We brought a DVD of the girls' performance in Seussical (remember?) and in the afternoon showed everybody just the scenes featuring the girls (since Dad, Beverly, Dennis, and Julie had wanted to see the show but did not make it to Dickinson to see a performance). Then there was lots of visiting and more eating (turkey leftovers) and goodbyes when it was time for Dennis and Julie to leave and then full-bellied exhaustion as we all fell into our beds.
This morning Susan made pancakes and eggs for breakfast, and my aunt Penny stopped by to visit on her way past the farm. In the afternoon when Dad and Beverly went to town for an appointment, the girls and I took Dad and Beverly's dog, Bandy, and "went on an adventure" to explore the farm. The girls wanted to see some of the places that I used to play with Happy, our family's dog when I was growing up. So I took them into the trees on the east side of the farm and showed them where my sisters and I played in a little crumbling shack and claimed various openings in the trees as our homes during games. I also told them how terrifying it was to play nighttime games of hide-and-go-seek in the summer; when I was "it," I would count to 20, shout "Ready or not, here I come!" and then look up to find myself surrounded by inky black darkness on all sides, knowing that hiding somewhere in the trees were my sisters and our cousins, able to see me standing beneath the yard light but completely hidden from my sight within the twisted branches of the trees, which scraped together ominously as the wind passed through them. It was a test of my bravery just to go off in search of the hiders! Thank goodness for Happy, who could usually be counted on to sniff out the kids no matter how well hidden; I had only to follow her in order to find someone or other!
Then the girls, Bandy, and I walked the prairie trail along the trees north of the house, and I showed them the old combine (parked for eternity just inside the tree rows) that I used to use as a fort. From there it was a short walk westward to the pasture, and I lifted the barbed wire fence to let them in. We walked the fence line northward, alternately looking up to take in the vistas and looking down to avoid the soggy cow pies until we reached the northern border, which we had to climb over in order to get to the old railroad tracks. A few years ago, the railroad company ceased using it and actually removed all the ties and rails, so now it's just a raised path overgrown with weeds. We followed it east until we reached the railroad bridge over the creek running through Dad's pasture . . . except that the railroad had removed the bridge, too! So we climbed down onto the ice and then headed south through the long grasses of the lowest part of the pasture, through the short grass on the hillside (which had been hayed and lay dotted with hay bales), and then through the tall grasses of the field at the top of the hill just north of the house.
By the time we were done, we had walked a few miles, and the girls (including Bandy) were "plumb tuckered out," as we used to say. The girls had a great time, though, asking for details about my childhood trips along those same paths with Happy and listening intently to my stories as we walked. I enjoyed remembering the good times playing outside with our dog and exploring the pastures and trees as though it were all undiscovered country and Happy and I were adventurers investigating the land for the first time. Bandy enjoyed sniffing around and seeing new sights (Dad and Beverly never take her for long hikes across the countryside!), but she wasn't crazy about any terrain that didn't allow her clear sight lines into the distance. When there were tree branches strewn across the ground or taller-than-Bandy grasses surrounding her, she was hesitant and stuck pretty close to my heels. Where there were clearer paths or shorter grass, though, she took the lead and pulled on the leash, letting me know where she thought we should be going.
Susan turned the leftovers into a tasty supper after we got back from our hike, and then we all sat at the kitchen table and played Norwegian whist. It's a variation of whist that my uncle Lawrence taught us years ago and that we used to play all the time when going to his house to visit. My own sisters and parents and I used to play it whenever we were all home together for a holiday. We'd each grab a can of pop and fill a napkin with some snacks: Christmas cookies or peanuts salted in the shell, usually, although Mom and Dad would often polish off a box of chocolate-covered cherries while we played! I looked up "Norwegian whist" on the Internet and found instructions for what we would consider to be basic whist! So perhaps Lawrence's version of "Norwegian whist" was his own invention--who knows? It didn't take long for the girls to get the hang of it tonight, so I think we'll be able to play it in our own house now, only with Susan and I playing the roles that Mom and Dad used to play. Sigh.
After packing the vehicle and saying goodbye, we were off to return to Dickinson. First, however, we pulled over alongside the highway by Dad's house for a photo opportunity. Just a couple miles from his farm is a drilling rig on my uncle Lawrence's land, and it's located mere yards to the north of the highway--much closer to the main road than most drilling locations are. It's brightly lit through the night as the men work continuously to reach oil. We have a vested interest in its success; my mom owned mineral acres beneath that land, so my sisters and I could gain a few bucks if the well is successful. Dad himself is enjoying occasional checks for the oil wells on his land, too. In any case, it's impressive to watch the enterprise of drilling for oil, especially when it's so easy to pull off the road, roll down the windows, and watch.
After the table prayer but before we ate our Thanksgiving dinner, Beverly asked each of us to name something for which we were thankful. The responses were varied and heartwarming. I said that I was thankful for being close enough now that we can make more frequent trips back to the farm, no matter how brief. The girls were definitely thankful for the chance to play on the farm ("I want to live here!" they said more than once) and see Grandpa and Grandma and Bandy. We were all thankful, too, for all the work that Susan did to haul the food and prepare the meals. Finally I was thankful that all the suicidal deer gathered in the ditches and standing on the shoulder of the road decided not to leap into our path as we drove home tonight. At least they kept me alert!
I remember all those places. Mostly while driving tractor in the fiels. Otherwise it was from the motorcycle while riding around the country side.
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