Grouse Hollow Journal for September 3, 2015 by Greg Koelker
It is Monday morning. I just came in from hooking up the truck and trailer. I am running over to St. Charles to my sister, Diane’s to pick up their old TV antennae and poles to set up for my mom so she can get Iowa TV. She lives in Cassville and her satellite service comes with Madison news and weather. By the time she gets the weather report, it has already happened by her, and she likes KWWL’s news and weather. KWWL is one of the three channels we had back in the day; some of you remember and are smiling aren’t you. Anyway, it is in the upper 50’s here this morning and very, very humid and wet. I hear - from our local weather kids - we’d better enjoy the cool mornings this week as summer is coming back with a vengeance all week.
We were at a farm near River Falls this weekend for the wedding of our niece Chelsey. After a beautiful, nearly all-day rain here on Friday, Saturday was made just for them with a cooling haze and light breeze for their outdoor wedding and reception, surrounded by farm buildings and soybean fields. Max, the groom pulled in with a wedding gift from his mother, a beautiful white 1976 Transam that was restored by his late father. (The interior even had an 8-track player.) The food was outstanding and included an entire roast pig complete with an apple in its mouth! We enjoyed the kids, both little and big, as they got dirty (the little ones, I mean) and danced and laughed and hugged and generally made merry. They had a homemade photo booth that was a big hit, even for us slightly more chronologically challenged uncles and aunts. (The music was too loud for me, so I must be getting old I guess.) I listened to much talk of fishing and whitetails, and hunting dogs, and politics: mostly the freak show that is this seemingly unending campaign. (I believe that there is a general consensus that the presidential campaign should not be allowed to start until the summer before the election or at the very least, the year of the election. What would you say to a 28th amendment?) Anyway, I started turning into a pumpkin around 10:30 that night, so El and I gave the father of the bride, her brother Brian, a lift back to his house, and we called it a night. It was a great time. Congratulations, Kids.
On Sunday morning, after breakfast at our hotel, Ellen and I went back to the farm to help clean up, load, and pack up from the previous day’s festivities. There were quite a few leftover cars, evidence that some of the revelers wisely chose the provided limo to get home the night before. We cleaned up trash, dried off and stacked hundreds of white folding chairs, stacked tables, loaded up wicker furniture, tables, lights, vases, a truckload of flowers, and a bit of food stored in the beer trailer. We weren’t alone. Maybe 40 friends and relatives showed up to help as the cleaning progressed. There were lots of smiles and laughter and the group reminisced about the night before. As Ellen’s dad used to say, “Many hands make light work.”
Our Sunday drive south along Highway 35 overlooking Lake Pepin and the Mississippi is usually scenic. It didn’t disappoint on Sunday. Ellen remarked that it would be nice maybe if someone cut the trees back along the river side so we could see it better, but I wonder if there would be more accidents due to rubbernecking drivers. Things are green in the north after a very wet summer. We saw some maples turning red. The most colorful thing had to be the many polished sports cars and restored muscle cars we saw traveling in herds. There was a bright and shiny yellow 1959 Chevy Impala following us for a while. It’s heavy and gaudy chromed front end and fins brought back memories of the ‘61 Chevy Bel Air that was my second car. It cost $200 in 1968. Like the ‘58, the style had fins and a load of iron and chrome up front. (My first car was a ‘49 Chevy that I abused to death on the way home from a high school football game.) Of course there were hundreds of motorcycles out for a nearly last hurrah before fall.
We stopped at Tansy’s in Alma for lunch. We ate there a few weeks ago and the food, particularly the bottomless French fries is really good. Jennifer and Steve make the intimate atmosphere special.
Until next time, get out - mountain man Ben is somewhere in the mountains of eastern Utah, recording a trophy elk hunt with his buddy Ramon. They hiked in some six miles to set up their camp and have put on over 40 miles on foot so far looking for elk. He called on Sunday morning and said it had been hot during the day and cold during the night. They had a 6 by 6 bull just yards away from their blind, but they never got a shot. Ben said he has been getting some awesome sunrise and sunset shots as well as some cool wildlife video, including a herd of mule deer does and fawns at a waterhole. He is living the dream. Enjoy.
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