a very happy birthday

 

"What do you want to do for your [31st] birthday [Wednesday]?" asked Kelvin.

Not being very into birthdays in general, I replied, "Hmm. Let's take a day trip."

I remember going to Itasca State Park (about 1.5 hours east of Crookston) many summers as kids, where we got a big kick out of "walking across" the Mississippi River.  As you can see from this marker, Lake Itasca, MN is the origin of the mighty Mississippi River on its >2500 mile path to the Gulf of Mexico. Since we weren't anywhere close to making it to the midwest landmark of Mt. Rushmore (see previous post), I decided that this would be a fun Minnesota "attraction" to show Kelvin.

 

(We were slightly obsessed with this sign in case you couldn't tell)

Good thing K wore his trusty Bogs, in case he should take a plunge off the stepping stones (which he didn't).

Crossed safely!

Here is K, "testing the waters," (or actually very thin ice). Temperatures were quite warm-- it was in the 40s, and the lake was DEFINITELY not frozen over.

We wandered a few of the short nature trails in the park, including to see the "Big White Pine" which reminded us of our very own Avenue of the Giants.

This sign marks a bison kill site from 8500 B.C.

The main Visitor Center bathroom had cute Itasca factoids on the walls/stalls.

Pretty lake views

While I don't like to make a big deal of birthdays or presents, K did get me an iPad as an early birthday gift. It was a great gift, as, while I don't think I would have decided to *splurge* on it on my own, I really enjoy it and it's great for travel.

Here is me in our bedroom in Arcata, browsing on my new toy before bedtime, with my favorite companion, Pepper, our Christmas "gift" to eachother last year.

After returning from Itasca, we hung out with my grandma for a bit at her apartment and went out to dinner at a local diner (RBJ's) for some birthday "supper" to conclude the relaxing  *vacation* day in MN (I can't remember the last time I was "off" for my birthday, which coincided with the Thanksgiving holiday this year; usually I am working!).

Later in the evening,  around 10 pm, which is my usual bedtime, I was watching some TV in our hotel room last night when I came across Gone with the Wind on TMC. Now, you should know that I RARELY can stay awake past 10 p.m. K and I never go out to movies that start after about 8 p.m. as, regardless of how good the films are, they turn into very expensive naps for me. However, last night was different. Perhaps I was well rested (I *love* weeks off!). Perhaps it's because Gone with the Wind is a fabulous movie, and definitely one of the greatest of all time (in my opinion); it just happens to be a coincidence that the O'hara plantation is named "Tara" (although pronounced differently than is my name). I have watched it many, many times but not anytime recently, i.e. in the past 10 years or so (which makes me feel really old!). In any case, last night I was hooked and finally, after 1 a.m., when the 4-hour movie ended, with a long-asleep husband, and when it was no longer my birthday, I finally went to bed. A day off (actually week off!) from work, a tourist attraction, the great outdoors, warm MN weather, an iPad, a husband, a grandmother, a great movie.... I'll say it was a happy birthday.  I am so thankful (Thanksgiving post to come later).

roots

We have spent the past couple of days in Crookston, MN, with my grandma (Dad’s mom).  It has been interesting coming back to spend time getting in touch with “my roots.” My memories of this area, which I can call “home” as much as I can call anywhere home, date from childhood, when we’d spend whole summers on the “farm” (outside Fisher, MN) with my grandparents Alton and Georgine and where my Dad grew up before becoming a government employee and world traveler. Soon after my grandfather died in 1998, my grandmother had to sell the 5+ acre farmstead which as in the family since the 1800s when the first “Arness” (Alexander, my great-great-great-grandfather) emigrated here from Norway.  Minnesota is a land of (more than) 10,000 lakes. Polk County is a land of (more than) 10,000 memories for me. 

[a photo of] Grandpa Alton, tickling the ivories, which he did better than just about anyone I have ever known

 Six Generations

Just before Kelvin and my wedding last year (which almost led to her missing our big day), my grandma, who has had several health issues over the years, relocated from her own 2-bedroom apartment to an assisted living facility. While K and my views of nursing homes/facilities have been a bit discolored, shall we say, by working in the medical field, this place (Summit, rather an assisted living place) is really, really nice. Grandma has her own 1-bedroom apartment and prepares her own breakfast, but has lunch and dinner provided in the dining room downstairs with the other residents, and has nursing staff around to remind her of her medications. If she needs to go “to town” for anything, she can call a public bus which will drop her off and pick her up.  While it is not ideal for her to be so far away from close relatives, and I think that it’s hard for us to see her living here alone, I think she’s comfortable here. This area, this land, has been her home for all of her (almost 90) years and I’m not sure she’d take really well to uprooting.

 The apartment, complete with fall decor and a wall of pictures

 Other items reminding me of Grandma:

purple bathroom towels!

 

the only hairspray worth using!

We have enjoyed a couple of meals with grandma and the other building residents—a “supper” (the evening meal here in MN) and “dinner” (what most of us call “lunch”) on Tuesday, complete with Thanksgiving turkey, stuffing, and the works (and with another guest, my great-uncle, Duane).   

 

 Walkers, parked outside the dining room. I found this sight quite touching.

 

 Tuesday Thanksgiving "Dinner" (me, uncle Duane, Grandma)

with Dyno, too

(and K)

Duane then took us on a local driving tour to check out some local family/historical highlights.   We visited the Bardo Cemetery, where my dear grandfather, as well as some of the first Arnesses are buried.

 

 

 

Who knows what the Norwegian inscription on this headstone reads (if you can see it)?

The generations:

1. Alexander

2. Albert

4. Alton

 

My great grandfather Arthur (#3) and wife Clara are buried a few miles away in the Lutheran Cemetery, with many others with traditional Norwegian surnames of Knutson, Larson, etc.  

We drove through Fisher, a town of about 435 inhabitants, where my Dad attended school, and where my uncle Duane (12 years my grandpa’s junior) lived for a bit when my Grandma/Grandpa took over the farmstead.   

 

As we learned from this “historical landmark,” the town, back in 1875, was originally called “Fisher’s Landing” and was an exchange point amongst steamboats on the Red Lake and Red Rivers.

 

My grandmother, a BIG fan of pink and purple, deemed this the (current) prettiest house in town.

 

“The Farm,” which I can locate based on a turnoff at some powerlines and the shape of the grove of trees (a mirror image of Kentucky), is outside of Fisher.  It is not kept up at all, in contrast to how it was when my grandparents were living there (think: immaculate, with lots of mowing, pruning, weeding, flower arranging done --see "photos of photos" below), but seeing the buildings still makes me think “home.”  I miss that place a lot and, while none of us were prepared to take over that land, it’s sad that it left the family.

Then:

and now:

Kelvin and I have also ventured to East Grand Forks to catch a movie (Argo-- extremely suspenseful and well done; highly recommended even if you don't have family members in intelligence).

it's not every day you can kiss a moose!

standing between Minnesota and North Dakota, two new states for K (as of this trip)

It has been neat showing my hubby around this area and revisiting my Scandinavian roots. While I am mixed by background, Kelvin is 100% Vietnamese; his siblings are either dating or married to more of the “same kind.” While when I often ask him if it bothers him that I am “diluting out his culture,”   he, sweetly, always replies “no."  Even though I changed my (Norwegian) last name when I got married and wouldn't touch lutefisk* with a ten-foot pole, being here reminds me that I, too, have a family history and cultural heritage of which I am proud.

*Nordic gelatinous dried white fish