A recent article in the newspaper caught my eye, an article that probably raised the eyebrows of anyone who read it. A private residence is under construction in West Fargo that carries a price tag in excess of four million dollars. That is the amount listed on the building permit needed to build the structure which will encompass 14,368 square feet of living space. It will be about ten times bigger than the 1500 square foot condo I presently live in, a place where we feel very comfortable. With its double attached garage and not a stair in the place, we intend to live here in comfort for the rest of our golden years.
A 14,000 square feet home needs furnishings, lots of it, plus draperies, carpets, wall hangings, light fixtures, and more to complete the package. More power to whomever has the finances to build it. I suppose some people need pretentious gilded towers to proclaim their success. Having been raised in a modest setting, I’ve continued to maintain a similar lifestyle for reasons of being satisfied with my lot in life as well as the fact I don’t have multi-millions of dollars.
Since I’m interested in the pioneer/frontier period of history, I let my thoughts go back to the structures those people lived in. This past summer we accompanied a small family group to a spot in the sandhills where they placed a marker commemorating the first home of an ancestor who settled there. Four walls, pitched roof, lots of windows? Nope, his residence consisted of a dugout shoveled from a dirt bank on the Sheyenne River over which he laid poles cut with his axe. To overlay the poles he used brush, long grass, and dirt to seal it up. His only window was probably a small one set beside a doorway in the crude front wall. His simple tools consisted of a shovel, an axe, and a saw, all that he needed.
We can even find reference to a simpler shelter than that, even though it was very temporary. When a large influx of German-Russian immigrants traveled to the west to establish new homes, hardship came with them. Immigrants could have ridden on trains as far as Aberdeen, but for many their journey hadn’t ended. They needed to continue beyond the reach of the railroad.
One family’s story took place in the wintertime where the man of the family purchased a team of horses and a wagon in Aberdeen. A young lady hitched a ride with them, a lady whose husband had died aboard ship. She intended to keep going to the promised land. They all wore heavy clothing to ward off the cold winter weather, something which hid her pregnancy. She kept it a secret, even as they started making their way. She found herself ready to give birth after a time on the trail and her secret became known.
She needed help in open country, miles away from a doctor and warm buildings. An emergency shelter needed to be found so the man made use of the only thing available. He turned the wagon box over and spread their straw and blankets underneath. The horses were kept nearby where they welcomed their body heat throughout the night. There in its shelter she gave birth and the family including the new mother and her baby started traveling again the next day.
There is one step below the overturned wagon shelter. That would be the homeless people with no roof at all who seem to multiply each year and populate the streets and intersections, often holding a crudely lettered sign asking for help. Often we hear them being admonished with statements like, “I don’t feel sorry for them. They can go find a job like I did.” Then there are those who flee for their lives in waves across deserts from dictators. I don’t forget all the Hispanics who travel northward to our southern border. Here is where I stop and count my blessings and appreciate even more the nice accommodations I live in.
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A note in passing: I’ve been asked how I can be contacted. Simply email me — lynn.bueling@gmail.com. I look forward to hearing from you.
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