Monday, August 24, 2009

August 20-23: My trip to San Antonio, Texas

NOTE: Click on any picture to enlarge it.Under a statue of Toribio Losoya: Andrew, Michael, Caitlin, JD, Bryan, and Carrie
In front of the statue of
Toribio Losoya: Andrew, Michael, Caitlin, JD, Bryan, and Carrie.

Last Thursday, I flew to San Antonio to visit my ex-daughter-in-law Carrie and her family—husband Richard Rosales, and their five kids: Bryan and Caitlin (my son Sean’s son and daughter), Andrew (Richard’s son by a previous marriage), and JD and Michael, Carrie and Richard’s kids together. I’d planned to stay at a motel originally, but Carrie insisted I stay with them. How cool is that?!

Carrie and all five kids met me inside the airport. I had seen recent pictures of Bryan and Caitlin, so I knew they’d grown, and boy! had they. I was amazed at how tall they were. Bryan is taller than I am now, and Caitlin almost so. Andrew, too, was a lot taller than the last time I’d seen him. As for Carrie, she looked "incredibly thin and young" to be the mother of five (quoting here from a script she supplied me, but she needn't have bothered--I would have noticed that by myself).

JD and Mikey were hesitant to get too close to me even after they watched their mama hug me. I thought that would do the trick, but it would take longer to win them over, and JD never quite took to me like Mikey did.

I’d checked on San Antonio’s forecast before I left Albuquerque and learned that the high temperature for Thursday was supposed to be 103 degrees with a lot of humidity. So I was prepared for the heat. Then on the short trip from the airport to their house, Carrie told me the bad news: the air conditioning in the house wasn’t working. She had a call in to get it repaired but hadn’t actually talked to someone yet, so she wasn’t sure when it would be fixed. If need be, she said, we would go to a mall and hang out to get out of the heat.

Actually, I didn’t find it too hot, sitting on the couch with a fan going and drinking ice water. But Carrie was up and down, fetching and doing and picking up and checking the thermostat, which reached 90 degrees—the highest it could go—so she Andrew and Caitlinfelt the heat more than I did. At one point, she got someone on the phone—not the person she actually needed to speak to, though—and explained that the house was unbearably hot for her young children and an “elderly family member” who was visiting. I threatened to spank her at that point, but I was willing to bear the label if it meant getting the air conditioning fixed sooner.

In mid afternoon, Carrie took Bryan, Caitlin, Andrew, and me to a bowling alley, Caitlin and Bryanwhere the kids played a couple of games. I refrained, out of concern for their safety. My grown children remember the time I went bowling with them when they were young: During one of my turns, I launched the ball backwards instead of forward, nearly hitting them.

After bowling, we returned to the house, which was still hot. Happily, the little kids have a kiddy pool in the backyard, so we went outside and sat with our feet in Me, Caitlin, and JD in the hammockthe pool, which worked well to cool us off. I enjoyed watching the kids play and observing how well the older kids took care of and played with the little ones.
Carrie made chicken-salad sandwiches for supper—which didn’t require turning on any heat to prepare—and we ate them outside where it was slightly cooler. Here's a photo of Caitlin, JD, and me in the hammock.

Then, when Richard got home, he made a few phone calls and got quick action on getting the air conditioner fixed. Within an hour, a repairman arrived and fixed the problem. It would take several hours for the house to entirely cool down, so we went to bed while it was still plenty warm. But Carrie had put a big fan in Caitlin’s room, where I would sleep, and there’s also an overhead fan in the room, so after I took a cool shower, I pointed the big fan directly on me and fell asleep quickly. At about 4:00 in the morning, the cold air woke me up briefly. I pulled the covers over me and fell back to sleep.

Bryan and Andrew checking out JD's groceriesOn Friday, we—Carrie, the kids, and I—went downtown to visit the Children’s Museum , eat at the Buckhorn Café, walk along the River Walk, and visit the Alamo.

The Children’s Museum was fun for me as well as the kids. It’s not as big as Explora in Albuquerque, but it has some really neat stuff for kids to do. The biggest hit was the kids-sized grocery Caitlin checking out Mikey's groceriesstore, which had little shopping carts and shelves stocked with “food” items and the produce section full of plastic vegetables. Mikey and JD whisked around the aisles filling their carts—helped by the older kids—and then the older ones checked them out at the check-out counters complete with bar-code readers.
Shopping in the Kid's Grocery Store
The kids also got to “drive” a front-end loader and sit in the cockpit of a small replica of a passenger plane. Caitlin stopped to take a quick shower at an exhibit that teaches kids how to conserve water.Caitlin taking a shower while conserving water

After all that play, we were hungry, so we went across the street to the Buckhorn Saloon and Café, housed in the Texas Ranger Museum. The kids loved the stuffed animal displays, some of them fake, most of them real. While we ate—Carrie and the kids had fried catfish, and I had barbecued chicken—we listened to old-timey melodies playing on a cool player piano. One of the songs I recognized: “Waltz Around Texas (With You in My Arms).”
Eating at the Buckhorn Saloon
Oldtimer, JD, and Caitlin
JD and Caitlin next to a stuffed lion
Bryan with a fantastic deer with moose antlers in the background










After lunch, we took a stroll on the River Walk. It’s as pleasant as I had been led to expect: boats of tourists cruised up and down the canal, and restaurants and bars lined the walkways on both sides of the waterway. Refrigerated On the River Walkair wafting from these establishments—and “greeters” standing outside them—tried to lure us in for a meal or a margarita, but our bellies were full, so we walked on to take in the sights. When we reached the end of the walk, we turned back and then headed toward Caitlin on the River Walkthe Alamo.
Bryan and Carrie on the River Walk



I have been wanting to visit the Alamo ever since I lived in Xalapa, Veracruz, México, from August 2007 to August 2008 as a participant in the Fulbright Teacher Exchange Program. While there, I twice visited the hacienda of General Santa Anna—the Mexican general whose army defeated the “Texians” at the famous battle of the Alamo—outside of Xalapa (spelled Jalapa by the Spanish). El Lencero is the name of his hacienda, which he bought in 1842. Santa Anna, who also served as Mexico’s president many times, was actually born in Xalapa.
Caitlin, JD, Andrew, Bryan pushing Mikey, and Carrie at the entrance to the Alamo
The sign outside the entrance to the Alamo asks men to remove their hats and everyone to talk quietly as they enter what is considered a shrine. The architecture of the building—the rounded ceilings, doorways, and windows and the limestone construction—brought back memories of the Spanish fort-turned-prison, San Juan de Ulua in the port of Veracruz, that had so impressed me when I toured it.

The AlamoWe made a quick tour of the Alamo’s main building, but we couldn’t stay long with little kids. Besides, taking photos wasn't permitted inside, so that cut down on our time there as well. I was content to see the Alamo, knowing I could find out more about it online later. Also, I know I can come back again and spend more time there. I’ve made a mental note to take a boat tour along the River Walk next time as well. I’m sure the kids would love it, too.

On the way home, JD and Mikey fell asleep in their car seats, so we nixed the plan to stop at an ice cream shop, but we did pick up ice cream sundaes to go. All in all, it was an enjoyable day.

On Saturday, I slept until 11:00 in the morning! Caitlin and I had stayed up late the night before, playing a game she likes to play—she was the doctor’s receptionist and I was the patient required to present all kinds of paperwork in order to make an appointment. Then we read our respective books: she, Inkheart, and I, a mindless detective novel about thefts in an art museum. I woke to the smell of bacon and coffee and found Carrie playing short-order cook for her brood and Richard, who has weekends off. I had what he had: a grilled ciabatta sandwich with egg, bacon, cheese, and Cholula hot sauce. Num!

That afternoon, the three oldest kids and I went to Six Flags—their choice—while Carrie, Richard, and the two littlest kids went back to the Children’s Museum and the Buckhorn Saloon and Café, which Carrie later reported was a LOT busier on Saturday than the previous day had been.

Do you see Bryan and Andrew on the Boomerang?It was hot at Six Flags as Caitlin and I—both chickens—waited half an hour or so for Bryan and Andrew to ride the Boomerang, described on the website this way: “At nearly 20 stories high, the Boomerang super-coaster sends riders through multiple loops and a corkscrew — and then does it all again, backwards.” Six Flags is great, but it clearly needs a lot more shade.

Next, all four of us rode the Log Roll (or whatever it’s called), which is like a small roller coaster only the cars look like hollowed-out logs that climb higher and higher heights and then zoom down and splash into the water below. That was my cup of tea—just enough excitement but not too much, and a cooling splash now and then.

The boys wanted to go on another scary ride, so Caitlin and I followed them as far as the merry-go-round, which we planned to ride. A few minutes later, the boys returned deflated; the ride they’d wanted to take was closed for the day. So Andrew prevailed on Bryan to ride the merry-go-round—O ignominy! How will they live it down now that I’ve made this fact public?

By this time, we were very hot—time to find our way to the Six Flags Water Park. Caitlin and I spent most of our time in the Wave Pool while the boys went on a couple of the wilder water rides. But before leaving, we all got into the Lazy River with inner tubes and went around several times. It was heaven: cool and relaxing even though it was pretty packed with people. Sorry, I failed to get any photo of the kids and me in our swimsuits... :-)

I thought I’d be exhausted when we left Six Flags, but I still had some energy left, so after supper, Bryan, Caitlin, Andrew, and I went to the movie, “District 9,” nothing I would have gone to see if it weren’t the kids’ choice, but I ended up enjoying it a lot. Talk about action flick! It was almost non-stop shooting, with lots of blood, guts, and gore, but it had humor, too, and insight into the nature and treatment of “the other” that redeemed it for me.

Photo taken just before I left San AntonioSunday morning: Carrie woke me at 9:00 so that I could get myself ready and packed to be at the airport at 11:00. Some coffee, some cereal, some last goodbyes, a last photo, and then Carrie drove me to the airport for the trip home.

I had a great time seeing a lot of places and doing a lot of fun things, but the best part was spending time with Bryan and Caitlin, Andrew, JD, Mikey, and Carrie and Richard.

And that's what I did on my summer vacation!

Friday, August 21, 2009

August 17, 2009: Our second day in Clayton

In the early afternoon on Monday, Kate took us on a trip up and down Memory Lane. First, she drove us to the house on Cherry Street where we lived when we first moved Our house on Cherry Street in Clayton, NMto Clayton. The house is located across from the Clayton High School Stadium.Clayton High School Stadium and site of the ill-fated school-bus barn

Our house on Maple Street in Clayton, NMNext, Katie drove us to the house on Maple Street where we moved a year later. This sight of this house conjures up memories for me—of my senior year, of my graduation and my present from the parish priest of St. Francis Xavier Church at the time, Father Robert Hammond: a gallon of altar wine that Julaine Hamilton and I drank part of and which turned me off wine for at least a decade. I left home to go to UNM while my family lived in this house, and I got married for the first time and had a small Another view of our house on Maple Streetreception in this house. Also, my son Shane was born while my family lived in this house.

Next, Katie drove us out to Clayton Lake, and Mom remembered the many times when Dee Watters, who had taken her and her kids under her wing as soon as we arrived in Clayton, would pick up Mom and Jason in her car when a storm came up and drive out to her ranch to watch the sky and see how much rain was falling.

Bill Watters, Mom, and KatieFinally, Katie drove us back to town to see if Bill Watters happened to be at home. As luck would have it, Bill was home and came out to Katie’s car to visit so that we didn’t have to get Mom into her wheelchair. Bill is 92 years old, but he doesn’t look it at all. He’s tall and slim, and his only complaint is that he has a condition that makes his feet numb, so Bill Watters, Mom, and Katiehe has to be careful as he walks. He still goes out to his ranch to check on his cows, he said, and is too proud to use a cane, but he does use a staff when he walks in the countryside.

On our drive along Cherry Street earlier, we had passed the houses of sisters Kathryn Vigil Garcia and Margrett Vigil Wagner, my ex-sister-in-law and my daughter Shelley’s namesake. (Shelley's real name is Margrett Michelle.) So when our tour was over and we returned to Kate’s house, I called Katherine—with whom Margrett is now living—to see if I could come over for a short visit. Yes, she said, come over, and I did.

How good it was to see them! Margrett has health problems that require her to be on oxygen much of the time, but she looked good to me, and so did Kathryn. I could only spend about 40 minutes with them because Kate, Gary, Mom, and I were expected soon at Sue and Charlie’s house for supper, but we had enough time to exchange information about our kids and grandkids. And I got to see Margrett’s daughter Lisa’s (Phipps) three sons and meet her son Scott’s wife and two of their daughters in the short time I was there. But drat! I didn’t get any photos.

Sue trying to get Charlie to smileThat evening at Sue and Charlie’s, we visited a bit and took some pictures before supper. Characteristically, Charlie refused to smile despite Sue’s cajoling. Soon we sat down to a meal of some of my favorite foods from childhood: meatloaf, scalloped potatoes, excellent bread with good butter, garden-grown tomatoes and cucumbers, and chocolate pudding with half-and-half or Cool-Whip for dessert. My, it was good. Sue’s meatloaf tasted like the meatloaf my mother used to make, but Mom insisted hers never tasted this good.
Gary, Charlie, me, and Mom
After supper, Sue, Mom, Kate, and I sat around the table visiting while the men did dishes. It started raining then, and pretty soon it started to hail. We went to Hail in Charlie and Sue's front yardthe door, and Gary and Sue left the porch to pick up samples. Sue showed them to Mom, who popped one into her mouth.

The hail lasted for maybe 45 minutes and got to the size of steely marbles, making such a racket on the roof that at one point it was hard to hear people talk. Gary holding a hailstoneSomeone turned on the TV, and we heard that a tornado warning had been issued for Clayton, but it ended soon after that.

When the hail stopped finally, we took advantage of the lull to get into our cars and drive back to Kate and Gary’s.

Mom went to bed not long after that, and Kate and Gary got into the hot tub. I sat in a chair next to the tub (I had cleverly left my swimsuit at home so I wouldn’t have to get into it), and we talked, drank our nightcaps and looked at the stars. The Milky Way spread across the sky, and I could easily find the Big and Little Dippers. Katie asked me about the W constellation, but I couldn’t remember the name of it. Today, I did a Google search and found its name: Cassiopeia.

And soon, after a long eventful day, to bed.

When I woke on Wednesday, I found that Kate in the kitchen pulling some wonderful bran-nut muffins out of the oven. She—svelte thing that she is—ate one plain. I ate both of mine with the requisite amount of butter--that is to say, LOTS--and O! they were delicious!

When Mom got up, the three of us—Gary had already gone to work—sat and talked a bit, Mom and me about to head back to Albuquerqueand Mom continued to look over the pictures and mementos Kate had gotten out for her to see. We were slow to get ready to leave for Albuquerque, Mom and I. We'd had such a pleasant time.

Kate took one more picture of us, and then Mom and I got into my car and took off for town, where I bought gas. Then we headed west on Highway 56 toward Springer.

Four-and-a-half hours later, we were back in Albuquerque. Fred, my cat, had managed to survive my absence with seemingly little distress. He still had food and water in the bowls I’d left outside for him, and he didn’t seem miffed at me when I brought him in for some succulent canned cat food.
Fred

Monday, August 17, 2009

August 16, 2009: Mom and I visit Clayton, NM

Katie, Jennifer, and Gary
While we were in North Dakota, Mom mentioned she would like to visit Katie and Gary in Clayton sometime. So, now that I'm on a three-week break, I decided now would be a good time to make the trip.

Our family moved to Clayton in 1962 because Dad got a job with the Soil Conservation Service (SCS) here. I attended Clayton High School from 1962 to 1964, graduating that year. My sister Katie met her future husband Gary when they were in Mrs. Stubblefield's second-grade class, and they married in 1975. They've lived in Clayton--or, rather, two miles west--since 1981.

Mom and I left Albuquerque at 2:30 yesterday, Monday, and arrived close to 7 p.m. Jennifer, Kevin's wife and Gary's sister, was in the kitchen making fried squash when we arrived. She was the main reason Mom and I came yesterday because Jen was flying to Louisiana early today and will be joining Kevin in Sakhalin next month, so we wanted to see her before she left.
Gary in his garden
Charlie and Sue Alsup, Gary and Jennifer's parents, arrived not long afterward for supper. We had squash and green bean's from Gary's garden, bourbon-basted salmon and steak he fixed on the grill, and lemon rice pilaf and anadama bread Katie made. Oh, and as an appetizer, Kate served cream cheese smothered in raspberry-chipotle sauce with crackers. Num! And I can't forget to mention the wonderful homemade red Sue, Jennifer, and Charliewine Gary took from his racks.

After supper, we sat around visiting for awhile, and then Jen said she needed to leave and get packed for her trip to Louisiana. Charlie and Sue left at the same time, and then perhaps five minutes later, Amy arrived. She'd called her mom earlier and decided to drive from Amarillo, where she's living now, to spend the night here and see her Grandma Lois.

Mom at the dining room table in Kate and Gary's houseThis morning was leisurely. Kate made us bacon and eggs, and Mom and I sat around drinking coffee while Mom looked at some of Katie's many picture albums. She also brought out a couple of boxes of stuff--photos and memorabilia--that she took home with her from Mom's apartment when Mom moved to Rehab Center of Albuquerque. Mom's been looking at this stuff and old pictures all morning and into the afternoon.

A little later, we're going to take a drive out to Clayton Lake and also take a tour of the two houses we lived in here in Clayton: the first one on Cherry Street across from the high school stadium and the second one on Maple Street.

Then this evening, we're going to Sue and Charlie's house for dinner.

Life is good here in Clayton.

July 6, 2009: Back to Albuquerque...

Our original plan was to leave Grafton for Minneapolis at 9:00 a.m. or so, but Mom wasn’t feeling up to travelling until around 11:00 a.m. I emailed Von King, our cousin (her dad, Gorman King, was our dad Murray’s older brother) telling her that we would probably arrive in Minneapolis at 5:00 or 6:00 and giving her David’s cell phone number in case she could meet us for supper before we had to be at the airport around 7:15 p.m. Our return flight was scheduled to depart at 9:15 p.m.

David drove from Grafton to Moorhead, and then I drove the rest of the way. At one point—near St. Cloud, MN—I spied a Maid-Rite Hamburger sign. I had fond memories of Maid-Rite hamburgers from our days of living in Mason City, Iowa, where my dad managed a potato-packing plant when I was in the fifth and sixth grades. I remember the day Guy discovered Maid-Rite hamburgers and took David and me to try them. I—who have hardly ever met a food I didn’t like—was never particularly fond of hamburgers, but I did like these. So, when I saw the Maid-Rite sign outside of St. Cloud, I took the designated exit and searched until I found the joint—for joint it was—and left David and Mom in the car to order late lunch for all of us.

What a disappointment that Maid-Rite hamburger was. It had none of the flavor I remembered from my youth. It was, in fact, Maid-Rong. Ah, well, as the Zen saying goes, “Only birds and young children know what strawberries taste like.” And perhaps only young hicks fresh from North Dakota know and can appreciate what Maid-Rite hamburgers in Iowa taste like. We ate our sandwiches quickly--I don't think Mom or David were any more impressed than I was--and pushed on.

I’d been sure Mom would sleep on the trip, but once again, I was mistaken. She stayed awake the whole trip, looking out the window, perhaps drinking in the green of the countryside, a color agreeable to the eyes and the spirits of those who live in the desert.

Arriving in Minneapolis, we wended our way to the airport, aided by a Google map. I thought we'd picked up our rental car in the Lindbergh terminal after arriving at the Hubert Humphrey terminal several days before, but I found out I was wrong when I drove us to Lindbergh terminal, checked in our rental car there, and found out we had to then make our way to the Humphrey terminal afoot—or rather, a-rail.

Mom and David waiting for the train to take us from the Lindbergh to the Humphrey terminalFollowing directions given to us by the rental car folks, we walked quite a distance to get to the light-rail stop and had a few minutes to catch our breath before the train arrived. Once aboard, we had no idea how quickly we would arrive at the Humphrey terminal stop NOR how quickly the doors would open and shut. By the time we mobilized ourselves, Mom’s wheelchair, and our baggage, the door had closed and the train sped on.

Wiser now, we hustled ourselves off the train at the next stop so that we could turn and head back to our original stop. The platform where we waited for maybe 15 minutes was located who-knows-where, the waning sun—still hot—hitting us straight in the eye as we sat on the bench. Once back at the Lindbergh terminal, we had another short wait for the train to the Humphrey terminal, and this time we were successfulMom and me waiting for the train in getting off the train at the right stop. Whew!

In the end, it was a good thing that we weren't able to contact Von and make plans to meet her for supper because we arrived late in Minneapolis--and had we met, we might've missed our plane.

Our 9:15 p.m. flight to Albuquerque was on time, and all went smoothly. I sat by the window for the return trip, David in the middle, and Mom in the aisle seat on the left side of the plane. As we approached Albuquerque, I asked Mom how she was doing. I didn’t catch what she said, but David relayed her words: “I’m behaving myself as best I can”—said with a twinkle in her eye, reminding me of Grandpa Orstad’s laconic, joking replies.

It was after 11 p.m. when we arrived in Albuquerque. I drove Mom back to the Rehabilitation Center of Albuquerque and checked her in before midnight.

We are still talking about our trip and what a great time we had. I’m grateful to Mom for her strong desire to see the old farm in North Dakota because it brought this whole wonderful experience to pass.

Sunday, August 9, 2009

July 5, 2009: Pilgrimage to the Orstad farm and St. Peter’s Church

St. Peter's Lutheran Church near Adams--gravestone with Orstad engraved on it in the foreground
The day started out inauspiciously: Mom didn’t feel well and spent the morning abed. I was worried that she wouldn’t be able to make the trip to the farm and the church—the original impetus for our trip to North Dakota—but by noon, she was feeling better. I wasn’t really surprised though. I expected her to rally, come hell or high water, to make it to her final destination, her family’s farm.

David, Mom, and I set off for Park River to meet up with Aunt Phyllis, Aunt Shirley, and Susan and Jim, and from there we caravanned in three cars through the green countryside to the old St. Peter’s Lutheran Church which sits on a hill overlooking the farm below and where so many of my mom’s family are buried.
St. Peter's Church in the background; me, Susan, Aunt Shirley, Mom, Aunt Phyllis, and Jim
The church and farm are a mere 12.2 miles from Park River: we drove west on Highway 17 for 6.4 miles, then zigzagged north on 128th Avenue NE* for one mile, west on 69th Street NE for 1.9 miles, north again on 126th Avenue NE (County Road 9) for 1.4 miles, and west on County Road 11 for 1.1 miles.

At the church, we got out of our cars and were met by Thom Orstad and his daughters, Sarah and Alana, and his sister Holly Orstad Neff. Cousin Joanne Lindberg Wilder had arrived before us as well and was writing down dates on Thompson and Orstad gravestones, trying, she said, to make sense of her mother Marvel’s family history.

The church is clearly in need of repair or demolition. And, in fact, Gayle called not long after we’d returned to New Mexico to say the church board had met and decided to raze the building but keep the steeple and add a memorial to mark the spot where the church had been erected in 1896. Hearing that news, we were so glad we'd gone when we did to see it one last time.

In the course of writing this entry today, I called Aunt Phyllis to check my facts, and she referred me to Lennart Almen, a man who is on the St. Peter’s Church board. I called him, and he told me that the steeple isn’t going to be saved because it's made of lumber, but the bell—“a rather large bell,” he said—will be kept, and a memorial of fieldstone or granite, engraved with the church’s history, will mark the location. "When will the church be razed?" I asked. “Within the week,” he thought, if all goes according to plan.

As an aside, Mr. Almen mentioned that the church had been supported by two communities: Adams and Park River. That is, he said, the rural people living on the west side of the river—the river that runs through the former Orstad farmstead—had an Adams mailing address while those living on the east side of the river had a Park River address.

Edward and Marit Orstad family a year before the birth of their last child, my grandfather Elmer Orstad, in 1899--their only American childMr. Almen was also able to shine some light on a mystery that we had puzzled over the day we were there: Edward Orstad’s grave with a small stone marking it is located near the edge of the cemetery far from the grave of his wife Marit with its large monument. Why, we wondered, had they been buried so far away from each other?

Edward Orstad, my mother's paternal grandfather, who immigrated here with his wife Marit and children from NorwayEdward and his wife Marit (pronounced MAR-it) had immigrated from Oppdal, Norway, to the United States in the 1890s. Their last child was my grandfather, Elmer, who was born in 1899, the only child to have been born in this country. Edward (pronounced ED-vard) was an uncommonly big man for the time, attested by a large pair of boots my Grandpa Orstad kept of his. Marit Gissinger Orstad, wife of Edward, who immigrated with him to the United States from Norway
I learned while we were in North Dakota that he was a carpenter, and that might explain the longevity of the house he built for his family at some point before 1896.

The Orstad monument here is where Marit Gissinger Orstad, Edward's wife, and their child is buriedAccording to information Mr. Almen had come across, Edward had originally purchased a plot for his wife and himself, but one of their children died young and was buried there, and then his wife died in 1921 before Edward, who died in 1926. Evidently, by that time, there was no room for him to be buried near his wife and child. The engraving on the stone in the picture here isn't very legible, despite my manipulations--and, besides, it's written in Norwegian--Grave of Edward Orstad, my mother's paternal grandfatherbut it gives his date of birth as March 12, 1856 (or possibly 1855) and the year of his death as 1926. NOTE: Gayle emailed me to say that Edward and his son Elmer--my grandfather--shared the same birthday: March 12.

But back to the events of the day: We walked through the small cemetery full of names of Mom’s and Aunt Phyllis’ relatives and neighbors from their growing up years Mom at her parents' graveson the farm: Orstads, Thompsons, Lindells, Nottestads, Almens, Bergs, and others I can’t remember now. Mom was able to see her parents’ gravestone as well as the nearby stone marking the site of her brother Elroy’s cremated remains.

After wandering a half hour or so of among the gravestones and exchanging scraps of stories and memories about the people buried there, we walked to the other side of the churchyard to look down on the old Orstad farmstead in the dell below.

The Orstad farm house, built before 1896The house, as you can see from the photo, has fallen to ruin, but it was built by Edward Orstad some years before the church was, so it’s not surprising that it’s dilapidated. The barn--located out of sight in this photo, to the right--has literally fallen down and is marked by a heap of rotten boards. The small building in the foreground is what Mom said they called "the shanty." I'm not sure of its use.

Despite its dilapidation, you can see what a beautiful farm it was: the green pasture and wooded hills rising behind the house. The Park River-although not visible in the photo-meanders through the woods behind the house.

A barbed-wire gate bars the dirt road leading down to the house, but some of us—David, Thomas, Sarah, Alana, Joanne, and I—opened the gate and walked down to have a closer look. A small herd of cows grazing near the house watched us and decided to mosey on as we approached.

Mom looking down on her childhood home from the churchyardThe inside of the house is in even worse shape than the outside. I was glad Mom wasn’t able to make the trip down with us so that her clear memories of her home are the ones she will keep. She tells me she can see in her mind the way the house and every room in it looked in her childhood.

View of St. Peter's on the hill and the road from the Orstad farmhouse belowAfter checking out the house, we walked back up the road to the churchyard. The whole group of us then piled into cars and headed for Gayle’s farm, which is located nine miles west of Adams, the town where Mom graduated from high school.

Joanne at the head of the tableGayle had invited the whole group of us for a late lunch after our tour. All was pretty much ready when we got there except for the lutefisk she’d bought in Mom’s honor and asked Aunt Shirley to help her fix in the microwave to avoid turning it into “lutefisk soup,” the result of cooking it too long—a sad lesson I myself learned years ago. It turned out great, however, as was everything else.

Gayle herself alternated between hobbling around and sitting with her leg up to nurse a wrenched foot and ankle—due to a misstep and fall a couple weeks earlier. And yet, she still managed to feed and entertain us. -And the night before, she and Joanne, who had come to visit her a week or so before, had gone to the Class of ’63 reunion at the country club.

David--doing an impression of Uncle Bert, Sarah, me, Alana, Mom, Thom, Aunt Phyllis, Holly, Susan, Jill, and Joanne on the steps of Gayle's houseOur visit with Gayle was much too short, but we thought it best to go back to our motel before Mom got overly tired. We took several pictures on the steps of the house before David, Mom, and I said goodbye to everyone and headed back to the motel in Grafton.