When I was young I loved spending time on my grandparents farm in Fond du Lac, Wisconsin. Maybe I loved it so much because I grew up in town and the farm was a chance to get away from roller-skating or riding my bike on the sidewalk. I always felt an excited twinge in my stomach when my dad’s car turned onto the gravel driveway and I heard the gravel pop under the tires. Adventures were right there waiting for me when I stepped outside. I could explore barns, climb twisted apple trees, eat berries right out of the garden and try to catch kittens.

The house itself was a typical two-story farmhouse. Not much different from the many other farmhouses we saw on the drive from Kewaskum to Fond du Lac. My grandparents were far from wealthy. The house was simply furnished with just necessities, but it was full of activity. Upstairs, there was a little bedroom with a round window that looked out over the property. I loved that room. I’d imagine putting a little bed there with a handmade flowery quilt just for me when I would sleep over. The sleepovers never took place. I could never get enough of the farm and our departures always followed a specific routine. I always cried before we had to go home and I’d ask my mom if I could stay over. She would firmly say no. I found this a little weird because my mom is a very easy-going person and she usually encouraged me to try new things. Once, when I felt particularly bad, my grandma let me take a kitten back to Kewaskum for a week.

In the room with the round window there were buckets and baskets full of walnut and hickory nuts that Grandma would use for baking. My grandma could bake anything without using a recipe. I would ask her where her recipe cards were and she would smile and point to her head. We could stand next to each other peeling tiny red potatoes for potato salad and not say much. I never needed to fill the silence with talking. There was usually enough activity and noise surrounding us. My dad has eleven brothers and sisters so there was always something going on. My mom and aunts were always talking, cousins were running around yelling and my dad, uncles and grandfather always had something to shout about over a card game. Later, there would be some shouting from my mom when it was time to go home and she couldn’t get my dad away from the kitchen table, beer and cards. Go home? Why? Secretly, I was glad when my dad didn’t leave the card table. I could prolong the fun for another hour or two.