Annivesary

We've been married for fifty years.

That's half a century. Wow.

When I was a kid there was an old couple who used to walk the streets of Clinton holding hands. Everyone thought they were so cute. I just realized not too long ago that I'm probably older than they were. The memory surfaced because we were just on a road trip and a stranger told us we were such a cute couple. I'm trying not to let it go to my head, because while the word “cute” enters the conversation fairly often when my wife is around, I never hear it when I'm alone. So, you know, that's the name of that tune.

We started dating when we were both eighteen, announced our engagement when we were nineteen, were married at twenty, and babies started arriving when we were twenty-two. No one but us thought those decisions were particularly practical. In hindsight, I marvel at the blithe confidence we've always had that we could make things work out. We thought our wedding was really nice, but by today's standards we practically eloped. My mother-in-law made the wedding dress, and the reception was coffee and cake in the basement of the Methodist Church. No speeches were given by the wedding party, in part because my dad had offered to let my best man fill his gas tank at the farm. He'd backed up to the wrong silver tank, so the best man and the father of the groom spent the reception siphoning diesel fuel out of his car. I'm a little ashamed to admit I didn't notice their absence.

We came home from the honeymoon flat broke. I got a job at Orcon Industries the next day and we lived off the cash from wedding cards until the first paycheck came through. My dad had offered to let us bale and sell his flax straw and on the basis of that windfall, we bought a car. My new bride went to the bank to negotiate a loan. The banker seemed agreeable. We'd never borrowed money, but we'd prepared a budget. When he asked how long the term of the loan was going to be, Robin showed him the potential flax straw revenue and said we'd pay the car loan off in six months. We were naive enough to think that if you borrowed money, you paid it back as fast as possible. He thought that was funny, but he gave us the loan and we did pay it off on time. He never turned us down for a loan after that, even when the numbers were several digits longer and the budgets a little sketchier.

We've lived a blessed life, but that doesn't mean trouble free. In thirty years of farming, we lost two crops to floods, two to hailstorms, and two to drought. If you do the math, that means that in my farming career, twenty percent of the time I didn’t get a paycheck. That wasn’t my fault, but I've made more than a few dubious business decisions that cost us even more money. We made our first trip to Mayo Clinic forty years ago, followed by many more. There's been more illnesses and surgeries than I can remember, plus one ride in an ambulance to a heart ward in the Twin Cities. So many friends and family to mourn. The mourning never completely stops, and a broken heart never completely heals.

On the other hand, we both had long careers doing work that mattered, we have three terrific kids who also do work that matters and five perfect grandchildren. That banker, and all the others, have been paid off for a while now. We've got a little money in the bank and the time to do whatever we want.

There are storm clouds on the horizon. Health worries, the state of the world, and, truthfully, you never stop worrying about kids and grandchildren. But, you know, you play the cards you're dealt. You can't do anything to stop the storms from coming your way.

But it's pretty wonderful having someone to face them with.

Copyright 2025 Brent Olso

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