JULY 16, 2026 – Today saw life’s end for the oldest oak in the woods of my wife’s extended family tree. “Aunt Mid,” as we called her, was in fact, Mildred Whitney Bridgeland, wife of Art Bridgeland, a first cousin of Beth’s mother. Art died a decade ago. “Aunt Mid” died at 97. She “landed” about as smoothly as a person could wish to make life’s final glide onto the runway: no pain; in her sleep. She’d been enjoying life very independently and in full command of her faculties until a recent fall, precipitated or followed by, strokes that put her on final approach.
We last saw “Aunt Mid” five years ago at her assisted living facility in northern Illinois, not far from where she’d lived her entire life—except for extensive world travels after Art retired from farming and Mid, from teaching second grade. At 92, she was as sharp as I’d ever seen her.
As much a shirt-tail relative to her as she was to me, I was always happy to see her and Art at family reunions. In my mind, they were the salt of the earth: genuine, dedicated, hard-working, caring about others, and every bit as interest-ed in people as Art and Mid themselves were interesting—by way of their innate smarts, experience, curiosity, and interaction with the world. Their four kids followed suit—as did their numerous grandchildren. Make that “five” kids, if you include the AFS daughter from New Zealand.
What strikes me about Art and Mid is how much they contributed to the heart and soul of their local farming community; how as teacher and food producer and as civic volunteers, they were unsung heroes of the better side of America. They did not seek fame or fortune, celebrity or power over others. They simply conducted their lives consistent with their values and never squandered their most important commodity: time. Most important, they genuinely cared about needs beyond their own.
People such as Art and Mid don’t get invited to the White House or to the State of the Union Speech; they don’t gain celebrity by making a billion bucks—or giving a million of it away. They’re not the sort that trash talk the “other” among us, nor the type who tolerate a national leader who does. They’re Americans who are decent, civil, and dedicated to making the world a better place—and bolstering the efforts of others who are hoeing life’s row. For in the end, just as occurred in the much-blessed lives of “Aunt Mid” and “Uncle Art,” society as a whole reaps what it sows.
In the scheme of things, “Aunt Mid” and I were mere cameos in each other’s lives. But I know with certainty that she was a central character in the lives of many. Beth remembers with fondness her overnight stays out at the Bridgeland farm and “going out to Art and Mid’s for corn-fritters.” Amidst all the hard work of running a farm, Mid knew how to make visiting a farm fun for a “town kid.” In reminiscing about Mid, one of her grandsons recalled how when driving on a country road and rumbling over the series of warning ridges on the approach to an intersection, Mid joked, “Tickle my butt; tickle my butt; tickle my butt.” Just hearing about that made me laugh. It didn’t surprise me that “Aunt Mid” would say such a thing, and likewise, it’s not difficult to imagine her as a favorite second grade teacher. After all, she had a ready sense of humor—one that was still on easy display during our brief but memorable visit with her five years ago.
Beth was informed today by Art and Mid’s son, Alan Bridgeland, that his mother’s funereal proceedings will be held on August 8 at Middle Creek Presbyterian Church in their hometown of Winnebago, IL. Afterward, a luncheon will be held in the church basement. It promises to be a classic picnic, just as Mid had prescribed: hotdogs, baked beans, potato salad, chips, and . . . drum roll, drum roll . . . Hostess Twinkies. And who can fault her for leaving out farm fresh vegetables or apples from Art’s experimental orchard? After all, she lived to be 97 and right up to the end, was healthy enough to write a long daily newsletter to her extended brood. I’m a full subscriber to her apparent secret to old age. Meanwhile, serve up the Twinkies with three cheers to “Aunt Mid” and a life well lived!
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© 2026 by Eric Nilsson
