The real story to be told happened after we moved Up North. To Fitjedahl. Not in town, but far outside of town. In the Middle of Nowhere would be more accurate. We live 20 miles east of Fitjedahl which is the closest town of any note. Fitjedahl is only getting itself started. It is hardly a town in any proper sense of the word. Up and coming, they say, but we'll see about that. I have my own opinions on the matter.
It's not that I don't like Fitjedahl, but it is smaller than I am used to and the locals will stare. I imagine they think southern Minnesota is a foreign country. The girls titter behind their hands and the boys pick on Henry mercilessly. Papa says it is all in my head, but I know better. I know how children are, having been one myself at one time.
I am happy to stay at home, out in the Middle of Nowhere, keeping things up the way I choose, with or without systems, as I see fit from day to day. We see the neighbors now and then, and they do not seem to titter behind their hands. They are at least discreet if they do. I see the man at the creamery a few miles up the road, and the woman at the post office when we get there.
Papa serves several churches. Four or seven depending upon the time of year. They are scattered about this area of Minnesota and he gets around to preach at them when he can. The nearest one is two miles across the sections or four miles if we stick to the roads. That is the Brunner congregation. The people who worship there could be said to be our neighborhood. They are not divided from us by river or township lines.
We live only half a mile north of the Fish River. It is called that because of the suckers that are drawn out by the netful every May. Suckering day is a big deal and the whole community turns out. The suckers pickle nicely and all it costs is your sugar and vinegar. If the weather is good on suckering day, the women sit on blankets while the men and children pull out net after net of suckers. Then everyone shares a picnic meal. Fried chicken and roast beef, boiled eggs and beet pickles, pie and lefse.
But when suckering day is cold, which is just as likely as not, we head to Trudy Eggermeirs barn for our picnic. Being a widow, she doesn't keep animals except her faithful milch cow, so her barn is empty much of the year. She cleans it up every April in the hopes of a cold suckering day. That is her day to shine, so yes, she does hope for cold weather.
On those cold spring days, nothing is finer than coming in and standing by her drum stove, each taking a turn jostling the others for the closest spot. We start out a bit damp from the suckering, but in no time at all we are warm and toasty. Miss Trudy hauls hot cocoa and coffee by the kettleful. The men set up board tables and we have our picnic just the same.
When the crowd is well sated by all the good food and hot drinks, someone will pull out a guitar or fiddle or even just a harmonica. Someone will sing everyone a tune or two and soon everyone is dancing. By late afternoon, though the festivities begin to wind down. Like Miss Trudy, most folks keep a milch cows and a milch cow needs attention each afternoon.
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