Fox Street Visitors

Although we lived in the country on an out of the way gravel road, we did enjoy a steady...if infrequent...stream of visitors. Our milkman was Herb Meyer...of the locally famous Meyer Bros. Dairy...who came by in his light green van...doors open in the summer...on a weekly basis to deliver the milk, cottage cheese and occasional ice cream.

Although we did have a "milk box" on the step outside the back door, more times than not, Herb would knock on the door...open it, and call for my Mom. Mom and Dad were friends with most of the people in the area and Mom would usually come out and "visit" with Herb. They'd exchange little bits of local gossip for a minute or two and then Herb would go back to the truck and return with the square bottles of milk and the smaller bottle of cream that Mom loved for her coffee. The bottles all had the little paper tab tops. I'd ask Herb...Mr. Meyer to me...if it was ok if I rode along with him to the corner of Willow Drive, a quarter mile west. He'd usually let me ride along...standing on the step next to the open door...looking out at the familiar scenery. Then, when we reached the intersection, I'd hop out...say thanks...and stroll back up the road home.

This was before the days of the supermarket...people who lived in rural areas around the lake either got their food from their gardens...went into town...Long Lake or Wayzata, or bought from the people who came to them. One of my favorites among the latter group was the "Bambi" man. He had a van like Mr. Meyers but painted brown with a picture of Bambi the deer on the side. He delivered bakery goods. Mom always bought bread and donuts...the donuts the result of my excessive begging, I think...and usually some coffee cake for her and Dad. I'm sorry that I don't remember his name but I do remember that he was also a very nice and friendly person. I only got to ride in his truck one time though...his boss told him he couldn't allow it. Big letdown!

People who lived around the Lake were fortunate to have a wonderful grocery store in Wayzata that also delivered right to their homes. Waytonka market, for years a fixture on Lake Street, was owned by, among others throughout the years, Vic Petit and Harold Peterson...both lifelong friends of Mom and Dad. Mom would spend the evening before grocery day making out her list of items she would order the next morning.

At around 10 the next morning, she'd ask the operator to connect her to Waytonka and she'd talk to either Vic or Harold about her order. Often, the chatting could last for half an hour. Mom would ask how the peaches were...or if they had a "real nice pot roast". Later on, in the afternoon, one of them would drive up in the truck and deliver the groceries. Again the cursory knock at the back door...then he'd walk right in to the kitchen, carrying the groceries in a folding wooden crate that he'd set on the counter.

He'd unload the groceries while he and Mom visited...her taking the items and placing them either on the table for future filing...or into the refrigerator...the "icebox" as we still called it. Usually, two crates did the trick...he'd fold them up...which, for some reason enthralled me... then bid Mom goodbye. I'd try to go through everything before it got put away...searching for some special goody.

One visitor that came seldom, thankfully, but who was loved by everyone in the area, was Doc Riecke..."Duke" as his friends called him. A great big man with the sweetest, happiest face punctuated with a small, brush of a mustache, I'd ever seen on anyone...Doc Riecke probably healed as many patients with his joyous countenance as with his medicines. Once, when I was very ill with pneumonia, he came to the house carrying his black leather "doctor bag" and sat down by the side of the bed. He talked in such a gentle voice that I felt better just having him there. I didn't even protest when he got the huge silver syringe out, asked me to roll over, and gave me that shot of penicillin. Then he'd spend a few minutes talking to Mom and Dad and he'd be out the door to his next emergency. He did this, driving all the way from his offices in Wayzata...across the country roads often covered with unplowed snow, whenever someone needed him. He was a kind and gentle soul.

There were others who managed to find their way out into the country. The Fuller Brush man would make his rounds every couple of months, and Mom would buy a hair brush or scrub brush from him...again, with minutes of conversation during the sale. He'd share what he'd seen somewhere in Wayzata...or even Minneapolis...the news being greatly appreciated by Mom. Once a year the Jehovah Witnesses could be counted on to show up on the front step. That was a dead giveaway that the visitor was a stranger...no one came to the front door who knew my family. Mom would always be gentle but firm in refusing the proffered "Watchtower" and they'd leave to knock on the next front door down the road. The Culligan water softener man would come once a week to replace the big tank in the basement. He'd also knock at the back door, call out "Culligan man" and muscle his two-wheel cart and tank in the door and down the basement stairs...returning in a couple of minutes with the old one. He was friendly but constantly in a hurry so not much chatting got done.

One reminder of my mother that illustrates her kindness sticks in my mind. One summer day the road crew was working on grading the road and filling in the low areas. It must have been 90 degrees that day and the guys were soaked with sweat. I was out sitting on the grass watching them when one big guy came over to me and asked if he could get a drink from the hose rolled up alongside the house. I told him that he sure could so he went over, turned it on, and let it run out onto the grass to get cool. Mom came out on the step and asked if the guys would like some Kool-Aide with ice. They all stopped working, left the trucks and road grader on the road, and came over while she poured glasses full of iced Kool-Aide for them. They were so thankful.
That was my Mom.