Today’s post goes out to my local readers who might have been acquainted with Irene.
When, at fifteen, I had to transition from a large 12-grade French-speaking state school in Belgium to a small English-speaking Mennonite high school in the midwest, I found a light at the end of the tunnel when I entered my first period German class taught by Frau Irene Gross. Originally from Switzerland, she had made a similar cultural transition. Her classroom reminded me of everything I had left behind and it became a stepping stone each morning to an American and Mennonite culture I had to learn to negotiate every day.
Even though the language we used was elementary, her approach to teaching and her chosen topics helped ease me into each day. Her warmth, kindness and laughter drew me in and, when I found out she also spoke French, I knew I had an ally. I took two years of German with her as I finished high school and those classes were the highlights of those two years which have mostly faded into nothing. I still remember the Rilke poem I recited at our German party, the cheese fondue she shared with students in her home, and the German straw stars she helped us make at Christmas.
Later in life, when she and I transitioned to speaking in French together, and I first started baking bread, Irene asked me if I could make French baguettes. I made a trial batch that she deemed successful and I started delivering a bag of baguettes to her door weekly. When I relocated to a brick and mortar bakery, she became a weekly customer. Irene would come in with a basket on her arm and would always ask us to put the baguettes right in it, unwrapped, just as they do in France. She also brought customers to me and introduced me to other French-speaking members of the community. And when I held my annual feast for customers, she would compare it to “Babette’s Feast,” a foreign Academy Award-winning film about a woman who uses her lottery winnings to prepare a lavish feast. (Irene was also an aficionado of foreign films.)
When I started writing this column, Irene would always refer to some part of it when I saw her. She let me know that she read every column and would ask me about it if she hadn’t seen it in the paper that week. Over the years, our paths crossed regularly. Our conversations were always in French and always upbeat. For many years, she was the link that brought people together through her support of the French language and European culture in this community. I was thankful to be included. When I heard that she had passed on last month, only French words came to my mind. Au Revoir, Irène! Merci for the many ways that you brought people together in this town.