Chapter 15, Minneapolis, 1979

IN CHARGE

“Carolyn,” says our mom, “came into the world in charge.” When Carolyn and I were young, Dad put us in the backyard on a hot summer day with a bushel of daffodil bulbs to husk. It was too messy to do inside, so we often sat on the patio, husking away. Sometimes we snapped the tops off green beans on the patio too. My dad, a horticulturist and teacher, was running a 4-H Program in Saint Paul, and he had amazing quantities of vegetables and plant material to bring home in the summer from the 4-H garden. We loved this. Summer in Minnesota was full of fresh-sliced tomatoes, rhubarb pies, green beans, fried eggplant, enormous cucumbers, green bell peppers and corn. In the winters of the 1970s we didn’t have transported produce like we do now, and we often had to eat only canned vegetables like peas, stewed tomatoes, creamed asparagus, and yams. Eating fresh vegetables the day they were picked was a culinary fantasy for the taste buds. In my adult life, at restaurants, I always request salads without tomatoes, but not because I do not like them. It is because once you have tasted and savored a freshly-picked tomato from the garden, you can never really enjoy a month-old picked and then refrigerated tomato ever again. Dad also brought home flower bulbs from his 4-H Program. He was so excited to have them peeled so that after dinner we could plant them in the ground. Dad went inside his greenhouse to gather all the planting supplies needed, and Mom ran to our next-door neighbor’s house to grab an ingredient she needed for dinner. When they returned to the yard, Carolyn was not peeling the bulbs. Rather, she had set up chairs in a circle and assembled me and a group of eight neighborhood children to husk the bulbs for her while she rode her tricycle around and around.

The summer brings the Annual Horticulture Convention in Itasca, Minnesota. Governor Al Quie has just been elected, replacing Rudy Perpich. Al is an old college friend of my father. Dad decides at the last minute to hop in the car with the family to attend a dinner the Minnesota Horticultural Society is throwing for the new and former governors. In true “Dad form”, he brings two army green World War II sleeping bags in the conversion van for the trip. No Disneyland or fancy hotels for this crowd. Our dad, the age of most of our friends’ grandfathers, believes in roughing it – at least when it comes to the kids. We are handed the World War II sleeping bags, and we are expected to sleep on a cold tile floor. Carolyn and I wear our matching velour tracksuits home, the highlight being a much anticipated stop at the mouth of the Mississippi River at Itasca, where we can walk across the river in five steps or fewer. We are caravanning with a handful of Dad’s “plant friends.” Jean Bodine is our favorite. She runs instead of walking all the time, and when we see this, Carolyn always whispers to me, “Move over! It’s Jean Bodine the Running Machine!” Inside the van, Carolyn and I busy ourselves with crafts – our favorite being latch hook stitching. We also love Mad Libs and any gas station stops where we can find Orange Bubblicious bubble gum. My mom is upset at my father, who, as usual, has started the road trip by presenting her with a five dollar bill to spend. He thinks this is hysterical. Carolyn and I roll our eyes in the back seat. A little Anne Murray on the eight track always makes Mom feel better, but Carolyn and I vow our vacations will be amazing when we grow up. On our way to Itasca, we make a list of dream destinations: Paris were Madeline lives and definitely New York to see the Plaza Hotel and Eloise!