Showing posts with label Leaf Mountain Church. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Leaf Mountain Church. Show all posts
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Remembering Roots
This weekend
Dan and I mark
18 years of marriage.
Last weekend
we celebrated
the fact.
We drove to his ancestral
stomping grounds to attend
a family burial
Saturday morning
followed by a
fellowship lunch
at the family lake cabin.
Then we seized
the afternoon
to explore
his family roots
further.
We started at
the threshing reunion
in the town of Dalton.
There
on the grounds
we visited
the childhood home
of Dan's mom's mom
as well as
the
Little
Red
Schoolhouse
where his
dad's cousins
studied during
their elementary
years.
In
the
schoolhouse
entry,
Dan
spotted
antiques
similar to
one his dad
used in
to carry
lunch in
his youth.
From
Dalton,
we
traveled
the road
to
Great
Grandma
Lena's
house;
stopped by the
Leaf Mountain
cemetery
(in honor of
Grandpa Roy's
Sept. 11th
birthday)
and church
where
we married;
(see first photo)
and drove
the
back
road
leading up
to
Inspiration
Peak
for a peek
atop
the peak.
Mid-afternoon, Aaron called Dan's cell phone to ask permission for Isaac to drive all three of our sons over to Aunt Sheila's at her spontaneous invitation to dinner and a bonfire. Dad agreed. Mom worried. "Is it wise," I asked my husband, "allowing a teenage licensed driver of just two weeks, to transport his two brothers 18 miles (30 km) across town?" Dan said, "I look at it this way: Either he can drive, or he can't."
With the boys covered under Aunt Sheila's cooking, we - the anniversary couple - stopped at the foot of Inspiration Peak to dine at our groom's dinner spot - The Peak Supper Club - and opened yet another new chapter of married life by
Remembering Roots.
Thursday, December 6, 2007
You say Potato...
I say Pa-tah-toe...That little ditty from the "Shall We Dance" movie song "Let's Call the Whole Thing Off" came to mind as my hubby and I bantered about Christmas goodies called "Haystacks."
About a month ago, Dan volunteered to put together treat bags for children attending the church Sunday School Christmas Program. As a new church council member, Dan wanted to provide today's children with a taste of "the good old days" when he was a kid attending his grandparents' rural church in Leaf Mountain.
Dan was determined each bag should include unshelled peanuts, candy canes, ribbon candy, other Brach's goodies, and haystacks.
"Haystacks?" I asked. "Who's going to make those?"
"You can buy them," he said. I countered, "I've never seen them in stores. My grandma used to make them with butterscotch chips, chow mein noodles and peanuts."
"Haystacks are chocolate pyramid-shapes with a white center," Dan explained.
"What's in them?" I asked. "Marshmallow? Coconut?"
"I don't know," he said. "Something – creamy, sweet. But... we've gotta have chocolate haystacks like the ones in Leaf Mountain."
A couple weeks later, I began scanning store aisles to fill his old-fashion candy requests. My mom tipped me off on the ribbon candy available through my sisters' grocery employer. As I picked up four bags of mini-ribbon candy, I noticed clear boxes of chocolate pyramid-shaped candy with filled centers. The label said "Sponge Candy" but I had a hunch this might be my hubby's "Haystacks."
"Sponge Candy!" Dan said looking at the three boxes I'd brought home. "Those aren't Haystacks and I doubt the kids will eat sponge candy – the ones I've tried taste like burnt meringue."
"Whatever..." I said and set to work with the ingredients for my Grandma's Butterscotch Haystacks.
1 12-ounce package of butterscotch chips
1 cup of chow mein noodles
3/4 cup of peanuts
I melted the butterscotch chips in a pot and stirred in the other two ingredients. On a piece of wax paper, I dropped heaping-teaspoon-sized scoops of the mixture into mounds, let them set up for a half-hour, popped them off and offered them to my family saying: "These are what we called "Haystacks" when I was a kid."
Nodding to Dan, I added, "They're distinctively different than the Haystacks you've described."
Dan took a bite.
"Yes," he agreed. "They've got a distinct taste! Soy..."
I shook my head, "Hey! They're not my favorite. I don't like butterscotch."
Before our boys gobbled up the Butterscotch Haystacks, Dan grabbed a few more.
Tuesday I walked into our local farm store on a separate errand. As I passed by the Christmas candy aisle, an older woman worker was taking inventory. I asked, "Would you happen to carry something called 'Haystacks.' They're chocolate with a white center."
She walked over to a stand of clear boxes marked "Chocolate Drops," handed me a package and said: "I've heard people call these "Haystacks." They've got a white center."
"Creamy white?" I asked and she nodded.
"Thanks," I said reaching for three more boxes. "My husband should be thrilled."
Before checking out, I saw my in-laws in the store. Dan's dad confirmed the find.
"They're a little smaller than the ones we had at Leaf Mountain," he said. After the purchase, I cracked one box for him to taste test. "Yeah!" he said. "These are Haystacks."
On the drive home, I ate a few. From the sugar rush, I understood why Dan's mom refused the offer. She said, "If I'm gonna eat something that sweet, I like a nut in it."
At home, I placed a Chocolate Drop in Dan's hand and said, "Your Haystack!"As he took a bite, I grimaced,
"And you like that all that icky, sweet stuff?
He smirked, "I didn't say I liked it. I said: It's – Tradition!"
Perhaps a showing of "Fiddler on the Roof" is in order this Christmas. Maybe then, the good-old-days candy bags will truly become a thing of the past and we'll know why to Call the Whole Thing Off.
You say Potato...
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
"When we return home...
... then we shall live on the memories."
Memories, a block of G35 and package of crisp bread sustain me today.
Three weeks ago, my host parents presented me with this caramel cheese from Norway. The 35-percent-goat-to-cow-milk blend tastes milder than real goat cheese. That's why I requested it when they asked if I missed anything. I received a block of both: G35 for everyday and "ekte geit ost" to save for Christmas.
It felt like Christmas as we welcomed them into our home. They showered us with gifts of Freia milk chocolate bars and wooden camping cups - everyday tokens to them. Because... they too wanted to experience everyday family life.The result was a cultural combo.
For four days, our Minnesota home became even more Norwegian with coffee brewed daily; open-faced sandwiches for breakfast and lunch; daily outdoor exercise; mealtime conversation that rolled into "kaffe" – further conversation with dessert; and even a card game around the table before bed.
Different than the everyday hustle and bustle… truly a gift of time.
Here and there, the boys flashed their Norwegian know-how. At dinner, Noah toasted Gunn, looking her in the eye, saying "Skål" and maintaining eye contact while they clinked glasses, drank and returned the glassware to the table.
Besides homelife, they wanted to see the boys' sporting events – just as they do in Norway with their two grandchildren who match Isaac and Aaron's ages. Thursday afternoon we drove an hour to watch Isaac run a cross-country meet at St. John's University. We attempted to see Aaron play a Saturday morning football game. Unfortunately, a lightning storm caused a cancellation on our way there.
We showed
them how
Minnesota's
well-to-do
spend their
resources.
Thursday evening after Isaac's meet, we visited St. Cloud's Clemens and Munsinger Gardens.
As we toured, Gunn said, "Never would I have dreamed I'd be walking along the Mississippi River in such a beautiful garden."On Friday's gorgeous sunny afternoon, Dan took off from work to show them Gull Lake. We boated by multi-million dollar homes and resorts on a ride to a channel restaurant for an alfresco pizza lunch. During our two-hour trip, we even spotted – on the ends of a few docks – Norwegian flags displayed by Minnesotans proud of their heritage.
Saturday after Aaron's game cancelation, we showed them the other side of life. We drove farther west through one the state's poorest counties as we traveled back roads on our way to Dan's Norwegian ancestral homestead.
Before embarking on this Midwest USA tour, they'd defined their purpose: to see Norwegian immigrant influences.
As we reached the rolling hills and lakes of Ottertail County, they understood how topography drew in immigrants. Both commented, "It looks very much like home."
We stopped at the church that Dan's Norwegian immigrant great-great grandpa helped found in the 1873. In the adjoining cemetery lie Dan's forebears.The congregation has served six generations of his family. Here Dan and I married fifteen years ago. Nine years later, we celebrated a Norwegian-style baptism of our youngest son here.
On this day, we entered the church. What they saw inside was familiar. The altar, the pews, the balcony, the design – all looked reminiscent of Norway.

When we returned home – after climbing Inspiration Peak for a 25-mile view, lunching at a saloon in the village of our wedding reception, 4-wheeling with the whole family in the SUV over the fields of Dan's family's farm and stopping later for a Dairy Queen treat – my host mom helped me with supper. Meanwhile, my host dad sat in our coffee nook contemplating...
He said, "When we walked inside the church, it struck me what the church here means to the people."
After driving for miles over the rolling terrain, seeing the great distances between homes and towns, asking how the church was supported, and learning it belonged to the members, he understood the church's role not only as a place of worship but also as a community support mechanism… Much different from Norway's state-supported church which is used mainly for life's big moments of baptisms, confirmations, weddings and funerals.
For an even better understanding, the next morning we took them to our local church – also with Nordic heritage. While the boys and I worked with the Sunday School classes, Dan took Gunn and Svein downstairs for Scandinavian style coffee with cakes, cookies and breads as well as a cup and conversation.
Later they found a pew for the service. Noah sat on one side beside Gunn. I joined them on the other end beside Svein. Robed in light blue with other choir members, Dan sat up front and sang four pieces with his group. During the opening hymn, Svein kneed me and pointed to the altar where Isaac and Aaron were lighting the candles as the service's ushers. Gunn and Svein smiled as Noah scurried up front to the pastor for the Children Message before his sermon. They marveled when Noah asked to go forward during Prayers for Healing.
Returning home to a soup and sandwich lunch, all seven of us joined for the last time in harmonized song before we ate.Almost a decade ago, my maid of honor (who grew up in Gunn and Svein's Norwegian community) visited our family with her husband (then, -to-be). Dan impressed Else with his Norwegian recitation of the table prayer used by his grandparents. She taught us its melody to the tune of the doxology. It's since become our family's signature song.
Shortly afterwards, we gathered on our back step for a family portrait and good-byes before Dan drove to Minneapolis with two-fold purpose: to catch his work-trip flight to Reno, Nevada and to drop our family's Norwegian (grand)parents at their hotel to start their group bus tour of Minnesota, South and North Dakota, including a stop at Minot's famous Høstfest celebration. On their two-week trek, they passed by places Gunn's grandfather ventured a century ago when he lived seven years in "Amerika" as a young man owning a farm the near MN/SD border, working on the railroad as it moved west and ranching as a Montana cowboy before returning to Norway to meet, marry and settle down in the homeland with Gunn's grandma.
This afternoon as I munched on my G35 cracker, I wondered whether it was Gunn's grandpa who inspired her parting words:
"When we return home, then we shall live on the memories."
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