Day 26 (11/20/09)
“The top of the hill” or “the top of the farm”, as we often times called it, always held fond memories for me. My earliest recollections are of trips to the top of the hill with Mom and my brother delivering lunch to Dad when he did field work. To this day I remember how much better simple food tasted when eaten outdoors with the family around, especially coffee. Our first taste of coffee was on these special occasions. As we got older we were allowed to deliver the goods to our dad unattended, which probably meant for some grand adventures and late lunches. The top of the farm was the site of the original homestead, the Loewenhagen place sometimes pronounced laebenhagen depending on the branch of the family you had sprang from, at the highest point of the farm. Rumor had it that at some point two brothers had feuded and ever after half of the family went by Laebenhagen even thought they were both spelled Loewenhagen. There were also rumors that the Loewenhagen’s had a still and made moonshine during prohibition. Indeed there was enough copper tubing and other suspicious objects laying around to lend credibility to these stories. I should point out at this point that, being of Norwegian descent, truth is somewhat subject to good story telling. Not to say that they are not an honest people, if anything I probably have gotten into more trouble for my somewhat brutal honesty, but if bending the truth a little will make for a better story so be it. After years of telling, it will become truth anyway, sort of like in a history book. At any rate to a young boy truth had very little to do with anything anyway. We all knew there were still Injuns living in those woods and even a few Nazis and pirates. Upon calling my mom for the spelling of Loewenhagen, she said that the differences in pronunciation had more to do with the enunciation in German verses English. Whatever, next she will try to tell me there were no Injuns. At any rate this is more about the stories that made growing up on a farm such a magical place then any historical exposition. By the time my parents bought the farm all that existed of the original homestead were some foundations, a hand water pump and some of the most beautiful walnut trees you could ever see. Another memory that I have is of later, when I was in High School. Mom had sewn me a down “frostline” expedition parka. The only way, I figured, you could really tell if a parka was any good was to climb to the top of the hill, on the coldest night of the year, and lie down and watch the moon. I remember very distinctly the ring of ice crystals glowing around it and how peaceful it all was. In many ways the top of the farm was a destination. It was probably about a half mile from the farm buildings and all of it up. It was a great place to escape to and since you had to go get the cows anyway it was a place to stop and waste some time or eat some plums. I forgot to mention the plum trees. Many a trip to get the cows was interrupted with a stop at those trees. This year we added another memory. After a Saturday of deer hunting, my friend Nelly, my brother Larry and I built a bonfire and had a few beers. I had forgotten how large the sky is up there. Even though it is not totally uninfluenced by light pollution, compared to what I am used to it was like seeing the sky again for the first time. I could see star clusters that are never visible even in our small town. I was also amazed by the air traffic. Probably due to the proximity to the Twin Cities every time you looked up you would see five or more airplanes. I have another goal for next summer to spend the night camping on the top of the farm.
Top of the Hill (Southern Exposure)
3 months ago