What in the world?! There’s an antelope standing out there on the street!
If I can say that and it sounds believable on the morning of April Fool’s Day, I’m either A) in Montana or B) surrounded by people that could use some morning coffee. Both A and B are correct. We headed off to Montana the week before Easter to fill up on a dose of our Montana family that we’ve all been missing.
When left our house in MN to head off on the trip, I cautiously left behind our kids’ snow pants. Leaving a yard completely covered in white, taking no snow pants felt a little risky. As I drove across western South Dakota on an I-90 thickly covered in a sheet of ice, I again questioned my decision.
By the time we pulled into the driveway at Grandma and Grandpa’s house in Broadview, Montana, though, our kids were wondering why I didn’t think to pack their spring jackets.
We all know the heady rush of joy of feeling a 50 degree day for the very first time in the spring. Imagine, then, what a few 60 degree days with blue sky and sunshine did for our kids (ok, and Mom and Dad, too). With new kid-sized garden shovels in hand from the bargain bin, they struck out for Grandma’s perennial garden, making dirt fly. I believe no tulips were harmed, but I can’t be certain of that.
Then they headed to the West side of her house where the grass never grows, and spent an afternoon cooking mud pies. My three-year-old gave me his detailed “recipe” if I wanted to try it later. That evening, our kids came in with rosy cheeks and a fresh sprinkling of freckles on their cheeks.
Our oldest daughter even had a light sunburn. Here I wondered about snow pants, when I should have packed the sunscreen.
The next day we met up with a friend (and former neighbor) to catch up over coffee while our kids ran around playing. The temperature soared to the mid 60’s, and that, of course, is cause for shorts early on in the year. Our two littlest kids shed their shirts as they played in the dirt pile out back behind my friend’s house, rubbing their bellies in the sunshine when the shirts came off.
After endless piles of snow and cold temps, I felt like we’d headed off on a tropical vacation. We just headed to Montana to see our family, but the unexpected warm temperatures and sunshine? Just what the doctor ordered.
In the melee of cousins, friends, and playing, a more somber note intermixed with it all as my mother-in-law made countless phone calls and trips to town to help organize her mother’s funeral. After many years of painful illness, we all believe Grandma Carol is now at peace. On Saturday, tucked right in between Good Friday and Easter, we attended her memorial service.
It was a touching moment to see my husband, his brother, father, and uncle stand together up front to play guitar and sing “Amazing Grace” and “Children of the Heavenly Father” during his grandma’s service. The second song had special meaning as a song that was also played during Grandma Carol’s mother’s funeral (my husband’s great-grandmother).
Funerals are gathering places of family, and we caught up with my husband’s extended family, held his cousin’s new baby girl, heard about an engagement, and just reconnected with family that we never get to see often enough.
After the funeral, we gathered at my husband’s brother’s house on Mosdal Road. Yes, the road has the family name. We had amazing homemade pasta. Most importantly, our kids learned a valuable lesson from their older cousins: a package of Mentos candies shoved into a 2-liter bottle of pop make a terrific fountain. The 10-foot geyser of pop on the gravel road was, no surprise, a definite crowd pleaser.
Easter Sunday came with all the usual: clean, new Easter outfits, chocolate candy that streaks Easter outfits, church, loads of ham, a full house of family, and of course…THE hunt. The Easter egg Hunt is a big deal in this family. Like ripping open presents on Christmas morning, it’s a 10-minute event that kids wait for all year.
My sister-in-law and her husband live on “the home farm” where his grandparents used to live. Hiding the Easter eggs used to be his grandfather’s favorite thing all year. My brother-in-law told how he and his brothers used to find well-hidden eggs all summer long when they were kids running around on the ranch. That said, I’m sure as this new generation of pint-sized kids tore around the yard on the hunt for eggs, his grandpa, Carl, would have been quite pleased with it all.
Today, Easter candy mostly gone and leftover ham in the fridge, we are heading back home to Minnesota. We will attempt to find and pack the stray socks and shirts that our kids scattered throughout Grandma’s house. My three-year-old hook-obsessed son packed up his new treasure box: a small cardboard box filled with new key chain and carabiner treasures gleaned (with permission) from his grandparents.
We’ll head out on I-90 East hauling our crew back home. Our kids are also picked up some souvenir coughs and runny noses from the latest germ bug in Montana. We’ll leave behind their baby cousin, although my five-year-old did wish we could bring her and maybe just keep her little and cute forever.
With some luck, creative parenting, and a whole lot of patience, we’ll trek across 1,000 miles. Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, we will pull into our driveway in Minnesota. Our own beds will never feel better, and we’ll hopefully be filled with enough Montana family time to last us until the next trip west.