Grand Forks and chat in the morning

Added: Catelin Majors - Date: 08.12.2021 10:53 - Views: 33778 - Clicks: 5572

And when I say real cup, I mean one without a lid, one not made for moving or driving or rushing out the door. Instead, I grabbed a ceramic coffee cup with a handle, one that sits on the table and lets the steam reel off the top as I read or wrote or watched the news scroll on my TV in the morning. In that first year of living on the ranch, I brewed and sipped that coffee in the same kitchen where I used to sit and watch my grandma serve up a cup and a slice of something sweet to a neighbor who popped over, or one of her brothers swinging in for a visit on his way home from picking up equipment.

I liked the ease of how she poured that steaming liquid into a cup held by the grease-stained and weathered hands of a working man. Even then, when I was too young to ask for my own cup, the bitter smell and the gurgle of it percolating meant time for a visit, time for the overshoes to come off and for those men to lean back, talk, tease and take a moment. Stopping over for coffee was how I was raised. Weekends were spent working cows or fixing fence, and then maybe taking the old pickup down the highway to borrow a tool or a piece of equipment.

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Then you took a break, had a visit. When I moved away from this place as a teenager, the thought of losing those moments had me a bit panicked. I was aware then, almost 14 years ago now, that this place was emptying out, those neighbors were growing older, some were packing up their dishes and kitchen tables and moving to town. I worried I would move away and come back to find all of those houses, once so full of life and rhubarb dessert, empty. The paint would be peeling and lawns would be overgrown, while the rest of the world moved on, rushing to keep up and make it between city sidewalks and stoplights.

I worried that by the time I decided to come home there would be no cowboys kicking off overshoes in messy farmhouse entryways. And then there I was, home and old enough to make myself a cup and sit sipping, writing stories in the very kitchen where I fell in love with the art of conversation.

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Is there more to do now than there was then? I suppose the answer has a lot to do with our own ideas of what we want our lives to look like and how building it that way finds us up too early and home too late.

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I suppose the answer is that sometimes we forget coffee tastes better when served up at a table, facing one another, overshoes kicked off, leaned back, laughing and sipping from a real cup. Trending Articles. Government and Politics. And when I say real cup, I mean one without a lid, on Written By: Jessie Veeder am, Jun.

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Grand Forks and chat in the morning

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