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In a Jan. 2 article promoting the A1 International Horticulture Exhibition to be held in Dakota County in 2031, the CEO notes that it will spur permanent development on land that is vacant (“This international expo could bring the future to Dakota County”). While the exhibition may be a worthy project, let’s think a little about the meaning of “vacant.”
Way back in the 1950s and 1960s, my father’s uncles Pat, Mart and Enos still lived on the Gallagher farm in Burnsville. We drove out there one Fourth of July. Grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins appeared. While the adults chatted, we kids ran around chasing (and sometimes being chased by) chickens, ducks, geese and guinea fowl. Oh, let’s not forget the burro and the peacock! We went up to the barn and held onto a rope to swing from one pile of hay bales to the other. We threw sticks for Brownie the dog until he tired and fell asleep in the cool, spidery space under the porch.
After dinner, the adults sat out front in heavy, white, fan-shaped chairs, kids mobile again, but sometimes listening. We heard about how the house had burned down early in the century and that 14 kids had been farmed out to families nearby. In the spring, relatives and neighbors gathered to rebuild. We learned one of the uncles had ridden behind the famous Dan Patch! Then, quietly, when he stepped inside, how he’d been engaged when young, but the lady had died of a burst appendix.
When it got dark and cigars no longer kept the mosquitoes away, we lit sparklers. Before going home, my sister, brother and I ran out of breath scattering fireflies up the hill to the north. At the top we gazed at city lights and the stunning Foshay Tower 30 miles away.
One day, decades later, without consulting kids or fireflies, trucks began hauling the hill away for gravel.
The farm could no longer hide from the city. I remember my grandmother’s sadness when reflecting on its loss. Still, sometimes, on a warm summer night, I can see us coming down from that pasture. Brownie’s barking. People are saying goodbye. A 1957 Chevy Bel Air is winding its way down the dirt track to Hwy. 13.