The Aerie
Well, that was a very nice weekend... right up until, literally, the last moment!
Lanesboro is a town located in a tiny valley surrounded by bluffs, with only a few routes into town. On the edge of Minnesota's Amish country, Lanesboro made a name for itself early in the 80's by purchasing all the unused rail right-of-way in the area, and turning them into biking and hiking paths. Now it's a fairly successful tourist area, which is quite an accomplishment for a place without other distinguishing characteristics. I'm sure there are a few families which have not had to move during the recession because the local tourist trade was stronger than other areas of rural Minnesota.
The last time Theresa and I visited Scanlon house was 16 years ago, when we were newly engaged and it had only been in business a few years. Now it's over 20 years old.
Our directions took us through Preston, but when I saw a sign saying "Lanesboro" pointing west out of the town of Harmony, MN, I figured to take a shortcut.
It was a shortcut, but oh my was it twisty! By this time in our trip the sun had set, so I let another car pass me and then followed it through the impenetrable darkness. Up hills, round curves, over bluffs, it was a crazy rollercoaster ride over snow-slicked country roads, following a local whose knowledge of the route encouraged him to drive a lot faster than I cared to.
Finally we rounded a curve and plunged past a rocky bluff and saw the lights of town ahead of us.
We got to the Scanlon House a little late but arrived in good spirits to find the Safari Room waiting for us, decorated in a Victorian Safari theme. Each of the two nights that we were there we received a treat platter, featuring a large bottle of
champaigne, fruits, and candies. The room included a jacuzzi, afireplace, and a bed that was easily four feet high.
We went out to get dinner and discovered that Lanesboro was ready for us: every restaurant had the same deal: Valentine's Day Special Menu, $29.95 per person. Good-naturedly resigned to this wholly noncapitalistic price-fixing scheme, we ate at the Village Inn. It was okay without being fantastic.
After dinner, well, what can I say? A long, leisurely bath in the candlelit jacuzzi, Loreena McKennitt playing on the
CD player... and the camera pans over to the faux fireplace and discreetly fades to black.
The next day began with the B&B five-course breakfast in front of the fireplace in the Victorian-style dining room. The amazing thing about this place is that the proprietress, Kirstin, was running everything herself. She had five or six couples both the nights that we were there, yet she pulled off the breakfasts with seeming ease. I admired her preparation and order: before retiring for the evening, everything was in place for the next day's breakfast.
Breakfast started with fruit smuggled into Minnesota on her return from a trip to Florida, fresh strawberries and blueberries in February are quite a treat. The entree was something she called a quieffle (key-FLAY), half quiche, half souffle, all delicious. The finish was a kind of fruit bar, prepared sugar free with the use of aspartame or something, it didn't quite work for me. The rest was great.
Then Theresa and I piled into the van in search of Amish! We just drove around southern Minnesota (and for a few exciting miles, northern Iowa!, ooh, aaah), taking gravel back roads in search of authentic Amish farmers. Our search was successful: there they were, working outdoors in short-sleeved shirts in 15-degree weather, black hats, black vests, long white beards. They uniformly waved to us as we went by. We waved back. I resisted the urge to take a photo, since I know the Amish don't like that.
It was lovely, driving all over the place, talking about Real Live Things, with noplace to go and nothing to do, seeing wild turkeys, Amish farmers, and closed tourist-cave entrances. (Why would you close a cave in the winter, when it's always the same weather underground? I'd think cave tours would be one of the few things to continue all year.)
For dinner we ate not at the expensive tourist traps, but at thelocal greasy spoon, the Chat'n'Chew. It was a classic, with dingy lineoleum floors, twisty hallways between new and old portions of the restaurant, bored
teenaged waitress serving tepid tea, and blue-haired local gossips huddled in a back booth. A customer helped himself to some boxed wine from a cooler and later reminded the waitress to put it on his bill.
During the meal a man appeared from the kitchens: imagine Michael Moore, but more unkempt looking. He was our cook. Approaching the booth behind us, he spoke to his local acquaintances.
"What'cha makin' today?"
"Welp, I'm back there trying to build a Chinese barbeque sauce with a reduction of rosemary in white wine, then I add some grated fresh ginger and..."
Theresa's fish was nice, and a very generous portion. I had a rather anonymous hamburger. I enjoyed the atmosphere more than the mock-cheer of the prior evening's tourist trap.
Returning to our room we shared chocolates and
champaigne from the evening's tray, and played Scrabble during Saturday Night Live (Theresa won. I married her because she can beat me at Scrabble.)
When we woke up this morning Theresa had a small headache, from the champaigne we thought, which cleared up after a couple of aspirin. At breakfast we sat across from... a young couple who had just gotten engaged. Watching our counterparts from 16 years ago was very interesting, but I resisted bestowing any unrequested wisdom upon them. Apparently he's finishing residency in Florida while she's finishing hers at the Rochester Minnesota Mayo clinic, so this was their first morning together in several months, and they were practically glowing.
Then we went back to our room where we talked and read and eventually took a nap before packing. Finally it was time to go.
I prevailed upon Theresa to let me call my friend Carrie -- with whom I had become reacquainted after 24 years when we met at Steve's funeral. Carrie was delighted to hear we were passing through, and eagerly invited us to visit.
We arrived at Carrie's place, and had a very nice time. She and her husband Jeff are childless by choice, and have recently built a very cozy, very unique home just outside of Rochester. They're both tall (she's 5' 8", he's over 6'), so everything is up high: for example, in their kitchen the dishwasher has a deep drawer built under it.
They steamed up some shrimp which they brought back from Florida this week, and Theresa and Carrie made up a shrimp sauce. After shrimp and wine we had some pie.
After pie it was getting pretty late, so we wrapped up and got ready to leave.
As I went to use the bathroom beside the front door, Theresa
said, "Hurry up, I'm not feeling good." Thinking that her headache had returned, I finished up quickly, we said our goodbyes, and then Theresa stepped out the front door.
And promptly threw up.
She then turned back into the house, dashed into the bathroom, and, well, the rest doesn't bear description.
TURNS OUT that she'd been growing increasingly unwell the whole time we were there. But she thought the hot flashes were from the woodburning stove, that the headache was just a headache, and finally that the nausea was just from the heat and the wine. She thought she was going to be okay, however, until the cold air hit her, and she was nearly as surprised as everyone else at what happened.
Well, if it were possible to DIE of mortification we'd both have been dead right there. We're certain that Carrie and Jeff were perfectly understanding and everything, but we're still mortified anyway.
The ride home was hellish, with frequent very unpleasant stops. We finally got home and got Theresa cleaned up and installed under a blanket on the couch. She clearly had picked up a bug from someone during our stay and the timing was simply bad. She's feeling better already, though.
So the weekend was 99.99% perfect -- and what can you do? If it's understandable for then-President George Bush to hurl into the lap of the Japanese Prime Minister, I guess it's gotta be okay to woof cookies in somebody's new bathroom. Of course, I'm still mortified about it.
But aside from that, a very wonderful weekend.