Trips North

A few years ago I interviewed my grandparents for a personal project. In stamped envelopes, I sealed lists of questions asking about their lives, the people that had come and gone, the everyday mundane things, and the revelations of their eighty years thus far. I dropped these envelopes in a St. Paul USPS blue mailbox, to be carried to their P.O. Box up north.


In the fall of 2008 I made that trip north a few times, spending weekends with them in their quiet home. The sense of nostalgia I have on those northern roads, the surrounding and looming evergreens, and the dense, unruly growth of the maples and quacking aspens—it always makes me feel as if I’m in this faraway place, more than the short three hours it is from the Twin Cities. Those were some of my last visits while they were still in their own home.


Their yard was wooded and bordered by a slow-moving river. Birds twittered about feeders that my grandma always kept full. In the mornings my grandpa kept up with his morning routine of raking a 12X12 section of the yard. My grandma sometimes sat on a chair outside, her arthritic body bent over and digging out the fallowing leaves and stems in her flowerpots. Simple tasks, but how they brought accomplishment to the day.


Over the years, I’ve spent most holidays and many summer weekends in the northern parts of MN with my grandparents and family. But those fall weekends that I had alone with them were even more special than I expected. As we went over the questions, with my notepad in front of me, we talked…and talked. For hours! Into the night and beginning again in the morning. Mostly, I listened. Some stories were new and captivating; others were ones that I had heard many times before; and there were a few that took all my efforts to keep my attention to; but I listened.


The other day I came across an old black and white photo of my grandparents. It was one of the dusty shoebox treasures from those weekends. My grandpa had given it to me. In the photo they were young, no children yet, and picnicking on a checkered blanket. And so that photo just reminded me of those weekends. We have so much to share. What will we remember? I have their answers, and sometimes still look over them.


These are only a few of the discoveries that I made, but if I may share a few of their simple responses with you:


My grandma Sally told me:


My favorite scents are home baked bread and freshly cut grass.


My life motto is: “To they own self be true.” My father was the most honest person that I have known. The 10 Commandments were taken literally. He set a good example for me. We were very close. I was his favorite and I knew it.


My greatest fear is height. I am drawn, and I want to jump! And spiders too.


The best change in the world that I have lived through has been technology and going to the moon. The worst change I have lived through has been the evil of guns and killings and drugs on TV for children to see.


My favorite things about Harry are that he is so loyal and honest. It has been nice to spend a lifetime together. He has my best interest at heart and loves me, but doesn’t smother me.


My grandpa Harry told me:


My favorite holiday is Christmas. My dad would spend up to a dollar on a tree, and then he drilled holes in the trunk, where we stuck in branches that we’d gathered. Sally is a Christmas girl. She made and decorated everything just so; we always had a ball. Watching the kids open gifts is the best part. And watching the grandchildren open gifts always reminds me of my own.


I met Sally at my station, while putting air in her bicycle tire at age 16.


My favorite season is fall. There are still sunsets and it’s still partly summer. It reminds me of Sally’s parents; I got along with them. Her dad was my best fishing buddy, and we’d take them on trips with us.


In three words I would describe myself as honest, dependable, and reliable. I am there when I say I’ll be there, and I do what I say.


My advice in life is to not rush things. Don’t’ buy what you can’t pay for. And it’s not what you haven’t got; it’s what you’ve got left. Live life to the fullest; it goes quick (like a roll of toilet paper).


My goals for my eighth decade…I got what I wanted. I’m happy with what we’ve got.




There is nothing profound or novel about these words. Our stories have been lived before, and will be lived again. But still, how important they are. And I think my thoughts are with my grandparents now, because I haven’t seen them yet this spring, and I’m thinking that I’d like to make another trip north soon. I still have questions to ask, and silent moments in which I’d just like to be with them.