All Roads Lead to New Glarus Pt. 1- A Travel/Memoir Series – Retelling of a Story

My father once said, “All roads lead to New Glarus.” Throughout the years a small town in Southwestern Wisconsin seems to have repeated itself in significance. Our tapestry has been woven traveling through, in and around this lovely weekend getaway spot. The rolling hills and deeply cut valleys reminded the early Swiss settlers of their homeland.

I’ll never forget the first time I found myself in New Glarus, Wisconsin. It was a late August afternoon, and the air was starting to smell like newly sharpened pencils. Locusts played their organ-grinding songs, and all that grows grew golden. Thoughts of going back to school lurked in the back of my mind, causing me to capture each moment and savor it like a piece of creamy, milk chocolate melting slowly over my tongue. Every hour was precious freedom.

My family strolled down the main street of a town proclaiming to be “America’s Swiss Village.” With almost-black rough wood beams criss-crossing over white stucco, the buildings looked like they could have been in Glarus, Switzerland. Under the windows, geraniums spilled out of flower boxes. Passing a storefront with sausages hanging in the window, my nose crinkled trying to distinguish the fragrance of spice and uncooked red meat, an odor foreign to my young nose. Church bells broke into exultation, signaling that it was half past the hour.

This photo of New Glarus is courtesy of TripAdvisor

As my father opened the door to the New Glarus Baking Company, the unfamiliar tunes of an accordion playing bouncy polka music blasted into the street. A shaft of light streamed down the staircase and beckoned us to follow it’s guidance to the pinnacle and into the tea room.

I sat on the smooth, wooden chair, my feet almost touching the ground. the side of the table at which I sat was against the wall, facing the window. My parents sat across from me. They were surrounded by the bright sunshine, which created halos around their forms like the paintings on Eastern Orthodox icons. The tables were adorned with white linen cloths and napkins and in the center of each one was a bud vase with a silk red carnation reaching towards the ceiling. The waitress came to take our order wearing a customary Swiss peasant dress. She looked like a member of the Van Trap Family.

This photo of New Glarus is courtesy of TripAdvisor

Soon after ordering, my father was drinking a cup of coffee. Mother was checking a glass for water spots. I, on the other hand, was about to dive into a biscuit with a creamy chicken gravy, topped with a dollop of unsweetened whipped cream. My mouth watered. The sound of silver on china now accompanied the accordion as the velvety flavors exploded in my mouth.

Looking down on the last bite, I realized that just as I was about to enjoy the last of this delectable treat, I was also enjoying the last moment of my family vacation. Surprisingly, new notebooks, pens and shoes seemed like a welcome adventure after spending lazy days in the summer heat. I leaned back in my chair satisfied with my meal and with my fifth grade summer vacation.

To read the next installment of this story click here.

Linking with Imperfect Prose

Finding Holy In Long Summer Days – by Tara Polkhotte – TOYS Linkup

I am so sorry this is so late. Life has been crazy and I hope to write about it soon! Tara’s life is crazy too! She’s a mama, a student and she works…(I think I need some counselling as to how she finds time to write!) Her words are like a visit to Grandpa’s lap on his favorite rocking chair. The sway back and forth until your spirit has found peace and rest. You need to check out her blog Polkhotte Press. It’s a vacation in a blog…

 

Take Off Your  Shoes (TOYS)…You’re About to Enter Holy Ground!

Our 15 hour car ride brought us through the Cumberland Gap, weaving slowly up the ribboned roads of the Appalachian mountains to my father-in-law’s house, perched eye level with the treetops. We unpacked our cramped limbs from our seats and promptly found our way to our beds just before the sun broke the horizon.

With the promise of seven days of uninterrupted time as a family we meandered through our routines – no clocks to adhere to, places to be, and only the lake welcoming us at the edge of the dock. I felt myself exhale, let go of the constant pull of forward driving days and thoughts to let myself sink into the beauty of time allowed to be still. And as is the power of staying present, my eyes began to see all of the holy pooling at my feet.

Holy came in paper bowls, bed-heads and the passing of cereal boxes over top of the boy so excited for the day that he was already wearing his snorkel gear so when an adult made the nod of the affirmative, he could race down that hill and be the first in.

Holy splashed between us every lazy afternoon, burning hot across the crowns of our heads as our arms and backs crinkled sun-dried lake upon our skin. It came masked in sandwiches whose crusts, discarded by the four year old nibbler, became fish food and cause of delight. It settled slowly on boat rides and sunsets across the open water.

I watched as holy was exploded by men, whose love language is different then mine, painted multicolored love across the sky. It sat brilliant in the reflection of the fireworks and pride dancing on my children’s upturned faces. It circled around a solitary lamp each night, three generations slapping cards on the table. Voices rising in fake protest or the sweetest of victories, sharing hands and our stories while the stars winked their silent approval.

I found it tucked up tight next to my children in the bunk-beds their daddy used to call his own. Contentment tangled at their feet in the piles of old Pound Puppy and Teenaged Mutant Ninja Turtle sheets. Holy was there at 3 am, eight hours after the storm rolled through, taking the power with it – leaving in its wake an uncomfortable four year old girl, stripped down to only her princess undies trying to stay cool. Even in the close to 100 degree stagnant heat, when she needs comfort, she still seeks my arms in the dark and presses my forehead to hers to find the rhythm of sleep.

When the morning came for us to leave our summit, I breathed in deep, letting the glory of those moments spent in quiet living tuck up deep into my bones. I let my head rest back against the seat as our car hugged the bending roads back down the mountain; and I smiled at the miles ahead.

Won’t you join me on Fridays for a new series and linkup called, “Take Off Your Shoes, You’re On Holy Ground!” or TOYS? Each week a post will be shared about the significance of a place and you will be able to share as well!! Just 1) Write a post about how a place has ministered to you. 2) Add your post to the linkup. 3) Add the button to your post. 4)Visit and encourage your neighbors!

<a href=”http://journeytoepiphany.com&#8221; target=”_blank”><img src=”https://journeytoepiphany.files.wordpress.com/2012/05/holy-ground1.jpg&#8221; alt=”JourneyTowardsEpiphany” width=”125″ height=”125″ /></a>

The Polar Express Trip to Disney World – New Glarus Series

If you need to catch up on All Roads Lead to New Glarus click here.

The conductor called, “All aboard!” and I felt like a character from the Polar Express. Except that it was hot because I was in Florida, and it wasn’t Christmas Eve. But, just like the passengers of the Polar Express, we were on a journey of faith. Would we believe that God was a kind and loving Father? The face attached to the little hand I held was very serious, as if the conductor were some sort of priest, and the train a cathedral. We stepped on board, found a seat and covered ourselves with the blanket a stranger had given us on the first leg of this trip. Five year old J. knelt on his seat in the over-air-conditioned train, so that he could watch the activity as we pulled out of Orlando while I reflected on how we got here, and how God answered the prayers of a little boy.

It was the night of my friend Sue’s memorial service and I was tucking then 4 year old J. into bed. We were about to say our prayers. J. prayed for his friends S. and E., Sue’s children, and for Uncle Steve. And then, without any warning, before I could explain to J. the dangers of doing such a thing, he asked God for a trip to Disney World. Long pause. I believe that we can come to God with our desires, but I had seen so many people disappointed, and I didn’t want my son’s faith setback. As a single mom, I was struggling to provide milk let alone a vacation.

J. sensed my discomfort. “Mommy, my Sunday School teacher said that we could ask God for anything.” I snapped myself out of deep thought.

“You can. God wants you to talk to Him.”

“My teacher said that when I need to trust God, I can give a seed to show I believe Him.”

“That’s right. There are many times in the Bible when someone gave something even though they had very little, and God took care of their need.”

“Well, I don’t need to go to Disney World, but I sure would like to. So, tomorrow, can I give some of my toys away to the neighbors who don’t know God?”

As a parent, so many thoughts swirled in my mind. Do I want him to think that we give to get? What if he gives his toys away and nothing happens? But still, tears began to fill my eyes at the simplicity of my son’s faith.

“Sure, honey. Tomorrow we’ll go through your toys.”

I secretly hoped J. would forget about the previous night’s prayer, but the moment he awoke I heard the clatter of plastic in his room.

“Mom?” he called out.

“Yes, honey?”

“Could you bring me two big garbage bags?”

“Sure.”

I went to the sink to grab the box of garbage bags. J. was making two piles.

“I want to give some of my toys to Carter and some of them to Nathan,” he smiled.

The Christmas before, I had found a K-Mart that was going out of business. J. loved Batman, and I was able to buy a lot of Batman toys for 75% off. They were J.’s favorite! He had Mr. Freeze, and several models of the Bat-mobile, he played with them daily.

I had to hold my tongue as I watched my son, choose his best toys to give to the neighborhood boys. “Maybe Carter and Nathan will know how much God loves them, when I give them my best toys!” J. was excited.

So, on a chilly October Saturday morning, J. and I made some deliveries with sacks of toys, just like Santa. J. was too shy to do the talking when we got to the boys’ homes, but he was on a high the rest of the day. “I hope Carter likes Mr. Freeze as much as I did,” he said over lunch.

Every night, for months following J. ended his prayers by saying, “…and God, thank you for our trip to Disney World. Amen.”

He never complained about missing his toys, or doubted that God would hear his request. One Sunday after church, the most unlikely person came up to me and said, “We’ve heard that J. has been asking God for a trip to Disney World…we’d like to help make that happen.”

And so, like a whirlwind, God came in and took care of our transportation…Amtrak…which was awesome because the only thing J. loved more than Batman was trains. Then God took care of our accommodations. The rest I had to use my faith on, but I knew that if God had gotten us that far, that He would finish the rest.

Disney World was like a beautiful dream. When we walked through the gates, I had to work hard to keep from sobbing at the perfection of everything. Employees played tag with J. We watched fireworks late at night. J. and I walked the parks from the time they opened until the time they closed. It was truly the Magic Kingdom. I found myself saying to J., “I can’t believe we’re really here.”

“Why not, Mommy? I asked God.”

I was humbled. J. never doubted that God wanted a good thing for us. I had doubted every step of the way. I guess that is why Jesus instructed us to come to Him as little children. My child had taught me a lesson.

I looked out of the train window, now fogged by J’s breath. “Thank you God, for being my boy’s Father, and thank you for being so good to us, even though I doubted your Goodness.”

For the next chapter in this series, click here.

Counting graces with Ann:

#11 – Grateful that my garage sale is over!

#12 – I get to serve God by serving people this week! What a privelege!

#13 – The Golden shaft of a sunshower…

#14 – Autumn shadows

#15 – The dog’s tail wagging in welcome.

#16 – Pumpkin flavored anything.

#17 – My son’s first day of school…ever…at 18!!

Playing Pool, Pee Wee Herman and Tequila – Pt. 2 New Glarus Road

This is the second installment of a group of memoirs about my travelings through a small town in New Glarus, Wisconsin. To read the first installment, go here.

The bright July sun baked the inhabitants of southwestern Wisconsin that year.  My family once again stopped by New Glarus on the way home from our camping property.  We were disappointed to find that the New Glarus Bakery no longer operated their upstairs cafe, only the storefront bakery was open.  It was my first lesson in the fact that each moment must be enjoyed to the fullest because it is a rare occasion when its luxury can be repeated.  My best friend since kindergarten was with my family this time.  She, being two years older than I, had already past the awkward first stages of womanhood, and was flashing her perfectly shaped legs in short, shorts, on the street side of the sidewalk.  I, on the other hand, still had braids in my hair.

As a weekend destination, many of the restaurants for tourists were not open during the day on weekdays.  Our options were limited.  So, mother led the way to a little bar next to the bakery.  As we walked in,  we felt the eyes of many small town regulars follow every move we made.  Even though the quaint town had become a place tourists stopped by, it was evident that we had tread upon sacred ground reserved for locals only.

The room was a cave compared to the light of the summer day.  The odor of cigarettes and beer were very unfamiliar to me.  My family of faith included generations of ministers, and an atmosphere like this was completely foreign to me.  Shortly after choosing our table, it seemed that the staring eyes were finally able to tear themselves away from the cityfolk who had invaded their territory.

Trying to feel more at ease, my mother’s eyes roamed the room.  “Look girls,” she coaxed, “A jukebox!  I haven’t seen one of those in years.”  And handing each of us a quarter, we edged our way toward the wall with the currently quiet contraption.  Due to my sheltered childhood, I struggled to find a familiar tune.

“There!”  I said to my friend, “Eye of the Tiger!  Isn’t that from the new Rocky movie?”

I can not tell you the stir our choice started.  If it wasn’t obvious before that we didn’t belong there, it was completely obvious now.  But undaunted, we were determined to have a good time.  Noticing a pool table in the middle of the room, we asked my parents if we could try playing.  Notice the word TRY.  I had never played pool before in my life.

My friend, thoroughly enjoying every cowboy-want-to-be eye on her, began stretching across the table every which way.  Next, it was my turn.  BAM!  My ball went across the table onto the floor.  There was a long collective draw-in breath.  I looked up, afraid to make eye contact with anyone, but looking for some reassurance.  Finally, one man in overalls and a baseball cap with the name of a manure company embroidered on it, smiled… then chuckled, and pretty soon he was slapping his knee and laughing.  Slowly, like the “Hallelujah Chorus” one man joined in, and then another, and another…until I was laughing too.

Suddenly, we were no longer on foreign soil.  We had become a part of the town of New Glarus.  We belonged.  Looking back on it, the scene reminds me of the movie “Pee Wee’s Big Adventure” when he has offended the inhabitants of a biker’s club and they threaten to kill him.  Giving him one final request, he plays a song on the jukebox and dances for them winning everyone over….except we didn’t get a free motorcycle.

Has an event ever seemed to break the spell of an unfamiliar and unfriendly place?  Tell us about it.

Go here for next story…

All Roads Lead to New Glarus Pt. 1- A Travel/Memoir Series

In honor of my mothers birthday i thought I’d tell a family story.
Happy Birthday mama !

My father once said, “All roads lead to New Glarus.” Throughout the years a small town in Southwestern Wisconsin seems to have repeated itself in significance. Our tapestry has been woven traveling through, in and around this lovely weekend getaway spot. The rolling hills and deeply cut valleys reminded the early Swiss settlers of their homeland.

I’ll never forget the first time I found myself in New Glarus, Wisconsin. It was a late August afternoon, and the air was starting to smell like newly sharpened pencils. Locusts played their organ-grinding songs, and all that grows grew golden. Thoughts of going back to school lurked in the back of my mind, causing me to capture each moment and savor it like a piece of creamy, milk chocolate melting slowly over my tongue. Every hour was precious freedom.

My family strolled down the main street of a town proclaiming to be “America’s Swiss Village.” With almost-black rough wood beams criss-crossing over white stucco, the buildings looked like they could have been in Glarus, Switzerland. Under the windows, geraniums spilled out of flower boxes. Passing a storefront with sausages hanging in the window, my nose crinkled trying to distinguish the fragrance of spice and uncooked red meat, an odor foreign to my young nose. Church bells broke into exultation, signaling that it was half past the hour.

This photo of New Glarus is courtesy of TripAdvisor

As my father opened the door to the New Glarus Baking Company, the unfamiliar tunes of an accordion playing bouncy polka music blasted into the street. A shaft of light streamed down the staircase and beckoned us to follow it’s guidance to the pinnacle and into the tea room.

I sat on the smooth, wooden chair, my feet almost touching the ground. the side of the table at which I sat was against the wall, facing the window. My parents sat across from me. They were surrounded by the bright sunshine, which created halos around their forms like the paintings on Eastern Orthodox icons. The tables were adorned with white linen cloths and napkins and in the center of each one was a bud vase with a silk red carnation reaching towards the ceiling. The waitress came to take our order wearing a customary Swiss peasant dress. She looked like a member of the Van Trap Family.

This photo of New Glarus is courtesy of TripAdvisor

Soon after ordering, my father was drinking a cup of coffee. Mother was checking a glass for water spots. I, on the other hand, was about to dive into a biscuit with a creamy chicken gravy, topped with a dollop of unsweetened whipped cream. My mouth watered. The sound of silver on china now accompanied the accordion as the velvety flavors exploded in my mouth.

Looking down on the last bite, I realized that just as I was about to enjoy the last of this delectable treat, I was also enjoying the last moment of my family vacation. Surprisingly, new notebooks, pens and shoes seemed like a welcome adventure after spending lazy days in the summer heat. I leaned back in my chair satisfied with my meal and with my fifth grade summer vacation.

To read the next installment of this story click here.

Linking with Imperfect Prose