Growing up on the North Shore a highlight of the summer was, of course, the Fisherman’s Picnic. For those of us who lived in the West End it was sometimes the first chance to see our friends since the day school let out in June. And we all know eight weeks can be a lifetime in teen years. I would get butterflies in my stomach trying to decide what to wear, who I might see, did any boys get cuter over the summer, or more important did I get any cuter to the boys over the summer? There was a lot of pressure. One wrong move could mean social suicide. (Side ponytails were a great risk at the time; only the fearless tried a side pony during the picnic.)
Walking the streets of Grand Marais was also a chance to listen to great music, check out the artist stands, eat a herring sandwich and my personal favorite—the sidewalk sales! Ben Franklin was the best because they pulled items from who knows where and lined them up on tables outside. You might find a pretty glass vase, moccasins or even plaid golf pants. (Yes I did buy plaid golf pants there one year and spent the rest of the summer convincing my friends they were very cool and not geeky.)
The Trading Post also had sales with a wonderful selection of cards and books. Just a couple of years ago I bought a cookbook there with all kinds of really yummy cookie recipes. Sven
bbbb
and Ole’s didn’t become part of Fisherman’s Picnic until 1981, so before that we had street vendors selling kettle corn and I had a friend who made a killing with his own cotton candy machine.
About five years ago I took my small boys to the rides and I swear they were the exact same rides I sat on at their age. I loved the little Ferris wheel. I never once thought of falling, I just liked seeing who I could pick out in the crowds down below. I think the parents enjoyed the picnic as much as the kids. Visiting with neighbors and friends and not worrying if we were out of sight. This was before cell phones where the kids can now call parents every 15 to ask for more money. My mom and dad would say meet at Bear Tree Park at a certain time and we better be there or else. Missing the designated time meant an early trip home and a very uncomfortable car ride—36 miles with an angry mom is seriously— no picnic!
Wishing you all the best this Fisherman’s Picnic weekend!
Kissing a man with a beard
is a lot like going to a picnic.
You don’t mind going through
a little bush to get there!
Minnie Pearl
Taste of Home columnist Sandy (Anderson) Holthaus lives on an alpaca farm in South Haven, MN
with her husband, Michael, and their children Zoe, Jack and Ben. Her heart remains on the North
Shore where she grew up with her parents, Art and LaVonne Anderson of Schroeder. She enjoys
writing about her childhood and mixes memories with delicious helpings of home-style recipes.
Leave a Reply