An Amazing, Heartfelt Memory

Revisiting a memory of happy summers in North Dakota.

When traveling home with my siblings for Mom’s funeral in Dickinson, ND recently, we visited Grandma’s old neighborhood, and I got a stunning surprise.

Every few years in my childhood, Mom and us kids would travel by train to ND for a long visit in the summer. It was a strange (so much German spoken!) but happy gathering of aunts and cousins. Swimming at the community pool. Learning to work in Grandma’s garden. Eating peas right off the vine. To this day, the fragrance of fresh dill takes me back to that idyllic time.

This time, sadly, we were there for a funeral, but the day after, we went to see the old property. The house had burned down long ago, but the blue spruce and pine trees and old sidewalks were still there. When we finished tearfully meandering around the empty lot reminiscing, the woman across the street came out on her porch, so we went over to say hello and see if she knew anything of Grandma or our aunts Betty or Anna who lived there.

The neighbor, Monica, was very kind. She affirmed our memories about the little store on the corner and the house with the big basement and even bigger family (we played with the children.) As we talked, I felt more and more sure that Monica’s was the house in which I had spent many happy hours playing paper dolls with a nice little girl, cutting out, dressing, and making homes for Betsy McCall. I finally got up the courage to ask if she happened to be that girl.

Monica smiled warmly and nodded. My sisters turned to me, astonished and beaming.

She was that girl, and she had the same happy memories that I did! Sixty years later, we were blessed to reconnect and recall those happy times. One of many silver linings of a sad journey.

Do you remember these? They were offered in each issue of McCall’s magazine.

Visiting Dickinson was a trip. I have so many stories to write down. I don’t want to forget them. And everyone we met was so friendly and welcoming. If “North Dakota Nice” isn’t a thing, it should be.

By the way, when I told Monica that my first novel, Dakota Blues, was like a love letter to Dickinson and my family’s history, she was impressed. (It’s nice to hear that from time to time, because as the one making the sausage, it’s not always so glamorous.) I promised to send her the book. I hope she enjoys reading about what it was like to see the inside of Grandma’s house, work in her garden, and enjoy my family memories from those beautiful days gone by.

10/6/22 Update: I sent Dakota Blues to Monica, and she wrote back. She’d told some friends about our meeting, and they said, “What a story!” It truly is. And she was happy to receive the books. Said her heart was full. So is mine.