The Minnesota Farm Woman

Hanging in a place of honor above the fireplace in our cabin is an artist’s portrait of my father. I looked at it yesterday as I dusted the mantle, although I don’t know why I bothered to dust, as we were putting away summer. I call it “putting away summer” because that is exactly what we do. The dock has been taken out, fishing poles and tackle boxes locked up, wood stacked, and mantle dusted. We hauled the boat home and loaded up the four-wheeler. Although I love the beauty of the fall, putting away summer always makes me a little sad. We’ll probably spend another day or two, and the hunters in the family will be there more often. Each summer seems to go by faster than the speed of light, and the winters come too soon. It seems like just yesterday that my sister and I were little girls throwing rocks in the lake or sticks to one of our various dogs, who would fetch them as many times as we would throw them. My dad loved that cabin and would have lived there just as it was, fishing for our supper, chopping wood for heat, reading by kerosene lamps, and taking sauna on Saturday nights. My mom loved the cabin, too, and although she enjoyed the time we spent there, she was the main reason we didn’t live in the middle of the wilderness all the time. You know what they say: “Happy wife, happy life.” My sister and I have taken good care of our legacy, mostly because of the hard work of our husbands, who keep up with the never-ending maintenance. These days, with a small boy around, there is quite a bit of noise at our quiet corner of the lake. I learned that although time marches on, kids still love to throw rocks in the lake and dogs will still fetch a stick as many times as you will throw it. I did get a chance to have a few moments alone with my grandson inside the cabin yesterday, while HE hauled the boat and the boy’s parents took a ride in the woods on the four-wheeler. Although Max was more interested in looking at the mounted deer head and rack of antlers that grace the walls, he did take a moment to glance at that portrait on the mantle as I told him about his great-grandfather. There will be more stories as he grows, because this is his legacy, too. I really don’t need to see the portrait to remember my father, though, because that cabin is the place where I feel closest to him. Sometimes, when Max turns his head a certain way or gets a twinkle in his eye, I see a bit of my dad, too. That is the legacy of which he would be most proud. It is a happy life, indeed.