I often talk of family. Mostly about kids and efforting the kids into the outdoors more. Less screen time. More frogs, snakes, snails and bunnies. One of the reasons I think a bigger life is important, OLD AGE. 

I will soon be embarking on my family reunion to Northern Minnesota. Oh yes, we WILL be catching some walleyes! It’s my dad’s side so it’s all hard working, big healthy proud Viking heritage. We were once very strong, very athletic, energetic and eager to tackle any challenge with a smile and a big man’s full belly laugh with, “Ah, it’ll just take a minute.” 

We all like to argue over the better heritage, Norwegians or Swedes. Truth is we are a pretty strong mix of both. One of the most admirable traits I see amongst us older Norsemen (and women) is our generosity. Our true love for doing good helping folks who need it.

My wife, a little blonde Dutch girl, not really. Her mantra is, “I fed them, no one leaves my home hungry.” That’s very true. When my daughter brought friends over, the hungry ones would say “Hi Mom,” and go to the fridge or cupboards. Back then there was always baked goods, chips, PB&J with fresh homemade bread. The girls who were trying to watch their figure would say, “Don’t look her in the eye, she’ll feed you.” They were right. 

The guys would come in and talk hunting, fishing, cars and hot chicks. “Well back in my day.” They often would sound like stories taken from the fun movies from back in the days. Think about it, they had to get the material from the movies somewhere. Yes, that was us. 

Of on my tangent… returning now. 

This is about old age. Growing old gracefully or fighting it all the way. For us old folks who are fighting it, it’s likely because we are being kept from the things we love by failing bodies and much more attractive lazy boy recliners that are much easier than a hike in the hills. 

There does come a time when the hike in the hills is no longer an option. If we are lucky, we can take a drive down a dirt road and enjoy the outdoors with the window down. At that point we start to realize we have transitioned into living and moving on reminiscing. We are no longer creating memories; we are now living on those memories. 

We drive past a familiar place. We look at that particular timbered ridge out there a half mile and remember all the times we walked that ridge. How many deer we saw and the ones we may have taken back home to the freezer and the wall.

When we are young, we have the energy to spare to give to making friends, keeping friends by being available to pull him out of the ditch, jump his dead battery at 2am. 

Often the best memories are the bad ones. The time you got stuck and took two days; all weekend and other friends help to get unstuck. Or the time when Bobby, who had been eating sardines and kipper snacks, sitting in the middle of a pickup seat, Dennis on passenger side, Me driving. He starts laughing out of the blue while we are listening to ZZTop on the stereo. Almost the instant we are about to asking him What’s so funny it hits us. No kidding, going down the highway, slammed on the breaks and both Dennis and I bailed out and tossed our cookies. Gross but true. Thirty years later, we see each other and that’s the first thing that comes up. We got old enough we quit sluggin him every time we saw him. 

Memories, the true spice of life in advanced years. The top off my Bronco, 1981 or so. Had three girls with me, all good close friends. We take a drive out to “Bronco butte.” There is a muddy creek on the way there. I hit the muddy creek at about 30mph. Lisa and I duck under the windshield and we completely drench the two gals in the back with mud puddle water. Now, 45 years later, we remember that every time we visit. 

For the old codgers like me who did lots of hunting, I had several good friends I hunted with a lot. We remember the good times and the bad times. We remember the good times fondly and full belly laughs at the bad times because they were a blast.

When I sit down in the lawn chairs at the fires at the reunion, we will all talk about the great hunts we were on. The crazy antics we did during our crazy youth. Even my dad was quite young when I was hunting with them. So, I was a party to some northern Minnesota style antics at a very young age. Trust me, a family of 8 boys all in their 20s and 30s who grew up pushing deer and slinging lead and panicked because there was one last tag to fill, creativity, the kind you expect someone to hand you something and say hey, watch this. 

One time when I was 9, The whole Minnesota crew came for hunting season. These boys come to fill the freezer. So, at this point the mantra became, “If it’s brown, it’s down.”

We started and the bottom of that mountain with three cars. One was actually a station wagon so we had some folks on the mountain hunting. By the time the orange army was done and at the top of that mountain, there were 11 deer and 9 people up there. My dad had a 69 Bronco and he took it to the top with my Grampa in the passenger seat. 

 Turns out that was Grampa’s last trip out west to hunt. He actually got to watch me shoot my first deer. A two-year-old 2x3 mule deer buck. Easily my most treasured and cherished hunting memories. I have pictures of him and me with my “Trophy buck.” My mom has them in a photo album.

So, we make a plan to get off the mountain. Everybody tired from a long hard hunt/hike up the mountain and dragging deer out of the woods. We literally get all the people and all those deer in that old Bronco and smoke the brakes coming off the mountain. Cousin Greg who was extremely allergic to deer, rode on the hood and held on to the windshield tiedown. Literally and people stacked like cordwood right to the roof, on top of the stack of deer underneath. We hit a bump and Uncle Wally was holding his 30-06 prized rifle straight up. Hit the bump so hard we all bounced. The barrel of his rifle stuck right through the headliner of the Bronco in the back. 

This is a memory that has never been passed up during any reunion. 

Everyone who was there can still remember my Grampa’s words.

He said with a very thick northern Minnesota Swede accent,”Yup, dat derr Wardy, when he shoots dem derr bucks, dey fall like a ton uh bricks yah.”

Truly one of my most cherished memories.

So, when we get to the reunion. All of us old now. Even the second and third generation beyond that memory, we’re old too. Too old to stomp the mountains anymore. 

So, what do we do, we reminisce about the good times in the good old days. The good thing, I was always very busy making memories and so far, I’m blessed enough to remember them. 

The spice of life! Memories. Shut off the screen, get outside, catch a grasshopper. Get into trouble, it’s just a cherished memory tomorrow.