My Grandfather Baba Remembered Part 2

A Harlow exclusive trip with Baba was to Canoe country in the Boundary Waters in northern Minnesota. Both my parents and Baba were natural outdoorsman and very comfortable in this environment. Baba had a style that somehow transformed an uncivilized backwater into a civilized campsite. He had a gift. Assinaboin was another Grandpa’s group pack trip. This one required an overnight ride by horseback. They had to pack in all the supplies by packhorse with had a team of cowboy types guiding us in. Chicken was the main entrée on the first night. Marc and I had finished our meal and were joking around with our finished plates in front of us about the outhouse concept. A Cowboy named Eric who had a bum arm came walking in and told us we still had to finish our chicken. We said we were done and went back to being stupid teenagers for a brief moment. Eric then said “no, do you see this plate? The bones are clean picked. We have to haul every bit of food in this place, so we eat everything.” Marc and I looked at each other and realized at the same time Eric was telling us to eat the cartilage. I said “no way” looking to Baba and the other adults for support. I received none. Marc and I looked at each other again and realized this crazed cowboy was not kidding and the parents were looking at this as some life lesson opportunity that we would never forget and cherish into our old age. They were right. We ate the chicken cartilage, washing it down with gallons of Sanilac and I never forgot it. Arriving at the lodge we met the trail boss and the rest of the staff. We had our orientation and then were given our bunking assignments. The girls were to stay in the lodge, and the parents and the boys were to stay in the cabins. It was the 70’s and I had hair that was rock band appropriate falling down comfortably to my shoulders. When I was told I would be in the lodge it was clear they thought I was a girl! I remember the validation process being a bit tricky, but the pants stayed on and I was able to convince them of my gender and I bunked with Marc. Isle Royale was the last of the group trips and the first with M.E. I remember getting to the Isle before them and eagerly awaiting the arrival of their boat. We were on new ground with Baba traveling with his new spouse rather than leading the group solo so we were not sure if the dynamics were going to change with a new player on the roster. As a term of endearment, M.E. would call Baba “lamb”. He used to grimace when the word was tossed his way like someone just broke wind, but he would courageously endure this affront to his masculinity. I thought it was funny watching his reaction since men typically enjoy words like this as much as women enjoy being referred to as “biscuit”. That is until she directed this word my way. Since there is strength in numbers, Baba and I then joined forces to discuss the new policy of family nicknames with M.E. and “lamb” left the lexicon forever. The cabins had more luxury than the Alaskan variety but had the same communal spirit meaning lots of people in a single room. We played endless games of scrabble and hearts. I remember Dad forcing his scrabble words on the board by sheer force of personality with no dictionary to validate. I still have trouble believing that “hazer” is one that “hazes” and is actually a word. In high school I was in Philadelphia and was able to spend a few days with Baba more of less on my own. I remember going downtown to the Union League and some of the other social clubs with him. We had dinner, chatted, and shot pool. I was always pretty good at this game and was looking forward to showing off my skills to my grandfather. I had been playing a lot at my friend Tom’s and was eager to play. I broke, then he pretty much ran the table. With a smile and a twinkle in his eye, I learned that this was not the first time he played and Baba was also probably pretty good at poker. I remember Baba as a student of history. When he died I was the fortunate recipient of many of his history books. He read poetry and Shakespeare. He was a naturalist enjoying birding, flowers and anything nature. He was skilled with a horse and knew all about farming and crops. He was a modern Renaissance man; a blend of Thomas Jefferson and Theodore Roosevelt. He was altruistic. His involvement with volunteer organizations was legendary. I am amazed at not only the scope of his involvement but the level of commitment to each of his projects. Viewing his accomplishments as an adult, I am not sure how Baba pulled it off with the style and excellence he did. His funeral was a church filled with people of all walks paying their respect. The only time I had seen that many people collected in one room was at an NBA game. Lawyers of his generation were held in a higher regard than the stereotypical attorney’s of today. It was a different time, and he was a man that both effected and reflected these times. Looking back as an adult about a man you largely experienced as a child can be confusing. History is footsteps to the present and your perspective changes as you begin walking on a parallel track. He was a special man and I miss him.