I had my first taste of Wagyu beef yesterday at the Luna Cafe. It was OK, but I didn’t do a double-back flip over it. We were invited there as a pre-gathering before going to a meeting of the Fine Arts Club. Their theme yesterday had to do with the 1920s, Charleston-dancing, The Great Gatsby, prohibition, and all that. The picture shows Mary, Michael Miller, Denice Wieser, and me after the program concluded. Fun time!
If money doesn’t grow on trees, why do banks have branches? … Nolan Ryan on this day in 1989 became the first pitcher in major league history to register 5,000 career strikeouts … One pro sport season ends while another begins … Mary started wrapping up another book project … Will Rogers: You can't say that civilization doesn't advance, for in every war they kill you a new way” … Darn, I missed the recent ukulele gathering in Minnesota … We drove to the cities this past weekend to watch the granddaughter skate on ice … This dog leapt and crawled his way to the top of my shoulder and perched.
I’m coming a bit late to this party, but I need to get educated. The term “Artificial Intelligence” that keeps being bandied about is real. Many of its implications are beyond me, and what I see is a bit scary. How do you access it? One way is simply go to your Google page and ask the question. It will light up with a blue color for a few seconds and then spew its answer. Teachers and professors need to be on the alert for such tactics exercised by lazy students. Maybe there are positives, but I’m not yet a believer. Below you see a few examples.
I asked AI to write an opening paragraph to a gunfight in a western story :
The dusty main street of Redemption Gulch lay sweltering under the midday sun, its usual cacophony of saloon piano and blacksmith's hammer silenced by an unspoken tension. A lone tumbleweed, brown and brittle, skittered across the packed earth, the only movement for a full minute, until the double doors of the Last Chance Saloon swung open with a slow, deliberate creak, revealing the lean figure of Silas "Snake-Eyes" Blackwood. He stood framed in the doorway, his silhouette a stark, unmoving presence against the blinding light, his hand hovering over the Colt .45 strapped to his hip.
***
…an opening paragraph to lovers on a sandy beach:
Here on this sun-kissed beach, where the rhythmic whisper of the ocean intertwined with the gentle caress of the breeze, their love story unfolded. The golden sand, warmed by the afternoon sun, shimmered under their bare feet as they walked hand-in-hand, leaving fleeting footprints that spoke of a love as vast and boundless as the horizon. Each crashing wave mirrored the beating of their hearts, a testament to the powerful, undeniable connection that drew them to each other, just as the tides are drawn to the shore. The salty air, carrying the faint scent of sunscreen and a hint of the unknown depths of the sea, enveloped them in an embrace as comforting and familiar as their intertwined fingers.
***
… an ending to a racing story:
The roar of the engines faded into a collective sigh as Liam, his face streaked with oil and sweat, crossed the finish line. He hadn't won. Not this time, anyway. The checkered flag waved, not for him, but for the blur of crimson and gold that had passed him on the final turn. A pang of disappointment hit him, sharp and swift, but it was quickly eclipsed by something else – a deep, resonant satisfaction.
He climbed out of the cockpit, the air hot against his skin, and watched as his rival, Marco, was mobbed by his crew. Liam had pushed harder than ever before, his old car screaming under the strain. He'd fixed every bug, tuned every component, and wrung every last ounce of speed from her. And though he hadn't claimed first place, he had pushed Marco, the reigning champion, to the very edge. He had earned respect, not just from the crowd, but from Marco himself, who now approached him, helmet in hand, a rare smile gracing his lips. "A hell of a drive, Liam," Marco said, extending a hand. "You'll get there."
Liam grasped his hand, a grin finally breaking through his fatigue. He knew it was true. He had learned from every twist and turn, every near collision, every perfect drift. The taste of victory might have eluded him today, but the lessons learned, the resilience gained, and the sheer joy of the race itself, were victories in their own right. He glanced back at his car, its metal still shimmering in the afternoon sun. It was battered, but still capable, just like him. And as he walked towards his own crew, who cheered for him as fiercely as if he had won, he knew the next race was already calling. This wasn't an ending; it was a new beginning.
The other day my wife sat reading a newspaper clipping that she’d cut out to save and read later. It was a letter to the editor that had appeared here in the Independent a few weeks ago. Written by two state senators in true bipartisan fashion, one a republican and one a democrat, it dealt with carbon capture and storage. It’s a topic which garners attention in North Dakota, and we have our feelings on the matter, however they won’t be stated here because they are immaterial to the point.
The point is that she’d clipped it, and now was holding it in her hand to reread three weeks later. It could have been three months later, or three years later, or three decades later. Yes, documents can be saved on a computer to reread later, too, but to the older, untrained computer user it seems daunting and doesn’t happen.
My parents were habitual column clippers of stories that caught their eye for one reason or another. Dad filled scrapbooks with articles printed in World War II. After he and Mom had passed we were too eager to clean up their affairs, and at an auction sale someone bought those particular albums. I wish I had them back to read the history they recount.
Last Saturday we drove to Enderlin to visit the museum and deliver some pictures to place in their collection. Myrene Peterson greeted us and graciously shared her time in discussion and showing various items. Yep, those items happened to have been history rendered in the printed word. It is only of late that such a heavy dependence on the digital word has entered our consciences.
It seems that favorite clippings from newspapers are obituaries. One thick scrapbook in the museum was made up entirely of obituaries collected and organized into family groups and indexed as well. The creator of this collection had been collecting them for a good long time and maybe had help gathering them. The volume represented somewhat of a 100 year family history.
And how about those Indies and other local baseball teams, has there ever been a locally written history of those teams? Some players rose to professional status, but many great players remained here to play as amateurs. I have been in the Independent office where I saw old copies of the paper stacked on shelves. Someone with the goal of collecting information about teams and games played through the years would find them a valuable resource. The next step: compile your findings into book form which pent-up demand would gladly buy and read. Where else but
history found in the pages of the local papers makes a book possible.
Sometimes while waiting for my wife at West Acres, I will open a book to read. If you walk from one end of the mall to the other, you’ll likely not see many doing that. Their noses are pointed at fleeting images appearing on the small screens of their smart phones. Maureen Dowd, an opinion columnist for the New York Times, recently wrote a fitting column titled “Attention Men, Books Are Sexy.” Since it was a bit of an eye-catcher, there was nothing left to do but read on.
She quoted an expert who said men are reading less and that women make up 80 percent of fiction sales. Since I write from the perspective of an old English teacher I related wholeheartedly to the following line: The value of the humanities has been degraded. We don’t hear enough about how novels, sweeping over landscapes, personalities, ideas, events can open perspectives and discipline the mind.
We spend time in the North Dakota State University archive library in Fargo. If you ask one of the librarians about a certain topic, there’s a good chance they can find a file or a box of files containing information you asked for. Those files contain many letters and newspaper clippings.
My wife is a West River girl, i.e. born and raised on the west side of the Missouri River, who lately is collecting history of the country schools in Grant County. Maybe it’s history for a small audience, but some have expressed interest in reading her book in narrative form when completed. A fire one time in the past destroyed most of the official records, so she must do most of her digging in old weekly newspapers. Admittedly she finds these papers recorded in filmstrip form at the North Dakota Historical Society, and then, when she requests them are sent to the NDSU archives where she can read them. We make that concession to digitization.
Some day, people will want to read stories about the recent deaths and property damage caused by the tornado. I saw some of it first hand, but I’m old and will forget. Someone wisely said that journalism is the first rough draft of history. Years down the road, a newspaper clipping about the event might be found in a drawer where people in the future will find it and read with interest.
KC Lewis told me of finding Sheldon High School's first yearbook in his family's effects. He turned it over to the Sheldon Corner of the Enderlin Museum. We recently drove over to look at it, and here is part of what we found, the first graduate.
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We recently attended the 54th Annual International Convention of the Germans from Russia Heritage Society. Many people outside of this group wonder and ask what is that all about. It is a group that celebrates the history, strength, and determination of some of our forefathers who survived under the most trying of conditions. Many in the reach of this newspaper can claim this ancestry. I do, even though my name is Swedish with an Americanized spelling from Björling. My paternal grandmother immigrated from Ukraine with her Menge family and settled in this area. All the grandparents on my wife’s side immigrated from Ukraine, although this was on the west side of the Missouri River.
Many of these G-Rs settled in what today they are calling the “Sauerkraut Triangle.” Some of the towns referred to are Napoleon, Wishek, Ashley, Lehr, Linton, up to Rugby, and down to Aberdeen.
Here is how this whole storyline began. Catherine the Great of Russia came from Germany after marrying into the Russian hierarchy. Her husband was a weak and waffling individual who could not match wits with his strong-willed wife. She, in effect, ran the country. In Germany she had observed how prosperous the farmers in her home country had been and saw how poorly the Russian farmers compared. Her solution: offer German farmers attractive enticements to settle in Russia and raise the agricultural standards.
Those enticements came in an attractive package: free land, religious freedom, no military service, self-governance, freedom of language, and more. How could they go wrong? Things went well. Catherine’s invitation was very timely because Napoleon’s army had come through the area and conscripted many men to serve with him. To escape his further grabs as well as the crop failures they’d been experiencing, resettlement in Russia looked good. There they prospered for about one hundred years, but then revolution, Lenin, and Stalin erased all the promises; The better option was to escape and emigrate to the promise of a better life in America.
With that we gathered, over 200 strong, to share stories of our heritage. Now this gathering isn’t the only one of its kind since several others exist in the country with similar goals and programs. The annual gathering for meetings and events for this particular group features many worthwhile presentations. In one of them I did not expect much but quickly changed my mind. Titled “German Artists of the Gulag,” it revealed a new facet of the struggle they faced.
German artists detained by the Gulag system in the Soviet Union were tasked with providing works of propaganda. This was one of the better jobs because they could trade pieces of their artwork “under the table” with guards for extra helpings of food or other favors. A terrible story shocked us when we saw on the screen one of the paintings of a naked man tied to a tree. The artist painted his body full of little white dots, those dots depicting a multitude of mosquito bites, one of the ghoulish punishments handed out to prisoners.
The reality of second and third generations growing up German from Russia on the northern plains has generated a new book based on 200 oral histories collected in the area. Its first day of sales occurred at the convention, and I bought mine. Titled “Echoes of the Old Country,” author Jessica Clark and her team recorded their voices and memories which can be found easily by searching the NDSU library and Dakota Memories. You might find people you know.
A historian from Saskatoon, Sask. presented “The Gates of Europe: The History of Ukraine from a Germans from Russia Perspective.” A veteran presenter at this conference, he always dives deeply into his subject. Here he discussed how changes in Russian policies motivated immigration to America.
We don’t intend to bore readers with discussing each and every topic in the program, but it wasn’t all grief and misery. Humorous folklore spoken in German and translated to English entertained. Cooking classes taught how to make Kuchen, Halupsi, and Kase Knoephla. A one-time Farm Broadcaster of the Year, Al Gustin, told of his G-R background. Accordion music played in the hallways. Meals featuring German dishes satisfied our hunger. A white elephant sale and a youth products sale raised money for the organization. And to wrap it all up a dance featuring old-time German music set people to moving on the dance floor.
Large, comprehensive libraries have been established where interested people can read the history and search for specific information. One is the Germans from Russia Heritage Society Library in Bismarck. Housed in a relatively new building, it contains a helpful office staff that collects and catalogs pertinent materials in support of the G-R experience.
In the NDSU library a Germans from Russia Heritage Collection is housed and proves to be a valuable resource. Since its inception in 1978, this privately funded, specialized archive has become one of the most comprehensive collections of German-Russian resources in the world. The Germans from Russia Heritage Collection's mission is to share and preserve the history and culture of the Germans from Russia in North Dakota and the Northern Plains.
An interesting note about the NDSU collection it was built by a dedicated man from Strasburg named Michael Miller who worked at the library for an amazing 55 years before retiring. But he hasn’t stopped working since he still volunteers.
The next convention will be in Fargo next July. If interested contact the Bismarck G-R library for information. They would like new members.
Here we are, a quarter of the way through another century … Prior results can’t guarantee future outcomes … I don’t have enough book sh...
