Sunday, April 12, 2020
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As the oldest grandchild, I had the privilege of being able to make frequent trips to the cabin with Grandma and Grandpa. I looked forward to them so much that I'd begin to pack days early. Mom would drop me off at Grandma's office, and Grandma would read me articles from the Wall Street Journal as Grandpa drove north.
Many people go to cabins to fish or jet ski, but Grandma and I preferred to read, go on walks, and listen to radio from exotic places like Brule and Lac Courte Oreilles.
Many years later, I bought a house that came with rhubarb, and it became an annual tradition to bring rhubarb to Grandma at the cabin so she could make something delicious. There was always plenty of time to eat and talk at the cabin.
Grandma talked about growing up on the edge of Sebring, Ohio, during the Depression, the youngest child in a family that temporarily lived in a garage while her father built their home by hand. For them, a crow was a pet. A big adventure was riding the bus to the skating rink in the next town or going to the big city to ride the department store escalator.
Her parents worked in Sebring's pottery factories and her mom died of silicosis when Grandma was only 15. Not liking the family situation that followed in the years to come, Grandma moved to Minnesota, where another bad situation left her as a single mother of two young girls in the 1950s.
She found a good job at Minnesota Rubber but there were a lot of bus transfers, so she started paying for a car pool with a co-worker named Rudy who lived in the same neighborhood. They became friends and eventually Grandma didn't have to pay for the car pool anymore. She chose her new family, the Schoepkes, and Rudy became the only Grandpa I ever knew.
Grandpa stayed on at Minnesota Rubber while Grandma made her way to Gabberts, and both worked hard to be able to provide the family with that cabin to gather and relax.
Only the slab of the garage in Sebring remained when a last-minute trip gave me the opportunity to visit for the first time last fall. It was so fun to text back and forth with Grandma while I walked around town looking for the landmarks she remembered.
Almost every time we parted, Grandma would lament that we hadn't had more time to talk. We had plenty of time to talk over 43 years but there is never enough.
Fortunately, we never really lose people as long as we keep their memory. I'll also be keeping her old Christmas tree that now goes up on my front porch and the whistle-compass that she gave me because she worried about my long hikes.
The last thing I texted Grandma was a picture of the rhubarb coming up. I won't be to prepare it as well as she did.
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