Love the visits, but not the long car ride

I loved visiting my grandparents as a kid. But I hated the trip.
It was a five-hour drive from our home in Pine Island to Hills, deep in the southwestern corner of Minnesota.
My father, a retired Navy officer, drove like he was going to war — there were no stops until we either reached our destination or he needed fuel, despite whining from his three children in the back seat with full bladders and empty stomachs. It usually took my mother yanking on his earlobe to get him to make a stop.
Occasionally, I would make the trip with my Uncle Gale. Gale, a teacher, was a firm believer that a mid-trip stop for a Dairy Queen treat or pie at a local café was essential for boosting morale and calming crabby children. But it made the trip longer in terms of time, and the brief stop did little to break the boredom of endless corn fields and a horizon that was broken only by the massive grain elevators that dotted the landscape.
All of that probably explains why I haven’t been to that part of the state for probably 10 years.
But on Sunday, I found myself behind the wheel of my car, heading to Luverne for my aunt’s funeral.
I could tell it had been a long time. Highway 60 west of Madelia is now mostly a four-lane that bypasses most of the small towns for which we had to slow down (but not stop at if Dad was driving).
The farm fields are now dotted heavily with wind turbines, breaking up the landscape.
The net result was that I arrived in Luverne well ahead of schedule, and had time to drive around town. I cruised Main Street, trying to remember which building had been home to my grandmother’s café. Apparently, my memory wasn’t as good as I had hoped, because I couldn’t figure it out. But I was impressed that Luverne has maintained a Main Street that is still bustling, even on a Sunday morning.
After a brief graveside service, relatives and friends gathered at the local Pizza Ranch for the buffet, which gave me a chance to get caught up with assorted aunts, uncles and cousins.
I discovered I have more fuzzy memories that I care to admit to. Now that the trip is more expedient, I’m looking forward to another trip in which I can visit my parents’ hometowns and get caught up more on what’s happening in the lives of my cousins.
Now, if I could just remember which small town that Dairy Queen is in …