Nothing Like Family

The Upper Basin Chronicles

Chapter 5

Nothing Like Family

Alexander’s pickup tilted right, then left. The three passengers swayed in unison, one way, then the other. They bounced over a furrow end here and there as the truck climbed the grass waterway toward the farmhouse. Murphy preferred walking down toward the little prairie, taking his time to savor the feeling of the land, the crop, and the season. Today, though, with a guest along, and a raw wind blowing, walking would have been, well...long. Now that Rose’s boots were full of water, he was glad they weren’t on foot, walking uphill and upwind over rough ground.

“Time to shift, Dad.” Rose reminded him from the middle seat. Without waiting, she shoved the Ford’s stick forward as he worked the clutch in perfect time with the rising grade.

“You’re pretty good at that, Rose Murphy,” her teacher said. The cab already felt quite warm. Laura Paruzzi could tell Alexander Murphy had said most of what he had ready-made for such close quarters. She smiled thinking about how he’d been almost poetic over the little wetland behind them. Interesting...men do talk.

“I listen for the music, Ms. Paruzzi,” Rose responded, matter of fact, “you can just tell when to change.” The Ford’s first gear sang upward.

“My daughter, the piano-playing trucker,” teased Alexander. Rose poked a shoulder against her father. He raised a forearm up in mock defense.

Neither tree nor roofline broke the even curves of the land at the top of the rise. When he saw such views, Alexander tried to imagine himself seeing it as his great grandfather had for the first time. When the low hills rolled away like standing waves on the prairie sea, marked only by a far tree line of the river falling away to the southeast.

The grass waterway ended in a low terrace where the headlands had folded together in years past. He swung right, and drove along its base until it merged with the old lane, long unfenced. This was a path to pasture in the old days when Granddad milked several head of red and white cows.

He recalled his father Owen telling the story of the big gully that ran down through here. How Roosevelt’s Soil Erosion Service money had helped fix it in ’34. How scores of CCC laborers with picks and shovels, and teams of horses and mules pulling scrapers and drags, had filled and seeded it in just two weeks time.

“I didn’t know you play piano, Rose,” said Laura.

“Yep, Mama taught me. She loved to play and sing. Grandma Teresa plays, too.” Rose replied.

In the pause thereafter, Laura waited for Alexander to say something, but he did not.

The big white frame house with the green roof and dormers, the red hip roof barn, the old granary, and sheds, and the masts of the big white pines now lay before them. Alexander grimaced at the barn’s need of paint and the thought of the cost when other priorities thinned the family budget. No matter, we are who we are, she doesn’t judge people by appearances, he thought. If she does, well...

“Snow tomorrow, what do you think?” asked Laura as they neared the house. An old, collie ambled out to greet them from the lee of the garage, and a gray barn cat peered at them from the back porch step.

“Could be,” said Alexander, “Maybe ice, though, too. You never know this time-a year.”

As soon as she slid across the seat of the truck, Rose ran up the two steps and through the porch door. She kicked her off her wet boots and dripping socks, and banged the kitchen door behind her.

After removing her boots, Laura found a kitchen that would steam eyeglasses. Piano and fiddle music flowed from the front room. Rose stood in the doorway there, bouncing a child to the music. The girl of two with brown hair stared at Laura. Meanwhile, the piano and fiddle notes seemed to twine about each other, nothing real fancy, but steady and on key. The fiddle sang the old time tune and the piano hammered the beat.

Laura peered around the corner as Alexander came up behind her. A small woman with white hair and lively wrinkles about her eyes rocked on the piano bench, cane nearby. A balding man is his seventies smiled at them over the bridge of his fiddle. He nodded and bobbed and continued to work the bow. When the pianist saw them, she turned to the man and dipped her head in a conclusive way. They ended the tune with a shave-and-a-haircut flourish.

The audience in the doorway applauded, the performers bowed and smiled. Rose slid onto the piano bench to offer a cold foot to her great grandmother, set it on her flowered apron. “My, child! Can’t you keep your feet dry? Your toes are freezing! ‘Tis not May, you know.”

“Grandma, this is Laura, Rose’s teacher. Laura, my grandmother, Teresa, and my dad, Owen. That’s my baby Lucy,” Alexander said.

“Hello, dear, welcome, please come in, sit down,” said Teresa extending a hand. Owen smiled and waved, said, “Hello,” as Lucy slid from her sister’s grasp. The toddler took arms-out steps toward her kneeling father.

They all watched as the sprite in shiny Sunday shoes navigated the few steps to her father. “Hey, be-be, you walk so good!” Alexander said as he scooped her up. She peered a blue-eyed stare at Laura as he stood.

“Hi, Lucy,” said Laura with an extended finger, “my hands are cold.” Lucy gripped the offered finger anyway.

“What was that tune you played just now, Dad?” asked Alexander.

“’Lantern in the Ditch,’ Missouri fiddler, Lonnie Robertson,” Owen answered. “It reminds me of looking for a cow calving when I was a kid, over yonder where you were this afternoon. My dad walked down that big gully with his light while I searched up top. You couldn’t see him it was so deep, but his lamp made the ground glow where he walked.”

“I was just thinking about the CCC work to fill that in. How many men came?” Alexander asked.

“You know, I’m not sure, son, but maybe a couple of hundred. There wasn’t much else going in those days, and the CCC guys felt lucky to have any job at all. They made short work of our ravine, that sure.”

“Not long after, they started the soil and water districts, too. Aldo Leopold from Burlington got the first one going way over at Coon Creek south of La Crosse. The second one was near Winona on Gilmore Creek,” Owen said. “It was quite a change, we learned how to hold on to the soil, or more of it. Things have come a long way.”

“Can I make cocoa, Grandma, please?” Rose pleaded, “I can do it!”

The kitchen smelled of oatmeal cookies, nutmeg and coffee. Rose was soon wrestling a milk jug and a saucepan. A warm chocolate smell joined the mix as Rose successfully warmed the milk and added the powder, stirring from a stool near the stove.

“Be careful, child,” said Teresa as Rose poured the hot brown liquid into china cups with saucers Owen had brought in from the front room. “You pour very well. Let’s go sit in the front and be comfortable.”

“Mike’s not here, so no one will spill,” said Rose. “He’s a mess,” she said of her older brother.

“Be nice, please, Rose,” said her father. “Michael’s at Garcias, shooting baskets with Ramon; he’s ten,” said Alexander, turning to Laura.

“They’re quite a pair, Ruthann tells me,” said Laura, “We walk together twice a week, early mornings.” Alexander liked the Garcias. Rick knew his soil science. He’d seen the family at mass today and Michael had gone home with them.

The front room, with two big chairs, coffee table, a couch, lamps, piano, large bookcase, desk, and television felt very homey to Laura, even if she was near the center of attention. They asked about her classroom, and how the new job was going, and about the school levy struggle for funding. The plate of cookies went round again. The cups clicked on saucers while Owen read in a quiet voice to Lucy.

“Time to for me to head home,” said Laura presently, “It’s so nice to meet all of you, Owen, Mrs. Murphy. I can see why Rose is such a good student. She has a wonderful family.”

“Thank you, dear, please do come again, forgive me if I don’t get up, this child has worn me out today,” Teresa responded.

Alexander walked Laura to the back door. While she put her boots on he said, “Let me know when you’d like to bring the kids out. We can park the bus up here and ride down on the hay wagon.”

“That sounds good, Alex, thank you for the tour. You have something very special here.” She held out her hand.

“I know. Thanks, take care,” he said. Laura smiled, and turned to see Rose and Lucy waving from the kitchen door window.

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Next week... "Ain't Fit to Drink," Chapter 6

The Upper Basin Chronicles, Chapter 5 was written and edited by John Gabbert.

Comments? Email feedback to The Upper Basin Chronicles, Chapter 5

For a short audio clip of Lonnie Robertson's 'Lantern in the Ditch," go to http://www.rounder.com/Album.asp?catalog_id=5876.

The characters presented here are purely fictional, and neither bear resemblance to persons living or dead, nor represent the views or opinions of Saint Mary’s University of Minnesota.