Grandpa Grossmann was born in 1902. He lived what I would call a good, long life. And then, in June of 1992, eight days shy of his ninetieth birthday, he died in his sleep, at home on his Wisconsin farm. He and my grandmother had lived on their 200-acre place since 1946.
A few days after Grandpa passed away, Grandma moved into a nearby nursing home. The farmhouse–beloved of my childhood, beloved in my youth and adulthood–was left unoccupied.
A year later, my eleven-year-old son David and I, residents of Hawaii, made a vacation trip to the mainland. We arrived in Wisconsin a few days after heavy rains had brought flooding to the Midwest.
I scrawled some notes:
July 8, 1993. First visit to farm. With Dad, Uncle Phil, David. Gate chained. Corn in first field (tractor got stuck). Big oak split, top to bottom, on line fence east of barn. Barn roof good. Amish roofers. Place well-tended. Flooded cellar now just a bit damp. Incredible junk. Tools chainsaws. Traps set (unsprung) #1 & #1 jump. New splitting wedge. “Caution Oxygen in Use” sign still up. Tomatoes in jars in cabinet in basement. Old worm can reminds me of upside-down, belt-mount bait can of stainless steel–worms would burrow to the bottom of the dirt or coffee grounds and then you’d flip it & they’d be right on top for you.
Upstairs smells the same, Dave says. He finds 1977 Reader’s Digest to read. We explore house except locked attic. Junk junk junk. Cards from 1977 on to 1986 or so. Kitchen wall rotted. Rotten wood scattered on floor. Cabinets, step stool, formica, aluminum trim exactly as I pictured it for sunrise story.
Dad & Uncle Phil mowing all the way to the barn.
Gram’s pillow on her seat at dining table.
Shotgun shells, gin bottle, 2 brandy bottles, machete with string-wrapped handle in Gram & Gramp’s closet. Shells are in WWII ammo boxes. Everything has been picked over–Dad thought Gramp’s wedding ring was lost but at last he found it–cut with nippers, smaller than Dad had remembered it–in tray with junk jewelry & pearls from Japan.
Irons, shavers, hammers, TV Guide from 60’s (15¢), magazines magazines magazines, Field & Stream etc.–nothing I care about except the Reader’s Digests–Mag Gilbert, sophomore English! Unfinished plaster, ancient wallpaper. Gramp began remodeling the upstairs in 1963 & never got finished, though he was active for more than 20 yrs after that.
Two boxes of my books, incl maybe 50 copies of Leave Us Grass in upstairs front closet. About 6 wool suits of Gramp’s from 40’s & 50’s. Junk junk junk – electrical, plaster, insulation. Ancient wooden high-back wheelchair.
Loom in cellar, fur stretchers, box trap, Havahart trap. Model A carburetor. Owner’s manuals. Rotten oily oak dining chair.
Flies buzzing. Silence. Refrig not running. Empty, filthy. I check for the Heileman’s Special Export Grampa used to hide in the vegetable bin for honored guests. Gone.
Gramp’s hunting knife & big whetstone on kit. window sill.
Padded vinyl table cloth on kit. table.
Filthy vinyl floor. Old green & white asbestos tiles in Gramp’s closet, lifting up from floor. Loose 12 ga. shells.
Newspapers lining bdrm dresser drawers. Dec 1967.
Junk, junk. Trimmers, tools, junk in bedroom drawers. Sheep castrating tool (rubber band spreader) on dresser. Old iron bed, the one Gramp died in, 2" foam on the box spring. Must have had a mattress.
Guest rm bed is gone. Junk junk. Boxed & loose. Pictures gone.
To Be Continued.
Those three words, “To Be Continued,” are right here in my notes. The meaning of “To Be Continued” is a metaphysical matter about which I am most profoundly curious.
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