This afternoon dad and I drove about 30 miles south of Fargo to the farm that my grandpa worked for 34 years and where dad grew up. The muddy roads prevented us from getting much closer than the southwest corner of the land, now clearly marked by a street sign. I couldn’t help notice that even out here in rural Minnesota, the signage is better than just about any part of the Boston area.

On our way there, we stopped to see several remnants of Lindgren family history:

• the old Lindgren farmstead where great-great grandpa Carl began farming in 1880’s.
• the one-room school house where dad was taught by his mother
• the threshing machine he and grandpa used when he was ten
• Daniel Anderson, a true Swedish bachelor-farmer.

Next time I’m able to visit this area, I need to create a better map of all the layers of family history that still exist here and to spend more time understanding what it means for the Lindgren’s to come from this place.

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