The People

Spending more time up here has allowed me to get to know the people of the area a little better. It's not that I'm close to anyone in particular, but I certainly feel safe making some stereotypes now. I shall begin by telling you about our neighbors...

I saw that Shawn and the girls had gone across the lawn to meet our neighbors to the left. Excitedly, I hurried over to get in on the introductions. The first thing I noticed was the middle-aged woman in the wheelchair up on the deck. She stared at me, and I couldn't stop staring at her- she had a breast nestled on the outside of each knee. They looked like two very long tube socks filled with rocks. Wasn't that painful? Apparently not; she seemed quite comfortable. After our mutual staring match, she went back to reading her book and ignored us. The other two members of the house were an engaged couple; probably about my age, but it was difficult to tell. They were a bit...slow. Once again, I found myself caught in an intense gaze as the woman made unwavering eye contact. She didn't have any weird breasts for me to stare at, and I felt awkward, so I just pet the dog at my feet. Her fiance did most of the talking, but the woman said enough to scare the girls. I knew there would be plenty of questions from them once we got into the car, and I was already trying to decide how to handle the ones concerning their dog's ginormous balls. I have never in my life seen anything like that, and I was shocked that it was able to sit down. Now that the dog also made me uncomfortable, I had to again look at the people. I couldn't help but notice that Olivia had more teeth than all of them put together, despite the fact that she recently had six of hers extracted at the dentist's. We finally left and I put the girls in the car to take them to grandma's house while Shawn stayed with our dog Emma. As soon as I shut my car door, Genevieve exclaimed, "That lady up high was OGLY!!" Gumbi-boobs had terrified her. I told her that the nice lady in the wheelchair was not ugly, she was just different looking, and that it wasn't very nice to call people names. As we drove away, I saw the younger woman sprinting across our lawn towards Shawn, holding a giant, pink hula-hoop. He told me later that she said it was her daughters, but that social services had taken her away, so our girls could have it.

Shortly after, Shawn took me to meet the neighbors on the other side, which just happens to be Shawn's second cousin. However, all refer to him as Uncle Harry. The first thing I took in was Uncle Harry's expanse and incredible garden. As you walk down his driveway, there are rows and rows of big, fat vegetables on your right. To your left, there is a brilliant flower garden. The man has a way with dirt, that's for sure. There was also a lot of hillbilly outdoor furniture- you know, things like broken down old sheds, tires, and bathtubs. Harry met us in the driveway, and Shawn introduced us. I expected a "nice to meet you," but instead he asked "You like sauerkraut?" It sounded like a test. I stuttered, still not recovered from such an odd question, so Shawn answered for me and told Harry that I indeed did like sauerkraut. Harry seemed very pleased, and said, "Well come on! I'll show you how to make it!" We followed him into his back yard, where his son Paul was drinking a beer. Paul had "hick" written all over him, but was obviously a nice kid. Harry offered us beers, despite the fact that it was only 3:00 in the afternoon. Harry and I are going to get along famously. Then he showed me the huge basin full of shredded cabbage. He picked up another large head of the stuff, and scraped it across his large, homemade shredder. He had some sort of salt that he mixed in, then he set the lid on the basin and said "There. In a few weeks, it'll be done." That's how sauerkraut is made? I might not be a fan anymore now that I know it's simply rotten cabbage. I did have a great time meeting Harry and Paul, however, and I cannot wait until next spring to get gardening tips from Harry.

There isn't much to tell about the neighbor from across the road, other than the fact that- again- he made intense eye contact. He also boasted about his age like a child. Every few minutes he was get that proud, crooked smile, and say, "I'm sixty six years old." The first few times we acted impressed, but it did start to get weird. He seemed functional and normal in every way, but just couldn't tell us his age enough times.

Another thing that I have noticed- apart from the gazes of the people- is the fact that although friendly, the people are hesitant to do business with me until we find a common ground. Shawn's grandparents usually provide that. I remember Dr. Weedman telling us in class that you could never get information from anyone in the south until you established a shared relative. Once you found out that your third cousin married this guy's uncle's ex-girlfriend's sister, he would tell you where all the great fishing holes were. It seems to be the same up here. Like I said, they are all friendly, but once they find out that I'm married to Oren Miller's grandson, the floodgates of warmth burst open and they treat me like I'm their own child. They have never met Shawn, nor his mother, but that doesn't really seem to matter. Their faces simply light up with smiles, and they can't give me enough helpful service. I now have our flooring and appliances all picked out.

The last story is from a small restaurant in Little Falls. The girls and I were the only ones in there at first, so the waiter made small talk with us. We told him we were from Rochester and new to the area, etc. Across the street was the Catholic church, and they were having a church bazaar, so he asked if we had been to it. We hadn't, so he stared out the window and said, "Did you see that they have a beer garden?" What?! A beer garden??? At a church bazaar? The waiter said he would probably stop by for a beer after work, and it struck me as so hilarious. After a bit, an extremely old man came in, and I'm talking fossil. He was probably pushing a hundred. He was wearing a flannel shirt, overalls, and a very large, metal cross around his neck. He gummed his food and sipped his coffee, and seemed to enjoy watching my girls chatter and eat. He and the waiter conversed here and there, until the old man stood up to leave. As he was walking in our direction towards the door, the waiter asked him where he was heading tonight. Fossil replied that he was headed to the VFW because it was karaoke night. Waiter and I got a kick out of that, and the waiter asked him what kinds of songs he liked to sing. Fossil stopped at our table (behind the girls, luckily, so they couldn't see him), and said he liked to sing country. Then, as if in a bad dream, he gyrated his hips at me and belted out, "Save a horse, ride a cowboy!" Then he continued on his way and walked out the door. Waiter and I stared at each other with shocked eyes as big as saucers. Then we both busted out laughing, and I laughed so hard that I cried. Waiter shook his head and said, "Welcome to Little Falls."

First Things

Here it is, the blog that I promised my family and friends. I don't want anyone to feel that we are less connected simply because there is some distance between us (and I don't get cell phone reception. And internet is come and go. And we're Amish now.)

Mom was wondering how my trip up went. Well, mother, I made it about a half a block before I realized that this ride would be horrific. First of all, my flip flop had broken in mom's driveway right before I got ready to leave. Since Shawn and his dad had taken everything up north a few days before, these were my only shoes. I now had one. Frodo, our Conure, was put in his cage in the back, where he instantly started screaming. For those of you who do not know, Conures are very loud when they want to be, and Frodo was sure to let me know that he did not appreciate this indignity. The parakeets were as happy as little larks, and sang a constant stream of warbling. It was cute for an hour; too bad the trip was seven hours. The cats were petrified with fear, and yowled incessantly. I had a three hour drive to Welcome, MN, where I would be picking up yet another animal, our Rottweiler, Emma. Emma is only 18 months, and I wondered what in God's great army what I was thinking by taking all of the animals up to Randall at once. I remained optomistic, thinking that my zoo would all settle into the ride and quiet down. They did not. The original plan was to have Emma be in the back of mom's van with Frodo and his big cage, but the cats were driving me so insane that I had to stop along the way and put them in the back. Therefore, when I picked Emma up, she sat in the front passenger seat. It was a bit too small for her, but I couldn't imagine having the cats yowling in my ear for an additional four hours. She was a sport, and curled up with her nose in her own butt and layed silent. From then on, the trip went relatively smooth. I had covered the birds' cages and all was quiet, except for the muffled mewling in the rear. At one point, Noya came climbing over the seats to get to me; I was afraid that Emma was going to try to attack her and upset the fifty plants I had stuffed into mom's van. While trying to drive, I held Emma's collar and beat the cat back with a map until she disappeared back down into cat hell for a while.

Finally, after a long 7 hours, I was in Randall. Right now we are living in Shawn's grandparent's house while we work on the house we just bought. It's very awkward, because we know that we will only be here temporarily, although how long is uncertain. What should we unpack? What do we really need for right now? Furthermore, a lot of Shawn's mom's stuff is here. Was that our peanut butter, or was I making lunch out of Mary's? I have yet to come up with a system that works. Another thing to get used to is the quirks of a different house. You know how some places make certain noises, or you have to shut the door just so for it to work? Well, this place has magnificent water pressure in the shower. I dragged myself in, hardley still alive, and turned the shower on. I screamed and scrambled to find my nipples, sure that they had been sluiced off and were about to go down the drain. Once you get used to it (and keep your back turned), the shower feels pretty good. There is certainly no worries that you won't get all of the shampoo rinsed out of your hair, for it is bulletted from your skull the moment you put your head under the water. I have asked Shawn how tall his grandparents were; the shower head is about four inches shorter than I am, which presents a problem of strength and flexibility when one must rinse off backwards or risk never breast feeding again. I didn't know Shawn had Pygmie in his bloodlines.

Shawn's friend, Joe Denman, is stationed up here at Camp Ripley, so he often times comes over for dinner and company. He is a very sweet, very polite man, and Olivia is in love with him. Poor Joe listens to all of Olivia's never-ending stories, and nods and smiles appropriately. She tells him about her birds, her beanies, her sister, her daddy, her dog's saggy teats, her teeth, and her best jokes. When I say something about Shawn's excellent grilling skills and our dinner, Olivia says "thanks, Joe." When we look at her strangely, she blushes and says, "Oh! I thought you said Joe grilled our dinner." She gives a coy smile to Joe and continues eating. Come to think of it, Joe has been awfully "busy" lately. Shawn assures me that Joe just has guard duty and will be back, but I'm not so sure.

The last thing that I will write about is my surprise at the wildlife up here. I was walking with Genevieve the other day when I noticed a deer fly trying to land on her. Now back home, the only time we had problems with deer flies was when we were riding horses. Here, they will carry off your young if you don't react quickly enough. I was certain I was going to be reported for child abuse, because all the way home I was slapping her on her back and her head. Maybe that one lady that I saw yelling "goddamit, stop!" and smacking her kids around wasn't really that trashy? Perhaps I had judged her too quickly, I don't know. Also, last night we made s'mores over the grill after dinner, and it was perfect- the air was still and cool, the butterflies were circling about, and we were all having a total "Leave it to Beaver" moment. Then, about 30 yards away from us, a turkey vulture attacked and killed a Robin in front of us. The girls were stricken with terror and anguish, and we went scurried inside before the vulture could turn his beady eyes on the girls and decide that they would be better prey.

It hasn't quite been a week up here for me yet, but it has certainly been an experience. I will keep you all posted on the daily happenings, and let you know when I have a cell phone network that actually works up here.

Love,

Katie