Detroit Lakes and the Antique Adventure!

Today is a memorable day for me, although I don't remember it. 

According to local weather archives, the morning of 8 October 1969 was chilly in the upper 30s to lower 40s, gradually warming into the mid-to-upper 50s. Clouds moved in, bringing wet conditions in the afternoon. Local records show that by daylight hours surfaces and roofs were wet from rainfall as light breezes made it feel even cooler. 

On that day, there was growing public anxiety regarding artificial sweeteners as the FDA investigated genetic breakdowns in laboratory animals, causing public panic over diet foods and drinks; protests against the Vietnam war were being organized at the University of Minnesota and Moorhead State College. The Minnesota Twins had just fired manager Billy Martin despite leading the team to an American League West title, while the Minnesota Vikings, led by quarterback Joe Kapp, were on their way to winning the NFL title and would eventually appear in Super Bowl IV at the end of the season, which would be the last before the NFL/AFL merger. 

In the arts, the Guthrie Theater premiered Uncle Vanya, which was the last show directed by Tyrone Guthrie at the theater he founded six years prior.

That was my world when I came screaming into it 57 years ago at exactly 4:21 PM. I don't scream anymore. I just swear a lot. It's a bad habit, but people who know me embrace it. It's me.

Earlier this week, as an early birthday gift to myself, my wife and I enjoyed a couple days in Detroit Lakes; a simple, low cost getaway. We visited the city in July and decided an encore was needed since we didn't get to see much in the single day we were there this summer.

DL, as most Minnesotans call it, is probably best known as the home of WE Fest, one of the biggest country music festivals in the nation, a summer staple since 1983. I've never attended WE Fest and I don't think I ever will. But my brother and his wife were there for the very first one, so I do have a little connection.

No, we were not in DL for country-pop or country-rap or whatever it is called these days. We were there to just relax. Lakeside Tavern and Bucks Mill Brewery were fun places to visit, as was Disgruntled Brewery in Perham, where we stopped to watch the Vikings game.

We had a lovely view of Detroit Lake and took in a couple stunning sunsets. But the highlight was an antique mall not far from our hotel, SuLaine's Antique Mall. Nothing like 14,000 square feet of historical junk to make my day! I have been to other antique malls and found the prices a bit ridiculous, but at SuLaine's, I thought the prices very reasonable. It made it difficult not to go on a spending spree.

We spent hours there and I don't think we actually saw everything. I was disciplined with my purchases because, honestly, we don't have a lot of room to put stuff. But the few things I did buy, I just could not resist!

I burst into a happy dance (not a sight to behold) when I unearthed this bad boy deep in a corner shelf:

A coffee cup from the original Sands Hotel in Las Vegas. Now, I need another coffee cup like I need to gain another 25 pounds. As a personal policy, I don't buy coffee cups anymore because we just don't have the space. But come on, the Sands is where the Rat Pack used to play! Are you kidding me? Sold!

But my most intriguing purchase initially seemed the most mundane. 

Fun fact: I absolutely love old maps. The history and ever-changing roads, routes and landscape have always intrigued me. When I saw this old Standard Oil road map, memories I totally forgot suddenly came rushing back. My father had a Standard Oil map; as a matter of fact, almost everyone did because I am fairly certain that Standard Oil used to give them away as a courtesy to drivers (and as an advertising gimmick). In honor of my dad, I had to take one home. It was sealed in a plastic envelope when I bought it, so I couldn't look at it until I got back to the hotel. 

The map was printed in 1958, using a template from 1957. I know this because of these numbers: 8-575614-2. The 8- is the last digit of the year it was printed. The next six numbers 575614 are Rand McNally's base plate (1957-1956) for that geographical region and the -2 is the second printing. This particular plate code was the Kerr-McGee/Deep Rock Minnesota Map. [Yes, it is completely amazing what a small amount of information AI can provide answers for!]

But when I unfolded the map, this is what I found, much to my chagrin!

Someone, once upon a time, wrote on my map! At first I was bummed. But soon I realized this was even more of a treasure. I started imagining why someone would scribble information on, of all things, a map -- who wrote this? When? Why? And most of all, what does it mean? The information is fascinating, although I can't decipher all of it.

I believe this says, "Mrs. Evanson"... "Ede(?)"... CR 30047" ... "Kilseth"... "Swanson CR3-6363" 
Oddly, this information is crossed off with an X. Could they be names and phone numbers?

"Mrs. Lyle Fugle, Fargo" ... "Sophia" ... "Mrs. Morris Olson" ... "7 yrs ago 84" ... "2 or 3 days" ... "slept(?) away" ... "old age" ... "heart attack 56"

I am convinced that "AD5-6541" is a phone number, which was the typical exchange you would see from the 1940s-1960s. Perhaps it was Mrs. Lyle Fugle's number? The information in general is jumbled and doesn't follow a logical pattern, which makes it hard to understand. To make it more difficult, much of the handwriting is a challenge for me to work out.

An interesting clue I did find on Ancestry.com: one Lyle Fugle died in Fargo, ND on 15 May 1964 at the age of 63 years old. He worked as a dividend clerk. His wife's name was Margaret; they were married in 1943 and she had a graduate degree in social work. Could these be the same people referred to here? 

Of course, this mystery will never be solved, nor will I ever know who wrote this information or why they decided to write it in the middle of a map? 

History's mysteries are everywhere. A simple little find at an antique store can send you on a wild goose chase if you are willing to be led away!

Anyway, that's my birthday post. Maybe I should enjoy a beer. I survived 57 years. That's worth a toast, right?

A Leaky Sky and The Old Farmer's Almanac, No. 235

 The sky is leaking rain today, only 55 degrees. I'm not sure if this is good weather even for a duck.

We went through a summer drought here, no rain for about a month, and now we've gotten more than three inches over the past few weeks. That's probably a good thing, though. According to The Old Farmer's Almanac, this winter will have below average snowfall and an

unusually mild start to the season, punctuated by sharp temperature swings and highly unpredictable precipitation patterns.

While that forecast sounds mysterious and impressive, it is awfully vague. It basically says Minnesota's winter will be predictably unpredictable. It will get cold... and it will warm up (it is called the "January thaw," and it happens every winter). It might snow a lot... and it might not (no, that's not really helpful). Honestly, it doesn't tell me much that I don't already know, aside from a mild December and below average snowfall.

Where did this forecast come from? The answer is actually kind of fun.

Way back in 1792, when the  Almanac was first published (it is the oldest continuously published periodical in North America), the original publisher and editor,  Robert B. Thomas, invented a secret forecasting method using both solar activity and astronomy. This secret formula is still used today. 

Robert Thomas published The Old Farmer's Almanac from 1792 to 1846. He died reading the proofs for the 1847 publication. He's an unsung American icon. 

The Old Farmer's Almanac boasts an 80% weather forecast accuracy claim. That's refuted by the University of Illinois, which conducted its own study and found the Almanac to be accurate roughly 50.7% for temperatures and 51.9% for precipitation, citing that a random guess would be accurate 50% of the time. 

But scientific data be damned! The U.S. government so respected the Almanac's accuracy, that when a World War II German spy was caught with a copy of the publication, Uncle Sam instructed the editors to change their description from "weather forecast" to "weather indications," fearing the enemy could use its long-range forecasts to schedule attacks. A less definitive "weather indications" felt less certain. Fearing censorship, the Almanac complied.

Abraham Lincoln famously used The Old Farmer's Almanac's 1857 edition to acquit an innocent man on murder charges, proving there was a new moon on the night a witness falsely claimed to see the accused fleeing the crime scene in the "bright moonlight" (the witness subsequently admitted to lying under oath). 

An original copy of the 1857 Old Farmer's Almanac (No. 65), used as evidence by a little known defense lawyer from Illinois, Abraham Lincoln. 

I confess, I am very fond of the Almanac. Whether its forecasts (or "indications") are accurate is unimportant to me: in the end, it is a connection to my parents. Those 288 pages give me a warm, tangible connection to my youth. It feels like home. 

The Almanac was a constant presence during my childhood. We always had a well-thumbed copy lying around the house, either lounging on the kitchen table or tucked away near my dad's rocking chair. Dad enjoyed the day-to-day forecasts, which were always set to a little poem. Mom liked the gardening tips and recipes. A September without a new Almanac would've been like Christmas without presents at our house.

Today, we live in an age of constant stimulation. A continuous bombardment of the senses: text messages, emails, phone calls, never-ending social media notifications. Our brains are never allowed to pause. The Old Farmer's Almanac feels like a welcomed stretch-and-yawn back to a much slower and much simpler time. A time to reflect as the raindrops puddle in the yard. A time to simply study the steam rising from a cup of coffee. A time to just be for a while. 

Photo by Ava Branstner

I love that the Almanac is still here.

I love that the yellow, woodcut cover has never changed. I love that a 235 year-old "secret formula" is still used to predict weather patterns (no matter how nebulous it might be!). I love that the editors have refused to succumb to an all digital format or AI generated crap. And I love that the publication still sells greater than three million copies a year. 

I thank The Old Farmer's Almanac for never really changing in well over two centuries. Sometimes, progress is overrated. 

So here's to publication No. 235...

I know if my parents were here, they'd already have their copy. 

My copy is arriving tomorrow!

First Day of Autumn, 2026

 Today is the fall equinox as the Sun crosses the equator and heads south. Days are shorter, shadows are longer, the air no longer tropical. Migratory birds have taken wing as squadrons of Canadian geese check their visas and go south. 

We haven't seen a hummingbird for about a week now. Like clockwork, they are off to their destinations in Mexico and Central America. It is amazing those little zip darts can fly that far. 

Hopefully, they will be allowed back into the United States next spring. 

My wife and I joke that we are now of the age where sitting on our deck watching the hummers dive bomb each other is our primary form of summer amusement. In their absence, I guess our new entertainment will be our substantial squirrel population: the grays versus the blacks versus the reds. Daily, non-stop drama. Hmmm... maybe that will be the subject of a future post?

Yeah, we live a simple life.

An empty feeder and an empty hummingbird swing means summer is over.

It is easy to overlook autumn because those delicious summer days and soothing summer nights are gone and another brutal winter lies ahead. Yet in a way, fall is an anticipatory season. Those first white flakes are not far away and my son once said he really looks forward to that.

"Why?' I asked him.

"I guess it is because I haven't seen snow in a while," was his thoughtful answer.

Even though autumn can be a very short season, it is actually my favorite. The confetti colors, the smell of wood smoke drifting from chimneys, the crisp air, hot apple cider, brittle leaves crunching under foot and sunflowers in bloom.

Oh, and football season!

A bright-eyed sunflower on our deck. We planted it this spring. A sure sign of fall.

So here's to autumn and the memories of summer. 

...and to hummingbirds. Come back soon, guys.