Excitement crescendoed at the first sighting of the farm. Rounding the last bend along the rolling road, we cut through the familiar pine and white-barked birch common to northern Minnesota. The two-hour jaunt up from Duluth, a shipping harbor on the western tip of Lake Superior, had sent adrenaline rushing through my body. Each landmark increased the excitement, with the towns of Eveleth and Virginia giving way to the mining village of Tower, where we picked up Minnesota Highway #1. Cruising into Ely from the west, we saw the water tower and then the sand and gravel mounds on the north side of the road. We were just about there. The first building to come into view was one of the iconic outfitter stores, then Main Street, up the hill past the Mantel house (more about that another time), and down to the other side of town, to where the A&W root beer joint stood. One other main town road ran parallel through this town of maybe three thousand or so; beyond that, the roads were mostly unpaved.

This was my town! I was born here in 1950, and it was in my blood. Never mind that I actually never lived there; my mother gave birth to me while visiting there, and we left two weeks hence. I was born in the “land of my fathers”! Someday, I would move back to live (I never did), take over the farm, and run a canoeing outfitter and guide business. And I was born with a canoe paddle in my hand!

The A&W was almost a daily stop for root beer floats, at least when we were with Grandpa in the old pickup. But no time for that now; we whizzed past and headed south down #1 for about five miles and finally around said bend (see above). The first glimpse to the right, through the opening of the trees, brought the family farmhouse and century barn into view – exactly as it looked the previous year. Dad turned the Chevy wagon with the silver crown, flashy fins, and the backward-facing rear seat. But Mike and I got up on our knees and looked forward as we came up to the “Gianotti” gate. It was old and rusty, with a huge old-fashioned pad-lock, the kind you could open with a sharp blow of a hammer.

The gate was open in anticipation of our arrival. Just before we got there, we crossed the previous Highway #1 (or whatever it was called in the old days); the broken asphalt was still visible in areas but almost entirely overgrown with weeds and small trees. The rumble gave way to the gravel laneway dividing the front forty as we ceremonially honked the horn the whole way to the farmyard.

The front forty was largely marshy, overgrown acreage, having once served as a pasture for cows, or sheep, or something like that—didn’t matter. Arriving in the yard, we took a left turn and parked the Chevy on the right side of the cement walkway up to the front door into the mudroom. But Grams was usually the first one out, with her apron, the smell of freshly baked pastries, and her wonderful smile. Gramps was not far behind, with his wide grin and droopy eye. We were the most important people in the world in their eyes. Two weeks of undivided attention on us kids, now that’s what I’m talking about!

Hugs all around, the rest of the day was a blur of eating freshly made potica and blueberries in a bowl of milk, getting settled in upstairs, taking note of the porcelain chamber pot by the door, and smelling the wood-burning stove (no electric stuff for the cooking, no sir!).

We finished off the day sitting in the screened-in porch out back, watching the sunset over the tree line out by the highway, horse flies and dragonflies settling down for the night, the sound of crickets picking up volume, and the fireflies lighting up the yard—talking and laughing. We were with Grandma and Grandpa, and it was good, very good.

That must be how God felt when He finished creating everything. After each of the first five days, He declared that “it was good.” But then, after the sixth day, when He created Adam and Eve as the beginning of humanity, He proclaimed His creation to be “very good!” (Gen. 1: 31). My memory of sitting on the porch is a hint of what it will be like when we who believe will be with the Lord forever and ever, when it will be good, very good. Since the Lord is and will be everywhere present, then if there are porches in heaven, I look forward to sitting with Him on one of them—it will be good, very good. (And if there won’t be porches in heaven, then there will be something far better.)