The Stove and The Outhouse

If we are lucky, that elusive spring we have awaited for so long is now here. With spring, we all seek those outdoor pursuits after such a dreary winter and late spring. Just the thought of fishing again reminded me of an old story.

I am guessing the year was either 1957 or 1958. My grandparents were planning a trip to Minnesota, to go fishing. Two of their very best friends Sam and Mary Jones, were also going on the trip.

Grandmother and Grandfather Hart had for years been friends with the Jones'. Almost every Sunday after church, they got in their car and drove somewhere for Sunday dinner.

For the fishing vacation this year, both families decided to take along one of their grandsons. Ron Jones (better known to many of you as Dr. Ron Jones) and I were invited to go Minnesota.

My grandfather's car was a Nash. Even by today's standards it was not a bad looking car. It had a dark maroon color and a gray interior. It was however a model year somewhere between 1950-'52.

People traveled differently in those days. Don't ask me how, but we managed to get all the luggage for a full weeks trip into that car, plus the six passengers. As if we weren't already stretched for room, Sam and Granddad Hart somehow found room for their 5 horse Johnson boat motor with finshing gear, to fit in the trunk as well.

U.S. 71 Highway in those years was a winding twisting two lane all the way to Minnesota. Today people make the trip in a single day. Not so for us, we had to make at least one stop, which was traditionally in Storm Lake, Iowa.

Traveling in those days was obviously at a slower pace. The cars, the narrow roads, and the passing through every town, did not allow for making good time on the trip. Life then had another pace that affected the speed of our trip.

There were no big truck stops or travel plaza's like the "Flying J" of today. We had to go through towns and find local gas stations to fill up. We also had to stop for eating.

When people travel today, they usually find the fast food they require in those same travel plazas. If they are really interested in a meal, there are always a multitude of fast food vendors like McDonalds.

The Joneses and the Harts did not travel like that.

Each day on the trip, we always found family restaurants to enjoy. Every meal was a sit down affair including breakfast. Back then every town was like Nevada, it had many good small family restaurants.

One special note here. As I related in an article several years ago, my Grandmother Hart, was famous for her trip diaries. She always had this spiral notebook in which she kept every little detail of the trip no matter how insignificant.

Meals were just one item of the trip inventory she kept in exacting precision. She would describe the the time of day, the weather, the town, the name of the restaurant, and finally a description of the facility complete with menu options.

She would go on to tell about the meal itself. If for example the cafe in question had a house specialty of waffles, she would describe them in near food network evaluation. Each person's order was also written down with an assessment of the quality at the end of the meal.

As you can imagine, slow traffic, fuel stops, and three restaurant meals a day made a trip to Walker, Minn., a full two day excursion.

I was about eight or nine years old at the time, and Ron was a year or two older. We got to ride in the center of the front or back seat between our grandparents.

There was no air conditioning in those cars back then.

This was mid to late June, and the further north we drove, the longer the sun stayed up each day.

As young boys, I have no idea how we endured such a trip. We had no game boys, no DVD movies, or even much of a car radio that I can remember. What we did have was this pair of loving grandparents. They seemed to enjoy just having us along.

They talked about many interesting topics during the drive. I especially remember the rolling hills of Iowa. The farms there were so unusual. In the midst of all that corn, were these beautiful farm homes.

Each seemed to rise right out of the corn field. They were all surrounded by dense trees. Our grandfathers told us that was for protection against blowing snow in the winter. Since it was June, we could not visualize what those winters were like.

We had traveled on a weekend, so we had to stop and find a church on Sunday. Sam, Mary, and my grandparents were staunch Southern Baptists. In that time there were no Southern Baptist Churches along our way. They finally found what it seems to me was an American Baptist if memory serves me correctly.

When Ron and I were sent to a sunday school class we were like celebrities. The other kids in southern Minnesota, thought we were from Mississippi or somewhere. America had a much larger accent differentiation back then. To them our Missouri terms like "you all." were just as foreign as were their nasal Minnesota twangs.

We finally arrived in the Walker area. Our cabin that year was located on a small lake near a town called Hackensack, Minnesota. I have only been turned around in my directions a few times in my life, but that was one of them. For the next week, what seemed to be east to me was actually north or south, very disconcerting.

Well folks, the story of the stove and the outhouse, has become a little longer tale than I at first imagined. So, with that in mind, I will close for this week. Next week, I will tell you like Paul Harvey, the 'rest of the story!"