Please forgive the spelling and the grammar. I am not a writer and do not pretend to be one. I do this for my own fun.
Thank you for reading my stories.
Like every other kid growing up in the Midwest, I had fond memories of my grandparents, especially grandma. She was a kind and generous woman that always had time for her family or one of her numerous friends. She always to made everyone she met feel like they were at home. She told me it was the way she was brought up, and she didn't know any other way.
Her heritage was German and a little Dutch. However, her blond hair led me to think there was a bit of Norwegian somewhere in the mix.
My grandfather, on the other hand, was born in northern Germany. His demeanor was that of someone from Prussia, stern, strict, and he came across cold to some people. But he had a soft side for his grandchildren, always having a bag of smoked jerky for us or letting us have a few of his prized nightcrawlers so we could go fishing.
My grandparents lived on 50 acres of land. Twenty of it was a Christmas tree farm. The rest was a mix of open areas and forest. Behind their land was state forest land. As a young boy, you can only imagine having so some land to explore, hunting, fishing, and running around.
Their cabin was 20 miles outside of a one blinking light town. To get to their place, you had to drive Hwy 131, 15 miles, then turn right just after the "Cat's Paw Bar" on county road 59. Then 5 miles down the two-lane road, turn right on a dirt trail before the Christmas trees on your right. It was hard to find if you had never been there before. The dirt trail wandered between the oaks and maple trees and Christmas trees on the other. Eventually, you would come to a fork in the trail. To get to their cabin, you had to go right at the fork. You continue thru more trees till you came to their place. If you stayed on the main trail, 5 miles further, you would end up at the dead end. A short walk would take you to a small stream that fed a river further downstream.
They had a small cabin surrounded by giant oak trees. It has five rooms plus the front porch, the kitchen where my grandmother was always cooking something or canning some preserves. The back bedroom where they slept, I wasn't supposed to go in there. The family room off the kitchen. In the center of the room was a big stone fireplace. In the winter, it was the cabin's primary heat source. Finally, there was a small bathroom off the family room, behind the kitchen. It seemed to be an add-on. Probably because the cabin had been built many years ago and still had an outhouse in the back.
We would visit them every chance we could, making the 3-1/2-hour drive to see them.
Typically we would visit them in the spring after the streams had thawed. While we were visiting, we would try our luck fishing for brook trout. If we caught any, we would bring them back so my grandma would make fresh fish for dinner. Sometimes I would go with her to pick wild mushrooms for some delicious soup.
In summer, we would visit to escape the heat of the city. We would sneak out and go cool off in the stream that ran thru their property. Many times she would take me to pick fresh blue or blackberries for her famous pie.
The fall was always rabbit hunting. She had a way of cooking up rabbits, so they tasted great. Then, for dessert, she would bring out her famous apple strudel.
We never missed a Thanksgiving at my grandparents' house. She always had more home-cooked food than you could eat in a week. One of Thanksgiving traditions was to pick out our Christmas tree during our visit. We would wander thru the rows and rows of trees to find the perfect tree that would be ours for Christmas. Then, my grandmother would have the harvesters cut it down and set it aside. She would bring it to our house the week before Christmas.
Visting them in wintertime was one of my favorites. They would bring out the snowmobiles. My brothers and I raced up and down between the trees and trails. My grandfather would plow the drive piling the snow at the end of the drive. We would use it as a ramp to get airborne. It might have been 3 feet high, but it was like jumping off the edge of a mountain to my brothers and I.
I remember spending a few weeks with my grandparents one particular summer after going to a local summer camp. The camp was next to a lake and with cabins for the campers and counselors. I had a great time with my brothers and my cousin. After the week at camp, we spent three weeks at my grandparents' house. My grandfather made arrangements to borrow a couple of horses from a nearby neighbor. It was like a dream, riding horses all day, fishing in the streams, or exploring the forest.
One day my grandmother asked if we would like to berry picking with her. It was one of her favorite things to do. My brothers said they were more interested in riding the horses, so I went with her. We picked wild blueberries and blackberries, and we came across the patch of mushrooms. These were a particular type that my grandmother loved. When I was a child, I loved wild blackberries. So I ate some of the berries as we picked them. Well, I probably ate a little too much and became sick to my stomach.
When we got back, my grandmother, said I have something to settle your stomach. she pulled out the cookbook, looked up a recipe, through together some stuff. I was not sure exactly what was in it, and it did look funky. She handed it to me and told me to drink it. I did, and almost immediately, I felt better, like it was magic. My grandmother called it her magic stomach recipe.
She always had some sort of recipe when you felt sick or something wrong. So out came the book. Even if you had a broken arm, there was a recipe for that. She told me that she had a recipe that would even fix a broken heart, then she laughed.
Most of her recipes were original, or ones passed down from her mother. They were handwritten on the pages or scribbled notes on pieces of scrap paper. There were some even on index cards. All kept in a black leather-bound book she called her cookbook. That she kept on the top shelf in the upper cabinet, she only brought it out if she couldn't remember a part of the recipe, pulling it out to double-check, then putting it back. Sometimes she would try something new in the recipe, and if it worked, she would bring out her book and adjust the recipe.
I only saw it, maybe half a dozen times or so. Once I asked if I could look at it. She said, "No, it's just a bunch of scribblings that I keep for myself. There is nothing that would interest you, darling." Then she gave me a cookie and a big hug.
I remember many afternoons playing canasta with her. She was a master card shark. When I knew I was going to win, she would play all her cards and go out, leaving me holding a hand of cards that counted against me. I don't think I did ever win, but we always had fun trying.
I don't know if my grandmother ever slept. She'd be up in the morning making breakfast or doing a crossword puzzle. When I was going to bed, she would be playing canasta or solitaire in the evening.
