The Minnesota Farm Woman

Every town in every state has an icon: A place of memories, a little magic, and for sure, a touch of happiness. Some of you might guess the icon of my home town is perhaps the big fish at the intersection of Highways 2 and 6. There used to be a visitors information center there, back in the days when maps were free, people didn’t look everything up on their smart phones and took the time to get out and stretch their legs every once in a while. Moms and dads took summer vacations together and brought carloads of kids to the resorts and campgrounds of northern Minnesota. If your dad drove just a half a block north on Highway 6, he could park at the side of the road under the pine trees and stop at the real icon of our little town. The little orange-colored hut at the corner of Division Street and the unnamed alley that ran behind my house, was known to kids growing up in the 60’s and 70’s as Gram’s Kozy Korner. Gram, as everyone called her, sold sandwiches, ice cream, and all types of candy. She was sometimes sweet and sometimes a little crabby, depending on how long it took you to choose what you wanted. It was the type of place where you walked up to the window, placed your order, then slapped mosquitoes while you waited for it to get done. Older siblings lifted the younger ones up to the window, since you couldn’t step inside. I don’t remember much about waiting for hamburgers, because I was small enough to have just a penny, nickle or a dime clutched in my hand or deep in the pocket of my shorts, and that little bit of change could buy a Slo-Poke caramel sucker or an orange sherbet Push Up, which were a couple of favorites. We also bought candy necklaces, which were on elastic strings and you could pull the elastic up to your mouth and bite off the candy, eating them one by one. I ate mine so quickly that I never had the problem of a sticky ring around my neck like some of my friends did. Our moms didn’t like it much when we bought candy cigarettes, the candy of future juvenile delinquents. I don’t know why in the world they were even allowed to be sold, but we must have bought them for the naughtiness of it all rather than the taste, because they really weren’t that great. The best candy of all were the bars of soft smooth taffy in all flavors. I loved the yellow artificial banana flavor and would keep it in my pocket until it got even softer, then take a bite and stretch it out as long as I could. Funny, I don’t remember when Gram’s Kozy Korner closed. Perhaps it was when I got beyond the years when the neighborhood kids played together in the alley, teased our little brothers and sisters, and earned our pennies by picking woodticks off the dogs or sweeping the neighbor lady’s front porch. I don’t remember mourning it, but I’m certain that I must have. Years later, I found a place that sold old-fashioned candy and bought a few bars of that dentist’s delight taffy. It tasted good but a little too sweet and artificial for my adult palate, and nowhere near the sublime flavor of my memories. I finished it anyway and savored every bite.