Relative Something

Not only did I make the trip back home from the lake yesterday, but I selected a route that was a trip back in time for me. I received a message that my boots were ready to be picked up at the repair shop in Stillwater, so instead of driving straight home, I cut over through Osceola to cross into Minnesota on my way home. It cost me $30 to get the flaps resewn on my boots. I’m satisfied with that outcome.

Before leaving the lake place, I checked a map to refresh my memory of the route we used to take over and over for years from the time the kids were born. We picked an alternative set of rural roads to avoid heavy traffic on the 3-plus hour drive from our Eden Prairie home to Hayward. It provided a good variety of potential places to stop when someone needed to use a bathroom or have a distraction in the form of a treat. We ended up locating a variety of off-the-beaten-path restaurants that became lifesavers when anyone became too “hangry” for the rest of us to tolerate.

When I passed the turn that would have taken me directly home, the road before me became like a weird dream of scenery I vaguely recognized mixed with things I’m certain I’d never seen before. A lot has changed in the fifteen or more years since I last drove that way to and from the lake place. There were no roundabout interchanges on that route when we used to travel in that direction.

As I approached the first of several key turns of the old routine, I sensed it, but the crossroad was labeled as a more significant state highway than I felt was right. I opted not to turn, and as I rolled straight through, I glanced to the left and recognized it immediately. That was what we called the “roller coaster road.” There were a couple of steep rises in a row that provided a second of that zero-gravity feeling if I hit them with just the right speed, which I almost always did.

I made a quick U-turn and went back to follow that road, regardless of what it was now called. Soon, I was passing familiar old farmhouses and Trollhaugen ski hills, “Ward’s Bar,” and the torn-down place that was named “Best Place by a Dam Site” that was beside a dam. I had a flashback to chanting “We’re nowhere, we’re nowhere” with the kids when we were in the middle of the bridge between Minnesota and Wisconsin. There was the gas station where we would pause for fuel and some candy bars. Julian and I recently remembered we would get a “Whachamacallit” bar. The Dairy Queen was still at the end of the bridge in Osceola.

There were many trips on the rural roads along the St. Croix River when Cyndie and I imagined what it would be like to live in a place like that compared to our tiny corner lot in the suburbs. We had no idea at the time how great a place we would eventually find.

The horses were successfully trimmed by the farrier while I was away. They are all looking their muddiest best. Where they once were making horse-angels in the foot of snow, it is now just a sloppy meltwater mess of muck that they are rolling around in.

I brought Cyndie a pizza from Coop’s in Hayward that we had for dinner. I had a great time away, but it is really precious to be home. I intentionally planned it so I will have a full day with Cyndie before she heads to Florida tomorrow for a week, just when our temps are about to climb to almost 70F. Our kids will be joining her for a visit to their grandmother’s winter getaway.

Here’s hoping they get plenty of sun and a complete lack of alligators.

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