Puzzling

 Mary was the recipient of a couple bags full of puzzles that her sister brought back from Seattle. She picked this one to do first, the one that was my favorite. Those new puzzles should take her into the winter months.

Heat and Drought Upon Us

 As I write this a light rain is falling. Even if a couple of inches were to fall, it is too late for this year’s crop. Pastures will benefit, but it’s too late for cattlemen who have already sold part of their herds. One man was heard to say that he used to get four bales per acre, but now it takes four acres to make one bale. Someone even reported the hay he’d cut and baled in a ditch had been stolen.

     We wanted to take a weekend trip and drive to Minnesota’s Gooseberry Falls but a news report told us water wasn’t flowing this summer. A recent newsreel exposed the Ottertail River’s muddy bottom and a man who runs a concession renting float tubes had to take a carpentry job.

     An excellent book came to mind in the midst of the present conditions. Elmer Kelton’s award winning ‘The Time It Never Rained’ told of the tensions that grew in a ranch family who were in the midst of a severe drought. I never met Kelton even though we both belonged to the same Western Writers of America organization. He passed away a couple years before I joined, but he is held in high esteem by members who did know him. In the book, the central character met a foe that opposed him in forms of the drought and the “help” of federal aid programs.

     It is a time of stress for people in agriculture whose income will suffer. There were a couple days last spring where dry dirt took to the air in high winds. Dry conditions translated to the forests, too, and heavy smoke replaced the blowing dirt. As a farm boy, I remember times when the hot winds blew and started to tear at the soil, Dad became stressed, too. Wanting to do something to quell those clouds of dust we would start forking barnyard manure into the spreader to scatter across blowing spots. It helped only a bit but did give a feeling of putting up a fight.

     When this country was first settled, real estate promoters raised a hare-brained theory about potential rainfall. “Rain follows the plow” they said and who knew to argue. It didn’t take long though for the bubble of that delusion to pop. One is left to wonder if those who preached such a thing believed it themselves or was it a scam all along.

     The matter of water looms over everything. Even city-dwellers who don’t give a thought to agricultural matters will see grocery prices climb, business growth slowed, and complain they can’t float down the Ottertail River. Whenever we head south past Horace we pass a large construction project of a dam or gate for flood diversion. It appears a bit ironic now in the absence of any water to flood, but maybe someday…

     The Garrison Dam reminds us about water matters. The Missouri River needed to be tamed, they said. It will be used for irrigation, they said. It will stop floods, they said. It never stopped the flood in Bismarck-Mandan in 2011. The people who flip the switches opened the gates and let her run because of the huge pressure building up behind it. We lived in Mandan at the time and marveled at the deluge of water and its destruction of property. Remember the McClusky Canal where that huge ditch was dug. The only water it has ever held was run-off from snow melt. When first viewed, the size of the hole will amaze the unsuspecting.

     The dam does generate electricity to benefit thousands of people, and it does provide a nice recreational area, especially for fishing. A huge cost to society was made in building the dam. Its presence is taken for granted now, but the Three Affiliated Tribes lost 94% of their rich agricultural land and forced 1,700 residents to relocate and accept a modest payout for compensation.

      A friend of the family attested to the efforts they made to relocate. They were white ranchers who resided in harmony with the Indians and found themselves displaced by the rising waters, too. When they found and purchased a new ranch some distance away, they took ten days to drive their cattle herd overland.

     The reservoir backed up by the Glen Canyon Dam made recent news. Pictures showed a tall “bathtub ring” on the cliff sides indicating how low the water level has dropped leaving mineral deposits behind. But that’s not the only problem. About 100 million US tons of sediment are trapped behind the dam annually, equal to about 30,000 dump truck loads per day. Because of the dam, sediment deposited by the Colorado and its tributaries is slowly filling up the canyon.  

     Demands for water keep growing. I’ve read that in 1922, six U.S. states signed the Colorado River Compact to officially regulate the flow and allocate the water rights of the Colorado River and its tributaries. One small matter came up, when all the allocations were added up more than 100% of the water was promised.

     Water, too much, too little, is a quandary we are forced to live with.

What I Think

 

A prominent writer named Joan Didion has said, “I don’t know what I think until I write it down.” Another writer, Flannery O’Connor, stated something akin, “I write because I don’t know what I think until I read what I say.”  Historian David McCullough believes it’s good for the birth of ideas to write out your thoughts on paper, an activity which forces you to think. My own brand of writing lies mixed amongst the words of these folks.

     People who regularly visit Facebook generally find a profusion of snide and snarky cartoons and pictures bearing captions written by someone other than the person posting them. They’ve been copied and pasted there by people who think it’s a good “take that” response to the people who support the wrong politics, Covid vaccinations, or any issue where there are two sides. Now I’m the first to profess freedom of speech, but copying and pasting the quotes of others doesn’t indicate if they have any ability to write thoughtful comments. It would be refreshing to read original written thoughts that copycats could manage to write. I doubt Didion, O’Connor, and McCullough do any copying and pasting.

     After writing a few hundred stories plus a handful of books, I admit that before I start to put my thoughts on paper none of that writing could be done without some research. So much knowledge lies beyond anyone’s learning, but much of it is in reach. The three authors mentioned plus one wife often sit on my shoulder telling me such things like “Boy, that’s mighty sketchy,”  and “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” “Better dig up some facts to support it,” and “Too many I’s and me’s.”

     I rummaged through the my pile of stories to list a few favorites where I didn’t know what to think until research uncovered facts of the story. My all time favorite “He Paid for Reneging” was set in the new but temporary capital city of Yankton, Dakota Territory, a story we never learned in school. The legislators had gathered for their first session of the territorial government where a major decision was to select the permanent site.  Promises and deals were made, and just when everyone thought the end was in sight, one of the representatives went back on his promise, ultimately causing Yankton to remain capital. Tempers raged over this and when two opponents met in the saloon, one man heaved the reneging man through the window.

     Another favorite was “Rattlesnake Dan.” My wife knew him because Dan sometimes drove into her parents’ yard to visit. Dan was a strong, opinionated man who wanted to thin out some of the critters and pests, namely prairie dogs, magpies, and rattlesnakes, that burrowed or flew around his neighborhood. He ran and was elected to the state legislature where he introduced legislation for the state to pay bounties. He didn’t find much sympathy in Bismarck for such a thing. Not one to give up, he devised a slightly devious plan to visit dens of rattlesnakes to gather a few dozen in a gunnysack. It was cold, and the snakes slept on in their winter lethargy. He carried them to the floor of the legislature in Bismarck and dumped them on the floor while it was in session. The heat in the room began to stir the reptiles and when they started crawling around, it caused quite a commotion. Dan’s bounty proposal passed.

     Born and raised in Ransom County, I knew little of its early history, but when I began blowing dust from dark shelves, a wealth of stories appeared. The fire at Fort Ransom killed twenty Metis, forty wagons and oxen stalled for three days near Lisbon, the county’s namesake performed admirably during the Civil War, gold seekers swarmed the Sheyenne Valley near Lisbon for a short time, General Sibley’s large expedition passed through the county, Nancy McClure’s love triangle, and so much more. 

      Many other stories from elsewhere in the state brought study and interest. The construction of Garrison  Dam and its displacement of Indians and white ranchers; A displaced ranch family driving their herd of cattle for ten days to their new ground; portable Washington hand presses shipped in for publishers to bring news to the public; Alexander McKenzie and his iron grip of North Dakota politics; the wild horse sale in Wishek; horses in World War I; prohibition; Rex the Red.

     Recently an article appeared on Lit Hub, one of my favorite websites, that featured a Donald Hall essay called “A Hundred Thousand Straightened Nails.” It dealt with a miserly old man who lived a frugal existence and never let a bent nail go without straightening it. I’ve known people like that who would not throw a bent nail away but would toss it into a coffee can containing similar kindred. If the can were left outside rain water filled it and rust to turn them into rust but no less usable when straightened. 

     That essay appeared in Hall’s book “String too Short to be Saved.” A mild panic in our household occurred when I could not locate my copy of the book. The wife never gave up looking and found it hiding someplace in the garage. An essay in the book by the same name talked about how Hall and the family came into the recently deceased relative’s house and found in a closet a box marked “String too Short to be Saved.” Upon opening the cover that is what they found. The old folks could not bear to throw anything away.

     You may ask, why talk about Donald Hall now. It’s because people like him notice the simple things in life and cause me to think that’s what brought me here to start writing about them.

We've Got It Good

 

David McCullough is a historian of stature whose research and writing  will be read long after he is gone. I came across a talk recorded on Youtube that he gave a couple years ago to a university group. He called it “The Genius of the Founders,” and it scored points with me. In a couple spots I had to stop to rewind it to accurately copy something he said.

     His main point: “How anyone can profess to love their country and yet take no interest in the history of our country is almost, for me, beyond imagining.”  Of course the historian he is could be expected to say that, but I certainly cannot argue against it. 

     One other point punched me in the eye when he talked about how good it is for the birth of ideas to write your thoughts out on paper, an activity which forces you to think. Just what do you believe? Try to formulate your ideas into something of substance that someone else can read and understand. 

     McCullough has written widely of the founding fathers and how they fought, agonized, and formulated their ideas in longhand on pages where we can turn today. Remember, “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal…” or “We the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union…” 

     We recently drove to Wishek and attended an auction sale held by Mary’s cousin. I landed a prize with my bid for the community history book, “Eureka 1887 - 1937.” I’ve seen a wide variety of community books and recognized that this one would contain good narrative history. The ending date of 1937 meant it would contain history experienced and written by the immigrants themselves. Given the uniformity of the writing, it was obvious all of it passed through an editor who transcribed each entry into perfect English. Still, it does not detract from its value as history. But first, what about Eureka?

     At one time it was known as the “wheat capital of the world.” In 1892, it was the largest primary wheat-shipping point in the world. In 1897 alone, two thirds of the world’s wheat crop entering the commercial market was shipped from Eureka. Eureka and surrounding towns were crowded day and night with horses and wagons loaded with sacks of grain. Farmers hauled their wheat, often by ox team, from 75 miles around.  Eureka boasted 42 grain elevators handling 4,000,000 bushels a year. 

     This happened over a short fifteen to twenty year period and coincides with the large numbers of Germans from Russia who came escaping intolerable conditions in Russia. Their resourcefulness and willingness to work hard is what prompted Catherine the Great of Russia to    invite them to establish farms on Russian land with attractive promises. Years later the Russian Revolution reneged and life for the Germans became intolerable. To the United States they came, although settlements in South America developed, too.

     My newly acquired “Eureka 1887-1937” book tells us what kind of people these were. After acquiring homestead land, they often made the purchase of a team of oxen and a breaking plow their priority. More than once the man of the family walked to town to seek employment to earn a few dollars. Like my German from Russia mother-in-law used to say, “There was no money.”

      Here is a story in the almost super-human category. “After the house was partially built he departed for Frederick to seek employment. The responsibility of completing the house was thrown on the courageous wife’s shoulders. She walked two miles to get water to mix the clay used for building the house, which she completed entirely by herself. Next she built a stove which was used for cooking and baking. She also planted the crop that was to be the sole means of support for the coming winer. Having no one to tend to her little ones, she took them along to the field where she worked.”

     Here is the experience of another young immigrant couple. The day after they arrived on the claim they were out of bread and their water jug was empty. With no oven, the young man scooped a hollow in a nearby bank and drove a pole from the top which when pulled back provided a chimney hole. For fuel, they hitched up their oxen and drove to a meadow to cut grass with a bread knife. After baking bread, they used the leftover grass for their bed. With poor drinking water, they would fill a cup with milk from their cow.

     Another example shows the determination in some of them. The winter of 1887 brought furious blizzards. One day when the wind died a man decided to walk to his neighbor’s to borrow some tobacco. He said, “As I neared his farm I saw a black object rising up against the white background of the snow. I quickened my pace, and upon coming up to the house saw it was his wife climbing up out of the chimney. She explained that the snowdrifts had hopelessly blocked the door, and since her husband was not there to shovel a path, that was the only way out of the house. She placed two chairs on top of each other in the fireplace, and by that means climbed out. After clearing a path to the door for her, I got my tobacco and returned home.”

     This book has already provided lots of interesting reading and will remain in my library for awhile. It’s valuable for me because it reminds me how lucky I am. I think I know of one library collection that will gladly accept it when I’m ready to pass it on. It is the kind of history  that David McCullough would read with pleasure.

Sheldon's Siren

 Sheldon’s Siren

Those evenings when the wind was still I could hear the shrill sound of the siren in Sheldon at 6:00 coming from over two miles distance to our farm. As I remember it, before the bar could sell on and off sale liquor, the city operated a little liquor store. Augie Litzau ran it and also was entrusted with the job of ringing the siren. I can still see him pulling a pocket watch from his bib overalls and waiting for the hands to tell him it was time  to unlock the siren’s red control box and flip the switch. How important this was I’m not sure, but it set every dog in town to howling. Of course, the siren called the local volunteer firemen to action when they were needed. Will anyone remember this?

Mary's Birthday, 2021

 Mary keeps having birthdays, but she never seems to get older. Happy Birthday from your biggest admirer!!!

Chug-Chug-Go Devils

 Mishaps - like the following item - on main street in Sheldon were quite common. To think, as teenagers who cruised up and down it, we never had the slightest idea that this had been rather common 50 years before.

NEWS from the March 31, 1911 edition of the Sheldon Enterprise: Three or four teams hauling empty hay racks and one of these chug-chug-go devils, otherwise called motorcycles, made a combination that created a little excitement yesterday morning on main street. Some of the horses became frightened at the unearthly noise made by the motorcycle and the result was that one hay rack was overturned, one team ran away, and another gently meandered along the railroad track. The runaways rushed across the street into the yards occupied by A. S. Taylor and Son’s Farm Machinery and brought up against a manure spreader which effectually blocked their progress in that direction. They turned and had just obtained a good start in another direction when a telephone pole bobbed up in front of them and they came together. The pole withstood the shock nobly and before the horses could get another start E. F. Hull and Ed Fallon rushed up and each grabbing a fiery steed, held on until assistance arrived. The driver of the runaways, a mere boy, jumped as soon as he saw that the team was unmanageable and so escaped uninjured. No particular damage was done.

Wishek Auction Sale

 The weather was fair so why not drive to Wishek for an auction sale. Mary’s cousin Francis decided to sell much of what he and his wife had accumulated, house and all. Many of the pictures are of his close family members who came to assist.There was a lot to consider bidding on and we left a little money there for a few items. His wife loved jigsaw puzzles and put many together, then mounted them on boards for Francis to build frames for. Mary bought one nice farm scene. I bought a 50th anniversary community book from Eureka SD covering the years 1887-1937. The book - 84 years old - contains many pioneer stories written by people who lived the earliest days of German-Russian immigration in this part of the country.

Sandvig Picnic and Tour of Bohnsack Ranch

 Sunday, August 1, we drove to Leonard to attend the annual Sandvig Picnic. It was not a big crowd, but there was plenty of food and conversation to make the day worthwhile. When the day drew to a close, Bonita Bohnsack Laske invited anyone who might like to come to the ranch to look around, which several of us decided to do. It brought back memories of the times as a kid we'd go out there to rodeos, etc.

Lynn & Mary Bueling

Janice Ylvisaker Rustad

Bonita Bohnsack Laske

 

Freida Bohnsack with her fancy trappings.

Part of the crowd.

Bonita opens the gate.

An old advertising circular. How many years ago was this posted?