Matryoshka dolls, or Russian nesting dolls, are hollow wooden figures fitting one within the other, the smaller into the larger, until the largest holds all the smaller ones. A few weeks ago my daughter presented me with a set of Matryoshka dolls which she had painted herself, each doll representing a generation of women in my family. The largest doll was my grandmother, within her my mother, then myself, then my daughter Mary, and within Mary, the tiniest one—the one representing the little baby girl Mary was currently carrying literally inside herself.
As I gaze at these dolls now on my mantle, I think of the way each woman carried her child and then taught and modeled how to live. Every child is a part of the mother, and every mother forever holds the child within her heart. Each mother passes to her child that which she received from her own mother—a love of music, a knack for baking, or a great sense of fun.
In this particular line, each woman passed on values of hard work, love, and faith. But also, unusual for the earlier generations, each woman had advanced education, which she used to work outside the home throughout her life.
The largest doll represents my grandmother, Leah Holt, who was born in 1890 in the small Mormon village of Spanish Fork, Utah. At that time in Spanish Fork there was no public education beyond 8thgrade, which seemed like plenty for the needs of the little farming community. But Leah was not ready to be done with learning, and her father agreed to send her to Provo to attend Brigham Young Academy. Around 1903, Leah moved to Provo to earn a degree in stenography, with skills in shorthand, typing, and bookkeeping.
Later Leah put those skills to good use, first when she became one of the first lady missionaries for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, serving as secretary to the Southern States Mission president, Charles A. Callis, who presided over 250 missionaries in 10 states. Later still, when her young husband died suddenly, she worked as a bookkeeper to support her two little girls, and later on her widowed mother and her orphaned niece and nephew. She not only supported her family, she contributed to her town through her work. By the time she retired as city clerk at 70, she knew everyone in town, and everyone in town knew and loved her.
The next smaller doll represents my mother, also named Leah. Though money was tight during the Depression, my grandmother made every sacrifice to assure that her girls would go to college. They also made the trek to Provo to attend Brigham Young University. Through hard work and taking summer school, Mom managed to complete her bachelor’s degree in only three years, with a double major in English and music, certified to teach kindergarten through twelfth grade. My mom used her degree to teach a year before marriage, then, when her youngest child (me) entered school, Mom eagerly returned to work. She taught first grade from then until retirement. Some of my favorite memories are hearing the black marker squeak as Mom carefully printed charts for the next day’s lessons.
So, for me, the middle-sized Russian doll in the set, going to college and preparing for a career just seemed normal. I earned a Master’s degree in English, and while my first child was still an infant, I started teaching part-time at the university and continued to teach while raising five children, until I retired as full-time faculty.
Inside of the Russian doll representing me, you would find my daughter, Mary, who, having all her life watched her mother grade papers and plan lessons, also took education and a career as a given. She completed a PhD and took a job teaching at a university with her husband’s full support.
Now she has her own little daughter, the tiniest Matryoshka doll.
But I’ve come to think we need one more doll—one to hold my Grandmother doll and all the others within her, one that has influenced the entire line. I have wondered: why did Leah Holt’s farmer father, Samuel Holt, make the sacrifice to invest in educating his daughter, at a time when women were expected not to need an education, to do no more than marry, have children, and work in the home and on the farm?
I believe the answer lies with Samuel’s step-mother, Vigdis Bjornsdottir Holt. Samuel’s mother died when he was only 5, and in 1861 his father married Vigdis, a recent immigrant from Iceland. Before coming to Utah, Vigdis had journeyed from Iceland to Copenhagen to be trained as a physician and a midwife. Once settled in Spanish Fork, she served the medical needs of hundreds of families. Even after her marriage, Vigdis continued to practice medicine. Whenever called, she would mount her horse, with her medical bag strapped behind her, and ride off to help, often without pay. The townspeople lovingly called her Aunt Wickie, and she was so well respected that the local doctor would call her in to consult on difficult cases. She continued practicing until she was over 80.
I believe Samuel Holt saw in his step-mother the way education can prepare a woman to be not only an exemplary mother and homemaker, but also to serve others outside the home. That understanding led Samuel to support his young daughter Leah in getting advanced education, which led Leah to sacrifice so her daughter could attend university, which led my mother to support me in my advanced degrees, and led me to support my daughter in hers.
Which brings us back to that tiniest Matryoshka doll, who has now arrived, and whom I have nestled in my arms, wondering what lies in store for her. I feel the legacy of education, motherhood, and career-service will continue for her. After all, her name includes that of our original example, the beginning of our family legacy: Vigdis.
