I thought I'd post a piece I wrote last year for a class. It's a fun memory from growing up in Minnesota and I hope it reminds you of good things from where you grew up.
It happened every spring. Our burnt-orange Buick Regal lumbered east on highway 36 through historic Stillwater. Judging by the urgency of our travel, Crabtree’s Kitchen held a curious magnetic power over Mom and Dad (or at least the Buick). The road wound through the St. Croix River Valley like the knick-knack shelves lining the interior walls of our destination. Crabtree’s rested at the edge of a thirty foot ravine. A corrugated culvert hosted a current of winter slough as it flushed along far below. We stepped across the threshold, my dad holding back the screen door before letting it smack behind him.
The lobby was always full. Softly worn floor boards gave testimony to this fact with the occasional creak and sag. The walls bore testimony too. Pictures of Governor Perpich, Harmon Killebrew, and Ruth Kozlak hung in a seamless collage alongside newspaper reviews, and trusted fishing maps. But Joel, Heidi and I had seen it all before. With a half hour car ride under our belts and a half hour wait to eat, the inevitable set in. Dad saw it in our eyes immediately and bent over smirking. “Do you guys remember what I said about the man with the big wooden spoon?”
We did. It was our understanding that all sit-down restaurants employed the services of a barrel-chested brute wielding an overlarge wooden spoon [used] for curbing childish conduct. We giggled. I glanced back at the kitchen door half expecting it to swing wide belching forth Crabtree’s number one spoon goon.
We never left disappointed. We feasted on lefse, potato sausage and scrambled eggs. More than the food, décor, and kitchen discipline lore, I savored the way my parents loved being there. And the way my parents loved being there with us. Past the screen door, I ran to the ledge overlooking the culvert’s spring stream. Listening to the commingled song of wind in leaves and water on rock, I gazed at the hardy house. Back in the Buick until next spring.
Peter Erickson, 5/25/2007
Monday, August 18, 2008
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3 comments:
What a cool childhood memory! I think I may have been there a time or two...sounds vaguely familiar :)
Love you!
Aunt Chris
Peter,
I loved Crabtree's Kitchen. Heidi and I drove by it last Saturday and I told her how great it was and how much I miss it. I am sad that it is gone.
I don't remember a guy with a big wooden spoon, though.
Very well composed piece Pete. It has a nice rhythm.
"I glanced back at the kitchen door half expecting it to swing wide belching forth Crabtree’s number one spoon goon."
-I love how you tied things together with the word belching, a word that can be crass, but here has a childlike warmth.
"More than the food, décor, and kitchen discipline lore, I savored the way my parents loved being there."
-savored is a great word here. it says so much about the idea of memories and the moments (like the ones you write of) that create them.
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