Nelson: Gone, but not forgotten

"So sad, so strange, the days that are no more.” Tennyson

I realized mulling over 2022 that there were things I'll never be able to enjoy again. Some experiences are irreplaceable; only memory survives, and that too will vanish someday.

Guaraná is a Brazilian soft drink that uses the guaraná berry. It tastes something like apple and watermelon juice combined, only better. There are several brands, all worthy, but the best of all was the Polar Frisante Guaraná. It's the best soft drink I've ever had, but will never have again. Its doors closed years ago.

Speaking of soft drinks, there was an A&W root beer stand on Appleton Avenue in Milwaukee. Its root beer was supreme. You could get it in German-made chilled liter glass mugs. I asked the owner how he achieved perfection; he said that corporate was always on his case for mixing the pop to how he wanted it, not according to the recipe. When we returned to Milwaukee years later our first stop was his shop, but it was gone. A thug had held him up at gun point. He decided it was time to retire. Farewell to all those sultry Milwaukee summer days which called for that unparalleled root beer, barely second only to the Polar pop.

Lucci's “New York style pizza” shop in Milwaukee served the best pizza my wife and I've ever tasted. It was in our dumpy, dangerous neighborhood. It closed when, typical of that area, a robber entered, said he meant business, and murdered the manager on the spot.

Not everything I'll never have again is gustatory. Dear, sweet Mrs. Randa and her ancient store in Georgetown, Minnesota, where we kids would buy candy and pop out of her chilled-water pop machine and sit on her antique wire chairs at a wire table. One of those chairs is in our living room now. I wish I'd sat down with her and just talked about her life and history. Alas, the chance will never come again.

Fresh out of high school my cousin and I spent a couple of days in Minneapolis. I was an enthused Ducati motorcycle fan, so we went to the area dealer to look at the now famous empire-building Ducati GT 750. I was a mere stripling of 17. We chatted with the owner who then, without seeing if we were licensed to ride motorcycles or even asking our names, tossed us the key to his personal GT, said he was closing his shop and leaving for lunch and for us to take the bike for a ride. We did, amazed. Those bikes are worth tens of thousands of dollars now. While not logically impossible, it's a certainty 50 years later that I'll never ride one or see trust like that again.

Surely one of North Dakota's loveliest private properties is Hartl Hollow, a large, heavily wooded parcel bordering the Maple river. Its owners sold cut-your-own Christmas trees, divided by tall pine barriers into plots named after Santa's reindeer. We went there many times with our kids, saw in hand, marking trees with twigs or whatever was handy for the ones we thought the best then moving merrily to examine the next plot. The owners recently retired. Going there was great holiday fun; thanks for the memories.

Nelson lives in Casselton, N.D., and is a regular contributor to The Forum’s opinion page. Email him at dualquad413@gmail.com .

This column does not necessarily reflect the opinion of The Forum's editorial board nor Forum ownership.