The statue of boots, rifle, and helmet stands at the entrance to a military installation in Bismarck called Fraine Barracks. It seemed appropriate to take a picture and post it today when a funeral was held yesterday for one of the North Dakota National Guard boys killed in an explosion. Behind it stood a flag pole flying a flag at half staff. Four members of the guard died recently, two of them in Iraq and two by their own hand after returning. Sad stories at Christmastime.
***
I just received a Christmas letter from my old English teacher, Mrs. Slatta. Actually two came, one written personally to me by her daughter, and the other written on behalf of her mother by the same daughter. You see, Mrs. Slatta is now 103 years old, so she gets help doing some of these things. Both women enjoyed knowing how I got reacquainted with the son through the Western Writers of America. Her husband at the time was the school superintendent and our civics class teacher. I still remember the day when we talked about the Russian's orbiting Sputnik. 1957.
***
Winter came to Mandan, snow, cold, and
wind. I always think about those Southern boys up here in the oil
patch and how they must be complaining. I saw a sign in the window
of the Medora bookstore that would answer them: If you think you've
got it tough, read a history book. One of the benefits of Mary's
family history collecting is the hard times that those of a couple
generations ago suffered through. Two different cases of extreme
hardship come to mind. In each of them families of immigrants
traveled westward to new homes, and a woman had to give birth in the
middle of a snowstorm. The wagon boxes the families rode in were
turned upside down to make a shelter, and the woman was wrapped in
horse blankets. Each time things turned out okay with the births,
though in one of them the man complained, upon being rescued, that he
had run out of tobacco during the night.
***
Last Saturday's weather threatened, but
I drove west to Medora to do a book signing in the Western Edge
bookstore. The business places in that town have been sponsoring a
weekend filled with activities, eats, and shopping. I pulled into
town a bit early to do some shopping for the little granddaughter for
something Mary had seen in one of the shops last spring. A nice
plate of goodies sat there, and I helped myself to a krumkake
liberally sprinkled with powdered sugar. Mmmm. A schedule of
business places offering treats and eats lay on the table. I counted
21 of them. No way could I visit all of them, but I took off for the
Cowboy Hall of Fame building and the advertised Rocky Mountain oyster
offering. Upstairs three ladies stood preparing them, but they were
not done yet. I looked over the counter at those little raw bluish nuggets
in a bowl and decided I could forgo that cuisine. I said to one of
the ladies the only time I'd ever eaten them was when I was
crazy-full of beer. She said, “Go down the street and drink three
or four, then come back.” I didn't.
The hotel served a very hearty chili.
The meat ingredient was not hamburger but chunks of steak. A bowl of
that tasted good, and for a dessert, plates of truffles beckoned.
One of them and I was on my way to the bookstore for what I
discovered is a community favorite, Mary E's bread pudding with rum
sauce. People lined up to get at that. A crowd like that promised a
few book sales, and I didn't get at the pudding for awhile. Even
though the drive home got a bit dicey from the weather, I
was not disappointed since I returned home with a nice check.
