Hackensack Art and Book Festival (8/18/2012)
Friday evening. The Pacifica is jammed to the ceiling with my wife’s mosaic benches and tables, cartons of Munger books, and plastic bins. It’s all I can do to save a spot for Jack behind the passenger’s seat. For the first time in years, our teenager is accompanying his crazy aging parents on a sales trip. Our destination: exotic Hackensack, Minnesota for the annual Northwoods Art and Book Festival. Chris, our third son, will be checking on the house while we’re gone and taking care of Jimi Hendrix. Yes, I know, Jimi the musician passed on quite a few years back and likely doesn’t need much looking after at this point. The Jimi I’m talking about is a very neurotic seven-year-old miniature Dachshund, who, if left alone in the house while we’re on the road, would likely pee in every corner of every room to make a point. Hence, the respite care provided by Chris.
After a short detour at the intersection of Highway 2 and 200 that takes us a few miles north of where we want to be, the Pacifica flies over new blacktop down 200 through Jacobson, Hill City, and Remer. We roar past the shores of Leech Lake, into Walker, hang a left on Highway 34, and then pass through Akeley and Nevis before pulling into Park Rapids.
“I’m not sure if I made the reservation at the AmericInn or not,” I say to my Rene’ as I exit the van.
There was a bit of a dust up before we left home because I couldn’t find the copy of my Expedia reservation for the hotel. I said some recriminating things to my spouse and youngest son before realizing that I’d left the paperwork in my dad’s car. There was no apology in the wind, only a cessation of the accusations. Turns out, we were at the right hotel. After leaving our luggage in the room, we traipse off to downtown Park Rapids in search of food. We find a good meal at the Good Life Cafe, a funky little eatery that also has Guiness on tap. What’s not to like?
Rene’ and Jack at the Festival
Mark at the Community Center, 2012 Hackensack Festival
Saturday morning. 6am. Rene’ gets up and, uncharacteristically for her, is groomed, dressed, and at the breakfast table on time. Our reluctant fourteen year old, however, takes a bit more “convincing” to get him up and at ’em. Eventually, all three of us pile into the Pacifica and head east on 34 towards Hackensack. I’m miffed that we’ll be late, that we’ll encounter sour looks and worse from the perennial ladies who are in charge of such things wherever craft shows are held. Not to worry: we arrive under blue skies and a light breeze with more than 45 minutes to set up our respective displays.
We work as a team and, well before the nine o’clock starting time, Rene’s benches and my books are ready for customers. Jack wanders off to work on his foot skills with a bright blue soccer ball he bought in Montreal a few months back. Rene’ and I sip hot coffee and wait. In between glances at early bird customers, most of whom are just browsing, I dive into Go Tell it on the Mountain, the classic novel by James Baldwin. After a few pages I understand why the book was immediately considered to be a “must read” in American letters. I want to go deep into Harlem of the early 20th century as painted in prose by Baldwin but darn it, customers actually start wanting to buy books from me!
The day putters on. I sell and sell and sell. Rene’ is having a tougher time getting customers to bite and actually take the plunge and fork over $100-$150 bucks for her work. She hands out many business cards and takes several orders for custom work before finally selling one of her pieces to a local couple. Jack and I help the guy lug the heavy concrete top and legs to his car. “Thank yous” are said and the folks drive off, eager to install a Munger original in the garden of their lake home.
Hackensack Art and Book Festival (2012)
Past customers of mine stop by as I chomp on hotdogs cooked to perfection by the local Elks club. Jack devours two “tacos in a bag”. Rene’ downs a brat before knitting contentedly, working on another sweater for our new grandson, A.J. Between mouthfuls of wiener, I talk to folks who’ve read my books and like what I do. Some buy Laman’s River, my newest book. Others simply want to tell me how much they’ve enjoyed my words. I take such compliments as genuine: There’s no reason for someone who was disappointed in one of my books to search me out and tell me a lie. At least, that’s been my thinking over the twenty years I’ve been doing this writerly thing.
“Oh that Suomalaiset,” an older woman says as she stands in front of my display with her husband, speaking in a very thick European accent that I can’t quite decipher. “That’s the best book I’ve ever read.”
A lump forms in my throat and I stammer out a “thanks”.
By three o’clock, as the show winds to its conclusion, heavy rain is rattling off the metal roof of the community center. Jack and Rene’ and I scurry through the deluge to load the car. Speed is not easy when lugging concrete but eventually, the Pacifica is packed and we’re headed for home after a very successful Saturday in Hackensack.
Peace.
Mark
