Skip to main content

Wannaska, Minnesota USA

  Wannaska hadn't seen a whole day of sunshine for a good month, and April 16 wasn't any different. Although overcast and windy here in NW Minnesota, the day was a bit warmer, relatively speaking, temperatures were in the high forties hovering to almost fifty. It was so nice in comparison to all the other days, that Dale had finally opened the ice rink equipment shed, and put the Zamboni away for another ninety-days. (Rumor had it they were going to open the pool in town should temps edge toward sixty.)
  Lawnmowers had replaced snowblowers at Knute's Hardware Store; they had buried the 40# bags of sunflower seed and softener salt with so many charcoal grills, bicycles and pushmowers, that I had nearly set up a nice display outside the building, before I managed to access a few bags. Then, I had to put it all back in, 'just the way it had come out,' (learning the hard way over the years that there's a method to everything), so says my wife and likely anyone else who is anal retentive. I figure if it fits good enough, even if it isn't perfect, it'll do. So what if the handlebar streamers were all hanging down, or the grill knobs were all turned to 'off' or that one went in first. ARGH, woman! They fit!
 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

August 6th, 2020 Tired of Writing

                    Comment on Parental Rights 1869-1940     I finished the second installment of my grandfathers biography I wrote in the Wannaskan Almanac for today, late yesterday evening. http://wannaskanalmanac.blogspot.com/2020/08/thursday-august-6th-2020-parental.html       I had worked on it for a good day, by Wednesday, including a few hours on Tuesday too, and in my waning energy for it decided just to wrap it up, rather than keep slogging through dozens of transcribed interviews, page after page, searching for some item that would fit my story, chronologically. In truth, I wanted to be writing something fun.     It wasn't like I wasn't interested in what I was mired in; I enjoy a good slog once in awhile myself, but my dilemma was how do I keep it interesting to others and not get bogged down? I could've just copied pages ...

Mac Furlong: Real Hunter

   This last Tuesday, October 1st, in Reed River, Sven saw Mac Furlong hurrying down Main Street on his way to sign up for the Big Buck Contest at Normies On Main . Mac was wearing his Reed River Bank clothes so Sven didn’t recognize him right off, Mac walking so serious like, but Sven ought to have known that about this time of year all the local deer hunters are getting real anxious. Beginning soon after the Roseau County Fair in July, hunter types begin walking about the outdoors sports departments in their local hardware stores and sporting goods shops salivating over the latest hunting gear, wearing at least one parcel of florescent orange on their person as if to let the ordinary public know that, they, in fact, are real hunters of a serious nature, although temperatures are yet in the eighties. “See here, my florescent orange insulated cap with earflaps?” “Lo and behold, my florescent-orange camo jacket with elbow padding and several important pockets?” “Check o...

Peace and Toil: It's Still Heaven to Me

I sat on the picnic table one evening, unassailed by flies or mosquitoes, listening to mourning doves ‘coo-cooing’ beyond my line of sight; the distant water-thrashing territorial disputes between opposing pairs of Canadian geese along Mikinaak Creek; the melodic trills of redwing blackbirds from the tops of the trees; and robins, here and there, singing happily from the woods. To me, it’s pure heaven. The breeze arises in the treetops, then descends. Between gusts, I can hear water rushing through an upstream beaver dam. I hear one bluejay talking to another. I watch a handful of goldfinches hunt for sunflower seeds  below the birdfeeder that my wife insists on using even though natural food abounds now, just so she can see them in all their variety. “Do you know purple finches poop is purple?” Bullfrogs sing-song from the water; tree frogs peep from the trees. The branches of the dozen or so bur oaks that once bordered the Martin and Irene Davidson home, reverberate behind me i...