Good Times
We spent the weekend in Medora attending and participating in the 21st Annual Dakota Poetry Gathering. It’s an event I hope to keep on my schedule. I took a turn on stage both Saturday and Sunday afternoons and got good audience response. The main thing that needs improvement is my guitar playing, but when I talk loud enough it drowns out the wrong notes. When you look out across the crowd that’s in attendance you see mostly an older crowd. I hope that younger performers get interested so that it continues on.
The term Cowboy Poetry doesn’t fit all that well, since only a few of the participants hold strictly to that point of view. A good deal of the work uses a more contemporary approach to rural life, myself included. I’m already thinking about future pieces and will enjoy writing them. One guy from a small South Dakota town that is celebrating a reunion this summer came asking if he could use the pieces that I performed on Sunday. I gave him copies provided he doesn’t forget who wrote them.
...
The rain keeps falling here. It’s as green as I remember seeing this part of the country. Listening to radio reports tells us that crop conditions are nearly ideal. Crops, pastures and hay ground look good, stock ponds have risen, and everyone is in a pretty good mood because of it.
...
The flap about competing restaurant chains shows a cheap shot. Some chain that’s not in this part of the country accuses Hardee’s in their commercials that Hardee’s does not use good parts of the Angus in their burgers, something like if you take the "g" out of Angus what’s left. I think Hardee’s was trying to get it stopped.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
On My Mind
I have trouble with terminology that smacks of extreme power. Why they use the term czar in our federal government troubles me greatly. We have had a drug czar and an energy czar in recent years, but the latest - war czar - brings too much comparison to a Russia that experienced a bloody revolution. I think it is an ill-advised use of a term that can be substituted with a word that befits a democracy.
. . .
We ate our noon lunch today in the Grizzly's Restaurant in the mall, and I could see through the tables to a television set hanging in the bar area. The headline I read spoke of another explosion in Iraq. We've become so used to these repeated events that most people don't give second thought to it. Our death toll there keeps rising, and I wish someone could explain to me what good we've done.
. . .
I'm giving my attention of late to preparing for the Cowboy Poetry Gathering in Medora this weekend. I told Mary that I hope I don't make a fool of myself up there on that stage. To prevent that I've been doing lots of practicing. The three pieces I've written for it deal with the severe winter of 1886-87, Teddy Roosevelt's experience in North Dakota, and an auction sale. A fourth piece is by Chris LeDoux - The Bull Rider, a comic piece. LeDoux was one heck of a performer but was felled by cancer a couple of years ago.
. . .
We ate our noon lunch today in the Grizzly's Restaurant in the mall, and I could see through the tables to a television set hanging in the bar area. The headline I read spoke of another explosion in Iraq. We've become so used to these repeated events that most people don't give second thought to it. Our death toll there keeps rising, and I wish someone could explain to me what good we've done.
. . .
I'm giving my attention of late to preparing for the Cowboy Poetry Gathering in Medora this weekend. I told Mary that I hope I don't make a fool of myself up there on that stage. To prevent that I've been doing lots of practicing. The three pieces I've written for it deal with the severe winter of 1886-87, Teddy Roosevelt's experience in North Dakota, and an auction sale. A fourth piece is by Chris LeDoux - The Bull Rider, a comic piece. LeDoux was one heck of a performer but was felled by cancer a couple of years ago.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Forty Shades of Green
Timely rains have fallen this spring, and the many shades of green shine in the sunlight. Johnny Cash wrote a song he named Forty Shades of Green about his impressions of the countryside in Ireland. I think there must be 37 or 38 right here in North Dakota.
. . .
It's a bit sad to read and hear what's happening in my old home town. The school is closing and they're having an auction sale to clear out the building. The building is on the market, too, and a group in the community meets trying to come up with a plan to save it to use as a community center. Its future will depend on someone putting up the money to buy it; the school board stipulates $2000 must be deposited before a bidder can be eligible. If someone does buy it, it will cost plenty to maintain it as a viable structure when you consider insurance, utilities, maintenance, etc.
The city hall fell to a wrecking crew a couple of years ago because it was deemed unsuitable for further maintenance. It left one big, blank spot at the end of main street. For many years it served as the destination for ball games, dances, carnivals, plays, meetings, etc. If the school building disappears, it, too, will leave a big empty spot.
During its heyday Sheldon was a busy place. Many farmsteads surrounded it, and viable businesses were supported with their wants and needs. I have a picture on the wall of my study taken of the main street sometime early in the 20th century. There stands a solid, long line of storefronts; in front teams of horses hitched to buggies and wagons line the walk. That scene disappeared, and now another scene is about to.
. . .
It's a bit sad to read and hear what's happening in my old home town. The school is closing and they're having an auction sale to clear out the building. The building is on the market, too, and a group in the community meets trying to come up with a plan to save it to use as a community center. Its future will depend on someone putting up the money to buy it; the school board stipulates $2000 must be deposited before a bidder can be eligible. If someone does buy it, it will cost plenty to maintain it as a viable structure when you consider insurance, utilities, maintenance, etc.
The city hall fell to a wrecking crew a couple of years ago because it was deemed unsuitable for further maintenance. It left one big, blank spot at the end of main street. For many years it served as the destination for ball games, dances, carnivals, plays, meetings, etc. If the school building disappears, it, too, will leave a big empty spot.
During its heyday Sheldon was a busy place. Many farmsteads surrounded it, and viable businesses were supported with their wants and needs. I have a picture on the wall of my study taken of the main street sometime early in the 20th century. There stands a solid, long line of storefronts; in front teams of horses hitched to buggies and wagons line the walk. That scene disappeared, and now another scene is about to.
Friday, May 04, 2007
Lovin' Spring
The week has come and almost gone; I'd better get this little laptop of mine typing away and write at least one blog. I've been spending a lot of time riding a tractor pulling a disk. It is the most beautiful time of the year in the countryside. Spring green contrasts with the black tilled soil in the fields. Cattle, mostly the black variety, stand likewise in the greening pastures. The rolling hills, buttes, and valleys paint their shades and shadows everywhere on the horizon, and weeds have not yet begun to show themselves. Somehow flowery language seems a bit incongruous with my style, but that is the way I see springtime in the countryside.
. . .
I have to make sure to mention a workshop I attended last Saturday at the Med Center One hospital. Ric Masten has made a name for himself as a poet and entertainer, but his latest gig is battling prostate cancer. According to him he should have been dead some years ago, but with his aggressive response to the disease he survives. When he discovered his illness, it had already spread from the prostate gland into various locations within his body. His message this day was that he did not sit and wait to die from the disease but began studying it and how to combat it. One thing I found especially interesting is that he's discovered only a handful of doctors in this country who specialize in prostate cancer. Most doctors who treat it are general oncologists; therefore many of them do not have the time to know everything there is to know about the disease.
He set out to learn what knowledg there is out there and inform his doctor, an oncologist, how he then wanted to be treated. He calls himself the "captain of his own ship." Whatever, he's lived beyond expectations. I'd heard Masten interviewed on our public radio station a few days prior to his visit and knew then I wanted to hear him speak in person. Before the meeting commenced, I shard this with him. He asked when he started how many had heard the interview. My hand was the only one that went up. He and I had connected in some elemental way, probably because I told him I, too, had interest in poetry. When the meeting ended he brought a copy on one of his books and gave to me as a gift. I've read it; he is a good poet.
. . .
I have to make sure to mention a workshop I attended last Saturday at the Med Center One hospital. Ric Masten has made a name for himself as a poet and entertainer, but his latest gig is battling prostate cancer. According to him he should have been dead some years ago, but with his aggressive response to the disease he survives. When he discovered his illness, it had already spread from the prostate gland into various locations within his body. His message this day was that he did not sit and wait to die from the disease but began studying it and how to combat it. One thing I found especially interesting is that he's discovered only a handful of doctors in this country who specialize in prostate cancer. Most doctors who treat it are general oncologists; therefore many of them do not have the time to know everything there is to know about the disease.
He set out to learn what knowledg there is out there and inform his doctor, an oncologist, how he then wanted to be treated. He calls himself the "captain of his own ship." Whatever, he's lived beyond expectations. I'd heard Masten interviewed on our public radio station a few days prior to his visit and knew then I wanted to hear him speak in person. Before the meeting commenced, I shard this with him. He asked when he started how many had heard the interview. My hand was the only one that went up. He and I had connected in some elemental way, probably because I told him I, too, had interest in poetry. When the meeting ended he brought a copy on one of his books and gave to me as a gift. I've read it; he is a good poet.
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