From the late 1950's early 60's Chamber of Commerce map:
Brindley's Resort - Trading Post By Pine Point. New, completely modern housekeeping cottages. Individual showers, hot water, heater, gas heat, recreation room, safe sand beach. Bernice and Joe Brindley Tel. KI-7-1721
There is a black and white picture of me sitting on the shore of Brindley's Harbor Resort when I was still in diapers. My cousin Trudy is next to me - she's a teen at the time, complete with one-piece, early 60s swimsuit. My brother Jeff is there, too, just starting to walk.
ReplyDeleteLund fishing boats line the shore like bookcases in a sizable library - the harbor wouldn't be dug until the 70s; I'm sure there are a number of Johnson motors up by the boathouse being worked on, unlike the engines of today.
Joe Brindley - a friend of Grandpa Anderson - started the resort in the mid-1950s. Brindley worked with my grandpa on the Des Moines Police Department. My dad tells me that Brindley, unlike Grandpas, was a high-tier captain in the force. When he retired early, he left it all behind to start Brindley's Resort.
The black and white photo of me was taken in 1965, and I wasn't quite one year old. My parents first came to Brindley's when "Old man Brindley didn't have anything more than refurbished sheds with exposed 2 X 4s inside" my dad informed me.
For the first few years, all those who stayed were friends from the police department and their families. By the mid-60s, Brindley's had a large lodge where his family stayed during the tourist season. The cabins improved a great deal also, with kitchens, running water, and bathrooms. Brindley added a sand beach by the early 60s - wives and kids enjoyed the resort as much as the fisherman husbands.
We always came to the lake with Grandpa and Grandma, a couple of my aunts, and a husband or two. This was my first round at Brindley's; too young to remember it much - most of the information coming from Dad and Mom.
My folks tell me that my grandparents would leave Des Moines the Friday morning before our stay would begin, drive half the distance that day and the other half the next. He liked to draw out the experience of just getting to the lake.
Grandpa Anderson died in 1972 about the same time that Brindley sold the resort; I was only eight but I remember Grandpa being a perfect gateway for a lifetime at Leech Lake. He sang Swedish songs to me in his recliner and took each day of his life as easy as a lake vacation itself. Maybe that is one of the reasons that I've come back to Brindley's after trying out two other resorts in the 80s and taking a break from Leech altogether in the 90s.
Thanks for inviting me to contribute. Memories are coming back now of the early years, and I look forward to sharing them - as well as how Brindley's and the lake continue to be a significant part of my life still. I'll return soon.
If you would ask me about my brother Jeff, I'd tell you about strong coffee and developing a taste for cigars. On our all-guys fishing trips, our friend Josh and I would wake up earlier than Jeff simply to get to the coffee maker ahead of him.
ReplyDeleteMy brother was a computer geek long before the term became a standard cultural expression. In the 1990s, he leveraged that quality — without a formal degree — to become one of a few exceptional computer hackers, taking that knowledge and using it for good, ensuring the security of NASA and Jet Propulsion Laboratory websites and internal servers. All Jeff told me on our fishing trips was that he had been a 'rock star' in his profession and that he'd had enough — it was time to take care of his family and take time with his brothers, cousin, and friends to do some northern Minnesota fishing.
And fish we did. Before Jeff battled and beat pancreatic cancer in 2004, we started an all-guys fishing trip tradition, completing four in all. When I objected to the first trip due to budget restraints, Brother Mike and he insisted I go, financing my trip. I am grateful that God gave me the sense to accept their gracious offer. I had never seen Jeff as relaxed or happy as I did on those fishing trips. In contrast, ever-so-calm Mike had an uptight moment on our last excursion: Josh and I were trying to untangle a line from a net when Mike caught a sizable Walleye. Jeff smirked in amusement as Mike, becoming ever so antsy as the fish approached the dock, yelled, "QUIT MESSIN' AROUND AND CUT THE LINE!"
Except Mike didn't say messin'.
When I began writing for publication in 2009, he would edit my drafts with a deft and piercing vocabulary. Every Sunday night, he'd call me to share his rewrites; we'd howl with laughter at a sentence that we'd tweak, making it jump off the pages and smack the reader square in the nose. We found that we could make people laugh or — as my wife might tell you — cringe uncomfortably. On one occasion, he was so helpful on a travel story that I offered him a joint by-line; he'd have nothing of it stating, "When you become a famous writer, I'll still be able to go to the grocery store and you won't. It'll suck to be you."
On one warm summer night, we sat in our backyards — 1500 miles apart — and made reference to the stars and constellations. I would talk in terms of brightness and direction, and he would give specifics such as the location of Ursa Minor, starting his sentence with "Of course you know that's;" He was annoyingly smart like that, and it drove me crazy because of course I didn't know a thing about star formations.
After our last all-guys fishing trip, our phone calls became more about our lives and families, and we began the habit of talking while smoking a cigar — something we did while on our fishing trips. Previous to that time, I had only taken a hit off of a cigar when I was nine and asked my dad for a puff; he gladly obliged knowing I'd gag. After that, I never considered smoking and for years flirted with good health practices, eventually became a runner and completing several 100+ mile bike rides and a full-marathon. Up at the lakes, I would partake in the cigar camaraderie. It became an odd part of the fabric of our kinship, and a bonding experience I was able to happily share on four trips to Jeff's own backyard.
On a recent day in January, I ground a half cup of fresh decaf beans for my morning coffee. I swear I heard him chastise me for wasting my time on decaf and putting so few beans in the grinder. You'd think someone of that intelligence and creativity would have something better to do in heaven, a place he spoke often about over a cigar. But then again, Jeff always made time for a comment that would bring laughter to me. So if on a Sunday evening you catch the scent of a Java Maduro, you'll know that I'm having a talk with my brother, who continues to make time for a long-distance chat in our backyard.
Doug, If you have any family pictures of your time at the resort, either from the recent past or the more distant past, I would love it if you shared them!
ReplyDelete