There's this tall Dutchman in town who gets together with me from time to time just to chew the rag, and it's always a most delightful occasion.  Yes, "occasion" is just the right word.
His name is Ed Vanderlinde, and he's lived in Victoria for most of his 82 years, having grown up first on a farm near St. Boni.  I've known Ed since the 1970's when Jenny and Nick started kindergarten at Chanhassen Elemen-tary.  Ed was their school bus driver.
It was so traumatic to think about my children taking their first steps away from me, away from home, away from the neighborhood.  But when the doors of the school bus opened and I saw that the steps led into a big world driven by Ed Vanderlinde, the trauma was lessened.  The monsters and dragons that were waiting to swallow up my children, vanished.  The bus driver's kind words and gentle demeanor told me that he knew much about mothers and children.  Every-thing would be okay.
As Ed and his wife Mary, who died suddenly seven years ago, continued to drive my kids to school up into their high school years, our friendship never waned.  I love to hear Ed's perspective on current events because it's always laced with stories of the old days, stories that give me a lift, a laugh, a lasting impression.
Just a few days ago Ed was again sitting at my kitchen counter, and I asked him if I could take a few notes along with the coffee.  He didn't say no, he didn't say yes, and he didn't seem to notice that my pen was going a mile a minute as he chewed the rag on many topics . . .

On the family.
"My dad's name was Henry Vanderlinde.  He was born in St. Paul and lived right where the Ford Motor plant is.  I think Ford is still there today, but I'm not sure.  Then he got married and lived at St. Boni.  There was Clarine, Blandine, Alfred, Hattie, Joe, Henry, me, Barney Walter, and George.  Henry died when he was real little, which is why I said there were eight of us.  All of them are passed away except me and George.
"I should tell you a story about John Notermann and my brother Barney Walter who sometimes exchanged fishing places.  One time John was looking for Barney's phone number and couldn't find it, and he told the guys in town he couldn't find it, and they said, 'Ach!  We know he's got a phone!'  Then they asked John, 'What name are you looking for?  His real name isn't Barney.  It's Walter.' Why we ever got to calling him Barney, I don't know."

On the farm.
"My dad farmed.  At that time you were lucky to live on a farm because you could always eat.  One winter a cousin from town stayed with us and we cut wood and sold it.  A lot of people burned wood.  The cousin had a good bed to sleep in, he had food to eat, and he had access to my dad's tobacco.  My dad smoked.
"At that time if you had nothing, you had nothing.  There wasn't help like welfare then.  And nobody had money to help others, but once in a while something like this would work, and he had to cut wood, I'll tell you, just like the rest of us."

On country life.
"Our first radio was a battery pow-ered thing.  There was no electricity out in the country until after the second World War unless you were living along a line.  That's why REA is a little higher than Northern States.  Some-times REA had to build a long line for only one person.
"On Sundays we hunted gophers and watched a little ballgame.  All those things were very enjoyable.  We made our own fun.  If we didn't, there was none.  We never worked on Sundays.  There was church in the morning and something called vespers in the afternoon."

On the Model T.
"Dad drove a Model T.  You had to crank it to start it, which is the biggest reason women didn't drive it.  You drove a Model T with your feet.  It had no shift.  There were three pedals on the floor -- one to go, one to brake, and one to reverse.  And there were two levers under the steering wheel.  One was the spark lever and one the gas lever.  If I remember right, gas was on the right and spark was on the left.  It took two people to start it, one to turn the crank and one to use the gas and spark levers. 
"There was no fuel pump.  It was gravity feed.  When you were driving forward and going up the hill and you only had a little gas in the tank, you couldn't make it.  But if you went back down the hill, chances are that you could back up the hill.  Then, of course, you had to turn around again at the top to go back down the other side.
"It didn't have a gas gauge.  You had to stick a ruler in the tank to see how much gas was in it.  In a Model T you sat on the gas tank.  I don't know why they put it there, but if it ever exploded you'd be a goner.
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