Alden Lundquist, 95, of rural Beresford, SD died April 5, 2008 at home. Funeral services will be at 10:00 a.m. on Wednesday, April 9th at Dalesburg Baptist Church, rural Beresford. Visitation will be Tuesday at Wass Funeral Home in Beresford from 2:00-8:30 p.m. with the family present from 7:00-8:30 p.m. and a prayer service at 7:00 p.m. Alden B. Lundquist was born October 7, 1912 to Erik and Elizabeth (Meleen) Lundquist. He died April 5, 2008 at his home in rural Beresford at the age of 95 years, five months and 28 days. Alden attended school at Komstad and the School of Agriculture in Brookings, SD. He served honorably in the US Army during World War II. Alden was united in marriage October 10, 1948 with Joyce Carlson at Dalesburg Baptist Church. The couple farmed in Clay County until Alden was in his early 80s.Together they continued to live on the farm. He was a life member of Dalesburg Baptist Church where he held numerous positions of leadership over the years. Alden served on the Newdale school board for several years. Joyce and Alden traveled to Sweden in 1997 where they visited with extended family. Music was a big part of Aldens life; he sang in different quartets, the church choir and was in the Dalesburg Community Band in the 1930s. Alden is survived by his wife, Joyce; four children, James (Alicia) of Brentwood, TN, Janet (Art) Sieler of Huron, SD, Lois (Greg) Jones of Reeds, MO and Stephen of Boise, ID; one brother, Duane of Beresford; 13 grandchildren, four great-grandchildren and several nieces and nephews. His parents; two sisters, Berniece and Melvie; one brother, Kenneth and one grandson, Joshua Sieler preceded him in death. Tell me the landscape in which you live, and I will tell you who you are. I love this quotation because it defines so well the man we are honoring today. When I think about Alden Lundquist, I cannot picture him separated from the land . . . the land of his fathers, the South Dakota plains . . . the place where expansive nature offers a true experience of holiness. When my dad accepted the call to be the pastor of the Dalesburg Baptist Church, in 1962, we moved from northern Minnesota to the parsonage, just down the road in Dalesburg. It was the hottest, the most sweltering summer on record and the September day we arrived, it was a blazing 118 degrees. I was hot, miserable and lonesome for home. I didnt appreciate being transplanted to the plains of South Dakota, which I could clearly see was a land of little rain, few trees, dry, hot suffocating summers and harsh, uncompromising, winters of brutal cold. I was a girl who grew up in the trees. I depended upon the forest in our backyard, the hills and streams, to escape the pressures of life as a ministers kid. The supportive nature of those trees helped me to adjust to the transparent aspect of our lives as a ministers family, the glass house in which we lived. I wondered how my roots would ever take hold in the parched prairie of South Dakota. I felt like a foreigner in a strange and awkward land. I wondered why anyone would choose to live their life on the plains. The vacant horizon, the innumerable acres of corn, soybeans and grass were seemingly endless. This parched land seemed to be always desperate for rain. It was a land of intense extremes. To my mind it seemed like a place that God, had, perhaps, forgotten. As we drove into the parking lot on the evening of our familys official welcome to the church, I emerged from our hot, dusty station wagon longing for the cool, lush, green of the hills and valleys of my former home. My feelings were awash with homesickness as I gazed up at the sky. It was a clear night and the sky was blazing with thousands and thousands of stars. Suddenly, I felt as though I was standing in the center of the Earth; I was completely amazed that I could see the horizon, in every direction. The warm glow of small towns in the distance and the twinkling of farm lights beckoned to me like ships in the night. At that moment, I thought, perhaps, I needed to change my idea regarding the qualifying features of a beautiful landscape. However, since I was still a child, my heart resisted. As the months went by, my family became part of the Lundquist family. My brothers and I spent many happy hours on the Lundquist farm, playing with Jim, Janet, Lois and Steve; sometimes, we journeyed just a bit down the road, to visit Grandma Lizzie, who baked the very best Swedish cookies; and, of course, Duane and our parents, sipped coffee, lovingly made by Aunt Melvie. It was during those times that I could see the strong connection between the Lundquist family and the land, their homestead, going back several generations. It was a new concept for a girl who grew up without the experiential understanding of ancestral roots. The more time we spent with the Lundquists, the more I thought about Alden as a gentleman farmer, a deeply intelligent and contemplative man. A man of few words. When he wasnt out in the field or doing chores, he had his nose contentedly in a book or newspaper, while sitting in his favorite place on the couch in their big, farm kitchen. I also learned more about him one day, when Janet, Lois and I were exploring in their attic. We discovered a box of letters, written to his sweetheart, Joyce. He was writing from the battlefields of Europe, during World War II. I wondered what made Alden return to this land. How was it that this land drove so many people away and yet, others, like Alden, stayed and survived' How do the people on the plains hold on to hope year after year' The hope that the droughts will end, that the searing, hot winds wont parch their fields or that their crops will not be devastated by hail' One day Alden told me how difficult it was for him to leave the farm. He was uncomfortable when he traveled to distant places. I feel suffocated by hills, valleys and trees. Here, he explained, on the prairie, a man can breathe. He spoke so reverently it made me realize that this land was his spiritual geography. The plains were an essential part of who he was. The land of the prairie was his church just as surely as is the sanctuary where he rests today. As time passed, I began to see the landscape through Aldens eyes. I grew to love the tiny township of Dalesburg. As I rode my bicycle to and from our country school, I surmised that, with the wind blowing, I could visualize the crops moving like waves in a vast ocean. I also discovered that despite this apparently empty landscape, vibrant life flourished just beneath the surface. Pheasants, quail, prairie dogs, and rabbits came to life, every evening at dusk. I learned to appreciate the solitude and quiet apart from life in the city. I found the time to go deep within myself for inspiration. This land became a divine crucible for me. I even grew to love the color brown -- as well as green. In time, I also came to believe, that what made Alden and Joyce and all the good- and kind-hearted people I came to know and love in this remarkable church -- so special is due in some measure to the effect of the profound spirit of this land. Living on the plains nudges us into a life dependent upon God, our family, friends and neighbors. To ensure survival, we must embrace the values of faith, hope and love. Throughout the many years, our families have remained connected. Alden and Joyce have always felt like my surrogate parents. They have been there for me during my darkest days -- and when I mourned the loss of my parents. For all of these years, they have tenderly cared for the grave of my mother and more recently, for the grave of my father, both of whom are resting just outside the sanctuary walls. As I write this, my heart is breaking. I am looking out my window, and I see the San Gabriel Mountains that surround me in the foothills of Los Angeles. And, yes, Alden, you are so right; I too, find it hard to breathe. My love and prayers go out to Joyce, the love of his life, and his children, grandchildren, great grandchildren, and his brother, Duane. He loved them all so very much. Someone once said, A good heart -- a heart like the earth -- which drinks up the rain that falls on it -- yields a rich harvest. Today our beloved Alden will be returned to the earth, the land he loves. However, as people of faith, we know his indomitable spirit lives on and we will be reunited with him again. Thank you, Alden, for opening the eyes of a young girl to the richness of life on the South Dakota prairie. Thank you for your good heart, your kindness and your abiding values in faith, hope and love. But, most of all, thank you for your sacred devotion to the land, church, and family and friends -- your life has, indeed, yielded a rich harvest. My love always, Sheryl Samuelson Wirt