Yarn at 70 Miles an Hour

My dad was known for his skill at finding and collecting wild berries, mushrooms, and asparagus. At my dad's funeral services, my mom wanted to have what she called Memory Hour in place of the rosary. All my dad's family and friends got up and told a story or anecdote about my dad. My Papa joked about how my dad could spot wild asparagus driving down the highway at seventy miles an hour. It was true. Once we were driving on a highway and my dad pulled over and started picking some asparagus from a ditch. An Amish woman came running out of her house shaking a broom at my dad to get off her property. I never liked asparagus, so it was fine with me that his batch that time was small. Besides, I wanted to get to the beach, not pick some stinking asparagus.

So, DG and I were driving through Bemidji on our road trip and I spotted some yarn. From the highway. (Okay, it was a state highway through the edge of town and we were only going about forty miles an hour.) I wasn't sure, but we turned around to find a woman selling all sorts of things in the parking lot of a Pamida. We got out and had a pleasant conversation with Pat about yarn, homemade soaps, berries and jam, and how she does everything by hand herself (except the pheasants, which her son hunts) on her farm, Kozka Farm Enterprises. They even make root beer. I bought some nice hand-dyed, hand-spun yarn that may become a hat some day and DG bought some jelly and some apple butter. What a find. This is what road trips should entail. Pictures under Paul and Babe and yarn for a souvenir.


I'll post more about the road trip later, but I had to share this yarn.