In My Back Yard - Part II

In an earlier posting by the same name (http://waybackstories.blogspot.com/2015/08/my-back-yard.html) I wrote, "In the rush of working life, you seldom have the chance to explore your back yard. But with retirement, any Saturday can be a good day for smelling the roses just over the fence." In that first edition, I went east just across the border with Wisconsin. In this one, I head south to the Driftless Area of Southeastern Minnesota.

No, not the land of snow fences or hedgerows. The Driftless Area refers instead to an area that was NOT carved out by the glaciers. Covering large parts of Minnesota, Wisconsin, Iowa, and Illinois, this region's peculiar terrain, with elevations from 600 feet to 1700 feet, comes from having escaped glaciation. Also called the Paleozoic Plateau, the river valleys and canyons of this area harbor lots of small towns that strive to remain relevant in this economy. My riding buddy, Randy, absent for this adventure, let me in on it as a great place to ride a motorbike.

To avoid too many hours in the saddle, I trekked the bike in trailer down to Weaver, MN, along the Mississippi river just south of Wabasha. Parking in the boat landing just across the railroad tracks from town, I was greeted by bazillions of ducks and geese eating in the sloughs that line the river. The Driftless Area is also part of the Mississippi Flyway, and host to these flocks of waterfowl, along with raptors of all types, and our favored white pelicans who flock in the thousands during migration.

County road 74 winds through the river bottom lands on its way to Whitewater State Park and the Whitewater river. The only signs of human endeavor I saw along the way to Enge, Minnesota, were the pick-up trucks that had hauled bow hunters into the Whitewater preserve. Otherwise, the road and surrounding scenery were all mine.

I traveled south to Lanesboro, a picturesque town known for its arts and creative community, along with its Amish population. It anchors one end of the Root River trail, along which highway 16 travels through several other small towns in various stages of restoration.

Being pursued at one point by an anxious driver, I opted to turn left off of 16 into the small town of Whalan, Minnesota to let him by. The town appeared after crossing a bridge and passing a sign advertising the Cedar Resort, with appealing pictures of a lodge and cabins. Curious, I traveled back through the town and out the other side to the end of the road on which the lodge was situated. A nice enough place, it was quiet in the off season, but overlooked beautiful grounds adjacent to the Root River. I doubled back and turned left at the first small town road, at the end of which was an entirely unexpected site in an otherwise unremarkable town of modest housing.

A warmly restored gas station front was located at the far corner of the town, close to no other attraction or business - off the beaten path, as it were. I parked across the street to take a picture, and was approached by the older gentleman that was raking leaves next to the station.

"You like that," he asked?

"It's marvelous. What on earth is it doing here?"

"Well, the old guy that used to run the place passed away a few years ago, so I bought it and decided to restore it."

It turns out that "Ernie's Station" is owned by Ernie Johnson of Howard Lake, Minnesota. Ernie grew up in Whalan and remembers when he and his high-school pals used to work on their pick-up trucks in the station.

"The old man would let us come in at the end of the day and use his garage and tools. Never asked for anything in return. Even left his Coke machine open for us to take soda's as we wanted. We left change for them, of course, but he trusted us completely. That's why I leave the place open now. You can walk in here any time to take a look around. I used to leave soda's in the old machine, too, but one of the local kids kept cleaning me out, so I stopped. But if I could be around like the old man was around, helping us out, acting like a grandfather, who knows - that kid might be very different now."

Inside the station were lots of early 20th century artifacts restored to perfect condition. Included were two old crank-up telephones and one telegraph key, all operational.

"I like to show the kids that stop by how communication used to work. How you would have to crank up the phone on a line that you shared with all the other townspeople. How you'd have to keep your call to under 7 minutes, in case someone else would want to use it."

In the garage was a very old pick-up truck at some point of restoration. It was clear that anything Ernie restored would be done with full authenticity, which takes some time. A retired construction supervisor,  he has the time to do it right The original oil-fired furnace was restored and operational. Several metal working tools from the period were fully restored along the wall. Many other articles waited in the back for their restoration. He has a house in town that he visits like a cabin from his home in Howard Lake, and this is his hobby. He was only here for a couple of days on this trip.

It's amazing what you can find exploring the corners of small towns.

In the town of Rollingstone (just love the name) I came across Bonnie Rae's Cafe. The name alone stopped me, but so did the classic look of a small town meeting place, where residents could stop by and chew the fat. Bonnie Rae took my order - hold the fries please, okay then I'll give you an extra cod in your fish and chips. I chewed as the proprietor, Jim, shared his views on the cause for our society's deterioration: that businesses are open on Sunday's, taking away from family time; and that no one wants to work anymore. Nursing my Coke, I listened as my neighbor at the counter shared the story of his father, who new the meaning of work, and who migrated up from Texas to marry his mother and start a family in Rollingstone some eighty years ago.  I left with $8 less in my pocket, feeling very satisfied and entertained. The best part, however, was when my neighbor at the counter came out of the cafe behind me, walking very slowly with his cane, and told me he was waiting for his taxi. Moments later a small white car pulled up, driven slowly and carefully by a small, white haired lady, his wife. The taxi had arrived.

I plan to do more exploring of small towns in my back yard next year.