I’ve had my Grandpa Carlson’s wallet for many years now, dipping in and out of the remnants a man keeps in one and carries around to see what I can discover about him to add to my fond memories as a child and grandson until his death in 1965.
As a self-indulgence I am going to write about him through various prompts from those slips of paper in the wallet, today’s an insurance premium receipt:
This is special for two reasons, the first because it is the year of my birth, and second because it is the receipt for insuring, in addition to his house and household goods, his barn.
My Grandpa and Grandma did not live on a farm, as would be implied by having a barn. They lived in a house with a porch and a stove inside on the main road in and out of Elk Horn, Iowa. The barn, as I recall, was large, and just happened to be behind the house. It was filled with the dried corn husks that were used to fuel the stove on which my Grandma cooked – amazing chicken meals with even more amazing gravy – and where my Grandpa kept his empty bourbon bottles that I would sneak out there to sniff and loved for the sweetness and which no doubt has something to do with my continued fondness for the drink today.