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
