Farmers Weekly Review

By Nick Reiher

Pink fluff salad. His favorite.

Fresh, squarish buns, with or without butter.

Scalloped potatoes and ham.

Bars and slices of cake.

Coffee … coffee … coffee.

Upon seeing this, I imagine longtime Lutherans, especially in Minnesota, are putting on their Sunday best.

Except, it was a Tuesday, in the basement fellowship room of an old country church in Rome Township, Minnesota, a spyglass view from Iowa’s northern border.

It was a funeral lunch for my father-in-law, Donald R. Olson, who passed away at 89 January 10 after a lot of suffering.

Not that you could tell most of the time. Last time we saw him a few days after Christmas, Don (also known as Donald, Donald R., Donnie or simply “The Boss”), was sitting in his favorite chair in the living room of the apartment he shared with his wife of nearly 66 years, VaLores.

He was alert; never complained, even though cancer was slowly, then quickly, sapping his life. He smiled when I said upon leaving back then, “Next time, let’s get us some lutefisk.”

Initially, there wasn’t much Don, an often imposing crew cut guy who grew up in farm country, and I — bearded, born and bred in the city — had in common. Ultimately, we would share a love for his eldest, my wife Tammy, VaLores and lutefisk … in that order.

(Some claimed I ate lutefisk only to please Don, get on his good side. I believe those who have experienced lutefisk know that’s just not possible. The best poker face on the planet couldn’t hide their disdain otherwise).

In the very early days, I felt much like Ben Stiller in “Meet the Parents.” I was trying to impress. Trying not to flop around too much as a fish out of water. Trying to learn the ways of a simple country life, where you could leave your car running uptown in the winter and not worry about someone taking it.

It helped, I think, that Don knew I loved his eldest daughter and would treat her like a queen. That’s how I was brought up.

It also helped that I appreciated the little things, like roughing it a bit camping, slip-bobber fishing on muggy summer nights and getting up at dawn to catch the walleye chop on the lake.

(Note: This city boy grew up eating fish packaged from the Italian store or Hillman’s).

Don and I also shared a respect for the weather; he would record temperatures and weather daily in notebooks. Dozens of notebooks.

He would phone to ask us about our weather, especially if he saw a nasty front approaching our area on the TV weather map.

Don would ask about the weather we faced on the way up and on the way back. Too often, we could report snow, ice, fog, icy fog and torrential rains.

Tammy told me the first thing he said to her when she got up to see him in his last hours was, “How were your roads?”

For three decades plus, we also were expected to give a crop report from what we saw in western Illinois, and in eastern, central and northern Iowa. He’d also ask about our local crops, which got a lot easier to answer when I took the job with Farmers Weekly Review in 2012.

Slowly, especially as other in-laws (or “outlaws,” as we like to call ourselves) joined the family, I didn’t feel like I had to impress. The heat was on them. Also, Tammy and I were golden when we produced two grandchildren, their second and third. They have my dark hair, which tickled my dark-haired Mother-in-Law muchly.

Our kids – Jilly and Andy — got lessons in fishing from Grampa at “the lake,” a camper on which he and sons Dan and Paul built a posh lean-to. The kids grew up there, and looked forward to fishing with Grampa. There is a picture somewhere of a very young Andy practicing his casting from Grampa’s boat, parked on a trailer in their driveway.

There were other trips, including the one Tammy, Don, VaLores and I took to Mt. Rushmore and the Black Hills. It was a really nice trip. Don really enjoyed the guided nature tour we took by Jeep – taking in the beautiful landscape and various animals, including the Mama Bison that really don’t like it when you get between her and her calf.

On the way back, we saw Rapid City was the home of Ellsworth Air Force Base. We got a guided tour there, and Don really liked that, too, especially the sleek bombers doing touch-and-go drills. As he explained to his brother-in-law, Lloyd, upon his return:

“These big jets slow down and get ready to land; then the pilot puts the coals to ‘er, and off she went!”

So many good times. And after a while, I couldn’t tell you when, I stopped trying to impress and just enjoyed his company, sharing stories of our differences growing up, his laugh and our mutual appreciation of lutefisk, and really, anything VaLores made.

The quiet conversations in the family room were even more precious as Don’s health began to fail. We bopped up for long weekends as we could, trying to make sure we wouldn’t stress him or VaLores more than they were already.

And we scrambled to make sure Tammy got up there when the end was near; Jilly, Andy and I following behind. Then, the funeral with an Honor Guard, Fire Department salute (he served as a volunteer for many years) and, of course, lunch.

Don, I hope I’ve been a good son-in-law, husband to your eldest daughter, and father to your second and third grandchildren.

Now that your pain is gone, I pray you enjoy the company of your loved ones who preceded you at the Eternal Banquet.

And I hope it includes a lot of lutefisk.

As I told you every time we said goodbye:

“Thanks for everything.”

Nick Reiher is editor of Farmers Weekly Review.