There Ya Go
Ireceived a text from Denny Kronke weeks ago that included a special poem written by Jean Krueger. Because of my busy schedule, the text faded from my memory.
Then he texted me again a couple weeks ago during a football game I was covering in Slayton, so at halftime, I went to my Jeep to ask him what’s up.
He reminded me of the text he sent me that included a special poem, asking again if I could find some room in the paper to run it. I told him I remembered the poem but, thinking back to his initial text, I remembered I had no idea how to present it, how to give it some context.
So, that night, I decided to put it on this page as part of my column, because it has a very special meaning to a lot of people who call, or once called, Garvin home.
Reading Jean Krueger’s poem made me think of Jared Towne, a Garvin native who was a big part of the small group of people who made the new-look park in town a reality by donating time, equipment and money to make it happen.
Garvin is small but means the world to a lot of people, including me. My sister and brother-in-law own a restaurant there, and my great uncles literally helped build Lake Sarah Lutheran Church — I don’t attend as often as I should, but that building means a lot to me.
Garvin also doesn’t have much else to offer, compared to 50 years ago, but there are few towns as small as it is that are home to that many people who truly care about it, its past and what it does has left to offer.
With that said, here is Jean’s poem. If you know Garvin history, it will hit home. If you don’t, read it anyway and think if maybe you can put pen to paper, too, about your small town:
Memories keep calling me back To this old place by the railroad tracks, Where we grew up in the “Good Old Days,” Then we all went our separate ways There’s not much left of this little town The old places have been torn down On Main Street, the sidewalk stayed About 1953 when it was laid The old church still stands in the heart of town 120 years it’s stood its ground The bell still tolls on Sunday morn and they come in to pray I know it will be there when they lay my bones away The ballpark where the kids played ball has seen its final day An old farmer moved to town and took it all away But kids now are just like us, they simply won’t be beat They just take their bats and balls and play out in the street What fun we had on Buttermilk Slough We’d take our sleds and ice skates, too Spend a sunny winter afternoon Playing hockey with a broom Moonshine Grove just out of town had a reputation far and near Some went there to pitch some woo, we went to drink our beer The grove is all gone now, bulldozed to the ground A new home stands stately there with new trees all around There’s something about small-town kids They have a special glue Never mind the circumstance They’re always there for you The people here, although we’re very few We love our home, and love and serve our country, too No, there’s not much left of this old town and what it sued to be But I close my eyes and it’s all there, in my memories You ask, “Where is this place you speak about today?”
It’s my hometown, Garvin, Minnesota, U.S.A.
