Mud, Goats, and Damneara Farm
Day 5: kinda felt like home.
July 23, 2024
Mud was everywhere: on the truck, on the trailer. The North Dakota roads we’d taken to get to Red Trail Vineyards seemed to want to go with us to Minnesota. And Waze had steered us wrong. The way back out to I-94, we’d learned, was both shorter and not so muddy. Motorists on I-94 looked at us like were teenagers-gone-muddin’ so, we decided that next fill up after Buffalo, in Fargo, we’d wash the truck and trailer. There was, not a car wash but a truck wash, next to the gas station. We’d never been to a truck wash. I figured $20 (tops) would get us a few cycles of suds and rinse water from a high-mounted spray hose. I had no clue.
As we drove in there were six guys standing around with sponges and long-handled mops looking eagerly at the truck (well, ok, that’s an exaggeration). This was no put your quarter in and spray soap suds for a two minute kind of wash. This was a hand wash truck wash.
Because I feared it could be expensive, I got out of the truck (so as not to alarm the Professor who can be more conservative with a dollar than am I in some cases).
The guy with the clipboard eyeballed the truck and trailer and nodded, “About $60, I think,” he estimated, giving me an “is that ok?” look. I thought about it and judged the outcome worth the expense.
“Yeah, let’s do it.” I didn’t tell the Professor how much. I just waved him in.
They saw us coming. By the time it was all done, they were putting a special seal coat on the trailer, paying extra attention to the undercarriage, and asking for $80. It hurt a little, but the truck and trailer had never looked so good.
Leaving Fargo, we had a relatively short trip ahead of 100 miles and a little over an hour and a half and though that length isn’t quite practical if you have miles to cover, it was a pleasure. We were on our way to another Harvest Host/Boondockers Welcome place, Damneara Farm, a hobby farm on 50 acres in rural Central Minnesota near the town of Elizabeth.
“Go set up and come and have a beer with us,” they invited. We were their only guests and almost didn’t come. Paul had only just gotten out of the hospital after surgery but Denise insisted we come anyway. She said,
“It’s no trouble! We need to have visitors!” So we did.
The hills around the farm are emerald green and rolling. There are lots of trees and the grass is long. Our site was a back in but it was easy enough to position the Nash. Denise apologized for not being able to make us dinner – she generally does – but Paul’s recuperation has been difficult. Instead, she asked if we’d join them in the brewery for a cheese and cracker platter.
“Only if you let me add to it,” I agreed.
I immediately loved her. The pull of her personality is magnetic. Two different sets of neighbors stopped by while we were there. A neighborhood dog who visits every day, all day, did too. Paul was a good host too, even though he didn’t feel well.
Before we met them in the brewery they encouraged us to take the dogs down on their airstrip below (off leash) so they could run. And run they did. And roll. And run. It did them good. It did us good to watch. They had been troopers riding quietly (except in gas stations where Kota riots, per usual).
I loved Damneara Farm, them, and the way it felt to be there. It was reminiscent of being home, familiar. When I grew up I lived on a ranch where there was lots of land around. I roamed unimpeded with my dogs and horses in a way you can’t do when you don’t own large pieces of property. Visiting Harvest Hosts sites in general, and Damneara Farm specifically, restores access to my sometimes hazy memories, these experiences, and most days that’s enough.
Paul turned in at about 7 pm and we soon followed. Denise put the goats in their pen out of reach of coyotes and we returned to the Nash and our comfortable bed. It had been a great day and stay and tomorrow was to be another big day. Tomorrow we’d finally get to Minneapolis, to our campground. And tomorrow I’d finally meet up with family.
Or so I thought…