"Death ends a life, not a relationship."
― Mitch Albom
Joanne Louise Kellerman was born in Pittsville, Wisconsin, on January 30th, 1942. True to her roots—which I traced back through 18th-century Döllnitz, Germany, and then 16th-century Holland—she was a quintessential farm girl. The youngest of five children, she was preceded in death by three of her siblings and is survived by her brother, Martin, of Nekoosa, Wisconsin.
Left to right: Martha, Joanne, Mary, Edwin (my grandfather), William, and Martin.
Here's the house, part of a farmstead a few miles east of Pittsville ...
My mom's older family members, the Kellermans, threshing grain ...
Taken back in 1955, this next photo shows my mom, their family dog, and my Uncle Bill. Bill took over running the farm following Edwin's passing ...
One of the scariest stories my mom ever told me was how a tornado took out most of their farm—their house endured, but shifted on its foundation. The way my mom would tell the story, it reminded me of the tornado scene from The Wizard of Oz.
They were all working in the fields when heavy, dark clouds loomed in the southwestern sky. Edwin called for everyone to start heading back to the house. As the storm drew nearer, it was clear it was going to be a bad one.
As the winds intensified, Edwin stayed behind to secure the barn and milk house. From the porch, the family shouted for him to hurry. My mom recalled watching my grandfather fight his way toward the house—clutching his hat and straining against the roaring wind.
Terrified, my mom fled the porch for the safety of the kitchen basement door. Just as a large pine branch shattered a window, sending glass and debris flying into the room, she reached for the doorknob and heard one of her brothers yell, "The barn is down!"
As the winds intensified, Edwin stayed behind to secure the barn and milk house. From the porch, the family shouted for him to hurry. My mom recalled watching my grandfather fight his way toward the house—clutching his hat and straining against the roaring wind.
Terrified, my mom fled the porch for the safety of the kitchen basement door. Just as a large pine branch shattered a window, sending glass and debris flying into the room, she reached for the doorknob and heard one of her brothers yell, "The barn is down!"
Everyone survived, but their cattle did not.
Though they rebuilt the farm, tragedy struck the barn once more when a lightning strike burned it to the ground.
When William passed away in 2006, the farm was sold, torn down, and converted into cropland—a loss that broke my mom's heart. I spent a good part of my childhood there during summers. In fact, it was the very place my brother and I discovered our first tiger beetles. For us, the Kellerman farm was always a place of adventure and discovery.
My mom, perhaps contemplating her move to Madison ...
Where she eventually met my father and got married ...
She truly was a gorgeous bride!
My mom's life, like anyone's, took a few unexpected turns. Before she married my father, she had my older brother, Anthony, whose biological father moved out west to escape responsibility. Families aren't always as straightforward as they might appear in old photographs, and those early chapters of her life helped shape the family I grew up in. Without her letting me use my grandfather's pocket telescope when I was a kid, perhaps I wouldn't have gotten into astronomy and then birding. Had Anthony not left me money when he died in 1997, I might never have bought the nice astronomical telescope that helped me land my job at Eagle Optics.
Here they both are on a happier day ...
There was nothing my mom loved more than her children. She never recovered from Anthony's death—a loss that struck me like a cold slap in the face as well.
I'm tempted to write about how poorly my two sisters handled my mom's decline, but perhaps I'll save that for another time. This blog isn't about them—and you'll note that it never has been. They deserve no space here. Having said that, there's no denying how profoundly Joanne and Anthony influenced my life, helping shape both my vocation and my avocation. It's been a strange path, but one that ultimately led to a profound appreciation of the natural realm.
All images © 2026 Mike McDowell
