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.