Select Page
The Road Home for Thanksgiving

The Road Home for Thanksgiving

The road home for Thanksgiving was a long one when we lived in Harding County.

550 miles from Camp Crook, South Dakota to Le Mars, Iowa.
Speed limit 55, even on the interstate.

School dismissed an hour early on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, and we were on our way by at 2:45. It was a 12 1/2 hour drive with 1 time change to slow us down. That meant we would arrive at my parents’ home around 4 in the morning if nothing went wrong.

Something always went wrong.
Not during the few remaining daylight hours spent on desolate stretches of highway.
Not when we drove through Rapid City where there was a gas station and motel at every exit.
Not before midnight when we were part of the steady stream of home goers on Interstate 90.

Our troubles lurked in the darkness, waiting for the wee hours of the morning until we neared the bridge over the Missouri River. Year after year, like clockwork, as we drove past Chamberlain and our car tires hit the bridge, snow began to fall. The snowfall grew heavier as the car climbed the hill on the east side of the bridge. When we crested the hill and hit the open prairie, the wind blew. By the time we reached Mitchell, sixty miles further on, we were driving through blizzard conditions. More than once–in fact I think every single year we drove the road home for Thanksgiving–we ended up in a cheap motel room somewhere between Chamberlain and Sioux Falls. We called my parents (remember, no cell phones) to update them, woke up the next morning, and hung around until the weather came on the television (again, no cell phones). Then we got in the car and drove the remaining 2-3 hours home.

Sometimes on drifted roads.
Sometimes through ice storms.
Sometimes in frigid temperatures.
Every time, we made it home in time for Thanksgiving dinner with our extended family.

Our experiences on the road home for Thanksgiving made their way into the first chapter of See Jane Dance!–with a few notable changes.

Jane’s parents live in Sioux City, so her trip home is a little shorter than ours was.
She is single so she makes the trip by herself.
She encounters bad weather on the way home from Thanksgiving.
She spends the night in her car instead of a motel.

She’s going to stay right there until the fall of 2022 when the publisher releases See Jane Dance! It’s a long time to be stuck in a car, but don’t worry. Jane’s mother, just like mine, loaded her down with Thanksgiving leftovers, so she won’t starve between now and then.

With Thanksgiving only a day away, neither will I!

Top 10 Reasons for Hit and Miss Blogging

Top 10 Reasons for Hit and Miss Blogging

Why have blog posts been so spotty on the Gravel Road lately Here are 10 time-eating reasons.Gravel Road posts have been a bit spotty for a few weeks. Here are the top 10 reasons why.

10. Two to three hand therapy appointments a week.

9.  Fifteen minutes worth of hand therapy exercises every two hours during the day.

8.  Christmas shopping and present wrapping.

7. Thanksgiving baking and cooking.

6.  Hours and days in a carbohydrate stupor after the Thanksgiving feast.

5.  The Grandbaby’s arrival which led to quibbling with the Man of Steel about who’s turn it was to play with the little guy.

4.  Spending time with our kids.

3.  Watching Baby and marveling over his new skills: hand clapping, food smearing, and flashing a most disarming grin.

2.  Nursing the cold Baby passed along when he planted a huge, slobbery kiss right on Grammy’s lips.

1. Feeling all mopey while doing piles of laundry after the kids and grandbaby went home.

What’s eating away your time this holiday season? Leave a comment.

Sibling Teasery

Sibling Teasery

Our family doesn't go in for sibling rivalry as much as sibling teasery as their response to my recent sharp encounter of a knife kind shows.Sibling rivalry isn’t a big thing in my family. We’re more into sibling teasery, as my arrival at my brother’s home on Thanksgiving demonstrated.

I should have known something was up when my brother greeted me at the door. He was the model of politeness, taking the bowls from my laden arms, helping me out of my coat, and folding it neatly before placing it on a bench by the door.

Then he took me into the kitchen and asked me to read the signs he’d posted.

On the knife block:

JOLENE ASK FOR HELP!
KNIVES ARE DANGEROUS!

On the utensil drawer:

JOLENE
KEEP OUT!
Knives Present!

As is obvious, he used his weekly quota of exclamation points post haste.

Eyes sparkling he said, “I held back all the teasing until you said the pain was gone. After that, I couldn’t resist.”

Soon my older sister joined in. “As soon as you said what happened, I could picture it. You did that kind of thing all the time when we were kids.”

My own two adult children who were eavesdropping on the conversation nodded their heads enthusiastically.

I suppose I could have taken offense. I could have felt like they were ganging up on me. Except for one thing.

They were telling the truth.

My most recent knife accident was just the latest in a long string of them. Even the hand therapist noticed the scar from a sharp encounter of the knife kind that occurred about ten years ago. Since the old one is less than two inches from the newest one, it’s hard to miss.

In light of my record, I’m keeping my mouth shut, my knives sheathed, and my wit at the ready…until one of them does something that requires some good, old-fashioned sibling teasery.

It’ll happen. And I can wait.

The Fly Over Life on This Fantastic Friday

The Fly Over Life on This Fantastic Friday

When I wrote this post I was grateful for fly over country. 5 years later, I'm still grateful and a little bit more so.

For those of you who don’t live in fly over country, this Fantastic Friday post explains what you are missing.

You know how jet setters dismiss the land between the east and west coasts as fly-over country? They scoff at what they consider a wasteland of cornfields, a vast expanse where nothing worthwhile happens, nothing of consequence is produced, no one of importance lives. Well, I love living in fly-over country, no matter what the jet setters think of it. But, the past week exposed an unexpected truth.

We live a fly-over life.

A midweek visit to my son and new daughter was void of the hoopla that characterized much of the last two years: no illness, thus no dramatic health cures; no happy announcements, thus no need to plan big celebrations; no crises, thus no anxiety-racked discussions. Instead, in our time together we talked about jobs, exchanged recipes, played with the dog, and went to bed by 9:00 PM.

Pleasant, but boring.

A perusal of our weekend activities confirms life’s fly-over status. I made cookies for upcoming church events and cleaned some drawers in the kitchen – without burning a single cookie or pinching myself with kitchen utensils. Hiram reinstalled the sink in the upstairs bathroom without cracking the porcelain or ruining the newly laid tile. We comparison shopped for a new refrigerator, washer, and dryer – and found what we needed for less than expected.

Appreciated, but boring.

A phone call to our daughter and new son was uneventful. She’s keeping up in school and making progress with her online, custom sewing business; no need for me to swoop in and chair a planning pow wow. He likes his job; no need for encouraging words to buck him up. They’re looking ahead to next year, hunting online for an apartment near the campus they’ve move to next August; no need for parental reminders to think about the future.

Reassuring, but boring.

I live a beyond-the-excitement, happily-ever-after, fly-over existence made possible by the exciting lives of others:
Pilgrims
American revolutionaries
hardy pioneers
abolitionists and Civil War soldiers
WWI doughboys
survivors of the Great Depression
Tom Brokaw’s greatest generation
war veterans
my Alaskan homesteader in-laws years
my courageous and determined parents

Because of them, Hiram I will spend a quiet, fly-over Thanksgiving with our daughter and new son in their tiny, college apartment. We’ll talk about work, exchange recipes, do a few odd jobs, and be in bed by 9:00 PM.

I am exceeding grateful for those who made possible this boring, fly-over life. You?