Every summer when my brother and I were young, we’d spend a week at my grandparents’ house while mom and dad took a vacation. I never knew why it was that we couldn’t go along with them, but it was the deal we had and there wasn’t much to argue about.
We’d sit quietly in the car as mom drove us there.
Looking out the window at the pastures and dreading the week ahead. Not because we didn’t love our grandparents, we did, but more so it was being away from our parents, our own beds, and our friends.
(Side comment…Since my post was first published, I received a great comment from Jo at theinquisitivewriter she said this post reminded her of the song Franklin by Paramore – and I agree).
Our grandparents didn’t have much for a TV, or toys, or music, except for a small record player, and I had to bring my own records. They just had a small hobby farm and that kind of stuff to do. Even if we regretted going there, we always ended up having fun.
Their yard was huge with a long garden that grandparents worked at during the day.
I enjoyed weeks when strawberry picking matched up with our stay there. While our grandparents worked, my brother and I would figure out how to play together in the yard, chase kittens in the barn, feed the pigs, and call the cows in for hay. We learned how to smell and taste sweet clover without getting stung by the bees, and how to occupy ourselves by playing without all our familiar toys from home. We each brought our favorites along, though, and if it was raining we’d fight over them. I still have the doll that he ripped the head off of during a heated exchange. I was so sad…It’s on me though, I’m keeping it for the “I should fix this someday list.”
All those memories flooded back to me when we took a drive past my grandparent’s old place on Memorial Day. After we took a drive to the cemetery to visit Mom’s gravesite, I felt melancholy.
Mom’s ashes are buried next to her parents. Her second husband is buried next to his first wife in a town in southern Wisconsin, and my dad is still alive. I find all the ‘where does one get buried after they die’ thing hard to reconcile.
I’m reminded that we do figure that out eventually. As I walk around and see all the Ole and Lena gravesites with flowers and lichen on their stones, it’s a tradition to be buried and our loved ones who visit us there find some comfort in it. I remember my mom loving the view here and I’m sure she’d tell me she’s happy where her ashes are buried.
After the stroll through the graveyard, we got back in the car and passed by the family’s church.
My how much that has grown since I first went there as a child with my grandparents for a Lutefisk meal. To this day, I still haven’t eaten any of that stinky fish. Ewe. But my mom and grandparents loved it. Thankfully they always had lefse or bread and butter to eat along side of the fish, I never starved.
I was impressed that I still knew my way around the country roads. I didn’t drive them much after grandma passed away and my grandfather moved from the farm. I asked Mr. to drive by my grandparent’s old place just for old times sake. As we approached their house, the field leading up to it looked smaller than I remember.
The long driveway is still gravel.
The fields where we would toboggan on in the winter are still fields, no houses have been built there after all the years of housing development going on. I would’ve thought there would be some there by now.
All the fields surrounding that area are covered with houses. That’s when the memory of the old walks on the road with grandpa familiarity left me and it was just a road to town.
In town, many of the old places are still there, some now with different names, but the main roads are the same old names.
Mom and her family lived on South Broadway when she was young. Their old house is gone, a construction company turned into a parking lot or tennis court, for UW-Stout.
My mom loved the memories of her growing up time in Menomonie, WI. There is interesting history in buildings of Stout and in storefronts on the main drag through town.
My mom’s second husband went to college at Stout and mom bought him an embroidered picture of the buildings she was so fond of. We have the pictures hanging in our bar. Their rustic look fits, after all, Menomonie is a college “bar” kind of town.
As we approached the rounding curve heading out-of-town, I glanced at the lake.
We spent many days on that lake at the beach in summer. We’d watch the fireworks from this spot here. And we’d come back in the winter to ice fish on the frozen lake.
Aw…the place where I had my first root beer float.
It was a good day for a memory cruise through Menomonie, WI.
And, it added another moment for me to smile at the history that made me who I am today.
Post inspiration Cee’s Which Way Challenge
My hometown is a small single main street town, much like yours, in upstate NY. Other than a few renamed stores, not much ever changes each decade I pass through.
Donna
Aw, Donna, it sounds like you enjoy the memories of your hometown, too. Thank you for sharing your thoughts!
Never been to that part of Wisconsin, but I’ve been to enough parts that look like it. That’s Lutefisk Country, that close to Minnesota (I checked a map). I had a friend who grew up in Minneapolis, and he was always making jokes about lutefisk… just the description turns my stomach. I mean, lye is for making soap and clearing drains…
We used to visit my uncle, who had a hobby farm in Ohio. One year he grew green beans, and had the three of us and his daughter picking them. Forty pounds between us. Wonder what he did with all of them?
Yes, it is Lutefisk Country…and I agree with your friend, it’s a joke worthy topic. I’m always amazed at the people who enjoy it – but they also put a ton of melted butter on it…! That’s a lot of green beans, they’re good canned and pickled, you must’ve been out playing while the canning was happening! Thanks for sharing your memories with me!
Your memories of spending time at your grandparents’ house reminded me of mine. When I was very young, my sister and I spent summers at my grandparents’ country cottage. My sister and I played endless, creative games all day, every day. I believe I developed my imagination and became a writer based on the times I had in that house.
Aw, thank you for sharing your memories and thoughts. I do agree with you, endless moments in play has a lot to do with creativity and imagination. I wish that every child could have those opportunities. Your gifts of writing certainly shine through, so nice to hear of the roots behind the gifts!
Fun ways for this week. I used to live off I-25 (in Denver).
Thank you, Cee! Thanks for sharing the road you’ve traveled connected to the one I’ve been on too! Someday, I hope to get to Denver!
This post reminds me of a song by a band called Paramore called “Franklin” It’s about how the band can’t go back to their old town, and it’s very melancholy and nostalgic. I wouldn’t be able to go back to my old town without tearing up a little honestly. But, as you said, it makes us who we are today.
Jo, you’re right! I just listened to it on YouTube, and it is a great song, I’m going to link it to the post and give you credit! I also noticed they are on tour in Minneapolis on July 5th this year! Thank you for sharing your thoughts, I appreciate hearing from you!!
Oh my gosh!! Sorry, I am a die hard Paramore fan and I freaked out when I saw your comment. Love it when people share their music. Really glad you liked it.
Yes, I did enjoy listening to the song, and I’m happy to share the link to the band, to your blog, and to your connection of enjoying the band, too!
I still live in the city I was born in and where I grew up. A lot has changed but I guess it’s harder to see since I witnessed it all. Did you ever ask your parents where they went when they dropped you off at your grandparents’? Did they take an exotic vacation, or was it just a matter of enjoying some time by themselves? I have a friend whose parents sent him and his sister to a relative’s farm every summer. I think, like you, he missed hanging out with his fiends, but he will never forget the fun and unique experiences he had on the farm.
You’re right when you live where you grow up, you become used to all the changes. My husband and I live in his hometown about 20 miles from my hometown, and I see more that has changed in my old hometown than I see has changed than he sees has changed here, or at least that he talks about. I’m sure they probably told us, but our stories of what we did were their priority to hear about. Thank you for sharing your thoughts, I love hearing from you!
Wow … staying during the summer with the grandparents … this post caused a flood of memories. Of a time when maybe one family in a neighborhood had a television, and the neighbors would gather Saturday afternoon and watch a program. My grandparents were on the farm with a radio and when it got dark out, you went to bed or as in my case, I read Progressive Farmer magazines until lights out. Great post that really hit home. g
Aw, thanks, G – I appreciate hearing your memories and thoughts. I remember the lights out when it got dark rule when we stayed with my grandparents. I didn’t mind too much, I’m more of a morning person, so I likely fell asleep fast. My brother, not so much, and we shared the room there, so probably added to the fights in the rain. My grandfather listened to the Farm Report every morning – he must not have had the Progressive Farmer magazine? All good memories! Thanks for stopping by to share your thoughts, give Kat a hug from me!
Thank you for sharing your memory lane. It reminded me of the vacation I had from my Aunt’s farm. I hate it since my cousins bullied me endlessly.
You’re welcome…sorry it sparked not so fond memories of your childhood. Hopefully, those memories spark some lines in your poems though!
It’ okay, Shelley! They were bullying me because I was shy and silent. They made me strong 😉. Besides, I am their favorite cousin after all 🙂
I bet you are their best cousin! They are lucky to have you in their lives!
Awww! That’s so kind of you! I guess so since they want me with them during vacations.