July • 2009 • NEWSLETTER

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Dear ##firstname[Friend]##,

If you were lucky, summer was a time to pack up the family to visit wider vistas. In my growing-up years, that meant a cabin rental at crystal-clear Post Lake near Elcho, Wisconsin, where I learned to swim.

My memories are rife with daily sunburns, meager fishing off the pier, smelly outhouses and my first encounters with in-the-cabin bats. But it also meant great food, daylong swimming and laughing till I cried listening to my relatives’ funny tales and terrible jokes. They didn't always know we kids were still awake during many late-night card games.

This month, we offer stories of summer travels and delightful memories. As always, feel free to forward our newsletter on to a friend or family member. If this newsletter was forwarded to you and you'd like a monthly copy of your own, just use this link to sign up yourself. For now, enjoy heading into the past.

—John Burlingham at Reminisce

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In this issue:

• Are We in Kansas Yet?
• Patriotic and Flowery Greetings
• Train Trip's Sensations Stayed With Him
• Hide-and-Go-Seek Had Hidden Homecoming
• Poem: Cleaning Out the Barn
• Time Capsule Trivia
• A Thought to Remember

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Are We in Kansas Yet?

By Jennifer Stark Fry
Wichita, Kansas

"Whoopee! We made it! We’re in Kansas!"

Cheers erupted from the family station wagon as we crossed the Kansas state line. Hurriedly, we stashed our homemade “Kansas or Bust” signs under the seats and craned forward in anticipation of our arrival.

Perhaps a fraction of our enthusiasm hailed from the knowledge that our arrival meant freedom from Mom and Dad’s Eddy Arnold 8-track tape. And in turn, they were no longer subjected to Janis Joplin or the Jackson Five…at least, not until the return trip.

This celebratory cheer—part of our annual tradition each summer—ushered in our family vacations to Kansas. Since Dad’s job required frequent coast-to-coast moves, we always thought of Kansas as home, for both sets of grandparents resided there, just blocks apart from each other.

More specifically, Kansas, in our minds as children, meant food. “What’s for dinner, Grandma?” we’d ask, admittedly while calling each one to make our menu selections for the day.

Both of my grandfathers tended to bountiful gardens. Their plots of land offered sweet corn, tomatoes, sweet peas, potatoes and juicy watermelons, all of which my grandmothers masterfully incorporated into their heavenly meals. The thought of Grandma’s crispy fried chicken made our mouths water, as did Grandpa’s whipped potatoes topped with rich, creamy gravy.

After dinner, the clatter of dishes reverberated throughout the kitchen as we scrambled to clear the table, for dessert often brought the promise of homemade, tart cherry pie with a flaky crust, or sometimes homemade ice cream. No wonder our mouths began to salivate as we crossed the state line!

However, not everything revolved around the dinner table. Occasionally, after a gentle rain, we dug for worms in the soft ground. After we sufficiently covered the bottom of the battered metal bucket with worms, we were off to the fishing hole with a picnic lunch for the day. We threaded our worms on the hooks as we sat on shady creek banks, then cast our lines in the water and patiently waited for a tug.

“I’ve got one!” one of us would cry as we all sprang into action, yanking the pole sharply to set the hook.

Of course, each visit always brought its share of storytelling, too. We practically pestered our grandparents for stories about their unbelievable lives before the advent of the automobile—when people walked miles to the corner grocery store for a soda pop, or when they danced in their living rooms to violin music.

Swimming, especially in the local pool, was essential to us back then. It was there we mustered the courage to climb the ladder to the slide. Upon making the plunge, we compared the size of our splashes in the water.

After swimming away most of the afternoon, we walked the 12 blocks home barefoot, jumping from sizzling pavement to grassy lawns. When we arrived home, drowsy and relaxed from the summer heat, we curled up on the couches near the air conditioner or stretched out in the hammock to read the rest of the afternoon away.

I devoured countless Nancy Drew mysteries as well as the Little House on the Prairie series. I raided my grandparents’ bookshelves for historical fiction—tales of pioneers on the prairie. I ventured into the beckoning book stacks at the city library and came home with towers of titles to while away the afternoon. Creative fun was there for the taking, limited only to your imagination.

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Patriotic and Flowery Greetings

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Shirley Zuelsdorff
Merrill, Wisconsin

Among the postcards belonging to my husband’s mother’s oldest sister, Elsie, was a patriotic one of a World War I barracks, along with three flowery birthday greetings. At 17 years of age, she left home and worked as a housekeeper in various cities, but mostly in the Merrill, Wisconsin area.

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Train Trip's Sensations Stayed With Him

By Doug Ronsberg
Oakdale, Minnesota

In the summer of 1964, I was to spend 2 weeks in Wisconsin with my grandparents. I was 9 years old, a kid transplanted from the farm to a small town, waiting to depart by train from Fargo, North Dakota.

I remember hearing the whistle and feeling the earth-quaking rumble of the approaching train pulling into the station. And there she was: The Great Northern Empire Builder had come to an impatient rest.

Upon seeing it for the first time, I was amazed that something as familiar as this train—black with bold orange and yellow stripes—could look so different up close. The heavy wheels and carriage trucks were massive, and the odors of creosote, oil and grease filled the air.

As I exchanged hugs with my family, my apprehension increased. I was afraid of strangers. As a matter of fact, I hadn’t met any strangers before in my life.

Meeting us was a porter, whose kind and knowing eyes showed that he understood my fear. He spoke with my parents briefly, assuring them that he’d look after me and see that I was escorted to the bus at the St. Paul train station. He then turned, gave me a smile and introduced himself as James.

Up the steps I went, guided by my new friend through the twisting passageways at the end of the car. The floor was alive, humming and pulsing with vibrations from below. James ushered me to a seat so I could wave to my parents, brothers and sisters.

When the train began to move, I noticed a slight change in the humming, followed by a clunky chain reaction as the train slowly lurched to life and rolled forward. It seemed that I sat still, my family and the town magically moving away. It took a moment for my mind to come to grips with this unexpected sensation.

The coach was not as lively as we accelerated. From inside the car, the train’s whistle sounded more urgent than the lonesome, mournful wail across the prairie that I was used to hearing. It wasn’t long before the rhythmic clicks of the wheels created a soothing cadence as we traveled.

James struck up a conversation as if we were old friends. He pulled out a dog-eared photo of his family as he described them to me. He would be gone from his family for a week or more as the Empire Builder charged over the Rockies and across the northern plains from Seattle to Chicago and back.

He also told me all about his job and travels, of the majestic Rocky Mountains and the beautiful Pacific Ocean, the endless blue sky in Montana and Chicago’s sparkling city lights. Although I’d been afraid of strangers, listening to him speak in his Southern dialect was an exhilarating experience.

When James asked me if I wanted to walk with him through the train, I couldn’t resist. I found the sensation of walking on the gently swaying train similar to riding a hayrack through the meadows while bailing hay. As we went through the cars, James gave me a lesson about each one, stopping to show me a sleeper car and the brand-new VistaDome.

As the small farms and little towns flew by in a blur, James got up to tend to the other stops along the way in Fergus Falls, Evansville, Sauk Centre and St. Cloud.

Before I knew it, we arrived at the Union Depot in St. Paul. James walked with me through the cavernous building, and we stopped to marvel at the William Crooks, a beautiful, old steam locomotive on display inside. Unfortunately, we couldn’t look long, as I had a bus to Eau Claire to catch.

Through all of these years, I am still grateful for James. As my ambassador for the grand Empire Builder, he settled a young boy’s fears and made my trip an adventure.

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Hide-and-Go-Seek Had Hidden Homecoming

By Virginia Duke
Billings, Montana

For Sunday dinner, my mom would often invite lots of friends over. Once home from church, we’d start preparing the food. Mom fried the chicken while I sliced watermelon harvested from Dad’s garden.

Family by family, people would start arriving, and soon the yard would be full of running, screaming kids.

One Sunday, Mom released me from my kitchen duties so I could run out and join a rowdy game of tag.

The clanging of a metal bell summoned everyone beneath our large oak. Mom laid out the fried chicken, egg salad and watermelon in a delicious display. I sat with my friends and my parents, listening to their interesting conversations about the war in the Pacific. It was disturbing and reminded me that my brother Charles was gone.

The boys would often challenge the girls to a game of hide-and-go-seek. On this day, a boy named Ben bet me that if he beat me, I would have to give him a kiss. I knew of the perfect hiding place, and I knew he would never find me there.

I slipped into an outhouse and shut the door behind me. I squatted down on the floor so I could peep out the hole of the door and watch for Ben.

It began to get hot and smelly inside my hiding spot, and it sure was taking a long time for Ben to find everyone. I wanted to get out, but I couldn’t let him win.

Suddenly, through the cracks of the walls, I saw movement on the road. A lone figure was walking down the dusty road toward the house. Each footfall created a puff of dust, and I could tell from the shuffles that the person was tired.

Slowly, the figure came closer. I forgot all about the game and stared at the person. It looked like a soldier in uniform, and the uniform looked a lot like the one Charles tried on for me.

The man came closer and I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was my brother Charles back from the war. Ben began shouting that I couldn’t forfeit the game, but I didn’t care. I barreled into my brother’s arms, laughing and crying.

I wanted to take him straight to Mom and Dad, but he stopped me and said, “Now hold on a minute, little lady. I have something for you that won’t wait.”

“You bought me a present?” I asked. But it wasn’t just any present. This was a beautiful porcelain baby doll straight from Paris, France.

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Cleaning out the Barn

By Marilyn Kreger
Hanover, Kansas

In memory of Uncle Stan Orr, who unfailingly abided our mischief on his farm in Milford, Michigan.

I’d looked forward to the labor,
Hours alone to slowly savor,
Reminisce inside the barn
On all remaining of the farm.

No one else would venture there,
Into the silent, cobwebbed air,
To sift through cartons thick with dust
And trunk locks overlaid with rust,
Broken cups bereft of saucers
Crumbling script by long-dead authors.

Every time I bent to look
Or lift a molding tattered book,
Dust motes danced about my head,
And thoughts persisted of the dead.

Here the spirits off old sows
And long-forgotten gentle cows
Are lit by sun-bright rays on walls
Of hoary, weathered empty stalls,
Their troughs licked bare of ancient slops,
Where horses dreamed of unsown crops.

I wonder if they’re waiting still
On the far side of the hill,
Lowing soft, unmilked, unfed,
Old connections with the dead?

All the milk-fed cats whose kittens
Swept my calves like silken mittens,
Swirled about inside my head;
Seemed to me they weren’t so dead.

Was that clucking in the gloom
Of the hayloft’s upper room?
Did one dare disturb the rest
Of shadow hens upon the nest?

I stood bound by all the wraiths,
Had I trespassed their resting place?

I breathed alfalfa-scented air,
Then one last time I bid them fair,
Tiptoed across the oaken floor
And softly closed the old barn door.

Time Capsule Trivia

From the decades spanning the 1920s to the 1960s, try to guess what year these historic events took place. Click the link below for the answer, but no peeking!

1. While the Soviet Union and China sign a 30-year treaty, U.S. President Harry S. Truman encourages the Atomic Energy Commission to go ahead and develop a hydrogen bomb.

2. After North Korea invades South Korea, U.S. and United Nations troops, under the command of General Douglas MacArthur, are sent to aid South Korea.

3. Pollster George Gallup says that six out of 10 Americans have now seen a television program, and this year marks the first time that TV’s ratings match radio ratings. Says Boston University President Daniel Marsh, “If the television craze continues with the present level of programs, we are destined to have a nation of morons.”

4. The first-ever National Basketball Association championship is won by the Minneapolis Lakers, led by center George Mikan, over the Syracuse Nationals.

5. Walt Disney’s latest animated fairy tale, Cinderella, enthralls moviegoers around the country. Spencer Tracy is the Father of the Bride, with the betrothed daughter played by Elizabeth Taylor, and another top film is The Asphalt Jungle, a realistic look at criminals planning a jewel heist.

Click here for the answer to Time Capsule Trivia.

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A Thought to Remember

Rudeness is a weak person’s imitation of strength.

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