Naomi Holm

Born in 1896 to Christian N Holm and Petrina Jacobsen. Sister of John Holm, Mark Holm, Paul Holm, Amanda Holm, Mary Holm Stone, Vera Holm, Lydia Holm, Rebecca Holm and Esther (Bissie) Holm. Passed away in 1928 at age 32.

m Arthur Hogan

children Myrna Hogan, Sheila Hogan McKay and J Barton Hogan.

Born at Arlington SD, Naomi S Holm Hogan completed school to grade 10. According the the 1900 US Census, around age 11 she lived in Kingsbury, SD with her sister Mary Holm Stone and Mary's husband Andrew Stone, who listed his profession as "telephone business."

Before her marriage, she worked as a drygoods "sales lady" in Sioux Falls SD, living with her sisters Mary Holm Stone and Lydia Holm, and cousin Christine Nelson.

In 1924-1925, she lived with Arthur Hogan, her children Mryna (3) and Bart (1), and sister Vera (19) in Sioux City Iowa in a house they rented for 25 dollars a month. In the 1925 Iowa State Census, Arthur and Naomi listed their religion as "Protestant."

From "Beginnings" by Sheila Hogan McKay: "Naomi came from a large family who had emigrated here from Denmark and homesteaded in the midwest . . . Naomi stayed with Mark and his family for a short time on their farm near Cresbard, she had been diagnosed with TB and my dad thought she would get the rest and sunshine she was supposed to have on that farm, but apparently they didn't understand the nature of her illness, and wanted her to help around the house, cleaning and cooking, etc. So she left there and went into a TB Sanitarium, where she died . . . I was 18 months old when Naomi died, Bart was four and Myrna was six."

From Lillias Freeman-Hogan, about her father J Barton Hogan's earliest memory: He thought long and hard, and then said: "I remember planting bulbs in the spring with Aunt Agnes. I remember kneeling beside her by the flowerbed, digging in the nice black dirt. I remember her hands digging the the dirt, long slender hands...." Dad's voice began to trail off a bit then. And then he said, with a wondering tone in his voice, "They weren't Aunt Agnes's hands. They were my mother's hands.... I assumed it was Aunt Agnes, but she didn't have beautiful hands like that. My mother did...." And then Dad got up from his favorite chair and wandered slowly through the house looking for Mom and calling, in the same tone of amazement and wonder, "Betty? Betty? I remember my mother!" I think Dad had been maybe about five years old when his mother died, and Aunt Agnes had been his caregiver for a few years already by that time.