“Don’t forget your raisin’s” was a saying my mom had. She meant, of course, don’t forget where you came from. Don’t forget how you were raised. Don’t forget you have people here.
Our opportunity to live into that phrase came this summer, when we took a two-week trip back to my husband’s home state of South Dakota, where he was born and raised.
The Facebook event for his Class of ’78 high school reunion (yes, that’s 45 years, but who’s counting?) had shown up many months prior. As you might imagine, it was met with some trepidation, at least on my husband’s part. It had been years since he’d seen his hometown friends, and he isn’t a big social media user (he has Facebook but never checks it), so as a result, he’d been out of touch. Personally, I looked forward to it like an adventure. I wanted to hear the old stories from the only people who could tell them: the friends of his childhood.
There were other motivations for this trip that met like converging paths. We wanted to share this side of our family’s history with our 28-year-old son on a level that he hadn’t experienced on his last trip out, when he was about 20 years younger. I wanted to photograph the unique beauty of South Dakota. We could build in visits with family and friends along the way. We could visit national and state parks. And we could wrap all of that around the dates of the class reunion. And so the decision was made, and we sent in our RSVP.
With so many places to visit, we decided to make this a driving trip, and we took two days to travel to our first stop: Minneapolis. My husband had made arrangements for us to meet his childhood friend, Derek, for drinks. Our son heard the stories of third grade recesses with playground one-on-one basketball and a running score that continued every day. Derek was the friend who drove from South Dakota to Tennessee for our wedding 39 years ago. These are the friendships that stick, no matter how long between visits.
Over the next few days, we met up with my husband’s brother for dinner. We stopped to visit with two of his great-aunts, one the only surviving sibling of his father. They spoiled us as only 90-year-old great-aunts can, making us feel like kids again. One fixed a lovely lunch, invited her two sons (my husband’s first cousins) to join us, and had a neighbor over to take a photo of us all together. The other took us to the town cemetery where we were enveloped in rich family history. The graves of my husband’s paternal and maternal grandparents and even great-grandparents. The grandpa for whom our son was named. Generations of our Hartog heritage in the tiny farming community that was their home.
A short 1.5-hour drive the following day took us to Vermillion and my husband’s alma mater, the University of South Dakota (with its beautiful rose quartz buildings), and then it was on to his hometown of Pierre. (The state capital, if you recall your fourth grade US geography – and yes, it is correctly pronounced “peer.”) Our first night was round one of reunion festivities, a happy hour/taco bar at a local Mexican restaurant. Directions were of the hometown variety, with the specific restaurant address followed by “across from Menards,” the more recognizable landmark shared by locals for the out-of-towners. This was our first chance to reacquaint with old friends – the moment of truth – and it couldn’t have been a better experience. We followed up with a drive to Center Monument, the actual center point of North America, which happens to be on the running trail from my husband’s high school cross country days – a sport he now shares with our son. It was a beautiful spot to see a South Dakota sunset.
The next day we showed our son around Pierre, seeing the home my husband grew up in on the outskirts of town, the places he worked, the schools he attended, the Zestos ice cream shop that’s still there. There were also the bigger sites, like the earthen Oahe Dam on the Missouri River, which creates the fourth largest man-made reservoir in the United States. We also saw the state capitol building and the governor’s mansion, where my husband and his friends recalled hanging out after school with their buddy, the then-governor’s son.
That evening at the reunion dinner and again the next morning where a small group met for breakfast, there were more stories and catch-ups on life. There was talk of children and grandchildren, health, retirement, and vacations planned. There were stories for our son of the classmate who won the state hotdog eating contest; the classmate who is a state senator and whose brother is a United States Senator; there were the nicknames that they all had and they all still knew, bestowed more than 45 years ago. There were plans made to stay in touch and to get together again soon. Maybe social media has its benefits after all?
We left Pierre and wrapped up our trip over the next few days visiting landmarks such as Mount Rushmore National Memorial, The Badlands National Park, The Black Hills National Forest, and Custer State Park. We paid respects at the graves of my husband’s parents at the Black Hills National Cemetery.
All told, we put 3,400 miles on our car driving from and back to Louisville, making stops all across the state of South Dakota, reclaiming our roots and reconnecting with old friends and family.
Turns out, the saying is true, and of course, moms know best: we remembered our raisin’s – and we are happier for it.
Story and photos by Patti Hartog
P.S. You may also enjoy Meet Me ‘Midway’ – The Historic District.
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