The Heart of the Family Farm.

A week or so, I had the most vivid dream about my Grandma Anderson – or Grandma Inez (pronounced “Eye-niss”), as all of us grandkids called her. She passed away when I was 19, but I had many years of memory-making with her. Although my grandparents lived on their farm over two hours from me, Grandma Inez and I would write letters back and forth often and, of course, my parents, siblings and I visited quite a bit.

In my dream, I saw Grandma Inez plain as day – and not the older Grandma who had health problems later in her life, but the younger Grandma I would stay with for days at a time. The Grandma who always had homemade treats – like apricot bars or gingersnap cookies – at the ready. The Grandma who loved teaching me how to embroider a kitchen dish towel. (Such an old-fashioned art – she was very good at it and she helped me make several towels!) The Grandma who took me into the local cafe in the small-town near the farm so that my cousin and I could have chocolate donuts and Strawberry Crush for “coffee” – that is, at 10:00 in the morning!

In my dream, she gave me a hug and asked how I was doing and I could literally “feel” that hug in my dream and see her smiling face. I woke up with the distinct feeling that she had been close by and just wanted to check in on me.

Yesterday, we visited Grandma and Grandpa’s farm near Bricelyn, Minnesota – a tiny little town just north of the Iowa border – for a mini family reunion of sorts. My uncle and aunt from Arizona brought all their kids, spouses/significant others and grandkids back to Minnesota to, in part, see their family roots, which began in southern Minnesota farm country.

My grandparents’ farm is still in the family – one of my cousins owns it now – but it doesn’t quite resemble the farmhouse from my childhood. My cousin has taken the original home and rearranged and expanded it several times.

He also updated the barn and grounds, and built a two-acre pond, which can be used for swimming and fishing (he stocked it with several varieties of fish).

It is a stunning farmstead now. I have visited several times since my cousins began updating it, but it still takes my breath away a bit when we drive up to it.

But even though it looks different, it is still Grandma and Grandpa’s farm. The old mailbox with my Grandpa’s name – Harvey Anderson – still stands, and visiting brings back so many memories. Grandma calling to the outdoor kitties when she had scraps to feed them from dinner. My cousin and I being scared of the cold, dark, damp basement that was known to have a salamader or two down there. (Ewww!) Cousins visiting from Texas who would tear around the property in Grandpa’s golf cart. Big corn roasts in late July or early August, with piles of food and a tub full of sweetcorn, just ready to be doused in melted butter. Crowded family Christmas celebrations with lutefisk and lefse, and the grandkids acting out the story of Baby Jesus being born. Grandpa Harvey napping in his chair after supper. And so much more.

We’re very lucky we can go back to that farm like we did on Saturday. We can gather as family and reminisce to our heart’s content. Most of us don’t live on farms now – and in fact, we’re spread all over the U.S., from Minnesota to Iowa, Arizona, Texas and New York – but we all leave a piece of our hearts at Grandma and Grandpa’s farm.

And for that, I know Grandma Inez and Grandpa Harvey – who taught us the value of a close knit family – are smiling down upon all of us right now.