This time in the car, I was a lot more alert and excited. I didn't feel very tired. I knew I'd eventually crash, but at that point in time, I was wide awake and ready to take on the day. Every time we stopped, I made sure we'd get on the road again as quickly as possible, while also taking the time to buy more beef jerky to snack on. The further east we headed, the more bluffs and hills we encountered. About 80 miles away from the farm, we stopped at a rest stop, and I took over driving for the rest of the trip.
While my grandparents used the restroom and slowly wandered around the rest stop park, I sat in the driver's seat and struggled with figuring out the Bluetooth speaker. I figured, wrongly, that if it was simple enough for my grandparents to figure out with directions, I could figure it out just fine without directions. After all, I grew up with the internet and wireless technology, and they didn't encounter that stuff until they were in their 50's. But after several minutes of pressing random buttons and trying to get it to connect to my phone, I finally gave in and Googled how to connect my phone to that Bluetooth speaker so I could torture my grandparents with whatever Joe Rogan podcast episode I wanted.
When I finally had the speaker figured out, I sat back and listened to the beginning of a Joe Rogan podcast where he was talking with a physicist about stuff I could barely comprehend in my "let's-get-up-and-go" kind of mindset. I had one thing on my mind, and that was to get to the farm as quickly as possible without getting pulled over by the cops. I knew they were on the lookout for speeders, and used the GPS on my phone to let me know every time there was a speed trap up ahead, just so I could slow down to the speed limit for a mile before giving 'er hell again.
My grandpa was too invested in listening to my Joe Rogan podcast and letting me know what he thought about it to really notice I was speeding as much as I was. I was just too focused on driving to pay attention to what Joe Rogan, or my grandpa, had to say.
After driving for about an hour, I ran into traffic in Rochester, Minnesota, so I was forced to pump the brakes. As much as I was chomping at the bit, I knew as soon as I got past the traffic on I-90 and merged onto highway 63, I would only be 25 minutes away from the farm. But, while I sat in traffic, I felt myself getting anxious again. Rochester is not a big city, but it's still a city, and it gets a lot of outsider traffic due to the Mayo Clinic. While I was in the middle of Rochester, it felt like I was dealing with drivers from back home. I almost lost my dirtbike to the tailgaters and people who didn't use their blinkers or their eyes before screeching into my lane. Somehow, I managed to weave and dodge and subtly flip people off, all the while my grandparents remained blissfully unaware of what I was dealing with. I gunned it as soon as I saw the exit to highway 63, and escaped the busy interstate to freedom!
The rest of the drive was easy and relaxing. I knew the territory like the back of my hand and felt right at home. All of my anxieties about driving were left behind in the chaos on I-90. Highway 63 took me deeper and deeper into the wooded bluffs, away from the city streets of Rochester. While I wasn't very far from Rochester, the hills and the trees provided a barrier between the farmland and the city, so I felt a lot more isolated than I really was. Since there was a wide open road ahead of me with no cops in sight, I ignored the 65 mile-per-hour speed limit and drove over 70 miles per hour, which was about as fast as the SUV could go.
I only slowed down when the road turned into a little town called Zumbro Falls, and took the time I spent sitting at the only stoplight to shut up the GPS. I only needed it to keep me from second-guessing myself while I drove on the less familiar roads between Rochester and Zumbro Falls.
After several more miles of driving, I flicked on my blinker and slowed down in the right-turn lane. I didn't speed on that road because there was a tractor ahead of me, but I wasn't so anxious to get to my destination anymore. Just over a hill of soybeans, underneath a clear afternoon sky, was the white Lutheran church my grandparents were married at, and where my grandpa was buried at in 2018. A wave of heartache washed over me as I slowly passed by that church. The pain I felt when I initially got that dreadful phone call has not, and will not go away. I've just learned how to live with the grief, like I've learned to live with a lot of painful things in my life. I knew going back to Minnesota after my grandpa passed away would not be easy, but my faith in God, and in the afterlife, assured me that my grandpa was in a better place. And when my time came, we'd be reunited in heaven. Our separation, while painful as all hell, would not be permanent.
The tractor ahead of me put its break lights on, so I pulled myself back into the present and flicked my left-turn blinker on, while the tractor took a right. The asphalt road ended, and I found myself on loose gravel again, only this time, I was much more comfortable. The road was wide enough so I didn't have to worry about pulling over if another vehicle was coming towards me, and it was straight enough so I could drive faster without worrying about sliding off the road around sharp bends.
Only, I decided not to speed down those dirt roads so quickly. Instead, I turned down the podcast and began pointing things out to my grandparents as we drove by them. I pointed out each plot of land my family owned, as well as named all of the neighbors I remembered as we drove by their farms, and highlighted some of the history of the land that surrounded us. I slowed down as the road T-ed off, and turned right, then took a final right a few hundred yards later into my grandma's driveway. Her lawn and garden were beautifully well kept. When grandpa Bob was still around, he was the one who mowed the lawn while grandma trimmed the rose bushes and pulled out the weeds. But, since grandpa passed, grandma's kept herself busy and active by riding around in the mower like grandpa did, as well as continuing to take care of her garden.
Grandma Shirley has always been a super active woman. When grandpa had a brain aneurysm 37 years ago, she became his sole caretaker. They refused any outside help, fearing that if they accepted any kind of outside help, such as nurses or even just friends, family life would fall apart, and my grandpa's health would deteriorate much quicker. But, that meant my grandma would have to take on a lot of responsibility on her own.
My dad was only 5 years old when grandpa had his stroke, and his brothers were only 4 and 8 years older than him, which meant grandma not only had to take care of grandpa full-time when he wasn't driving a tractor, but she still had to care for her children, as well as maintain a clean house, and manage bills, doctors appointments, and so much more, all on her own. And she did so very successfully without complaint.
She loved taking care of grandpa, and ensuring all of her children were successful in life as well. She always tells me, whenever she reminisces on her life in the past, that she was the richest woman in the world. Sure, it didn't pay her anything. But, she couldn't have been happier staying by my grandpa's side, whether it was at home on the farm, or traveling all over the country.
When grandpa Bob passed away, I was terrified that my grandma Shirley would also quickly deteriorate. I was worried she'd get depressed, slow down to the point of being inactive, and would soon lose her independence and her charm. I didn't just sob for grandpa at his funeral, but I also sobbed for grandma, fearing that even more terrible things were on the horizon. But, grandma proved me very wrong. Instead of slowing down, she sped up in some ways, becoming much more active outside of home, while also maintaining a pretty rigid routine at home. She has used her time once taken up by grandpa to do other things, such as visit with friends in town, and spend more time with family.
She has reassured me that she'll never slow down until the day she has to, so I shouldn't worry so much about her. However, that reassurance has done nothing to lessen the sting of death. When I walked into the old farmhouse for the first time, over a year after grandpa's funeral, I still sensed a great feeling of emptiness, and wiped away a few tears. My grandpa had basically spent his entire life in that house. He grew up in that house when was between the ages of 2 and 18. He only moved away temporarily when he and my grandma got married and had their first kids. But, his aging parents needed help running the farm, so my grandparents moved back into that house, where they've pretty much been ever since. They either were there, or at an old brick house, but both plots of land are still a part of the Nibbe family farm, and will likely be for generations.
When grandpa Bob was still alive, the house was much more alive. He loved listening to the radio, reading and then ranting about the paper, often using his dry, witty humor to roast politicians and creatively complain about local stupidity, and roasting contestants in his favorite game shows. While I couldn't care less about whatever old person TV show he was watching, I always made sure to park it on the couch while he had the TV going just so I could listen in on his wit. Grandpa may have had a very hard time talking, due to his stroke killing off his motor skills, but his intelligence was left unscathed.
Unfortunately, due to his disability, people often mistook his slurred speech and delayed motor skills as signs his intelligence was also impacted by his stroke. Fortunately, grandma was always there to defend him. Grandma Shirley is the kindest woman I know, but when she gets pissed, she really rips into people. People never failed to change their behavior towards grandpa after grandma had a word with them. Sure, they probably didn't understand a thing that came out of grandpa's mouth, but out of fear, they damn sure did their best!
Back on the farm, I helped my maternal grandparents unload everything while grandma Shirley joined us outside. She hadn't seen my maternal grandparents in over a decade, and she never had any harsh feelings towards them. My parents' divorce didn't change my grandparents' opinions towards each other at all. My grandma Shirley couldn't thank my maternal grandparents enough for driving me so far to her farm. And, in return, my maternal grandparents couldn't thank grandma Shirley enough for inviting them to her farm.
But, I have to admit, when grandma Shirley sighed, "Well, if only Bob was here!", I struggled to swallow the lump that formed in my throat. I had to remove myself from the conversation for a few minutes to collect myself while my grandparents caught up.
When I came back, grandpa Lyle had somehow convinced my grandma Shirley to swing a golf club. Grandma Shirley had never done that before, and kept on repeating over and over again, "I'll never hit the ball!"
Well, despite that, she did in fact hit the ball, and it traveled a pretty good distance too! Not bad for an 80-year-old woman who's never held a golf club in her life until that moment.
Once my maternal grandparents left for their rented golf course condo in Wabasha, I was finally able to lay down and relax after a long day of traveling. Outside, towards the west, a line of heavy thunderstorms were approaching the house. Normally, I'd get anxious, but I felt safe in that old farmhouse. It'd been hit by some pretty nasty storms in the past, but has remained standing through all of them. The only thing that weighed on my mind was the news, which warned that while tornado watches and warnings were in effect for our area (as well as many others), the emergency alert systems weren't working. So, there was no point in cracking open a window to listen for the sirens in nearby Oak Center, or charging my phone so it could receive warnings, because they would never go off anyway.
Outside, grey-green clouds rolled in behind an impressive shelf cloud. As soon as that shelf cloud rolled over us, the signal on the TV was knocked out, and it was raining so hard that I couldn't see the road across the lawn. I only got a little nervous when I noticed just how much the trees were bending. They were huge oak trees that were well over 100 years old. If one of those branches broke and fell on the house, it would put a decent dent in the roof.
In the kitchen, grandma was busy making dinner for both of us, while I stood by the window in the den and watched the weather come in. Since grandpa died, grandma hasn't cooked a lot of large meals. In fact, she admitted that she ate mostly cereal, sandwiches, and salad, because she didn't have the time, or the reason, to cook huge meals everyday anymore like grandpa loved. But, with me there, grandma could fall back into her original routine for a week, which was something she longed for.
I ended up wolfing down my meal almost before grandma had a chance to sit down to eat hers. I didn't realize how hungry I was until I took the first bite of chicken she'd baked for both of us. Grandma was prepared for my appetite. She called me a few days before I arrived to make a grocery list full of things I'd eat. Also, my uncle Wes had recently butchered a few of his roosters for grandma. So she wasn't worried as she watched me wolf down more than half of a baked chicken and a pint of coleslaw she prepared for dinner that night.
As I sat in a massive food coma, I figured I'd sleep like a rock that night. Unfortunately, once grandma went to bed and I was left alone in the living room with only one dim lamp and the TV to illuminate the house, I knew it was gonna be a rough night. As much as I love that house and that farm, it gets really creepy once the lights are off and everyone's gone to bed. I don't think any of my cousins have slept there alone like I have. My dad and his siblings left as soon as they could because they always felt something was wrong in that house. Dad even called me that night to make sure I arrived on the farm safely, and when I told him I'd be spending the next several nights alone in the den, he smirked and wished me goodnight with something along the lines of, "Well, goodnight! Sleep tight! Don't let the girl from The Ring get you tonight!"
I laughed it off, but as soon as I hung up the phone and sat down on the couch, the hairs on my arms raised up as I thought about what my dad said. As much as I like to investigate and come up with natural explanations for strange, unexplained occurrences, as a Christian, I've had to acknowledge that there is a supernatural world. And, since God exists, there must be a devil too, right?
There was no way in hell I was gonna investigate any strange noise or shadows I'd pick up on throughout the course of each night. I've already been too much of a wuss to go upstairs by myself during the day, and I'm not ashamed to admit that. Not even grandma Shirley, the toughest, bravest, no nonsense woman I've ever known, was ever brave enough to go down into the basement by herself. She was even apprehensive of going upstairs by herself, especially at night, because she admitted both floors looked like a set for a horror movie.
I decided to just shake those thoughts out of my head the best I could, and then roll over to face the TV. I flipped through the channels until I found the History channel, where reruns of Pawn Stars were being broadcast. Every now and then, I'd get startled by an unidentified noise or something moving around in my peripheral vision. Of course, nobody else except me was around, and grandma was fast asleep in her bedroom next door to the den. I somehow convinced myself I was just hallucinating due to being so tired, and eventually fell asleep.
