Minnewaska Musings

By Paul Gremmels

     Ding! Ding!

     It’s the sound of a bell when you drive across the air hose at a full- service gas station. I suppose that I am dating myself by remembering that there were, at one time in my life, full-service gas stations. Today, we pull up to the pump, slip our credit card into the slot, pump our gas and drive away. Without ever engaging with a single person. Nothing is discussed. No news is shared. No opinions are debated. No advice is attained.  It’s sad really. But, there are occasional glimmers of hope.

    

 If you were to head about eighty miles west of Pope County, along Minnesota State Highway 28 and just shy of the South Dakota border, you will come to the town of Browns Valley. As you near the town the prairie will open up into an expansive valley. Before you will be a massive ridgeline called The Coteau. Named by the French, meaning large hill or divide. Big Stone Lake stretches thirty-two miles to the south and Lake Traverse, twenty-four miles to the north. Between these two lakes, along an ancient isthmus, is the town of Browns Valley. As you gradually descend into the valley the road turns north, and as you reach the base of the valley the road turns gently again to the west and points you straight down main street.  

     At the far end of Main Street, on the north side of the road, is a small gas station owned by a fifth generation wheelwright, Mike Falkingham. Although the big sign out front says “Bait” the station is called “Ben’s” after Mike’s grandfather. As you drive across the air hose the long forgotten, double ding, full-service bell will sound. Mike will come out and fill your tank, clean your windows, and if you ask him, check your oil and the air in your tires, but he won’t take credit cards. Says so, right on the faded sign in the window. But what if you don’t have a check or any cash you might ask? Well, Mike will hand you his card with the bill stapled to it and you can send him the money when you get home. I asked Mike how many times he had been stiffed on such a deal?

“Never,” he said. “People,” he adds, “are generally good.”

     When you enter the station you will be face to face with a northern pike that has an alligator’s head, beneath which is an assortment of ammunition, for this is after all, a border town. To the right are bait tanks, to the left is a chest freezer that serves as a desk just beneath the front window. Along the side wall are stand-up coolers, an ice freezer and a small bathroom. The floor is old hardwood tongue and groove that shows decades of foot traffic. 

     In the adjacent shop, there is usually a gathering of a diverse group of locals and travelers. Coffee is free here, and if you grab a cup and join the group, you may garner some advice. And as a frequent member of this brain trust once told me; “It may not be the best advice, but like the coffee – it’s free.”  

     I smiled, and considered it a glimmer of hope.

Paul Gremmels is a freelance writer, essayist and a columnist. He lives with his wife, Ann, in rural Pope County.  His column is published in the Pope County Tribune on the last week of each month.  He welcomes and responds to all correspondence. He can be contacted at:
gremmels@runestone.net