dad, our youngest child, Peter and his
wife, Pam. Their enthusiasm and focus helped them to understand and share
in the meaning of what was happening. Needing to take part in this
activity with them, I called out, “Hey Joey, Davy, Hillary, save some of
the pines and all of the wild flowers to put on top of the casket after it
is lowered into the grave.”
“OK grandpa, we will!” they said.
“Sam, you and Ruth have been such a large part of
my life. What a blessing to have had a big sister like her!” said Chuck,
Ruth’s brother, as I approached him and his mother, Christina. This
triggered memories of the many visits our family had experienced with them
in
Basrah
,
Iraq
, and later in
Tucson
,
Arizona
, where Ruth’s parents had retired. I remembered family times with Chuck
and his wife Char and their children in
Bombay
, Kodaikanal, and
Madurai
in
India
, as well as happy visits with them during the years they had lived in
Providence
,
Rhode Island
and
Rochester
,
New York
. Chuck was more than a brother-in-law. His close friendship, his
scholarly knowledge of Indian history, culture and lore, and his loving
care of our children—as ‘Uncle Chuck’ and ‘Aunt Char’ provided a
home while our children they were in college—had bonded us together. His
presence at the graveside brought me comfort and peace and even more than
the usual joy he always radiated.
Christina, Chuck’s mother, calmly took everything
in her stride. At age 96 she was accustomed to dealing with the death of
loved ones. Her three brothers and two of her sisters had passed away, and
her husband, George, had died in January 1990. She had lived with Ruth and
me right up until the end, giving much comfort and help during the final
months of struggle. Now, with deep faith, she faced the sorrow of losing
her only daughter. Yet she watched her great grandchildren with delight as
they readied the grave for Ruth’s burial.
My sister, Molly, my brothers,
Jerry
and Fritz and their wives and children came to hug me. Having them all
together here I was reminded of the adventures we had shared as children
in our homes at Peddapuram, Yeleswaram, and
Kodaikanal
,
India
. As adults we had been with each other for special events and vacations
at Bella Sylva, our mountain home just two miles away. I remembered many
hiking trips that Ruth and I had taken in all those places; we called them
rambles.
As I hugged Shurlee,
Jerry
’s wife, I was shaken. “Shurlee, your being here means more to me than
anything else. It’s like having dozens of my best friends here,” I
whispered as I hugged her. Shurlee had been suffering from cancer for a
long time and I knew she soon would be joining Ruth. What a tremendous
effort she and
Jerry
had made to be with me at this service of burial!
* * *
“I called to the Lord in my distress and the Lord
answered me setting me free … Open for me the gates of righteousness; I
will enter them …” With these words from Psalm 118, Pastor George
Doran began the simple and brief Lutheran liturgy for burial. This
hope-filled service gives strong witness to how Christ gives triumph over
death. After prayers and scripture my sons and nephews, the pallbearers,
let the coffin down into the evergreen-lined grave with ropes. Together we
said the Apostles’ Creed, ending with the affirmation of faith, “I
believe in the resurrection of the body and the life everlasting.”
Then Pastor George pronounced the committal, “In
sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life through our Lord
Jesus Christ we commend to almighty God our sister, Ruth, and we commit
her body to the ground, earth to earth, ashes to ashes, and dust to
dust.”
After joining in the Lord’s Prayer and receiving
the blessing, my grandchildren and others threw the remaining evergreen
boughs onto the casket and scattered wildflowers on top. Following an old
German practice, still faithfully observed by Lutheran churches in
India
, I tossed three handfuls of dirt into the grave, saying, “In the name
of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.” Others then
followed sharing in this act of farewell and closure. Even though I felt
blessed with joy and belief that Ruth was with the Lord she had served
faithfully, I was filled with a sense of loss. I had loved this wonderful
woman for 54 years.
The wildflowers covering the casket brought a further
flood of memories. Ruth and I had delighted in gathering and viewing
wildflowers on our rambles during our high school days in Kodaikanal,
India
, and then in many places throughout our life together. Wild roses in
Gundar Valley; lavender rock orchids from rocky hillsides near Kodai with
which I made corsages and bouquets for her; red rhododendrons from Upper
Bear Shola Stream decorating our High School Valentine’s dance; the high
grasslands of Kodaikanal blooming with Easter lilies, bluebells, Scotch
broom and buttercups; the desert blooming after spring rains in Arizona,
when we visited Christina and George; and the flowering Juneberry and
white, violet, and yellow violets in the spring at Bella Sylva—had
filled us with joy and wonder. On our many rambles in beautiful and
diverse places, flowers had been part of the experience that had brought
us happiness as our love blossomed.
Men took turns shoveling dirt into the grave until it
was filled. Tears flowed as I watched the dirt fall on pine branches and
flowers, the earth mingling with beauty to begin reclaiming the pines, the
flowers, the casket and Ruth’s body.
Standing at Bella Sylva cemetery, I recalled our
first ramble together to
Pambar
Falls
in Kodaikanal, though it had happened in 1942, fifty-four years before. I
first became smitten with Ruth when we were in tenth grade at
Kodaikanal
School
in the hills of
South India
. Until then she was just one of the pesky girls of our class. She had a
ready beaming smile, laughed a lot, and enjoyed a good story. In grade
school we had named her “Goofy.”
Ruth and I had started together in second grade in
1935 and we graduated together in 1944.
Kodai
School
—located in the Palni Hills of Tamilnadu,
South India
—had been established for missionary children in 1901 by Margaret Eddy,
a missionary of the American Board of Missions. In Kodaikanal, about 7000
feet above sea level and with one of the best climates in the world,
children could receive a quality American education. Mrs. Eddy had set
high standards and established great traditions for the school.
Eventually, eleven other mission boards joined the American Board of
Missions of the Congregational Church to administer, fund, recruit
well-trained teachers, and send their children to this school. Kodaikanal
School became a pioneer ecumenical adventure that led to closer
understanding and cooperation, and demonstrated how various mission
denominations could work together, not only for the good of their
children, but also for an effective witness to their oneness in Christ.
The 150 missionary children at
Kodai
School
came there from all over
India
,
Burma
(
Myanmar
),
Ceylon
(
Sri Lanka
),
Thailand
, and the
Middle East
.
Ruth was the oldest child of Christina Scholten and
George Gosselink, missionaries of the Reformed Church in
America
, stationed in
Basrah
,
Iraq
. Every year in January she and other Arabian Mission kids journeyed to
India
by boat. The voyage from Basrah to
Bombay
by the British India Line mail boat often took ten days, stopping along
the way at
Kuwait
,
Bahrain
, and
Muscat
,
Oman
where other children from the Arabian Mission bound for Kodai would join
them. From
Bombay
to Kodaikanal, via
Madras
, took another three days by train and bus. Ruth’s parents and younger
brothers, Jim and Chuck, would usually come for their vacation from Basrah
sometime in July, rent a cottage near the school for 6 weeks, and take her
out of boarding. Each mission had from three to twelve cottages for
vacationing families in this hill station. As July was the hottest summer
month in
Iraq
, it was a good time for the Gosselinks to be in the cool Kodai hills. In
late August Ruth’s parents would put her back into boarding and return
to
Iraq
. Ruth would return to Basrah for the long vacation which lasted from
mid-October until mid-January. Her brother Jim joined her at
Kodai
School
in 1938 and Chuck in 1942.
My parents, August Frederick Schmitthenner and Marian
Eyster, were missionaries in Peddapuram and subsequently in Yeleswaram—named
as Eleswaram on many maps—in East Godavari District of Andhra Pradesh,
India. Recruited in 1921 as single missionaries to serve the
Andhra
Evangelical
Lutheran
Church
, they met aboard ship after embarking from
Liverpool
. After language study they were married in November 1922. My oldest
brother
Jerry
was born in September 1923; Fritz was born in April 1926. I came along in
February 1928.
When we were of school age my brothers and I would
travel from Rajahmundry Station to Kodaikanal by train with a dozen or
more Kodai kids. Fritz and Julia Coleman, the older high school youth of
our mission, were our chaperones. Mother always made a huge pound cake for
our train journey, admonishing
Jerry
that it was to last for two days.
Jerry
was reliable, but not when it came to cake. We would finish it the first
evening, then spend the next day trying out all kinds of Indian snack
food, which Kodai kids still refer to as I.J.—Indian junk. I enjoyed
going to boarding school because my brothers and all my best friends were
there.
As high school began I respected Ruth as a pianist
who practiced long hours and often played for church services. She was a
good student, but also very direct. If she disagreed with a teacher
she’d say so and give reasons.
Once, Mr. Musil, our Latin teacher, had become very
angry when Ruth disagreed with the way he had criticized her translation
of a sentence. A short, agitated, thin person with a quick temper, Mr.
Musil had been living under considerable stress. While visiting
India
from his native
Czechoslovakia
, he had been stranded by the outbreak of World War II. Our principal, Mr.
Carl W. Phelps had found him languishing in an internment camp and had
managed to recruit him to be a teacher for
Kodaikanal
School
. This involved getting permission from the British authorities on the
condition that he could not leave the school grounds. Every evening Mr.
Musil would pace around the perimeter of the school property like a tiger
in a cage. The whole class was aghast when Ruth calmly challenged him. He
stood over her desk scolding her. Then, as we held our breath she asked
another probing question that so infuriated him he seemed ready to strike
her. Some of the class couldn’t bear to look, so they turned left to
take in the view from our second story classroom. Rows of windows with
teak wood framework painted dark green gave us a picture view of the
boy’s dorm—Boy’s Block—below, a magnificent old eucalyptus tree,
from which a rope swing was hanging, a glimpse of the lake below and hills
to the West. But the calm beauty of the scene was spoiled by the shrill
angry voice of our teacher, the linguist who knew 10 languages, who could
not abide the disrespect of this rude, questioning girl. Mercifully, an
upperclassman at that moment rang the old school bell just outside our
classroom, on the veranda overlooking the quadrangle. The period was over;
Ruth was saved by the bell. Mr. Musil stalked out of the class with an
almost purple face. The girls gathered around Ruth amazed to see that she
was unruffled. In the back of the classroom, some of us boys got together
to make a pact that we would protect Ruth and beat up Mr. Musil if he ever
tried to hit her. Little did I realize then that Ruth’s critical mind,
complete frankness, and probing questions would sometimes prick my ego and
also strain my patience to the breaking point.
One day, at the beginning of our sophomore year, the
high school was rehearsing for the Spring Concert. We always had features
from different nations in our programs. From the wings of the stage
looking past the bunched up navy blue curtains, I watched Ruth and her
friends dancing the Irish Jig, wearing knee-length shamrock-green outfits.
They danced beautifully. Something about Ruth, her joy and energy in
dancing, her build, and hazel eyes, and the twirling of the green skirt
awakened new and powerful feelings in me. Wow!
Shortly thereafter I asked her to walk with me around
the lake. She calmly looked at me with her hazel eyes, smiled, and said,
“Yes!” On Sunday nights, after Vespers Service, carefully chaperoned
walks around
Kodai
Lake
had been a tradition that made it possible for Kodai kids to date and get
to know each other better. That’s the way most Kodai romances started.
On this lovely walk of about three miles, Principal “Papa” Phelps kept
us moving right along zigzagging back and forth with his five-cell
flashlight, making sure there was no hugging, kissing, or falling behind.
We could hold hands, or the girl, when invited to, would hold the elbow of
her date. That was a big deal! The boy would come back to the dorm and
announce, “Tonight, we hooked up!”
In July 1942 Ruth’s mother, Christina, came to
Kodai from Basrah, and took Ruth, Jim, and Chuck out of boarding.
Christina was good to me. The first time I brought Ruth home from a
Saturday evening social, she invited me in and offered me a cup of coffee
with Basrah dates, the finest in the world. I had never touched coffee
before—being the shortest in the class I wanted nothing to stunt my
growth. That night, however, I drank two cups so that I could have more
time with Ruth. The effect that the coffee had on my bladder later that
night was startling, something I hadn’t experienced before.
One Saturday morning I asked Ruth, in the presence of
her mother, if she would go with me to the top of Pambar (Snake)
Falls, quite a jungly ramble, just two miles from
Kodai
Town
. I assured them that I’d done it many times with my brother Fritz, and
that we could do it safely. Ruth said yes. Her mother said, “All
right.” She trusted us. Anyway, she knew and trusted Ruth and her
natural reserve.
We packed a lunch and off we went. Stopping at the
school, I got forty feet of rope and changed shoes. On the way to
Pambar
Falls
we walked past St. Peter’s Anglican Church, up St. Mary’s Road, to
Fern Cliff, one of our Lutheran mission cottages, where my family had
stayed every summer from 1939 to 1944. From there we took in the view of
the plains 6000 feet below. It was a clear, crisp, breezy day. We walked
past the monastery, where Fritz and I used to steal pears, through an
avenue of huge eucalyptus trees, past St. Mary’s Church, and the La
Providence Franciscan Monastery, and finally down to Levinge Stream.
We followed the stream down to the first
waterfall. One side of the waterfall was dry, so we climbed down
backwards. Knowing the way, I descended first and helped Ruth with her
footholds. We passed magnificent old boulders that had split off from the
cliffs. Some of the huge rocks were covered with moss, leaf mold, ferns,
vines, and flowers of many kinds. One vine had thick waxy latex-filled
leaves with pink and red flowers that smelled like cinnamon. There were
wild begonias, orchids, red trumpet flowers, and
“jack-in-the-pulpits.” Even great trees grew on some of the rocks,
sending roots down around the boulders to find soil and water. I said,
“Ruth, this is God’s rock garden, with plants more abundant and
beautiful than any gardener could raise.” She liked that.
Black monkeys began to call, “uhg-ha, uhg-ha, uhg-ha,”
working up to a high crescendo, and the Malabar whistling schoolboy thrush
whistled its tunes, which I tried to imitate. Magnificent butterflies were
everywhere, and nine small blue butterflies were happily crowded together
on a jackal turd. Delicate small flowers grew in the seepage-soaked moss
at the stream’s edge.
We came to a ledge by the side of a waterfall where
we would need the rope. I said, “Ruth, we can go back now, the way we
came, or use this rope and go all the way to the big falls and then home
from the falls by way of Priest’s Walk. It’s a twelve foot drop to the
next ledge, and very slippery.” It looked wet and slimy and the ravine
was pretty awesome below. Ruth had enjoyed the adventure to this point,
and had been trusting and such a good sport.
“We’ll go all the way to the falls,” she said,
“it’s been great so far!”
I put the rope over a tree branch, tied the two ends
together, and said, “Wait ‘till I get to the bottom, then I’ll hold
the rope and help you.” I climbed down and steadied the rope for her,
and down she came. As I helped her she came naturally into my arms. It was
the right time to keep her there for a long hug and a kiss, our first! I
could tell that she enjoyed that. Then I untied the rope and jerked it off
the branch since we’d probably need it later.
Down we went deep into the ravine. What beautiful old
trees we passed! Because of the cliffs and ledges, no one has been able to
cut these ancient great trees in this lush shola (rain forest). The
rapids, potholes, sparkling small falls, many varieties of fern,
magnificent trees, rock gardens; and rock ledges made this a splendid
adventure.
Finally we came out on the ledge called The Jump Off.
The more than 600-foot falls initially go down at an angle in several deep
crevasses. We sat close together in the noonday sun, drinking in the view
of Periakulam town on the plains directly below the falls.
Eagle’s Cliff dominated the southwest side of the falls, and to our left
was the Coolie Ghat zigzagging down from Fisher’s Seat—the last ridge
in Kodai—to the mango orchards near Tope, 6000 feet below us.
The word ghat has several meanings. It can
mean steps ascending from a river or a holy bathing place by a Hindu
temple. It can also mean a range of mountains, like the
Eastern Ghats
and
Western Ghats
which border both sides of the Deccan Plateau in
South India
. A mountain road that ascends the escarpment with many twists and turns
is called a ghat road. The Coolie Ghat is the old steep nine-mile
trail by which the first residents came to Kodaikanal by pony or on foot,
or by being carried by four porters in a blanket tied to poles. All
building materials and supplies were carried by the human head load, pony,
or pack oxen to Kodai up the Coolie Ghat until the Law’s
Ghat Road
was opened in the 1920s. Now that 29 mile motor road going down the side
of the mountain is simply called The Ghat Road by Kodai residents.
As Ruth and I sat watching the water flow
over the edge of the falls, enjoying the spray dampened wind blowing up
the cliffs and the panoramic view, I thought, “What a place, and what a
person to be with!” We hugged and kissed for a while. There we were, the
two of us alone like Adam and Eve, in the midst of God’s rock garden.
But we were not naked, and the serpent did not appear. How innocent we
were! We were privileged to have a relationship based on affection and
trust: the trust of our parents and trust in each other.
“Hey, I’m hungry. Let’s eat,” said Ruth in
her practical way, bringing us back to reality.
After a good lunch it was time to start for home. We
began our climb up the steep hillside toward Priest’s Walk, holding on
to clumps of grass. At one point we came upon an animal trail going
northeast beneath Priest’s Walk. Below it a steep slope slanted down to
the same cliff from which
Snake
Falls
cascaded. I said, “Ruth, Fritz and I have been over this trail. If you
like we’ll go just a little way until we come to that wide ledge and
boulder.” She was game, so we took the trail leaning in toward
Priest’s Walk, away from the precipitous slope. After reaching the
boulder we retraced our steps and resumed climbing on the original trail.
Next came a surprise: where the path crossed a stream it had been partly
washed away. So I tied the rope to a tree and around my waist and made my
way across the gap clinging to tree roots and jumping the last five feet.
I tied my end of the rope to another tree. Then Ruth made it across
holding on to the rope and then to me. Another great opportunity! We had
to leave the rope there. Finally we came to Priest’s Walk.
Only then did we realize that our clothes were
streaked with black mud and slime from our wet, sliding, rainforest
adventure. Fortunately we did not meet anyone who knew us on the Kodai
streets. Ruth’s mother took our messy appearance with good grace. Ruth
told her about the ramble, omitting the cliff trail detail.
It was time for tea, quite a ceremony in Ruth’s
home. Christina preheated the pot, used loose tealeaves, poured milk, and
put sugar into the cup first, then the tea after it had steeped in the pot
covered by a cosy. She served it with biscuits and dates, of course. What
a great and refreshing way to end the first and best ramble we ever had in
our
Kodai
High School
days. All good rambles should end with tea! |
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