Consider, for example, childbirth in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. According to Epp (she is writing from the perspective of Mennonite communities in Canada, but it is reasonable to think that conditions were roughly the same south of the border), through the late 1930s and into the 1940s, childbirth typically took place at home with the assistance of a midwife. Birth in a hospital or even under the care of a doctor was not a given in earlier times.
Epp describes how, in many Canadian Mennonite communities, pregnancy was “too delicate to talk about,” so mothers-to-be frequently wore loose-fitting clothing in order to conceal a pregnancy. Epp quotes one Mennonite woman from that era as follows, “You wore a garment or corset and hid that you were pregnant as long as you could and never ever told your other children that you were going to have a baby” (2008, 74–75). Epp continues:
Despite the frequency of childbirth in Mennonite households, and the fact that most births occurred at home, children often didn’t know what was going on when it came time for their mother to deliver the next offspring. Usually, children were sent to a neighbour’s or nearby relative’s home when Mother went into labour, then returned to find, to their surprise, a new brother or sister at home.
In my father’s family of thirteen children, because their mother was a stout woman and wore loose dresses almost always covered with an apron, they didn’t always know when a new sibling was expected. Even fourteen-year-old Olga Hildebrand, the third of ten children, didn’t know what was up when she and her siblings were hastily sent to the neighbours; the “lump” under her mother’s apron was, she thought just an indication that the woman had been eating too many “homemade noodles with cream gravy.” (2008, 75)
In my father’s family of thirteen children, because their mother was a stout woman and wore loose dresses almost always covered with an apron, they didn’t always know when a new sibling was expected. Even fourteen-year-old Olga Hildebrand, the third of ten children, didn’t know what was up when she and her siblings were hastily sent to the neighbours; the “lump” under her mother’s apron was, she thought just an indication that the woman had been eating too many “homemade noodles with cream gravy.” (2008, 75)
Epp’s account moves on to the role of midwives in childbirth. Sarah Dekker Thielman, for example, served as midwife for over 1,400 births between 1909 and 1941. Other Canadian midwives likewise assisted in hundreds of births over the course of their lives. Some midwives were specifically trained in childbirth procedures, but others are more in the “category of the ‘neighbourhood-midwife,” a woman who operated within a relatively small geographic area and whose expertise as a ‘baby-catcher’ was gained primarily through self-teaching and personal experience” (2008, 78).
According to Epp,
Midwives spent a considerable amount of time with their ‘patients’ both before and after the birth and saw their role as greater than only the delivery of babies. Katherina Hiebert regularly brought bedding, baby clothes, and food along to deliveries.… Midwives also offered women knowledge about non-medicinal methods to deal with the harshness to their bodies of almost constant childbirth. (2008, 79–80)
Even when doctors became more readily available to assist with home childbirth, midwives played a significant, often leading, role during this this crucial, and always dangerous, time in a woman and her family’s life.
Reading through this section (which is far richer and more detailed than this post can adequately reflect) raised a number of questions about the experiences of our own families. Obviously, our Russian ancestors and the first generations living in the United States experienced childbirth at home under the guidance and care of midwives. One wonders how many of our family died during or as a result of this traumatic experience. Is it possible that Helena Zielke Buller died giving birth to her last son, David? We do not know, but it would not be surprising if that is what happened.
Of course, this leads to questions of a more immediate and personal (I trust not too personal) nature:
- Where did Grandma Malinda give birth?
- Who assisted with these births?
- What did the older children do when it was time for a new birth?
Buller Time invites any of Grandma’s children to respond in greater detail. For now all we have is a selection from an earlier post containing Ruth’s story (see here):
It was a clear crisp day in the country home of Cornelius and Malinda Franz Buller, located in between two small Nebraska towns of Lushton and Grafton. With six small children aged nine years to eleven months old, there was never a lack of excitement going on in the home. But this day in February was especially preoccupied and intense. The doctor had come to the home to deliver a baby and all the children were astir with excitement while adults were concerned about boiled water for sterilizing, timing of the pains, and such. This made for an intensely busy household. A cry in the air brought about smiles to the faces of the children and relief to those involved in the delivering of a baby girl on that February 16, 1937. She was named Ruth C. and so was beginning of the seventh child in the Chris Buller home.
Our three questions can be answered for Ruth: she was born at home with the assistance of a doctor, and the other kids were home the entire time. How were other births similar or different? Buller Time encourages all of Grandma’s children to contribute their memories as they are able.
Epp, Marlene. 2008. Mennonite Women in Canada: A History. Studies in Immigration and Culture. Winnipeg: University of Manitoba Press.
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