Over the River and Through the Floods to Visit my Aunt we go

Our 3-1/2-year cruise had been delayed. We met Laura 18 days ago in Belfast at the Titanic Hotel. She also would be on the cruise around the world. Five days ago, she asked if we wanted to spend our time waiting for the ship to be ready at her brother, Jim’s, house. Four days ago, we met her brother to stay at his three-story log cabin in the Minnesota woods. One day ago, I told him that my aunt lived in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Upon hearing that, he offered his wife’s car for Dusty and me to make the 3-1/2-hour drive to visit her. Since I had not seen my aunt and two of my cousins in fifty years, it felt like the stars were aligning in a way that may never happen again. The universe had worked so hard to get me to this point; I could not say no.

The five inches of rain from a couple of nights ago seemed to be drying in the yard where the dogs and chickens scurried about. When I checked the route to my cousin’s house, the three options from the night before had changed a bit, but each still had the note “Flood Warning”. Being fond of taking the fastest route and trusting the app on my phone, perhaps a bit too much, we struck out on the diagonal route that didn’t land on an interstate for the first hundred miles.

We headed out in Jan's Honda CRV in the late morning to miss the rains in Sioux Falls that were supposed to end around noon. Our route transitioned from dirt to gravel to a two-lane road. The map on the phone kept us going southwest towards our objective through an ultra Americana filled with farms and fields.

We had driven about a half hour when I realized the scope of the family that Laura and her brother Jim Traxler belonged to. The name “Traxler’s” was on a big sign with the image of a flying pheasant off the side of the road saying that the hunting preserve was closed until the fall. This was an indication of the legacy of their family in Minnesota and it belonged to their cousin, Jeff Traxler. We stopped to take a picture and then saw a pheasant on the side of the road. I could tell by his casual stroll that he also knew it was not hunting season.

The fields had corn that was supposed to be “knee-high by the Fourth of July” knee-deep in water from the record rainfall. Rivers that were supposed to be thirty feet from the road were marked with traffic cones in the road so drivers would not enter the water. We came to a point where the road was blocked, and we were directed to a smaller county road just as the directions on the app indicated the same. At least the phone was keeping up with the rising waters and was trying to help us detour around them.

The Des Moines River runs through Windom, Minnesota. At the bend of the river in town is Island Park. The park has a swimming pool and a baseball field. On the right field fence, there is a three-masted ship with their mascot, an eagle, standing on the deck. The pool was nearly underwater, and the ship, mounted six feet above the ball field, was about to be launched into the river. We had driven past it when Dusty spotted the ironic ship nearly in the water and said I had to go back. She was right, and we took a short break where we could actually see the water rising towards our car in the parking lot in the few minutes we were there.

The rising water and changes in the route encouraged us to get moving again. We were directed into smaller towns and then out of the towns altogether and into farm country. At times, the water in low sections of the road was half a foot deep, but still safe to pass. The weather forecast said Sioux Falls would have its last rain around noon, which was when we expected to arrive there.

We messaged my cousin, Mike, about half an hour away after we were on I-90 and gave him our ETA. He said he would pick up his mother and meet us at his house.

About ten minutes before we arrived, the black wall of clouds that we hoped was moving away hit us like a thunderstorm. The rain came down hard, and we could only see about 100 feet. Then it rained harder. At the worst, I could see the taillights of the car three lengths ahead of me and could barely hear Dusty giving me another change in directions as the exit we were supposed to take showed solid red on the map.

Between the app and Dusty, we made it to Mike’s house, and he was sitting in a lawn chair in the open door of the garage. The rain had stopped as quickly as it started, and we were happy to get inside as the steam started to come up from the hot pavement. Mike greeted us and helped us through the garage and up the stairs.

When I got inside, I saw my aunt Adrienne on the sofa across the room. The long, drawn-out vowels of the dialect of the region were exactly as I remembered from my childhood when she greeted me. I quickly dropped my backpack and suitcase to hurry over and give her a long hug.

The 1970's seemed not so long ago. We would drive in my mom’s Ford Country Squire station wagon from Glendora, California to Sioux Falls, South Dakota, camping along the way. My brothers and I would play with our four cousins outside while the adults did whatever they did inside. Snapshots of those days flashed through my mind. But that was then, and I felt that I needed to make the most of now.

Sharing the mishaps encountered while attempting to begin our world trip, I recounted how a stranger turned into a friend, and that friend's brother generously offered their car (in reality, his wife's car) upon learning of my proximity to visiting family. Perhaps these weren't mishaps after all; maybe they occurred with purpose. It seemed as though I was meant to be there. My aunt Adrienne, deeply connected to Christ, appeared convinced that the hand of God played a role in this.

We made some sandwiches and chatted. The skies had cleared while we were eating, and soon the youngest of my cousins, Georgette, arrived. I had not seen her since she was a little girl. She was now a grown woman with all the tomboy attributes of my mom and the healthy glow that comes from an active life.

Mike wanted to show us around a bit, and Georgette was excited to come along. Their mom was not up to joining us, so she stayed with Mike’s wife while we took the brief outing.

Georgette and Dusty were in the back seat with their dog (Dusty seemed to be enjoying the company of more than her share of dogs on this trip), and Mike drove while I rode shotgun.

We drove through downtown on the way to the falls of Sioux Falls. The news the night before said there were record levels in the river, and it should be an awesome sight. It seems the local news has lots of viewers because every parking spot was filled, and there was a queue of cars streaming through the lot. Mike realized the folly of hunting for the proverbial needle in a haystack and suggested the rest of us get out while he tried his luck.

The concrete pathways through the lush and very soggy grass were packed with people migrating toward the bridge that crossed over the river. Adjacent to the river was a five-story tower with a souvenir shop at the bottom. Of course, I saw it as a great vantage point for a photograph of the falls. The ladies strolled towards the falls as I climbed the stairs to the top of the tower.

The view made it clear that this normally calm, flowing river was energized by the record rains of the past few days. The churning brown river with whitewater and spraying mists was the sight that brought people who had lived here for years out to see it in droves.

After a few quick pics from the lofty perch, I chose to take the elevator down as I was still out of breath from the ascent and preferred not to become a medical casualty on an otherwise really nice day. Dusty, Georgette, and I went to the edge of the rushing river where sawhorses were erected to keep the curious from wandering down the sidewalks that were obviously dangerously under water.

After a good look and listen, we worked our way back to the parking lot to check on Mike. After a brief look around, we called Mike and found he had to drive out of the parking lot and across the street to park. The three of us took the short hike to the truck, and Georgette said she wanted us to see a spot near the spillway she liked to go when she was hanging out with her friends in high school. As she started directing Mike on where to go, he said he didn’t even know this little road existed. Both he and Georgette had grown up in Sioux Falls, but it seems they had different friends and different places to hang out in high school. After talking about the stuff they did as kids around the famously polluted waters nearby, we returned to Mike’s house for dinner.

Going through the front door of his house, we walked around a large patch of bird droppings that had obviously been cleaned up recently, only to be replenished. Directly above was a mud nest with baby swallows inside. Our arrival caused them to stir and open their little mouths in search of a morsel from their mama.

Our morsels were waiting inside. Mike prepared a chicken curry dish and asked for my suggestions on the seasoning. Of course, I suggested more curry. His brother, Denny, had arrived and agreed with my critique.

Denny had a property just across the state line in Hills, Minnesota. He called it the acreage and asked if we would like to come visit there and a restaurant he had opened in the same town. His real vocation was woodworking/carpentry. On the acreage, he had his wood shop and an older farmhouse surrounded by enough land to feel free from society, which in turn was surrounded by larger farms with neighbors in the true sense of the word. Visit to a restaurant, walking in the country, checking out great woodworking, and I think he mentioned bourbon. Check. Check. Check. And check. I’m in.

Dinner was a success, and there was some more conversation before taking Aunt Adrienne back home to the independent living center a mile or so away. We would see her again for church in the morning.

When we got back from dropping her off, the sun was setting, and we went onto the back porch hoping to see some fireflies. After a while, the mosquitoes had found Dusty, and it was time to go inside. No fireflies tonight.

The next morning, Mike drove Dusty and me over to pick up his mom for church. They had been members of the church and very involved for years. Mike said that with spending a lot of time in Florida and time marching on, he found that he knew fewer and fewer of the congregation anymore. While Adrienne went to a class before the service began, Mike, Dusty, and I sat and had a cup or two of coffee, and he introduced us to some of the members that came by to say hi.

When we went in for the service, I was a little surprised to find that Aunt Adrienne was attending a very contemporary service with a live band, including a full drum set behind a plexiglass wall. The energy level and singing, including the big screen display of the verses to the songs, was very similar to a church that Dusty and I attended while we were in New York with her family. I enjoy singing in church when I finally find the right key and the spirit moves me. Unfortunately, the lyrics on the front screen were being put up after the music had already been played. It was a full three to four words behind, resulting in humming a bit before getting to participate in the singing. There were a couple that I recognized from the church in New York, and I got a chance to belt out a few with a confident voice. Later, my aunt said she felt the presence of the Holy Spirit at times that morning. I thought I may have too.

The message that morning was one of the Beatitudes: “Blessed are they who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” I internalized the message personally, as I was there to receive a message that I should not worry too much about what was not happening because, in the end, I would be happy with what did happen. OK. Message received. I will hang loose, and things will work out in the end.

With lunch waiting for us in Hills, Minnesota, we took to the interstate to retrace the route that had brought us through the pouring rain the day before. Today, it was a glorious day with blue skies and sunshine in abundance. We made our way to the Green Rail Restaurant and went around to the back entrance as we were expected there. The tall wooden fence with the gate opened felt like we were walking into someone’s backyard. The grassy area and tables on the back patio added to that illusion. Denny didn’t open this restaurant because it was his dream to make a bunch of money or anything. He knew that the little town nearest to “the acreage” needed a place like this, and he was able to do it.

They were moving the tables into the shade as we arrived, and the kids were already starting to get their hands on some ice cream in the warmth of the early afternoon. Denny said hello and showed us around a bit. The manager helped show us to the Sunday brunch buffet and made sure we all felt welcome. The front entrance gave access to a shallow area that was probably the original shop. There was the kitchen, front counter, freezer full of ice cream, about three or four tables, and a cashier. The larger back room looked like it had been added on with the intent of accommodating larger groups and sitting for a while. There was a small bar to one side with rows of bottles behind. Most were bourbons. Some were really nice. Denny said that he had some appreciation for the stuff and maybe would sample some of them later. :)

When we went to sit outside with our plates of food, a swallow flew in and went to a mud nest above one of the outside speakers. They had put a board under the nest to keep the droppings off the speaker and the door below it, rather than disturb the three chicks inside. This was the second time I had seen a nest of baby swallows in two days. The last time I had been up close and personal with one was when I was six years old at Moosehead Ranch in Wyoming. Interesting how memories pop up.

The Green Rail was a nice place with a good vibe, but it was time to head out to the “acreage”, so we followed Denny out the mile or two to the piece of Minnesota that seemed to fit him best. After driving between his neighbors' cornfields and up his gravel driveway, the farmhouse on the left looked a lot like the house we lived in while we were going to college in Stevens Point, Wisconsin. Two stories with a gabled roof and the bones were probably about a hundred years old, but it had been taken care of and had a warm, homey feel about it. In front of us to the right was the heart of his empire: the steel-framed warehouse that housed all his woodworking equipment. About a hundred feet by fifty feet, it was essentially a warehouse that had been filled out the way he wanted it to be.

Denny was happy to invite us for a little tour of the place where he turned pieces of wood into fine cabinetry and more. Going through the door into the little hallway showed us three small rooms for bookkeeping, planning, and exhaust ventilation for the dust and vapors produced by his work. The next door opened into the cavernous space that was the rest of the 5000 square feet of workshop. As we walked in and he turned on the lights, the smell of cut wood filled my nostrils and I liked it. There was a large area for cold storage of a multitude of cuts of wood, some extremely pricey and some more mundane. Each had its own characteristics and purposes, and he knew them intimately. Throughout the floor of the workspace, there were pieces of equipment for each stage of operation. If they ground or cut wood, which nearly all did, they had a large ventilation hose running from them up to the ceiling twenty feet above and vented outside. While we were looking around, a puppy joined us, as well as his grandkids who set about cleaning sawdust from the floor in what was obviously a routine activity for them. It was nice to see the upbeat and helpful nature of the youngsters.

When we went back outside, the kids had joined grandma and were setting off small fireworks and burning the remnants in a little campfire. Denny showed us the backyard where he was doing some planting and he told us he remembered planting these trees when he was diagnosed with cancer. The trees were now over thirty feet tall, and Denny was healthy and looking forward to removing them and planting something more productive in their place - some fruit trees. Here's to being healthy and productive.

Denny showed Dusty and me inside and asked if a bourbon sample was in order. Never one to be an ungrateful guest, I said that I would be happy to. Dusty went to take a seat in the other room. Mike joined his brother and me in the kitchen. Denny found a bottle of Eagle Rare ten-year-old bourbon that had been gifted to him by a client. This client had asked him to create the cabinetry for his new house over five hundred miles away and install it. Denny had prepared all of it in his shop in Minnesota, loaded it into his trailer with his tools, and then delivered it to his client. Talk about home delivery! This kind of reputation is why he never had to advertise. Back to the bourbon… The three “boys”, and Dusty, shared a short sample (actually quite generous) over ice with a dose of conversation on the side. When we freshened up later, Adrienne joined us and had a soft drink on the rocks for a little more family time.

I had told Dusty a couple of times to make sure that we got a picture of my family before we left. As we were getting ready to go back to Sioux Falls, she reminded me that time was getting short to get that picture. Adrienne took a seat outside Denny’s house on a little bench, and the three boys stood behind, and we made sure that we got our shot. Fifty years. My, how time flies.

That night, we sat out on Mike’s back porch after sunset. Dusty had really wanted to see fireflies. Mike and I didn’t see a thing until Dusty came out to join us, and then it happened. A little spark in the tall grass. Then another and another. We thought it was cool. Dusty’s attention to detail is sometimes amazing. She said, “That one is different.” Then she noticed some were brighter than others and some were a slightly different color. Since you can Google anything, that is exactly what I did. It seems there are six types of fireflies in South Dakota. Who else would have noticed?

The next morning, we took the 3-1/2 soon-to-be 4-hour drive back to Minneapolis. We drove through record flood waters on the way and managed to return our host’s car without a scratch and with a full gas tank. I was grateful to be able to do both. Our delayed departure had been pushed out to July 15-20, over three weeks away. I hated to impose on our hosts in Minneapolis for so much longer. We called our friends in Florida to see if maybe we could spend some time there. They were happy to have us come and join them. We booked the flight.

A chain of impossible coincidences had led me to the visit with family that otherwise never would have happened. And I got to see a couple of swallow nests filled with babies too. What did the little birdies want to tell me?

https://www.auntyflo.com/magic/swallow