Grandma and a Man We Called Doc

Written By - Margene Wiese-Baier @2000

As I entered the train station in Albany, Oregon my eyes automatically focused on an older gentleman. If he wasn't a man, I would have sworn my grandmother had come back to take this life changing trip with me, but she was in Heaven. It did cause the memories of the long ago trips of my youth to see her and her husband who we all called Doc.
It would always be the same scenario. Dad would come home on Fridays after a long hard working day at his Saw Filing Shop, Where he sharpened big saws for the local lumber mills in Philomath, Oregon, and a few on the outskirts of the town.
His announcement was always "Hurry up, and get ready. We're going to see Grandma." Before we could go, we had to make sure the house was cleaned up. That kind of ruined the spontaneity of the trip, but it didn't ruin the excitement of going. We always made sure the house was spotless, because Mom would remind us that nothing was worse that coming home to a dirty house, and it was a nice to slip into clean crisp sheets after the long drive home. I could never figure how it always seemed like it took forever to get to a place, and just half the time to get home.
Off we went for the drive that seemed to always bring up the same question over and over again: "Are we there yet?" With the resounding same answer," Not yet, but it won't be long now."
We would finally get there after what seemed like and eternity, even though we had slept most of the way, in between the squabbling that sisters and brothers do because they're bored out of their gourd.
Grandma, and Doc, and sometimes my Uncle John would come out to greet us, with gigantic grins on their faces. They seemed just as excited to see us as we were in seeing them. We seemed to fall out of the car, because we had car lag from being confined for far too long, but being kids we didn't feel the affects, long.
The first thing we wanted to do was see the goats, and we hoped for some new baby kids to pet. Doc always had a fun way to call them, and I swear he sounded just like one of them Baaaaaa! BAAAA! BAAAA!

It seemed we were starving by the time we got there, so we anxiously went into the house, which always had the scent of Grandma in every nook, and cranny. Not a sweet smell, or even a sour citrus smell, but a unique Grandma smell, that made us feel all warm inside, because if we could smell that fragrance we knew that we were loved.
Grandma's smell had to compete with the sensational smells of the roast beef cooking in the oven. It always had fresh carrots, potatoes, onions, garlic, right out of the garden depending on what time of the year it was. If we were lucky Uncle John gathered mushrooms in the woods that morning. It was a delight to our noses as the juices combined to entice us with their luscious fragrance that had been simmering most of the day. Then the tantalizing bread that had just been baked, fresh from the oven, a combination of nuts, different grains, anything Grandma could think of that would make her bread unique, and flavorful. It was always crispy on the outside, tender on the inside, generously sliced with gobs of goats butter, and possibly cheese, sweet honey, and even homemade strawberry, or blueberry jam if the mood hit us to explore our taste buds.
Of course, there was always ice cold goats milk and Doc always proposed the question, "Do you like goats milk?" and we gave the resounding answer. Yeeeeeeeeees! We were pretty good imitators, but Doc had taught us this from the first time we met. For dessert we weren't quite sure if we'd like it, because Grandma always experimented with the goats milk. She tried her hand at ice cream, and sometimes came up with some pretty strange concoctions. Sometimes we didn't even know what to say, because we didn't want to hurt her feelings, but yuk! Some of it was gross, and we couldn't even eat it without having an uncontrollable urge to up chuck. Sometimes though she'd come up with something good like peach ice cream, so we'd try it even though we knew that we might be making a mistake.
After we were totally stuffed, and wanting to roll out the door, because our stomachs seemed to moan "you fed me far too much!" My two brothers, sister, and I would go outside to have a little adventure of our own, while the grownups stayed in the house to visit.
Adventures on Grandma's farm were fun for us, because not living on a farm - we could roam freely without the confines of streets and concrete sidewalks. The dirt was either hot or cool depending whether we were under numerous trees in the woods or standing in a open field. We had to watch out for the stinky old billy goat, because we were warned that he liked to butt you. The rank putrid old goat had horns, too, so we

didn't' want to test his ornery moods by getting in his area of the pasture. We hoped some kind offence was between him and us protecting our tender backsides.
Doc sometimes came out with us, because he liked to tell us stories of the good ole days when he grew up and his adventures as a traveling salesman. We never tired of his stories, because he told a story so entertainingly that we felt we were there wherever there was. His stories were better than fairytales, because we knew they were real, and it made us closer every time he shared another little part of himself with us.
My favorite story he would tell us is about his family living in a small cabin in the woods at the bottom of Mt. St. Helens. The farmers, and town folk nicknamed old Mt. St. Helens 'Madcap,' because they never knew when she would blow. The mountain was festering up something, because every once in a while people would say they could hear her rumbling, and making all sorts of weird noises. Stories abounded how the volcano would erupt again someday. Doc told of this old man named Truman that swore he would never leave even if Old Madcap blew. Doc told us about his sister Anne that sat on the fence gate and yodeled to her audience of cows and a bull name King Alfred. Her ambition in life was to grow up and be a cowgirl, and ride in the rodeos. His parents gave Doc his nickname, because he nursed every sick animal back to health. He had that special combination of love and intuition that gave him the insight to know exactly what kind of herbs would cure the poor critters. One day a traveling salesman came by his family's cabin selling different concoctions promising to cure anything from the common cold to Scarlet Fever. The man had everything on his wagon that a person would every need. From that day Doc decided that that is what he wanted to be. He began dreaming from that day of the adventures that he would have traveling from town to town. He told us that it disappointed his parents, but his dreams came true. It sure made good stories to tell us - his grandchildren.
All aboard. It was time to go. I grabbed my bags and took Charlie (small dog) and put her under my arm and boarded the train. It was time to start my adventure. Doc would be proud. I knew that throughout the trip to Florida I would continue to visit memory lane where I would meet Grandma and the man we called Doc.