Nelson's General Store

Nelson’s General Store

            The brass cowbell tinkled softly announcing our entrance into the dimly lit general store. The well-worn hardwood floors creaked as we searched the shelves for our few purchases. Such a contrast from the supermarkets in my hometown. No florescent lights, no hustle and bustle of customers late getting supper on the stove, no rows of checkout lanes. No, Nelson’s General Store in Ogema, WI seemed from another era. The store had plenty of groceries, though not the variety I was used to. Being only 5, I judged a store’s quality by the size of its candy counter. My favorites were within reach but I knew better than to ask. I wasn’t with my mother but with my aunt Pearl and wanted to be on my best behavior. I contented myself with looking around. We were the only customers in the small store and my aunt gave me the freedom to browse. This was a privilege I didn’t get at home, where I was always under the watchful eye of my mother.          

            Mr. Nelson came from the back room and greeted my aunt. He was a balding gentleman with wisps of graying hair peeking from around his ears. The heavy black rimmed glasses seemed to define his face. He had a bloodstained long white apron covering his clothing. As my aunt placed her order for the week’s meat purchases, Mr. Nelson disappeared into the back room. He soon returned from the cooler pulling a large beef carcass on an overhead hook. As it hovered over the solid butcher-block table, Mr. Nelson lowered the carcass to prepare cutting. Deftly he wielded the cleaver and parts of the carcass became steaks. At the end of the table was a huge roll of paper hanging on a wrought iron roller. Mr. Nelson quickly wrapped our purchases with this paper and tied the package neatly with white string. He carried our purchase over to the counter with the rest of my aunt’s selections and proceeded to ring up our purchase on the ornate silver cash register. CaChing! The final total appeared. My aunt paid, said our good-byes and we turned to leave. The brass cowbell tinkled softly as we left the store.