2022 - Ky & Rich pose of a photo at 407 E 5th St (as the homeowner watched confused out the window)

I went home last October.

My hometown is Remsen, Iowa. A small town nestled in the rural midwest with a current population of 1,650. It had been years since I had been back. I was excited to make the trip for the town’s annual Oktoberfest, an event that draws thousands to the little Luxembourg of Iowa.

I was raised in Remsen and lived in the same house from birth through my high school graduation in 1985. My parents, newly empty-nesters, moved to Arizona in 1986. Through the 90s and into the 2000s, my grandparents passed away and many of my aunts and uncles moved to other states. Although I still have my Uncle Rich and Aunt Ann Pick living close to Remsen and family in Omaha, my ties to Remsen have dwindled over the years. Thus other than occasional weddings, funerals, and class reunions, I don’t have a lot of pull for trips back to Iowa.

Post-COVID and a newly minted fancy-free traveler, I was hell-bent this year to go back to Remsen. My niece, Ky, and her mom wanted to experience Oktoberfest and visit Rich and Ann so they joined me as eager travel companions. Our party of three packed up after my flight into Omaha and enjoyed a road trip north to Remsen, Iowa.

Needless to say, I was VERY excited about my trip home. With a travel year full of destinations like coastal Oregon, Lake Tahoe, Moab, Hawaii, and Vegas, you would think this was a blip on my radar, but in full disclosure, THIS was the trip I was most excited to take. Telling a friend of my upcoming Remsen trip and exuding an excitement that couldn’t be concealed, she shared some advice that brought me down a notch.

“You know, you really can never go home. It won’t be the same. Sorry.”

What?? Well, yes, we have all gotten older and yes, my childhood home is no longer (perished to a fire shortly after my parents move) and no, most of my family doesn’t live there anymore. BUT I had such a wonderful childhood so won’t going home be as wonderful as I envision? With a little doubt seeded in me, I kept my Pollyanna chin held high, hopped on my plane, and wished for the best.

The entire trip centered on the theme of home. With my oldest son living outside of Omaha, I spent a day with him before traveling to Remsen. Together we did our own Omaha drive-by road trip, checking out our favorite old haunts and the two houses where he and his brothers were raised. We also drove by schools, churches, playgrounds, and neighborhoods while laughing and sharing memories of his childhood. I was happy to hear the joyful remembrances he held that mirrored my own memories. A fun day of going back a bit in time, just for a day.

Next was my turn to go back to my childhood haunts in Remsen. I ran my old 2-mile running route. This was the same one I ran religiously from my back door for years as a teen. I walked Main Street, taking in the buildings that have changed hands and those that look the same as my 80s memories. I drove around town with my travel companions, pointing out houses and places of interest. We shopped at the Oktoberfest craft show and grabbed a deep-fried lunch treat at the walk-up drive-in (my first job after babysitting). Running into my classmate, Cheri, at the drive-in and catching up on life was the beginning of what turned out to be a great trip home.

From there it is a dazed frenzy of running into old friends, old neighbors, and friends of my family. From my recognizing the tall man in traditional Luxembourg suspenders tapping the inaugural keg (“Hey! I used to babysit you!”) to classmates’ parents working the event recognizing me, I found myself immersed in meaningful conversations. It was constant interactions on shared memories from the past while catching up on our present lives.

There is something to be said about being in our 50s and at a point in life where it truly is about enjoying the moments and not caring about judgment. I believe this golden time happens when our own kids have begun their own adulting. There is this beautiful life pivot that happens where we start enjoying our past stories with a smile rather than conversations centered on racing to the future. Perhaps we are now smart enough to know that slowing down and taking it all in is a good thing. And no doubt that the reality in the deaths of parents and classmates, the reality of the fragility of life is now front and center.

I relished great conversations with classmates including with their grown children. I loved running into my parents’ friends from their 1980s card club and sharing recent pictures. My golden years of childhood with the people that filled them were all around me. Damn, my friend was so wrong, I thought. Yes, I can go home again!

In the middle of my socializing frenzy, I remembered my promise to my mom. She had requested a photo of her childhood home. Spending the last few years helping Mom write her family history and compile the family photos, I knew how much she loved her childhood home. She and her eight siblings cherished their years in this home from 1946 to 1960. The photo I promised meant a lot to her and I needed to deliver.

With my mom’s brother, Rich (the golden middle), in tow along with her granddaughter, Ky, I knew I had the perfect photo moment; one Mom would love. We would snap a quick pic of Rich and Ky in front of the house before going to the evening Oktoberfest festivities. Easy Peasy. So we did exactly that.

A quick pull into the driveway and I noticed a small sign with the name ‘Ruden’.

Hmmmmm….I thought Ahmanns lived here.

A double check of the address and yes, 407 E 5th St, that is the house. Ok, so we pushed Rich and Ky out of the car for the photo op. In my defense <cough> I did ask whether we should knock on the door. Ky reassured me <cough, cough> that the photo-taking would be so quick that no one would notice. Minutes later we successfully captured pictures that were promptly texted to my mom. A quick reply of an emoji heart and smiley face followed. Success!

The night continued into a hometown social level of frenzy. Classmates and the town gathered at the Avalon Ballroom to enjoy an 80s tribute band. I ran into so many people who were a part of my many wonderful childhood memories. From neighbors (Brenda, I am so sorry I cut your pigtail off when you were 5) to co-workers and friends (Krissy, we can still dance to Def Lepard!), I couldn’t walk a foot without finding an old friend. As the evening progressed, I ran into a high school friend, Caryn Ruden. Remembering the ‘Ruden’ sign outside my mom’s childhood home, I had to ask about the current homeowners.

“Yes, that’s my son’s house! Let me introduce you to his wife.”

Caryn and I weaved through the hoards of 80s music fans to find Gail, the current owner of my mom’s former house. After Caryn explained to Gail that my family has moved away but my mom and her siblings were raised in her house, Gail looked at me quizically making the connection.

“Wait, did you pull into my driveway and take a bunch of pictures today?? OMG, I was hiding behind the curtain. I had no idea what was going on.”

Umm… yea, that was us.

I’m not sure what I blubbered out but Gail was gracious to save me.

“You know you could have knocked on the door and I would have been happy to show you around and let you take pictures inside for your mom.”

That definitely sounded very logical, after the fact. I apologized and we laughed. We laughed a lot. And then we swapped house stories. As the new owner of my mom’s previous house, Gail told me of all of the updates and was very curious about the house's history. She had heard the house had been moved to the current location. I remembered seeing pictures of the house on wood blocks in the family history archives. I promised to get details and report back. I also promised to knock next time.

Since my quick trip back to Remsen, I have had time to process my time back home, and my mom has had time to pull together the history of her childhood home. Both of which we were each happy to do. For me, I do believe there is some truth to the concept that you can never go home. Home is in my past. It is the stagnant memories of a life well spent in a house. The home is about the family and the extended family and friends that shared in the memories during that place in time. The house is merely the structure that serves as a home to many different families, past and present.

Just like my Omaha home where I raised my boys (and I had a hard time leaving), that time has passed and the house is now longer our home. But just like my mom and my boys, our memories remain. Celebrating the people who shared these memories is what makes going home a wonderful thing.

(Please enjoy my mom’s stories below on her childhood home in Remsen. Gail, you have some great karma in that house!)

Mary Wagner - 2004 - 407 E 5th St, Remsen, IA — 2004 - Mary at 407 E 5th St, Remsen, IA

This photo is of my mom, Mary Wagner, sitting on the steps of her childhood home, 407 E 5th St in Remsen, Iowa. The picture was taken in 2004 when Mom was visiting Northwest Iowa for her bi-annual family reunion.
Mom loves this house. It is full of memories of where she grew up with her eight siblings in an idyllic 1950s small-town setting. She often refers to it as her beloved childhood home.
In 1960 her parents bought a farm and moved with their nine children outside of town. Since their move, this house has belonged to several other families from 1960 to 2004 when this photo was taken.
When I asked Mom about the current owners of the house (in 2004) and her conversation with them when this photo was taken, her answer:
**“Oh, I didn’t knock on the door. I just jumped out of the car as we were parked and taking pictures. One of my sisters was with me and took this picture.”**
(Like mother, like daughter??)

My mom, Mary (Pick) Wagner, wrote this story for our family history book on her beloved childhood home: 407 E 5th St, Remsen, IA.

(The story behind the house)

In November of 1946 Dad (Dr. Elmer Pick) bought the land from Roman Bunkers, a barber and Remsen native. This acreage was located in the Homan Addition No 2 that served as the Bunkers’ family residence. Dad's property started on the east side of the alley and went 2 lots beyond where our house was moved. The area encompassed 2 acres beginning east of the alley and ending west where the property butted against Johnny Schneiders’ sheep pasture.

The property was gradually divided into 7 lots. Dad donated a strip of land on the south side for a city street extension. Lot No. 1 (east of the alley) is now 315 E 5th St. The last lot, No. 7 at 415 E 5th St. was next to the pasture. The Pick’s lot was No. 5, 407 E 5th St. The street was a dead end for many years.

The first lot, No 1, sold to R O Crawford. Digging the basement commenced as soon as the ground thawed (Spring ’47). But not before the old house, partially situated on lots 1 & 2, had to be moved eastward to get it out of the way. There it sat on blocks, temporarily, while a basement was dug for the Pick home on Lot No 5. By July, according to Remsen Bell-Enterprise publications, the Crawford home was ready for occupancy and the Pick basement, ready for the old house. The Pick family lived in the basement while major remodeling took place on 1st & 2nd floors.

Anton Duster purchased Lot No 3 (323 E 5th St) with his home finished in 1951. As was also the case with Nick Weiler in 1951 – Lot No 4 (403 E 5th St). Lot No 6, (411 E 5th St) sold to Orville Hames – late 1950’s where he built. Other than the knowledge that Lots 2 & 7 were the last to be sold, I have no particulars.

(The story behind the home)

In the winter our street was busy with sledders...not many "hills" in Remsen and was a safe place for kids because the street ended after the 2 lots. It was all fenced in sheep pasture beyond that. All the way to the highway. The pool didn't come until July 1956. What a day that was!!!! We had a shortcut -alongside our driveway and Johnny Schneiders' pasture.

Our house had a heated basement where we (& neighbor kids) spent hours in the winter. In the summer it was cool as a cucumber!

As a matter of interest...The house, moved onto a nice new basement, wasn't inhabitable. But the basement was...we lived in it while the upper floors were remodeled. Stove, refrigerator, washing machine, table, beds, you name it...all down there...heated...nice & cozy as I remember. And were still there when Barbara was born Nov. 12, 1947. One of Dad's nieces from Alton, Florence Pottebaum, stayed with us to help Mom after Barbara was born. She remembers 2x6s that substituted for sidewalks around the front of the house and the side door on the east...had to wait until Spring for concrete pouring weather. Dad worked hellish hours and in spite of being dead tired at the end of the day, he meticulously filled in areas that he felt weren't insulated enough...walls, around window frames. And he wore a mask! Back in the day, it was unheard of to insulate! People thought Dad was NUTS!

We had many very happy years in our beloved "house in town." My brother, David, calls it a Norman Rockwell childhood. I like to call it "Dick & Jane."

Old Photos - 407 E 5th St