Venlo Trip Concludes

 A nice sized group gathered today, Saturday, Oct 29 at Sheldon to share stories about our once-neighboring town of Venlo. The visitors from Venlo, Netherlands have been here collecting stories and remembrances of the place which is now only a memory. Their serious research at first led them to the Soo Line museum in Wisconsin and now here to Bismarck, Sheldon, Lisbon, Enderlin, and McLeod to view any archives and talk to individuals with memories of the town. Visits like this enrich everyone who they come in contact with. Personally, I’m always impressed with visitors from foreign countries who speak and write our English so fluently. Teaching languages is something missing from our school curriculum.

Visitors from Venlo

 I met the visitors from Venlo, the Netherlands today at the NDSU archive building and found them very friendly and easy to talk to. Toine (pronounced Twan) and his tv cameraman are making a swing through the area and gathering information about Venlo, ND. 

     Tomorrow, Oct. 28, their schedule shows them in Lisbon at the Gazette office from 10:00 a.m. to ? and Saturday, Oct. 29 in Sheldon about 11:00 a.m. until ?

As I said they are easy to visit with, so if you have any knowledge of Venlo, bring it around: pictures, clippings, stories told by parents or grandparents, etc. He will use it all to compile a town history that has never existed before. I only wish I had more information to share with him.

Mary asked from where did the name of Venlo come. The booklet that we happen to have “Origins of North Dakota Place Names” tells us this: “Venlo - A grain elevator built in 1890 was the beginning of this village on Sec. 23, Shenford Twp. supposedly named by a Soo Line Ry. official for Venlo in the Netherlands. In 1914 A. Wisner erected and operated the first store. The post office was established Jan. 18, 1922 with Albert E. Carter, postmaster.”

Duke's Mixture

 BLY, MCGRATH, WRIGHT, and MANFRED

Some years ago I ran onto a book by Frederick Manfred called DUKE’S MIXTURE. It contains a couple passages I’ve gone back to a few times because they depicted rare humorous occasions that could have happened only once. The people involved were Robert Bly, Tom McGrath, James Wright, and Frederick Manfred. When the book came up again, I did a quick internet search to get reacquainted.

Here’s the scene, they’d all gathered at Robert Bly’s farm in Minnesota for some discussion and fun . One place has the four together swimming in the nude at Lac Qui Parle Lake. Three of the men were of average height and found the water deep enough to hide their privates, but Frederick Manfred at 6’9” splashed around with genitals exposed.

A surprise at the mostly deserted lake materialized when a man and woman in a trolling fishing boat appeared around the edge of an island. Three did not need to experience embarrassment, but Manfred had to sink to his knees to wade around until the boat left the scene. Bly’s wife brought lunch to the foursome and averting her eyes discreetly left it on a big boulder, then rowed herself out of there.

Still in DUKE’S MIXTURE, a gathering of writers in panels discussed their work on another occasion. I quote Manfred, “One day Robert Bly was holding forth, and after a half hour got aboard a wild horse and began riding roughshod over us all with his provocative theories and strong opinions. Great stuff, though some of it got a bit thick. Tom (McGrath) and I were sitting together, wondering where Robert would fly next and where he would finally land.

Finally, Tom had enough. Robert happened to touch on one of Tom’s territories with his sharp hooves and Tom stood up , and said in his quiet voice, ‘Oh, come on now, Robert, that’s not true. And you know it.’ Robert hesitated; smiled; and said, ‘Well, maybe I’m wrong. But how would you put it.’ Tom waved a hand at Robert, smiled, sat down, as if to say, ‘It’s your show. But be careful what you say around me.’ Everyone in the audience laughed. They liked Robert’s fire, and they liked the way Tom tried to cool him down. Both were loved for what they were.”

Tom McGrath

 A few lines from a Tom McGrath poem fit the picture very well. He is writing about the Maple River, I’ll guess about 1925 to 1930, northwest of Sheldon; the threshing outfit is crossing the Sheyenne River in 1902, not far south of Sheldon. As our proverbial crow flies, there are not many miles or years between.

“Sometimes, at night, after a long move to another farm,

Hours after the bundle teams were gone and sleeping,

After we’d set the rig for the next day,

I rode the off-horse home.

Midnight, maybe, the dogs of the strange farms

Barking behind me, the river short-cut rustling

With its dark and secret life and the deep pools warm.

(I swam there once in the dead of night while the team

Nuzzled the black water.)

Home then. Dead beat.”

Talking about Lefse

 There is nothing profound here…

Fresh lefse brings me on the run

Some like it with sugar and cinnamon

I like thick butter smear

Just watch it disappear

Then I’m ready to grab another one.

…

At first you roll out the dough

At least that’s what I’ve been told

Make it thin

with a rolling pin

Fry it on the stove and... magnifico!

…

Lutefisk and lefse - ya, ya, ya

It all follows an ancient formula

Find a church supper

Find words to utter

This is good - ooh, la, la.

Before the Winter

    A couple errands needed to be taken care of before winter sets in. The cold wind only serves to make me feel alive and I enjoyed being out in it. On a recent visit to see Norm Vangsness I had forgotten a jacket in his pickup and while there Mary wanted a head shot of him for the family history book she is completing. We next drove to the Pioneer Cemetery in the hills to check on a name inscribed there. It’s still a lonely place, but very peaceful there. 

Dinner time approached and Sheldon was only 10 miles or so away so we headed that way to grab a bite at Norm’s Bar and Grill and ended up visiting with a lot of people. Marilyn Froemke walked in with us; she was meeting others for a little birthday party. Dan Spiekermeier sat with his son and son’s girlfriend and I had been wanting to visit with Dan about a picture.

Mary and I each ordered up a hamburger, fries, and coke and while we waited in walked a three generation trio of my cousins - Lance, Kirk, and Jared - who’d been working cattle that morning. Lots of visiting took place then.

On the way out of town I wanted to check on the new fire hall and community center that is now fully enclosed and insulated. Both units are very spacious. I stood in the southwest corner of the community center for the picture where the kitchen space and rest room doors show up. A stairway leads to a nice storeroom at the top level. 

Oh, by the way, on the way out of the bar Norma Anderson had uncovered a nice looking chocolate cake and I must have made big eyes because she offered us each a piece. It was tasty!

Regarding the Venlo visit, Marilyn said the gentleman from the Netherlands has posted his schedule in the Ransom County Gazette which unfortunately I don’t subscribe to. That is going to change. I did get an email today from the gentleman who didn’t say anything in it about Ransom County, but did say he’d be at NDSU on Oct. 27. As more information develops I’ll post it. We know there is lots of Venlo history out there.

To Chase the Chill

It happens every fall when it turns chilly -

On goes that furnace

My wife said in earnest

You drag your feet

I need some heat

Enough of this austereness

Wild Mustangs

 An article in today’s (10-10-22) Washington Post caught my eye: “A Horse Ran Away with Wild Mustangs.”

While on a camping trip 8 years previously, the horse’s owner awoke to a horse herd galloping by and when he looked out the tent flap, he saw his horse running along with them. He searched many times through the years in his efforts to reclaim him, but it was to no avail. Eight years later a Bureau of Land Management officer returned him.

This story was of interest to me because I can still add some facts of it into a story I’m finishing for the Western Writers “Roundup” magazine. It stated 71,000 wild mustangs roam the West, but with drought conditions, they are surviving in poor condition. The BLM culled large numbers from the one herd the run-away horse ran with and resulted in this particular horse being returned.

When World War One ended the demand for horses ended. Ranchers who’d rounded up herds for sale to European buyers suddenly found they were worth nothing and released them to fend for themselves on the vast grasslands of the West. Farmers wanted heavier draft type and didn’t want them. My Grandpa Bueling referred to them as “bronchos” and was known to have tamed and trained some. My dad enjoyed the history, and I remember his going to Fargo to look at some that arrived in cattle cars.

A horse sale a few years back took place at the Wishek sale barn where National Park athorities sold culled horses from the ND Badlands. They were wild; the only way they could run them in the sales ring was to have them led slowly by a saddled horse and rider. That kept them settled. By the way, the attendance of interested onlookers like myself filled the seats at the sales ring necessitating a closed circuit TV being set up in the nearby community center. 

Cemetery Searching

 The things we do and the places we go. To fill in blanks on Mary’s latest genealogy project we went to a little cemetery with just four headstones that mark six burials of my relatives. The guide is Norm Vangsness with whom I share some common ancestors. He knew the location of this cemetery as he had found it a year ago and took us to it this day. Obviously, it is unkempt and neglected but satisfying to visit and commune with those laid to rest.

Wm Wade Book

 It’s hard to believe ten years have passed since I found a neglected, uncirculated booklet titled Paha Sapa Tawoyake: Wades’s Stories and brought it back to life by re-publishing it. It met with good sales and popularity on both the east and west sides of the Missouri River since William Wade had made his mark on both sides. Each printing would sell out and I’d re-order more. He’d led quite an adventurous life until settling down on his Anchor Ranch near Raleigh, ND. His early life stint on seagoing vessels prompted the “Anchor” handle, since it is where he moored for the remainder of his life. The picture looks over part of the ranch.

He encountered many experiences on and near the Missouri River and set them down in an episodic fashion for us to enjoy today. Here is an interesting one:

Shoot the Hat - At Bismarck, Dakota Territory

    If my memory still serves me well, it was in 1876 that I witnessed the following episode. This man from New York City was a very good looking fellow about 30 years old, six feet tall and broad shouldered. Very classily dressed in the height of male fashions which was seldom seen here in those days; very expensive looking suit of clothing, black shiny shoes and a stove-pipe hat made of silk that shone in the sun. His chin sported a very fine Vandyke beard with a well trimmed mustache to match. All this made for a very outstanding figure among the average run of board walk occupants.

    There were many men on the main street as the stranger came walking by and nearly every one had one revolver or two hanging from their gun-belt. They were mostly fresh out of the saloons or the Merchants Hotel to witness a dog fight which had just ended when the stranger passed and said, “Good morning, boys.”

One of the group of by-standers, Shang, who had shot and killed a man in Moorhead about two years before, spied the glossy black hat and hollered, “Shoot the hat, boys.” The stranger turned around, took off the hat and set it down in the middle of the street. He stepped a few feet away and with a smile said, “Try your luck, my friends.”

Gleefully the boys opened up on the hat; some of the shots missed but they kicked up plenty of dust in the immediate vicinity of the shiny object. When the stranger retrieved his hat there were seven hits through it. He walked over to the boys who had done the shooting, “Now boys,” he said, “I came out here to look the country over and to indulge in a little safe excitement. I had about come to the conclusion that I would have to go back without proof of something different but you fellows have donated greatly to my trip. Come, boys, I want to treat you all. Where is the best place to go?”

    They were soon lined up in a saloon on the west side of 4th Street. Said the tall New Yorker to the barkeep, “These men are all my friends, give them whatever they desire.” When each had been served and the bill paid the stranger removed his plugged hat and said, “Boys, I want to shake hands with you all and thank you. I will wear my hat back to my home on West 14th Street in New York City. I will hang it on our hat rack in the front hall where every one who visits can see it. When I get old and my grandchildren come to see their old grandpa, I can show them the hat and tell them of the good time I had in Bismarck, Dakota Territory. I must say Good-bye now. Our special car will soon be on its way east.”

    He never told us his name or did I ever hear who he was, but a large number of those men that “shot the hat that day” could have directed him out of town to lots more excitement than just shooting a hat.