Writing is the only profession where no one considers you ridiculous if you earn no money. Jules Renard
- - - - -
I find it interesting to find new sources of information and/or entertainment. A few days ago a good one came my way. I subscribe to Curtis Dunlap’s blog called Blogging Along Tobacco Road. It is dedicated to publishing the three-line haiku or the five-line tanka styles of poetry. When the e-mail alert came across my screen that a new posting was available I clicked on his site - tobaccoroadpoet.blogspot.com - and watched a video tribute - “For Mike” - he had placed for Mike Farley, a Red Lodge, Montana rancher and haiku poet who had recently passed away. There, Dunlap stood by a river in North Carolina and recited Farley’s haiku:
Jack Daniels
just a splash
at the river’s edge
Of course, he pulled a half-pint of whisky and a shot glass from his pocket and poured himself a “splash.” Check it out. As flippant as this might seem with my description of the scene, it was done very respectfully, and I can only hope I’m celebrated that way some day.
I’ve been writing some of the haiku and tanka forms lately. Here are a few -
blank pages -
writing all those years
without ink in my pen
target practice -
the bull’s eye sighted me
clawing up a tree
a blanket of fog
on the horizon -
an old man telling stories
the morning sun
rises on veiled buttes
spreading its light
with the wings
of soaring hawks
due south
Little Heart Butte
pokes from the surface
a lump on the skin
prominent yet benign
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Old Times
Why is it that those who get on their high horse most often face in the wrong direction? Alfred Corn
………………………..
On Sunday we attended an interesting talk at Bismarck State College, another in the series of “Conversations at BSC.” The president of the college, Dr. Larry Skogen, and Clay Jenkinson, a public humanities scholar, have been doing this for a couple of years once a month, and a different topic is featured each time. Sunday’s topic - “Putting Otto von Back in Bismarck: The Iron Chancellor and the Great Plains” kept the audience in their seats for two hours (just because it was interesting). I couldn’t keep all the facts in my head at the time, so I did a little research on my own to get it understood.
The present city of Bismarck was once named Edwinton, and the conversation came around to why the name was changed. The Northern Pacific Railroad had started crawling across the map of America, but in 1873 stalled at Edwinton (Bismarck) because it ran out of money. The upper echelon of the company had made too many expensive purchases. Then a wide-spread depression - the Panic of 1873 - struck the country and financing was not available. So there the tracks ended. The NP management needed a strategy to get moving again and here is what interested me. In order to attract German settlers and create revenue the city’s name changed to Bismarck in order to get Otto von Bismarck, the German Chancellor, interested and to encourage German people to come here. Times did start picking up a bit. The Black Hills gold rush helped bring business. In 1882 the Missouri railroad bridge spanned the river and tracks led to the westward settling. That bridge, by the way, was well-built since the pilings and pillars used today are still original construction.
From 1889 to 1893 the president was Benjamin Harrison, and in order to get him interested in helping the railroad to thrive, the NP management outright gave him a farm of over 900 acres just five miles north of the city, an act of graft and corruption that seemed to have worked.
Now when I drive north on Highway 83 and pass by the nightclub in Hay Creek Township I’ll think of the historical significance of that land.
. . . . . . .
As I sit in relative comfort in this home we built ten years ago and benefit from all the labor saving devices in it, I’m always amazed by what people of a hundred years ago went through. I present the following article in the Sheldon Progress to illustrate my point:
P. N. Brown and I. M. Williams of McLeod arrived in Sheldon early Wednesday morning after making an all night trip in order to get here to carry the election returns to Lisbon. Mr. Brown had a rather trying experience in getting here. He started to walk to McLeod, a distance of about two miles and became lost on the prairie. He wandered around through a heavy cold rain for several hours before he finally reached McLeod. He and Mr. Williams then took the Soo train past Anselm and came as far as the crossing, (about two miles west of Sheldon - my note) walking from there into Sheldon and went to Lisbon on the morning train. (Given present day cars and improved roads, it takes less than half an hour to drive from McLeod to Lisbon.)
………………………..
On Sunday we attended an interesting talk at Bismarck State College, another in the series of “Conversations at BSC.” The president of the college, Dr. Larry Skogen, and Clay Jenkinson, a public humanities scholar, have been doing this for a couple of years once a month, and a different topic is featured each time. Sunday’s topic - “Putting Otto von Back in Bismarck: The Iron Chancellor and the Great Plains” kept the audience in their seats for two hours (just because it was interesting). I couldn’t keep all the facts in my head at the time, so I did a little research on my own to get it understood.
The present city of Bismarck was once named Edwinton, and the conversation came around to why the name was changed. The Northern Pacific Railroad had started crawling across the map of America, but in 1873 stalled at Edwinton (Bismarck) because it ran out of money. The upper echelon of the company had made too many expensive purchases. Then a wide-spread depression - the Panic of 1873 - struck the country and financing was not available. So there the tracks ended. The NP management needed a strategy to get moving again and here is what interested me. In order to attract German settlers and create revenue the city’s name changed to Bismarck in order to get Otto von Bismarck, the German Chancellor, interested and to encourage German people to come here. Times did start picking up a bit. The Black Hills gold rush helped bring business. In 1882 the Missouri railroad bridge spanned the river and tracks led to the westward settling. That bridge, by the way, was well-built since the pilings and pillars used today are still original construction.
From 1889 to 1893 the president was Benjamin Harrison, and in order to get him interested in helping the railroad to thrive, the NP management outright gave him a farm of over 900 acres just five miles north of the city, an act of graft and corruption that seemed to have worked.
Now when I drive north on Highway 83 and pass by the nightclub in Hay Creek Township I’ll think of the historical significance of that land.
. . . . . . .
As I sit in relative comfort in this home we built ten years ago and benefit from all the labor saving devices in it, I’m always amazed by what people of a hundred years ago went through. I present the following article in the Sheldon Progress to illustrate my point:
P. N. Brown and I. M. Williams of McLeod arrived in Sheldon early Wednesday morning after making an all night trip in order to get here to carry the election returns to Lisbon. Mr. Brown had a rather trying experience in getting here. He started to walk to McLeod, a distance of about two miles and became lost on the prairie. He wandered around through a heavy cold rain for several hours before he finally reached McLeod. He and Mr. Williams then took the Soo train past Anselm and came as far as the crossing, (about two miles west of Sheldon - my note) walking from there into Sheldon and went to Lisbon on the morning train. (Given present day cars and improved roads, it takes less than half an hour to drive from McLeod to Lisbon.)
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Self-Educated
The pastor in his funeral eulogy for Dad spoke of him as being a self-taught man. Dad attended school through just the eighth grade, then had to quit to work on the family farm, a story repeated over and over by people born in that generation. And many are the stories of people, who even though enrolled in school, were kept at home to help at times throughout the school year, therefore missing large blocks of instructional time. In order to cope and function independently as they grew to maturity they had to learn information and skills on their own.
When the astronauts were chosen, the first requirement was a college education. This eliminated the man who made space flight possible, Chuck Yeager. His formal education was limited to high school. From that time on, society no longer recognized self-educated people. It takes a college education, don’t-cha-know. From the two college degrees I received I’ve often said that the biggest reward was the piece of paper handed me certifying that I had completed a required course of study, a result of which I was able to work in certain settings. The reality is that I have learned much more through my independent studies.
This country reveres self-taught men such as Abraham Lincoln, Thomas Edison, Alexander Graham Bell, the Wright Brothers, Henry Ford, et al. None of them traveled very far in formal education but somehow possessed the aptitude that let them excel in their interests. Intellectual curiosity drove them to find answers prompting their self-study by reading, experimenting, and searching.
Both Dad and my father-in-law could estimate the tons of hay in a stack, the bushels of grain in a bin, the weight of a steer, acres in a field, study the sky and predict weather, plus a myriad of other useful facts which let them hang on to their farms in good times and in bad. Dad knew of worldly things even though he did not travel much. He read, then read some more. His knowledge base in history was probably larger than my own, even with my college minor in history. I read once of a man who earned a doctoral degree in some insignificant field of study but then could not find professional work. In order to support himself he found work as a common laborer with a landscape company where the manager only shook his head in disbelief at his ineptitude and helplessness. I think he survived with that company but had to go through a period of training on the job.
. . . . . . .
The hundred year old archived newspaper, The Sheldon Progress, made no mention of Veterans’ Day in their November 11, 1910 issue. Of course, WWI had not yet been fought. That issue reported on one interesting news item:
An escaped prisoner created a good deal of excitement at the depot Monday evening and it was only by the most heroic efforts of bystanders that he was finally run down and captured. The prisoner broke loose from his bonds in some way and jumped from the train just as it was pulling out from the depot. He sprang right into the arms of John Mougey who was standing in front of the door, but John failed to get a stranglehold on him and he escaped. The prisoner headed due west, followed by an excited mob, and although he made heroic efforts to escape, it was soon evident that he could not elude his pursuers. They sprang up on every side and soon had their victim surrounded. The poor fellow, seeing his escape cut off from all directions, finally gave up the attempt and was captured by Mike Flatt, who is now a candidate for a Carnegie medal. He was a fine specimen of a Leghorn rooster and at the present price of chickens is worth his weight in gold.
When the astronauts were chosen, the first requirement was a college education. This eliminated the man who made space flight possible, Chuck Yeager. His formal education was limited to high school. From that time on, society no longer recognized self-educated people. It takes a college education, don’t-cha-know. From the two college degrees I received I’ve often said that the biggest reward was the piece of paper handed me certifying that I had completed a required course of study, a result of which I was able to work in certain settings. The reality is that I have learned much more through my independent studies.
This country reveres self-taught men such as Abraham Lincoln, Thomas Edison, Alexander Graham Bell, the Wright Brothers, Henry Ford, et al. None of them traveled very far in formal education but somehow possessed the aptitude that let them excel in their interests. Intellectual curiosity drove them to find answers prompting their self-study by reading, experimenting, and searching.
Both Dad and my father-in-law could estimate the tons of hay in a stack, the bushels of grain in a bin, the weight of a steer, acres in a field, study the sky and predict weather, plus a myriad of other useful facts which let them hang on to their farms in good times and in bad. Dad knew of worldly things even though he did not travel much. He read, then read some more. His knowledge base in history was probably larger than my own, even with my college minor in history. I read once of a man who earned a doctoral degree in some insignificant field of study but then could not find professional work. In order to support himself he found work as a common laborer with a landscape company where the manager only shook his head in disbelief at his ineptitude and helplessness. I think he survived with that company but had to go through a period of training on the job.
. . . . . . .
The hundred year old archived newspaper, The Sheldon Progress, made no mention of Veterans’ Day in their November 11, 1910 issue. Of course, WWI had not yet been fought. That issue reported on one interesting news item:
An escaped prisoner created a good deal of excitement at the depot Monday evening and it was only by the most heroic efforts of bystanders that he was finally run down and captured. The prisoner broke loose from his bonds in some way and jumped from the train just as it was pulling out from the depot. He sprang right into the arms of John Mougey who was standing in front of the door, but John failed to get a stranglehold on him and he escaped. The prisoner headed due west, followed by an excited mob, and although he made heroic efforts to escape, it was soon evident that he could not elude his pursuers. They sprang up on every side and soon had their victim surrounded. The poor fellow, seeing his escape cut off from all directions, finally gave up the attempt and was captured by Mike Flatt, who is now a candidate for a Carnegie medal. He was a fine specimen of a Leghorn rooster and at the present price of chickens is worth his weight in gold.
Wednesday, November 03, 2010
Dad
I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith. 2 Timothy 4:7
This Biblical verse readily comes to mind as I sit at my keyboard today. I am 68 years old and have had a father up until a few days ago; now his absence is deeply felt. Somewhere I read that when a person dies it is as a library with all its knowledge having burned down. In Dad’s case the library was large. I learned much from him but now no longer can go to him to search his historical, biographical, political, economic, or social knowledge. His mind operated well except for the final two weeks. He read two daily papers - The MInneapolis Tribune and The Fargo Forum - and two county papers - Enderlin and Lisbon - plus assorted magazines. He read many books during his lifetime. He told me as a youth that whenever he could gather a few cents together he would order a book through the mail. A history book club furnished him many hours of reading, and he loved western stories like those written by Zane Grey. Before electricity came to our farm he read each night sitting with his white forehead and weathered face by light of a gas lantern while I sprawled on the floor within the lit circle to draw my pictures or read my own material.
The picture of Dad I placed on the front cover of my last book of poems also hangs on my office wall along with a photo of his dad and his dad. Beyond those men we have little or no knowledge. I can only hope he is in a place now where he can visit with them and acquaint himself with the unknown fathers.
… I have kept the faith. He never wore his religious beliefs on his sleeve, but I know he held them. He spoke to me about his doubts of whether or not he’d ever been baptized. He’d never seen record of it, and it must have bothered him enough to keep bringing it up. A couple of years ago while he was hospitalized and when a pastor from his church dropped in, I suggested baptism. Both Dad and the pastor were willing. So it was.
This Biblical verse readily comes to mind as I sit at my keyboard today. I am 68 years old and have had a father up until a few days ago; now his absence is deeply felt. Somewhere I read that when a person dies it is as a library with all its knowledge having burned down. In Dad’s case the library was large. I learned much from him but now no longer can go to him to search his historical, biographical, political, economic, or social knowledge. His mind operated well except for the final two weeks. He read two daily papers - The MInneapolis Tribune and The Fargo Forum - and two county papers - Enderlin and Lisbon - plus assorted magazines. He read many books during his lifetime. He told me as a youth that whenever he could gather a few cents together he would order a book through the mail. A history book club furnished him many hours of reading, and he loved western stories like those written by Zane Grey. Before electricity came to our farm he read each night sitting with his white forehead and weathered face by light of a gas lantern while I sprawled on the floor within the lit circle to draw my pictures or read my own material.
The picture of Dad I placed on the front cover of my last book of poems also hangs on my office wall along with a photo of his dad and his dad. Beyond those men we have little or no knowledge. I can only hope he is in a place now where he can visit with them and acquaint himself with the unknown fathers.
… I have kept the faith. He never wore his religious beliefs on his sleeve, but I know he held them. He spoke to me about his doubts of whether or not he’d ever been baptized. He’d never seen record of it, and it must have bothered him enough to keep bringing it up. A couple of years ago while he was hospitalized and when a pastor from his church dropped in, I suggested baptism. Both Dad and the pastor were willing. So it was.
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