Emanuel Gustave Holstein

Grandpa Holstein is still with me every day. I talk to him regularly. I have many fathers in heaven that watch over me.

The more people I meet in my life, the more I am reminded how lucky I was to have my grandfather as a role model. He lived a life of service to his family and his community. He met and accepted you, where you were at, without judgment. His advice to me never sounded like preaching. There are many questions that I would love to ask him today, now that I am wiser and more aware of what questions I could be asking.


Spending time outdoors with my Grandfather; whether in his shed, yard, garden or in a boat on a lake in northern Minnesota are all treasured memories. I remember digging large fire holes in the back yard to cook baked beans. I remember whittling with my new knife while sitting at the picnic table in front of the shed. When I managed to slice open the middle finger of my left hand, I remember crying at my grandfather, “Grandma told you to watch me!” This was early evidence that I really needed to learn to take responsibility for myself.



Fishing with my Grandfather and Monte, I managed to catch a large Northern, the largest Northern never caught, although I’m sure I slowed it down because when I hooked it, it took my pole, hook, line and sinker… or more accurately, Grandpa’s favorite pole.

Attending a local scout jamboree with Grandpa’s troop, I participated in a fire building contest. A rope was tied at about five feet high between two trees. We were given one match, and charged to scavenge for kindling, starter and wood. The first team to burn through the string would win. Grandfather kept his cool even when my team managed to not only burn through the string but start both trees on fire.

I think most remarkable to me, is that as big a sissy as I am about many aspects of camping, i.e. bugs, cold, dirt, climbing fire towers, lack of maid or even turn down services. I wasn’t ever ridiculed or teased unmercifully (mercifully teased… yes), by my grandfather, simply accepted.

I didn’t appreciate as a child how much courage or how fearless my grandfather was. As I look back now at his accomplishments, his willingness to expose himself and his heart. I am awed. I remember the respect that was evident in the greetings and faces of people I observed greeting grandpa at his church, or in the community when he worked for the Minnesota Council of Churches.

I remember his scent; I think I inherited his sweat as well as his hairline. I remember the smell of Half and Half pipe tobacco and coffee brewing in the morning. I still have one of his sweat stained fedoras. He made the mistake of telling me about an old Indian custom that said if a guest admired a belonging of yours; it was polite to offer it to them as a gift. I scored a couple of his hats that way. I think he forgot to tell me that it equally polite to decline the gift while thanking your host for the gracious gesture.

I realize now that many of the things he taught me I was incapable of understanding until I got older. I remember smoking with him in my car outside of his house when I was home from college, and asking him how he had lived with Grandma‘s fussing and worrying all of these years. He quietly answered, that she had earned the right to fuss and worry after what she had lived through with him. My grandfather took care of the women in his life with respect and love. I don’t remember hearing him speak anything that demeaned another human being.

I am blessed to be a descendant of peaceful warrior’s. My father and my maternal grandfather shared a common strength. I know now it was love. They were both willing to not only listen to their hearts, but to share and act on what they heard.