View From a Prairie Home

by Hege Hernfindahl, Columnist

I know that there are many topics a person should avoid to make sure the readers’ or listeners’ eyes don’t glaze over. When a person spends a lot of time debating with herself whether the event in question happened on a Tuesday or Wednesday. For me, who didn’t grow up here, there are the topic of all the people I don’t know and how they are related. And pointless gossip. For me, it is details of a particular sports game. (I know that is just me) or makeup tricks or what the Kardashians are up to. And then, there is the topic of one’s children and at my age, particular one’s grandchildren. What they do and how perfect they are. So, if you are like me, you could just toss this article away and maybe forgive me later.

As you all know by now, we had eight grandchildren in five years. Seven boys and one girl. When they were small, chaos reigned whenever we were together. But I got to sit or lay on the floor and have little people climb all over me. Sometimes they would even kiss me. Wet baby kisses. After they had been at my house for about five minutes, there were stuff all over all the floors, because like all grandparents everywhere, we had toys. Just for them. And then, there were newspapers to explore, tear up and maybe even eat. And some of grandma’s figurines that she had forgotten to put away. They were far more interesting than the toys available.

On the fourth of July, which we always celebrated together at our cabin, there was a timeframe with eight toddlers when we just didn’t dare be so close to water. It would only take one second for some little person to be too brave. And even if we would sit by the water’s edge and watch, we just didn’t think it was safe. So we spent the fourth at our farm with a sandbox, a very shallow toddler pool and our dog, who at that time was Anne.  They would chase Anne with squeals of delight and if they caught her, they would all just lay on her and emerge with black dog hair on their little, wet bellies.

And when I would come to visit, they would run with delighted squeals and just throw themselves in my open arms. It was a very busy and delightful time. But exhausting. I am very glad my children all had children in their twenties like their parents. So we were relatively young then, with more energy and more flexible bodies.

But then they grew and grew. Their grandparents were no longer so exciting. They were busy with school and friends and extracurricular activities. And then COVID hit and we were told that we should avoid becoming sick since we were of that age when people died from COVID. We would see our family occasionally during those years. Mainly outside. Often wearing masks.

Now, when people have been vaccinated and boosted and even had COVID, there are no more restrictions and it seems overnight, my grandchildren have become so much older, all teenagers now; three of them are nineteen which I thought, when I was a teacher, was the age when kids often became adults; responsible and less impulsive. But all of them, even our thirteen year old, Torsten, seem easier to talk to. And again, it is so much fun to be together.

We always would play board- and card games together, but now we also have actual conversations. One of my grandsons, Aaron, is taking Norwegian as an independent study and I get to teach him online! My granddaughter Hanna, who is sixteen, knows some Norwegian, so when the three of us are together we get to practice. We sing silly songs I taught them long time ago, make up inane sentences and laugh.

And when I am so down that I don’t care if I live or die, I think of my grandchildren and my will to live returns.