The End of the Road

The last couple of weeks have been a whirlwind, traveling to Ely, Minnesota…the self-proclaimed “end of the road”…coming back just in time for the storm of the year and a 4th of July weekend chock full of family gatherings, parties, and family fun days. Whew.

However, I did have some time to reflect during the course of our trip…

Road Trips
We stayed in a hotel in Madison, WI the first night, and I spent the majority of the night staring at the ceiling with Madi tucked securely under my arm, because she kept sliding off the side of the bed. Parker kept waking up too, crying for 30 seconds and then falling back asleep, but not before I would wake up in a panic, worried that he was going to wake Madi up too.

So, I started thinking about road trips. When we were younger, we jammed our family of five into the car…Dodge Omni when we were little, eventually moving up to a Caravan, and took off for northern Minnesota, stopping to visit aunts and uncles along the way. Many of my memories are sensory – the smell of Twizzlers in a hot stuffy car, the taste of Fruit Rollups as we chewed them off of our fingers, the smell of chlorine after hitting the hotel’s swimming pool, the sound of Adventures in Odyssey cassette tapes that we would listen to for hours and hours.

It is kind of interesting to revisit the journey from a parent’s point of view. I am now the chief entertainment for two squirmy children, distributing snacks, games, and coloring pages. This meant I spent a significant portion of the trip jammed between the two carseats. Thankfully, we didn’t have too many problems – one pretty big tantrum along the way where we did have to get off the highway to deal with it – but considering the amount of time we spent in the car? Not too bad.

Another part of being on the road was spending time with my Dad. I talk to my Mom almost every day, but not as much to my Dad, it was nice to have that time (somewhat fragmented because of the kids) to talk about what is going on in my life, about what books we are reading, and about world events.

How Things (Don’t) Change…
I don’t have just one childhood home to go back to, because of moving a few times and because my parents have downsized to a condo. So it is interesting to go back to my grandparent’s house which has not changed much over the course of my life. For example, the kids and I stayed in a bedroom that I remember staying in with my sisters. Small things have changed, like my grandparent’s square dancing outfits used to hang above the bed and there is now artwork and pictures from their grandkids all over the walls, but the bedspreads are pretty much the same. My grandparent’s bedroom walls are still plastered with pictures of their kids and grandkids, only now there are great grandkid pictures to add to the mix. It is still a fun pastime to go and look at the pictures and groan at my “poofy hair” stage of life. Madi thought it was pretty funny.

Another tradition that hasn’t changed is the amount of food that we consume while in Ely. There were enough fish in the freezer, so we were able to have a walleye fish fry, cooked out at the cabin over an outdoor fireplace in a pan full of lard. (Yes…I said lard) It is unbelievably good. There is always plenty of polish, made at the local grocer – Zup’s – and the thickest ribeye steaks you have ever seen. My Grandma bakes up a storm too – Yum Yum Bars, Babyfood Bars, and Banana Bread to beat the band. I believe I gained about 4 pounds, but boy, was it worth it.

The last thing that hasn’t changed is my Dad and Grandpa’s conversations. They have some differing views on politics and whatnot, and they hash it out over the days that we are visiting. When I was a kid, it was just background noise as we ran around collecting rocks in coffee tins and playing house in the entryway, but now that I am older, I know a little more about what they are talking about, and once in a while I can lend my opinion. I leave much of the heated discussions up to them, and I think that’s the way they like it.

Booyah
One of the things that I learned about during our visit to Ely was Slovenian cooking, which is a big part of my heritage. We were playing Scrabble, and my grandpa wanted to spell the word “booyah”, but he left off the “h”. We had to break out the local Slovenian cookbook to check the correct spelling, and it led to a discussion about this traditional soup. It calls for 12 lbs. of beef, 12 lbs. of pork, and 5 soup bones, just to start. My grandma informed me that you only make it when you are going to have all the relatives over, which I thought was a huge understatement. She also told me about a time when she made booyah and it created so much moisture in the kitchen (you have to cook it for at least five hours) that it loosened all the adhesive that was holding her decorative plates on the kitchen wall (they go all the way around the kitchen like a wallpaper border) and they started to fall down – pop – pop – pop…it was such a funny visual, I just cracked up.

Boat “Firsts”
Madi took her first canoe ride on this trip. She was a little nervous, because she thought we were going to tip over, but she relaxed a little bit as we got into our excursion. It was just a short ride, probably 20 minutes or so, but it was so peaceful as we paddled along the shoreline of Farm Lake, which is where my grandparent’s cabin is located. And when I asked Madi her favorite part of the trip, she said…the canoe ride…so that was cool.

Parker took his first motorboat ride too, which didn’t go so well. I don’t think he understood that he needed to sit down, which resulted in him trying to walk around the bottom of the boat. It was partially because his lifejacket was a little big, so it was up around his chin when he sat down. The other reason was, quite frankly, he has never seen or been in a boat before, so he didn’t know what to expect.

Note to self: Don’t put your kids into a situation where they aren’t prepared for what is going to happen…it can yield disastrous results.

Leaving Ely
I have always had a hard time saying goodbye. As a kid, I would even cry when my Dad would leave on business trips. When we would leave my grandparents house, I would cry for at least the first 20 miles, and well, this hasn’t changed much. This time around, I kept thinking that I didn’t know when we would be coming back, and at this stage of their life, the number of “next times” is no longer infinite. Madi was somewhat perplexed about my state of mind, and she kept asking me why I was so sad. I told her it was because I was going to miss them, but I wish that I could have articulated it better.

I don’t exactly know why goodbyes impact me so much; maybe it is a conditioned response because in the past, it always seemed like we were saying goodbye to people that we weren’t going to see for a while, because of moving or visiting friends and extended family. But for this trip, I am just thankful for the time that we had, for the generosity of my parents taking us out there, for the opportunity for my kids to meet their great grandparents, and for the beauty of northern Minnesota.