Mendonburg

I was beginning to think that my GPS was screwed up. I didn’t remember the trip over the back roads to Mendonburg taking so long. Growing up, we made the trip every month, all five of us kids packed into the Ford station wagon, visiting my grandparents’ farm. Well, to be honest, it was a big house on the edge of a small town with a couple of “barns” that held a couple dozen chickens and eight cows, tops. There was a pasture that climbed the hill in back of the barn up to a muddy little pond that once had been stocked with bullheads, but eventually only harbored bullfrogs, dragonflies, and mosquitoes. Maybe the trip seemed longer now because I wasn’t used to driving these narrow blacktopped roads, winding up and down and around hill after hill after hill. And the tractors. Oh, my God, the tractors. I mean, I didn’t have to follow any of them for very far, but I didn’t dare pass them on those winding roads, no matter how much their drivers would try to wave me past.

Perhaps the real reason the trip seemed so much longer was that, as kids, we always slept most of the way.

Grandma had died five years ago, Grandpa just a couple of months ago. I hadn’t seen either of them since I was in high school, some fifteen years ago. Somehow, after Dad left the family, it didn’t seem right to keep in contact with them. They had never liked my mother because she wasn’t from Mendonburg. She was from the “big city” and she had convinced my Dad to leave the little town to seek his fortune and raise his family.

I guess Grandma and Grandpa finally convinced Dad to “come home” and help on the farm. Mom wouldn’t go with him, so he just up and left. He said it was for the best, because she really didn’t belong there anyway. I’m not sure he did either. Even though he had grown up on the little farm, he clearly had forgotten how to drive a tractor on the side of a hill. He was killed when he rolled the old Case tractor on the hill below the pond.

Why Grandpa left the old place to me, I have no idea. Maybe because I was the only son of their only son. Maybe he just hated me.

I suppose that I shouldn’t have been surprised when I pulled into town and found that nothing had changed except the name on the general store.

I pulled up to the one-pump gas station and tried to figure out where to put my credit card. A guy wandered out and looked at me from under his green John Deere cap. “The pump’s off.”

“I have to pay first? No problem.”

He shook his head. “Well, you have a little problem. I’m headed for lunch.”

“Well, this won’t take long.”

“It’s lunch time. I already locked up.”

I figured I could go look at my grandparents’ place and fill up later. “Okay, no problem. What time will you open up again?”

He shrugged as he walked away. “After lunch.”

I placed the hose back on the pump. I left the car right where it was and walked the half mile to the farm, see what might have changed.

A couple of the houses had changed colors since I had been down these streets, but most of them had remained the same color. In fact, most of them hadn’t been painted at all as far as I could see. I saw a couple of people looking out their windows at me as I strolled down the cracked sidewalks. I waved at them, but nobody waved back. It surprised me a bit because I had always felt like this was a friendly community. I was surprised when I reached Peterson farm. The front yard seemed so much smaller than I remembered. And the front porch, where Grandma used to sit with us and husk corn or shell peas for dinner, was gone. A set of steps led up to the front door. I pulled out the old key that Grandpa’s lawyer had sent me and tried the lock. The key turned part way, then stopped. Remembering Grandma locking up at night, I wiggled the key up and down while trying to turn it. It didn’t work.

A voice drifted over from an open window next door. “There ain’t nothing worth stealing. You might as well move on.”

I looked over and smiled. Even after twenty years, I’d recognize her anywhere. “Mrs. Turner? It’s me, Tom. Tommy.”

She just stared at me.

“Tommy Peterson. John’s son.”

I thought I saw a glimpse of recognition cross her face, but it was quickly replaced with the frown she had been wearing when I first glanced over. I held up the key to show that I wasn’t trying to break in.

“That’s the backdoor key. Old man Peterson lost the front door key years ago.”

“Okay. Thanks. It’s nice seeing you again.”

“Hmmph.” She disappeared from the window and drew her shades.

Mendonburg wasn’t near as friendly as I remembered. I knew the residents never cared much for outsiders, but they always seemed to at least accept us “city folks” whenever we visited. Maybe they only liked kids.

I walked around to the back of the house and was surprised to find that the cow barn had collapsed and much of the wood had already been removed. I unlocked the back door and hurried through the house. I couldn’t believe that anyone had lived there recently. It was a mess. I wasn’t sure the floor would even hold me. I knew the stairs which led up to the second floor weren’t safe. If this house were in the city, it would have already been condemned. I left quickly, not bothering to lock it back up.

The pasture was overgrown, but I waded through the tall grass and the orange and yellow flowers which Grandma called Indian paintbrush, but Mom had called prairie fire. I reached the spring fed pond which, now that the cows weren’t wading into it, was clear led to a small stream that ran down the hill where it joined the Mendonburg Creek on its journey to Crystal Lake. The view from the field next to the pond was as amazing as I remembered. You could see every building in town from up here. I looked up into woods where me and my sisters used to explore the shale outcroppings.

I almost wished that I could live here. Almost. I wasn’t crazy.

But I was hungry. I assumed that I could still get a sandwich made at the meat counter in the back of the little store in town, so I walked back down the hill and headed into town. This time I was sure that people were watching me from their windows, but I couldn’t see anyone. I walked by the gas station and saw that despite how long I’d been gone, the guy in the green John Deere cap still hadn’t returned.

I went around the corner to the general store and paused before entering. I wondered if all the shelves full of penny candy and cheap toys would greet me as I walked in. I chuckled at the thought that there might be “penny candy”.

I was expecting a little bell to tinkle my arrival as I pushed the door open, but evidently it had been removed sometime over the past twenty years. I guess even in a little place like this, things change. Two guys in jeans and T-shirts were sitting at a little table stopped talking as I walked in.

“Can I help you with something?”

I turned and faced the women who had spoken to me.

“Yeah. Do you still make those roast beef sandwiches with the horseradish?”

She looked at me kind of funny. “Never did. Never will.”

I glanced over at the two men at the table and then back at the woman. “Okay, no problem. I’ll have whatever they’re having.”

“We’re out.”

“Out? Of what?”

“Everything.”

“Everything?”

“That’s what I said.”

I wasn’t sure what to make of that. I again glanced over at the two men who seemed to be watching our exchange with interest. “Okay. I’ll just have one of those bags of chips and a Dr. Pepper.” I pulled out my credit card and laid it on the counter.

She pushed the card back at me. “Don’t take credit cards.”

I pulled a twenty out of my wallet and exchanged it for my card.

“I don’t have change for that.”

“Just keep it.”

She swiped at the bill and slipped it into her pocket. I waited for my chips and the can of soda, but she walked away.

I tapped on the counter. “Uh, my stuff?”

“What about it?”

“The chips and the soda?”

“That’ll be three-fifty.”

“I gave you a twenty.”

“What, am I supposed to thank you?”

“I just want my stuff.”

“You gave me the twenty. You didn’t say anything about paying for the food.”

“Are you kidding me? Why would I just give you twenty dollars?”

She shrugged. “Who knows why you people do what you do?”

“You people?”

“City folk.”

“Look, I’m just here to close on the sale of my Grandparent’s place. You probably knew them. The Petersons?”

“We know who you are.”

Confused, I looked around again. The looks on the faces of the two men seemed to have darkened. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but I just want to get something to eat, sign some papers and leave. I don’t want any trouble.”

“And we don’t want people buying up our town. We like it here. We like it the way it is.”

I shook my head. “I’m selling one house. That won’t change anything.”

I realized that the two men had left their table and were now standing behind me. I was beginning to feel unwanted. One of the men spoke. “Do you have any idea who you’ve agreed to sell to?”

I shrugged. “Not really. They offered more than I was asking.”

“Well, ‘they’ have been trying to buy land all around here. Ever heard of fracking?”

I nodded.

“We don’t need all that nonsense here. And we’ve been able to keep them out until some city slicker inherits a good hunk of land and offers to let them get their foot in the door. Like Martha said, we like it here. We like it the way it is.”

Now, I’m not a rich man and the threatened lawsuits gave me pause, but I have to admit, it does my heart good whenever I make the long drive back to Mendonburg over those winding roads to visit all of my friends who are enjoying the Peterson Memorial Park on the edge of town.