If you were to ask me which year had the most spectacular new year's celebration worldwide, it was hands down when 1999 gave way to the year 2000. To say you were alive at the birth of a new Millennium is not a mundane feat. And spoiler alert, the dreaded computer crash never happened. Being 9 years old meant no extravagant parties for me, but watching the world celebrate on TV was thrilling. NYC was more hyped than ever with even larger crowds, the best and brightest in the entertainment industry putting on performances of a lifetime, and the glitz and glamor was on overload. London was ablaze with with a brilliant fireworks display over Big Ben. Sydney, Australia one-upped them with their own legendary fireworks display, so much so that you could see the Opera House clear as day. Many more extravagant parties were happening all over the globe as 2000 was welcomed and we sadly said goodbye to the 90s.
The summer of 2000 was another special one for me as two major things happened. First, the summer Olympics returned and they were in Sydney, Australia. This was the first year I gained an interest in them and fell in love with everything that they were. The swimming was unreal that year with legendary Aussie swimmer Ian Thorpe (The Thorpedo) flat out dominating in the pool. But little did he know that a new legend was making his first appearance and would challenge him for years to come. That man was Michael Phelps. Sydney put on an exciting Olympic games that would be memorable for years to come.
The second memorable moment was that for the first time in four years, my family returned to Wisconsin. Instead of one week, we stayed for three. And those three weeks were a huge up and down roller coaster that would give me life experience for years to come. As a child, spending three weeks on a farm out in the country and away from home was both a blessing and a struggle. Being able to play with so many pets, explore big open land, go fishing and boating more times than I could count, and spending a lot of time with family I don't get to see often added to my growth. But because I also was dealing with anxiety issues and the fact my dad couldn't stay the whole three weeks made some days harder than others as I dealt with my struggles and homesickness. With all that in mind, let's dive into the memories of these three weeks.
Farm cats are always in plentiful supply and this year was no exception. There were three generations of calico cats. The third was a kitten that stole the show. It was white with orange fluff spots. At the time of our arrival, I don't think it had a name. But my aunt Cici picked him up one night when he managed to sneak into the house and I swore I heard her say "Come here you little melon." From that point on, I called the kitten Melon and the name stuck. Thankfully Melon was slightly understanding of children because every time we returned from an outing, as soon as we saw him, the first one to him got the rights to hold him. With five children all wanting a turn, that poor kitten was passed around like dishes on thanksgiving. But he was a tough cookie and graciously put up with us.
What would three weeks in the country be without fishing and swimming right? Lucky for us, my Great Uncle Wally and Great Aunt Lorena had a cabin by the lake. They had it well stocked with pool toys and a nice dock that were were able to run and cannonball off of until our hearts were content. The fishing off the dock was pretty good too. One afternoon, after I decided I had done enough swimming for the day, me and my brothers took out the fishing poles and tried our luck. Baiting the hooks with earthworms that we had dug up on the farm, we casted those lines towards the lily pads. The sunfish must've been mighty hungry as they were gobbling up our worms faster than we could bait them. We caught a decent lot of them and were placing them in a large Styrofoam cooler that had water inside of it. By the time we were done, we probably had 10-15 fish inside. We left it on on the shore near the edge of the water by the dock. Later, when I came to get them to take home, I found the lid half off and only one dead fish inside. I was flabbergasted and wondered how so many fish could disappear. The truth was never fully known, but apparently my mom thought they weren't getting enough air and opened the lid partially. Then, since the cooler was so close to the shore, the waves rocked it enough that maybe gave the fish a chance to jump out. That's the theory anyway because no one could explain the complete disappearance of that many fish.
I loved collecting things. Hot Wheels cars and Legos being the two most desired during those days. I managed to start three new collections while living on the farm. The first was pop cans. The room I was staying in had this nice wall shelf at the foot of the bed. It was a perfect place for storing empty pop cans. And since my mom's side of the family loved that fizzy drink more than anyone I knew, I was able to fill that shelf with many colorful cans. The second thing I began collecting was stamps. I had no intention of doing so at first, but when my aunt Cici gave me a small baggie filled with them, lets just say I went on a stamp collecting craze. Any piece of mail that came with a stamp I didn't have, I claimed the discarded envelope, tore off the corner with the stamp, floated it off in warm water, and added it to my collection. While they aren't worth anything due to being used, there's a lot of history tied to them. I stopped adding to my collection years ago, but that collection reminds me of bygone eras and the fun I had acquiring them. The third and final thing is something you probably wouldn't suspect. Newspaper clippings of Snoopy statues. I loved the comics as a kid, especially the ones that came in the paper. My grandfather was also a big fan and would always show me the ones that he liked the best. Peanuts was one of them and was one of the most famous comic strips. Snoopy was my favorite character in that strip. In the year 2000, Charles Schulz, the cartoonist who created Peanuts, passed away. As a tribute to him, the state of Minnesota erected a lot of Snoopy statues around St. Paul. Because of the area my mom's family lived in, they received a local newspaper that reflected things of Minnesota. Each daily paper had a picture on the front of a different Snoopy statue. I thought they were the coolest things ever and cut each new one out, hoping to one day see them. Cutting these out and looking at them also helped with my bouts of homesickness I would be subdued by during our trip. I still have all those clippings in a box in my parent's attic to this day.
My cousins at this time were living just down the road. The youngest, Aaron, would come over to the farm almost daily to play with us. We were always coming up with different things to do. Some days he'd want to go clay pigeon hunting. There was a big marshy field at the bottom of a large hill where my uncles and other friends would shoot clay pigeons over. Not all of them would be shot, nor break when they hit the ground, so Aaron took this as an opportunity to collect them. Now the vegetation out there was extremely tall and Aaron was concerned with getting lost. So he'd have me sit on top of the hill and every once in awhile, he'd toss a broken piece of clay pigeon in the air and ask if I could see it. If I did, he knew he was still in range of the edge, if I couldn't, he had gone too far. Sometimes I wouldn't respond as I'd get distracted by the the occasional bird or pesky bug. Aaron wouldn't be to pleased, but what did you expect from a 9 year old?
Life can throw curveballs sometimes and I experienced two of them during this trip. One was a learning experience, and one was a scary experience. As much as I loved to fish, I had not yet learned (nor did I want to) how to take a fish off the hook. One day we were at my great Aunt May's and I was fishing off the dock. I began hauling in tiny panfish left and right. After I caught one, I would run back down the dock and up to one of the adults seated up by the house. I would as them to take it off, then I'd run back down to the dock with both the pole and fish in my hands, trying my best not to drop either, and then giving the fish a heave-ho into the lake. This process was repeating itself frequently enough that Aunt Cici finally had enough. The next fish I brought her she refused to take off. She sternly told me "I showed you how to do it and now you have to do it yourself. If you want to catch fish, you have to learn how to let them go as well." I began throwing a fit. The tears came flowing as I was afraid the fish was going to die. Aunt Cici still refused to help. If I wanted to save that poor tiny fish, I had to do it myself. I sat down on the dock and carefully wiggled the hook. In a matter of seconds, it was no longer in the fish's mouth. The fish sensed this, gave two kicks of its tail and flopped towards freedom, back into the lake. The terror that enveloped me turned into relief and satisfaction. I was now a true fisherman. From that point forward, I had no problems releasing my own fish...well except for the ones that swallowed the hook.
The scary experience happened one evening after dinner. My grandfather, some of my uncles, and a few other family friends were all out talking by the feed barn. I was bored and went over to see what they were doing. There was two-wheel boat trailer propped up against the barn. I went and stood by it as that was the best spot to hear what they were saying. Eventually I got tired of standing still and leaned up against the feed barn, or so I thought. I was suddenly being forced to the ground at an alarming speed. I knew I was pinned and I heard a bunch of wild shouting all around me. Then I felt the weight that was on me disappear and a pair of strong arms stand me up. It took me a moment to realize I had leaned against the boat trailer, caused it to fall forward, and pin me to the ground. Thankfully, I managed to avoid all the extended parts and the slow fall only caused a small bump on the back of my head where the trailer initially caught me. I was also grateful there were a lot of strong arms nearby to get it off me quickly or who knows how badly that could've turned out.
On one of my down days, Uncle Bob took me in his pick-up truck to go up into the fields and check the gopher traps. Apparently, the gophers were digging holes and were damaging the crops. That truck bounced and jostled all over the place as we climbed our way up the narrow and slightly eroded trail. Eventually the truck came to a stop and as I climbed out, I could already see the holes in the ground. My uncle went over and pulled two traps out of two holes. Each one had successfully caught a gopher. I asked him what he was going to do with them and he said "Give them to the cats." I was feeling a bit nauseous and didn't want to ride in the truck the whole way back, so I picked the two gophers up by the tails and walked all the way back down the trail to the barn where the cats were. As soon as I called for them, they came running out knowing a treat was waiting for them. I didn't want to see the cats actually eat the gophers, so I set them down quickly and ran off. Later when I returned, there was not a gopher remnant to be found.
One last memory I want to share is the day my Uncle Duane, Aunt Linda, and Aaron went to the county fair. It was probably the first one I had been to. The day was overcast and drizzled on and off, but that didn't quell the fun Aaron and I had. We saw many animals, rode some crazy rides, and sampled the delicious fair food. At one point, Duane gave us a few bucks to play some carnival games. Aaron and I gravitated to the cork-gun game where you had to shoot pop cans to try and win a prize. I believe I hit 3 out of my four shots and watched as those cans plunked off their shelves. I ended up with a couple of colorful feather clips and a basketball made from teddy-bear material. That was a great day.
We had many more adventures during that trip which included many campfires, s'more making, more lakes that we swam and fished in, lots of exploring, food, and family. Eventually it was time to head back to Pennsylvania with 20ish hours of driving ahead of us. It would be another four years before we returned, but what an incredible 3 weeks I had.
There were many other small moments that helped usher in the hope that came with the new millennium, but the return to Wisconsin was by far the biggest impact in my life that year. Stay tuned dear reader because next month I will be sharing my favorite pre-2000 Christmas memories with you all.
