View From a Prairie Home

by Hege Hernfindahl, Columnist

“Det står en benk i hagen, i hagen står en benk. Den benk som står i hagen, det er en hagebenk.” (There is a bench in the garden, in the garden stands a bench. The bench that stands in the garden is a garden bench)

He was very practical and very frugal and he loved telling stories. And since he worked for the military, my grandfather and his young wife, Maja, moved often. Their furniture could be taken apart so that it was easier to move. They always rented a house and the house always had a large yard. That yard always featured a wooden bench, which moved with them from place to place.

I remember the bench as green to match the trim of our cabin in Southern Norway. It was its final resting place, because my grandfather was retired and spent May through October at his cabin. He would sit on the bench and smoke his pipe and watch his many grandchildren run around. He would smile and try to tell the story of the bench. He had made it himself in 1916 when he was newly married. But we were too busy to listen, besides, we had heard the story before.

But when I married my Grant, my grandfather had a willing audience with time and patience and interest. These days, Grant will tell me my grandfather’s stories, because he remembers them.

After we moved to the farm in Swift County, we bought a bench. It was sturdy, because we never planned on moving. We put it in the yard and sat on it, my head on Grant’s shoulder, as we watched our little Reuben toddle about.

It later became a launching pad from which our three children could hurl themselves high enough to catch a lower branch from the big maple tree. From there they could climb pretty high until I came screaming out of the house for them to get down immediately.

The years passed as the children grew. They came home to help us dig a pond in the backyard. There were many hands to help lift the bench and put it next to the pond, which we filled with gold fish and lilies to set the stage for a garden wedding. So, when our little girl, who by then had turned into a young lady married her Patrick, the wedding guests could sit on the bench and enjoy the beautiful and joyous day.

Yesterday, the mercury hit 73 degrees and Grant and I went to our machine shed to look at our outdoor furniture. In a corner reserved for that purpose between miscellaneous old rakes, five gallon pails and some rickety, dilapidated chairs, we found our old bench. We took it out and Grant put a few new screws in. He had replaced some of the boards several years ago and stained it, but the stain had flaked, so we put new stain on. It dried quickly in the warm spring day and we put the bench on a small patio we have in the middle of my rose garden. As the sun set on another good day that the Lord had made, we sat down on the old bench. I thought of how life has changed in a way I never thought would happen. Losing two young men in their prime. Having to live in a world that doesn’t value the love of neighbor. But, in spite of it all, I felt grateful for having this place on the prairie to call home. And, above all, to have family and faithful friends. And my sweet husband with whom I can share this bench.