Wandering Around Wabasha

A few weeks ago, a friend and I visited another friend at her new home in Wabasha, Minnesota. Such a quaint little town! My friend had fallen in love with it a long time ago, and a year ago, she up and moved two hundred miles away to be where she felt called. How I admire her.

Resting on the Mississippi River banks, Wabasha is Minnesota's oldest city and longest continuously inhabited river town. It was first settled in 1826 and officially became a city in 1830.

Wabasha was a bustling town, with logging, shipping, flour milling, trading, and clamming. The discarded clam shells could be used to make buttons, which led to a booming button industry.   

The bridge over the Mississippi.

The historic Anderson House.

The hotel opened in 1856 and was Minnesota's oldest continuously operating inn west of the Mississippi River.

The hotel's restaurant was known for its Dutch cooking. The hotel itself was famous for the cats that could stay in the rooms with hotel guests for overnight companionship.

I'm sure the rest of the buildings in town have fascinating stories as well.

 

Peas and a Doctor

  

 Previously I shared how I became friends with my friend from Minnesota. Today I will share where she actually currently lives.

You know how a lot of us don’t appreciate the town we live in. We don’t visit our local tourist attractions; we’ve maybe never been to our city’s historical society or even know if they have one. So what happens is that when we have friends visit from out of town, we go to the next town to visit their tourist traps, because we aren’t going to show them ours. Right?

Hence, I’ve never taken my friend to any place in my own town (except to church and out to eat a few times) and likewise when I visit her, we never bomb around her town.

This trip, because she had a prior commitment in the afternoon and I wasn’t ready to head home, I decided to visit her little town. Le Sueur, Minnesota.  

 First of all, a couple times a month, Hubby reminds me of my friend, by opening up a can of Le Sueur peas to eat for dinner. I was going to take a picture of one of the cans to prove it to you, but decided that would be crazy for even me. And even though these peas are no longer canned in Le Sueur or even by Green Giant, their label still says "Le Sueur". 

And who knew that Le Sueur had a museum, which naturally is open only by appointment, which seems to be true of a lot of small town museums. The curator probably works full time in a more lucratively paying job, or is a retired grandma who babysits the grandkids during the week. 

 In addition to the Jolly Green Giant (which by the way was the name I gave my first car, but that is another whole story), Le Sueur is famous for its connection to the Mayo family of Mayo Clinic fame. 

 I probably could have spent more time in this quaint Minnesota town, but the open road was calling, which means more pictures will be coming soon. Also, I’m going to find something touristy to do with my friend when she comes to visit me next. 

The Romance of The Covered Bridge

Why are covered bridges so romantic? Why do they fascinate us so? Did it just start with the book “The Bridges of Madison County” or were we always in love with covered bridges?

On my recent trip to Minnesota, I took a detour. Okay, I kind of got lost. I should probably turn on the volume for Maps on my phone when I am going somewhere. Nah, that’s no fun. If I wouldn’t have taken the wrong road out of Red Wing, I never would have stumbled upon Zumbrota. And the only remaining original covered bridge in Minnesota.

Installed in 1869, the bridge crosses the Zumbro River and was moved to its present location in 1997 or 1970, depending on which plague along the river you read. I’m also not sure how long it is, from 116 to 120 feet depending on sources. Could not find out much on the internet about this bridge, which is a shame. Good thing I took as many pictures as I did.   

Okay, looking at them, I don’t think I took enough pictures. I also didn’t explore the little town of Zumbrota. I think I need to get lost here again someday.

Coincidence? I think not?

Yesterday, my friend Phyllis took me to Joyful Noise Christian music fest in Blaine, Minnesota. If you have been following the tales of my trip to Kenya last month, you may be thinking, “so what? We want to hear about Africa”. But hold on to your seats, God is bigger than that.

This festival, like Lifest, is sponsored by Compassion, International. Between two of the performers, someone got up and gave their plug for Compassion and then introduced a young man who had been a sponsored child with Compassion. Owen was from Kenya and he shared a little bit about his life.  

When he had finished speaking, the woman who introduced him said that he would be down at the Compassion tent if anyone wanted to talk to him. Phyllis poked me. “Let’s go, you have to meet him.”

We wound our way through the throng of people, blankets and camp chairs. I was immediately greeted by Owen’s warm smile when I got to his tent.

“Hi, I’m Chris,” I opened with, extending my hand. “I just got back from Kenya.”

“Where were you?” he asked, shaking my hand firmly.

“Mostly in Nairobi. We were working with a group called Marafiki.”

“Marafiki? In Dagoretti?”

“Yes…” It wasn’t possible that he knew of Izzo’s organization.

“I’m from Dagoretti. Did you work with Izzo?”

We talked for a bit, but other people wanted to meet him, so I had to move on. I texted Val in Kenya right away and she was as surprised as I was. Izzo and Gee, who also works with Marafiki, know Owen, and Gee was a Compassion child too.

 It seems like it is such a small world. And maybe it is. But I think what is more likely is that it is God’s world and He loves nothing more than bringing His children together. 

Knowing now that Gee was a Compassion child, it's easy for me to understand why he wants to pay it forward. I'll be writing more about him in the coming week.

Just don't admit defeat

“Being defeated is often a temporary condition. Giving up is what makes it permanent.” Marilyn vos Savant

 Some weeks I will write diligently and feel like I am making progress, then I have a week or two where I just don’t accomplish much. I reprimand myself and label myself a failure. I berate myself and tell myself that I will never be a writer. But then I rally and get back to the keyboard and do ok for a while.

Maybe it’s like smoking. I know so many people who have quit and so many of them who start up again. Granted, they should quit for good. Me? I’ll probably continue to quit writing on a regular basis, but as long as I go back to it, you can’t say that I gave up.

Until trees are growing through my floor boards, I have a chance. 

(I took these pictures last fall at a park in Minnesota. Sorry that I can't tell you the name right now, but too lazy to look it up. I know, I'm defeated once again.)

Beauty of the Seasons

We got up early yesterday morning and headed to Minnesota for the weekend. In just a little while, my husband and I will be at the Renaissance Festival for a rollicking fun day. On the drive over yesterday, we horsed around a bit and took a few pictures (ok, around 40 pictures). I thought that Wisconsin had some beautiful autumn scenes, but I think our neighbors to the west could give us some competition.
I think that our God, the loving Father that he is, gives us the beautiful autumn leaves to help us cope with the reality of the cold dreary winter coming. Of course, He gives us beauty in every season, doesn't He?
Heavenly Father, thank you for the seasons. Thank you for giving us this amazing world that we live in. Remind us that the beauty we have with us now is only a shadow of the beauty we will find one day in our home in heaven. Amen