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.”