The Minnesota Farm Woman

Once upon a time and many, many years ago (or perhaps it was just yesterday), there was a little cabin in the north woods. This cabin was filled with so many memories that it was ready to burst at the seams. It was also filled with the cast offs from parents and grandparents, aunts and uncles, and anyone else who might say, “I thought you could use this at your cabin.” The old grandfather who once owned it built it many years ago when he was young and strong. He spent the next 50 years filling it up with everything that the family needed and then some. His wife, the old grandmother, stopped herself from nagging about it for the sake of the children. His daughters, these days rather old themselves, decided something had to be done, and soon. It was time. They cleaned out cupboards and drawers and places where many mice had spent the winter, or perhaps where one mouse had spent many winters. It was hard to tell. They filled bags and boxes and shared the memories as only two sisters can do. They wondered how they could possibly have found enough old shoes to fill a large garbage bag. They saved the important things: The blue pitcher, the lantern, the old grandfather’s hunting cap, the berry dishes that they used to fill with wild blueberries and cream skimmed from the top of the milk. That was before cholesterol was invented. They made room for the new things which strangely enough are the cast offs from parents and grandparents, aunts and uncles, and anyone else who might say, “I thought you could use this at your cabin.” They sent a MAN out to the shed who promptly reported back that there was “nothing at all in there that needed to go.” Right. They deliberately ignored what was underneath the cabin. It was a well-known fact and occasional family joke that the old grandfather saved every board and scrap of wood from every project he had done for the last 50 years under there, just in case he ever needed it. Why underneath the cabin? Because the old grandmother told him he couldn’t pile it up in her basement/attic/garage or anywhere else around her house in town. That’s what cabins are for. There’s probably lots of big hairy spiders and porcupine babies and Lord-knows-what-else under there, too. The rather old sisters turn into squeamish little girls again at the thought of things like that. After the cabin was cleaned and the wine was poured, the sisters smiled at each other. There was plenty of room for friends and family who will be busy making more memories in the little cabin. In fact, it was about to burst at the seams from all the happiness inside. I think if you were to look out the window at sunset, way across the lake, you just might see an old grandfather and an old grandmother paddling their canoe. It’s funny, but they don’t look so old anymore. You can hear them talking as the canoe glides out of sight. She: “Dear, look at all the work you left for the girls to do. I told you that you should have cleared it out years ago!” He: “Thank goodness they didn’t get rid of everything! They left all that lumber under the cabin. I told you it would be good for a project someday.”