North Maple Rag

It was a fairly quick, but productive trip to my grandma's. We spent a big chunk of the afternoon and evening digging through boxes of old pictures. I love, love, love old photographs, even ones of people I don't know. When I was in college, I interned at a history museum and was assigned the job of archiving hundreds of photos that a recently-retired photographer had donated. I sorted and labeled decades of weddings, graduations, and anniversaries. It was awesome. Anyway, our goal yesterday was to find a couple of pictures of my grandparents from early in their marriage.

We found 'em, and quite a few other fun things along the way. For instance, I found a daily diary that my grandfather kept for six months in 1966. Most of his entries were pretty mundane -- chores, trips to town, and lots of bowling. In one entry, he described taking my mom and her siblings skating and sledding at a nearby lake. The last thing he noted was that my mom had hurt her finger. So, I looked up and asked, "hey Mom, do you remember huring your finger?" Without any explanation from me, she not only said yes, but also showed me the scar and explained how the injury was her brother's fault. It's neat to have a conversation with my mom that my dead grandpa started.

We also found a picture of my great-grandmother and her cousin when they were about my age. My first thought was that they looked like girls I'd be friends with. Both were smirking at the camera in a way that still says "we know a secret you don't and whatever it is, it's good." Right after seeing it my mom pointed to a picture of me, age 1, sitting on the same great-grandmother's lap. Connecting the old lady I remember to the smart and sassy young woman in the picture was a good moment.

We drove home this morning and played the "let's drive through a South Dakota town we've never been to game." Today's town was Crandall and here's a picture of the most interesting thing there.