Belvidere Mills, Minnesota

      My Grandparents house is in the valley nestled comfortably amongst wooded bluffs, about 10 miles or so from the Great Big Mississippi. The house in which I grew up in wasn’t a mansion by any means. A white, 1920’s style house with six bedrooms, one bath, kitchen, dining room, living room, both a front and back porch  and a large creepy basement. Down the hall and up the stairs, my bedroom was the first on the landing; adjacent and sharing the same doorway was my brothers Jordan’s room. A bit further down the hall was my Grandparents bedroom and the room at the end of the upstairs hallway is where my brother Joseph resided.

  

 I moved in with my Grandparents when I was eight and left when I was eighteen. The years in between were some of the best and happy years of my life (so far that is to say). For the greater part of every summer, my brothers and I would best be referred to as heathens. We ran barefoot everywhere, got extremely dirty, ate blackberries (ha sounds a bit like Tom Sawyer, no?), sat in the large garden eating warm cherry tomatoes when they were ripe. Of course we got into our own brand of mischief; not anything to cause too much trouble, enough to get scolded. Being surrounded by brothers, it could be said that I was quite the tomboy or more so than my counterparts at school.

There was one summer my brother Joseph talked me into catching spiders with him (even though I am deathly afraid of them), which really amounted to me hollering for him if I saw a spider. I loved taking walks “back to the pond” as we called it, with my Grandpa. Sometimes he would stroll ahead, around a wooded bend and then jump out and scare us. Grandpa would show us all the different animal tracks and plants. Located just near the pond was a large ravine with a large rope swing.  Under the bridge near the house is Wells Creek. We would go there and play in the creek when it got really warm; well until my Grandma found out and put a stop to that because she was afraid we would drown.

It was almost as if it was a different world, or maybe many worlds wrapped into one? I know that I lived many lifetimes in that house. As the years have passed, there is one thing that stands out to me: I had a very unique childhood that I remember vividly.  I do believe that there was a kind magic where I grew up. Not the kind with wizards and fairies, but of high moral character, good will and simplicity. The magic of children, who dream dreams that they hope one day will come true.

 On cold clear winter nights, if one stands really still; the faint whistle of the train can be heard passing through nearby Frontenac. When it rains, nothing is better than sitting curled up and reading on the back porch. It is a bitter sweet ache. So then why don’t I pack up and go home? Things are much more complicated than that. I would if I could.