Warning!: Family Vacations May Be Hazardous to Your Health Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Welcome to the Parlor

  The Wild West

  Sisterly Love

  Grandfather to the Rescue

  Skittles, Anyone?

  Nickels From Heaven

  The Right Formula

  On The Road Again

  Paper Suits Me

  Life in the Slow Lane

  Washington, Jefferson, and Lincoln, Oh My

  Hair, Hips, and Other Shortcomings

  The H Word—History

  Beachballs and Boys

  Last But Not Least—Niagara Falls

  Family Vacations May Be

  Hazardous to Your Health

  2nd Edition

  by

  Mary Clare Lockman

  Warning! Family Vacations May Be Hazardous to Your Health

  2nd Edition © copyright 2016 by Mary Clare Lockman. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form whatsoever, by photography or xerography or by any other means, by broadcast or transmission, by translation into any kind of language, nor by recording electronically or otherwise, without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in critical articles or reviews.

  Library of Congress Catalog Number: 2016951908

  Cover illustration by Hal Rimes

  Ebook design by Sue Stein

  First Print Edition February 2004

  Second Print Edition September 2016

  Ebook Edition October 2016

  FuzionPrint - 1210 East 115th Street, Burnsville, MN 55337

  To contact the author: [email protected] or

  www.maryclarelockman.com

  Dedication

  To my traveling companions.

  Mary Ann: Thank you for everything.

  Anne, Clare, Erin, Colleen: I love being your mom.

  Paul: You still make me laugh after all these years.

  I love all of you.

  One

  Welcome to the Parlor

  Beware of the parlor, where children put on their best clothes and their best faces.

  During the inky-black winter of 1985, my husband, Paul, and I meticulously planned our trip to Yellowstone National Park. As afghans swaddled the two of us, we poured through guide books, perused maps, discussed pros and cons of local attractions, and booked motel reservations. While we slept, we dreamed of what was sure to be the perfect family vacation.

  We purchased a van in May with the idea of traveling for many summers to come.

  The day of our dreams arrived. On a sunlit morning in June, we left St. Paul, Minnesota, to begin our first driving trip with our three daughters. Anne was six-and-a-half, Clare was four, and Erin was two-and-a-half. My mother,

  Mary Ann, was along also to complete our three generation family.

  I was so excited I didn’t stop smiling for the first hundred miles.

  “Wait a minute. Wasn’t that Plum Creek?” I asked. At the entrance to a small bridge was a large sign saying, “Plum Creek.” The creek swirled below us for a few seconds and then, it was gone.

  “What’s Plum Creek?” Paul asked, as we crossed the creek.

  “You don’t know?” I couldn’t believe my ears.

  “No. What is it?”

  “I thought everybody knew about Plum Creek.”

  “I don’t.”

  “The Ingalls family lived there in their soddy house. Anne, that was Plum Creek we just went over.” I craned my neck to look behind us. The sign, bridge, and creek were getting smaller and smaller.

  I had read Little House in the Big Woods by Laura Ingalls Wilder to our girls from the time they were toddlers. Anne was now reading the whole series of eight books about the Ingalls family by herself. She loved the stories as much as I had when I was young.

  “I loved the soddy house,” Anne said. She looked out the back window trying to catch a glimpse of the creek. It had disappeared.

  “I thought we were stopping in DeSmet?” Paul asked.

  “We are,” I said. While curled by the fireplace during the winter, I had talked Paul into taking a different route and stopping in DeSmet, South Dakota. The last house of the Ingalls family was there.

  “Aren’t we seeing a house of the Ingalls there?”

  “Yes, but they moved a lot. You know; Little House in the Big Woods, Little House on the Prairie.”

  The two lane road stretched in front of us. It was quiet and unhurried, with little traffic. The only sounds were our whirring wheels on the pavement and the whooshing wind against the windows. One last time I looked back in the direction of Plum Creek.

  “What’s the difference between one house or an­other?” Paul asked. He had never read the books and knew of them only from me reading to the girls.

  “They’re all very different. Aren’t they, Anne?”Anne nodded in agreement. “The soddy house was always my favorite of their houses. I didn’t know we were going right by it,” I said.

  We were now a couple of miles past Plum Creek. “Anne, was Nellie Oleson in the Plum Creek story?” I twisted my head so I could see Anne.

  “I think so. Ooh, I hated Nellie.”

  “She wasn’t very nice in the book, was she?”

  “Sometimes Laura did things too.”

  “Yes, she did. Oh well, no kid is perfect.” Paul pulled over to the side of the road and stopped.

  “Do you want to stop here?”

  “Sure. Do you want to, Anne?”

  “Sure.”

  “Clare and Erin, do you want to?” I asked.

  “I do,” Clare said. Clare had been listening to the back and forth without making a sound. That was more than an unusual occurrence; it was downright astonishing. She liked to make her viewpoints known on every subject. If no one shared her views, Clare just planted her sturdy self, wherever she was, and didn’t move, physically or mentally.

  “Me too,” Erin squeaked. Erin had a fragile, almost spindly body. And her voice was as long and skinny as her limbs.

  “Mom, do you want to stop?” I asked Grandma.

  “Whatever you and Paul want,” Grandma said.

  “We can’t stop here and DeSmet,” Paul said. “It’ll get too late.” Paul had planned for the driving to end each day at five o’clock at the latest.

  “Where are we staying tonight?” I asked.

  “Mitchell.”

  “Is that far from DeSmet?”

  “About two hours.”

  “That’s pretty far. I don’t want to be too late either.” I had to agree we couldn’t see everything but I didn’t like missing Plum Creek.

  “I don’t care one way or another,” Paul added.

  “I’d guess I’d rather stop in DeSmet. That’s where The Long Winter took place.”

  “Does everyone agree?” Paul asked.

  I nodded my head. There was a general consensus coming from the back of the van. Our five-minute discussion over, we were back on the two lane highway heading for DeSmet, South Dakota.

  DeSmet was the last town the Ingalls family lived in. In addition to that, it was also the place where Laura Ingalls had taught school.

  Our first stop was the tiny school, a replica of the original school called the Brewster School. It was named after the Brewster family, whose children were three of Laura’s five students. She taught one term of school there while living with the Brewster family.

  We opened the door and walked into the back of the schoolroom. The teacher’s desk sat squarely in front of the class. B
ehind it a blackboard covered the wall. In the corner, a coal burning stove squatted, ready and waiting for winter. Adding the four double desks for students filled the room.

  We walked around the one-room schoolhouse taking in everything from the slate boards to the primers on each desk. A large map of the United States hung on the side wall. I tried to imagine children walking miles to school during their long, cold winters.

  Tour guides were available in the school and house. They were elated that we had read all the books. “You’ve read all the books. Wonderful!” The tour guide’s hands embraced each other as she exclaimed. “Wonderful!” She looked at each of us with a huge smile.

  After the schoolhouse visit, we drove to the last house the Ingalls had lived in. A guide met us as we stepped through the door.

  “Come in. Welcome,” she said.

  She first told the story of the family as they were portrayed in the books. Then she talked about what brought the family to DeSmet, and finally the building of the house. As she spoke of the Ingalls family, her eyes shone with passion.

  The guide relished questions of all kinds, especially from the children. Anne, my mother, and I were interested in what happened to Laura and her sisters later in their lives.

  “Did Laura live here?” Anne asked.

  “No, she never lived in this house. The family moved in after Laura was married.”

  We learned that the family had come to DeSmet when Laura was twelve. They lived in the Surveyor’s House out of town the first year. By The Shores Of Silver Lake was written about that area. During The Long Winter, the family stayed in town above the store Pa bought.

  We also learned sadly that there were no living descendants of Ma and Pa Ingalls.

  We knew from the stories how skillful Pa Ingalls was with his hands. This last house of theirs was added on to many times. It even had a parlor.

  While the guide pointed out special items, we toured the house. We went first to the upstairs bedrooms. Coming back downstairs, we walked into an attractive kitchen.

  We all liked the cupboards because they were made by Pa but we had saved the best for last.

  “And now, we can carefully walk into the parlor. Again, don’t touch anything,” the tour guide stated. She adjusted her white gloves above the elbows. She wore a dress of the late 1800s with skirt and petticoats swishing the floor. The toes of her polished black boots peeked out from under the skirt. Buttons that held the boots together reflected light in waves on their surfaces.

  We followed the guide and stepped into a restful, pretty front room. Lace curtains veiled the windows as the sun poured in. Two comfortable-looking chairs sat facing each other, while, nearby, pictures and books stood on wooden tables. Family pictures hung on the walls. Under the portraits of Ma and Pa, a black fainting lounge invited us. It looked like a prime spot to recline and read. Against the opposite wall from Ma and Pa, an aged organ waited with sheet music open.

  “Pa made all of this, Anne,” I said.

  “It’s neat. Thank you, Mom and Dad.”

  “You’re welcome.” I stole a glance at Paul and knew he was feeling the same way I did. Our hearts swelled with pride. They are so pleasant and appreciative, I thought.

  True joys to travel with!

  I had driven the van only a few times and wasn’t as comfortable with it as my husband. Paul had planned on doing most of the driving on the trip. The first day he had done all of it.

  “Wait. What’s that big building?” I asked. Our van had just breezed right by an unusual looking building.

  “The Mitchell Corn Palace,” Paul said.

  “Can’t we stop?”

  “I think we should check in at the hotel before we do anything else.”

  “What is it? I’ve read about it.”

  “It’s a building decorated with parts of the corn plant. Maybe we’ll want to go back after dinner.”

  During January, February, and March, I had read about places of interest in South Dakota, Wyoming, and Colorado. The Corn Palace had intrigued me. I couldn’t believe what the local people went through to create it each year.

  Every September they stripped the walls and started fresh with 275,000 new corn stalks, cobs, grasses, and grains. The cobs were sawed in half and nailed individually to the walls. Eleven different colors were used in the designs; all of them native to South Dakota.

  Artists designed the new murals for each year’s theme. The outside designs were also made of corn parts and quite intricate. This tribute to agriculture was a true labor of love.

  As we drove by, I glimpsed the outside patterns which looked like cowboys riding their horses. At least one of the cowboys had his right hand raised twirling a lasso. So much action was within the designs that I could picture the horses galloping. I could almost hear the cowboys talking to their horses and yelling orders to each other. I tried to imagine the inside of the palace.

  I wanted to stop but it had been a long day for all of us. “Are you guys hungry?” I asked. I turned around to the back.

  “Yes,” the girls answered in unison.

  “I am too. Let’s eat.”

  After eating and relaxing for a while no one felt like driving the two miles back to the Corn Palace, including me. The girls swam in the hotel pool with Paul. Grandma and I sat by the pool and talked about our full day.

  Two

  The Wild West

  Enjoy today with your children, for tomorrow may be very different

  The next day we stopped at a prairie dog town on the side of the highway. The three girls found out that prairie dogs were impossible to sneak up on. The girls crouched down as they inched forward. If they moved a leg in any direction, the prairie dogs disappeared down a hole. Within seconds, the little prairie dogs popped out of another hole, alert to any movement.

  “There it is,” Anne yelled. She stooped down, put her finger to her lips, and started to move forward. The prairie dog was already gone.

  “I see it,” Clare cheered. She put her finger to her lips, and tiptoed ahead.

  “Mom, it’s a mom,” Erin said excitedly. She pointed to a prairie dog followed by smaller versions of itself.

  “Kids always follow their moms. Right, Erin?” I asked. I had nicknamed Erin “my little shadow”because every time I turned around she was right there. Her innate shyness meant she didn’t want me out of her sight.

  We watched as the mother prairie dog ran down the holes with little ones in swift pursuit.

  The temperature was in the mid-nineties, Fahrenheit. When the wind burst across the prairie, it was hard to take in a deep breath. I panted with each fiery gust. My sporadic breaths came in spurts, after the blasts of hot air were through. It reminded me of the breathing exercises nurses taught pregnant woman to use during labor. It didn’t work out here on the hot prairie, either.

  We took a detour off the main highway to view the Badlands. I don’t know what I expected, but it certainly wasn’t the stark beauty in front of us. The unusual rocky landscape made me feel like we had landed on the moon. There wasn’t a plant, tree, bush, or anything green facing us. The slabs of stone and rock looked like stalagmites sticking up from the ground in all directions.

  I was surprised how wide the Badlands were. They literally went on for miles and miles. A nearby sign stated that the Badlands area encompassed 379 square miles.

  “Isn’t it beautiful?” I asked anyone who happened to be listening.

  “It’s hot everywhere,” Clare said. “Really hot.”

  “Yes, it is,” I said. Erin had been standing right next to me. Now she leaned against me. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that she was too sweaty for snuggling.

  “Do you like it here, Erin?” Paul asked.

  “Mm hmm.”

  “I like it too,” he said. He patted her fine, blond hair.

  Anne had been standing with her hands on her hips as she gazed out. It lasted for only a second, but I saw it clearly. She narrowed her eyes at Clare and stuck her to
ngue out so fast, that if I had blinked, I would have missed it. Then she bounced off to the van.

  I made a mental note to talk to Paul about what I had seen. We could nip any problems in the bud before they became unmanageable. When I reached the van, I looked in the back and all seemed calm. No problem.

  Signs along the highway contained extensive advertising for Wall Drug. Our interest piqued, we invented a game to see who would notice the signs first.

  “Would anyone like to stop?” Paul asked.

  “I would,” I said.

  “I would.”

  “I would.”

  “I would.”

  “It would be interesting to actually see Wall Drug,” Grandma said. “Especially after seeing all the signs.”

  We drove to Wall Drug, found one of the few empty parking places, and parked the van. Inside the different rooms, pictures and Western memorabilia decorated the walls. Each room was packed with people; talking, laughing, and eating. Some of the people were eating buffalo burgers and drinking sarsaparilla. A general feeling of happiness and camaraderie pervaded the drugstore. As we listened to the medley of voices, we heard many different languages.

  Since I love museums, I was thrilled that Wall Drug had a museum on the premises. It gave an interesting history of South Dakota and, especially, Wall Drug.

  It was established in 1931, during the Depression. Business grew tremendously after they offered free ice water to anyone who stopped. Since motor vehicles had no air-conditioning, the ice water tasted great to the hot, thirsty travelers. Fifty years later, the ice water still tasted great.

  With the friendly atmosphere, Wall Drug was also the perfect place to buy an ice cream cone. As we licked our cones, and sipped our sarsaparilla, we sat for a long time and watched the people.

  Before stopping in Rapid City for the night, we wanted to see Mount Rushmore. It was incredible! We stared at the four chiseled faces of our presidents. A tape recording told us why these four were chosen, as well as how Gutzon Borglum carved the faces.