Holidays

Merry Christmas to all.  It's always a great time to celebrate with family.  We experienced a 60 degree swing yesterday to 30 above from 31 below the day before.  Exhilarating!  See you next week.

Wreaths and Stones

I visited the veterans' cemetery today, Tuesday, and took my camera with.  This past weekend wreaths were placed at each veteran's headstone, about 5000 of them.  It makes for a pretty sight.

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Mary hustles about getting ready for this weekend's Christmas at our house.  The families will all be here, and we'll eat pretty good, I'm sure of that.  One of the daughter's-in-law received our lefse griddle, so we'll see how that turned out.  I'm hoping well!  She's from Barnesville, and there are a lot of potatoes around there to use in the recipe.

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It was announced that Lake Sakakawea is now frozen over, quite an early date.  Since we cross the river daily, we keep track of that ourselves.  There's still some open water but a lot of ice, too.  I don't know how the old pioneers risked crossing, but they did.

I found an interesting story.  Some German-Russian emigrants made their way into the Dakotas, coming first to Aberdeen as many of them did.  Traveling on to Wishek the man bought a team of horses and a hayrack for his family to ride.  Accompanying them was the widow of a cousin, a cousin who had died crossing the ocean.  They had heard many stories about the dangers of crossing the Missouri in the wintertime, and, also, about the Indians.  It so happened they crossed the river safely, and wouldn't you know it, came upon a family of Indians who gave them a place to stay overnight in their cabin.  On their way next morning the widow gave them the news she was pregnant and felt the first labor pains.  In the middle of this vast wilderness, they had to take care of matters themselves.  The man dug a  hole in the snow, tipped the hayrack on top of it, and spread the straw around for a bed.  When the horses laid down to sleep the rest of the family crawled between them for heat.  The widow gave birth in the middle of the night, and the next morning they were on their way again.

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It's been so darn cold already this winter.  The last couple of days it warmed some, but the weatherman says it's going to get cold again.  Some don't believe in global warming and point to the cold as proof.  But I go along with the scientists who say it is.  They study the vagaries of what we've been experiencing, and it all points to warming.  On a daily basis, I read the NPR website and an article caught my eye, titled "How Global Warming Works."  In 35 words this is what was said, "Earth transforms sunlight's visible light energy into infrared light energy, which leaves Earth slowly because it is absorbed by greenhouse gases.  When people produce greenhouse gases, energy leaves Earth even more slowly -- raising Earth's temperature."

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Ole gives Lena a new cell phone for Christmas. The next day she's at Wal-Mart and the phone rings. Ole is on the phone and asks her how she likes her new cell phone.
Lena replies, "Great Ole, but howda know I was at da Wal-Mart?!

Dec. 11

It's minus 16 here this morning, but we're starting to get used to it.  A little snow often falls, but yesterday my wife came home with a snow pusher that I've had my eye on, but hadn't said anything.  I was gonna ask Santa for one but then forgot about it.  She was going to surprise me with it, but since she wanted help getting it out of the car, that plan changed.

I don't know much else this morning.  Some days I just run out of ideas, so why belabor the fact.  See you next week.

Times Got Tough

Ice came Monday here along the Missouri, now snow falls. The prediction: snow and very cold. North Dakota in wintertime. Time to curl up with a good book (I've got about two dozen to get to) and read the days away.

An editor at the Bismarck Tribune sent me a book to review which was published in the paper last Sunday: Murdering Indians. When I “googled” my name, I saw the review showed up online. The happenings surrounding the murders and the subsequent lynching weren't all that long ago. People took things into their own hands if they didn't like the way it was developing.

The picture shows how tough things got in the winter of 1886-87.  Charlie Russell, the painter, was asked to describe how things were in the severe winter.  He responded by painting this picture.  The year before things were pretty tough, too, at least for one guy.

The March 31, 1885 issue of Sheldon's newspaper carried a long story about a lynching at Pierre, SD. It started with: “The Bell murder trial has been carried to a higher court where venue is never changed and continuances are unknown. The last set of this drama in real life was enacted at 2 o'clock yesterday morning. A masked mob of twenty-five men entered the town from the east early yesterday morning, proceeded to the jail, took from thence the murderer, J.W. Bell, and hung him to a flag pole in front of the court house, the whole transaction occupying less than fifteen minutes. Some time ago Bell was arrested for the murder of Forrest G. Small near Harold on December 4, 1884. The evidence against the accused was chiefly circumstantial.” (The underline is mine.)

Further on in the story, “Bell begged and prayed for his life, but to no purpose, after which he began screaming 'murder' at the top of his voice, fighting every step of the way to the hasitly improvised gallows. Residents in the neighborhood were awakened by the noise and viewed the proceedings through the darkness. Arriving at the flag pole, which is about fifty feet in front of the courthouse a cross bar was nailed at about fifteen feet from the ground and one end of the inch hemp rope was swung over the bar, and in a twinkling the alleged murderer was paying penalty of his crime.”

The writer even told us about the rope “about twelve feet long, one inch in diameter, and brand new. The knot tied is the regulation hangman's knot prepared by a skilled hand.”

A few hours before the lynching the accused said, “If they hang me, they would hang an innocent man... I can establish my innocence.” The mob never gave him the chance for a trial.

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Sven and Ole were sipping their beers when a truck went past loaded up with rolls of sod... "I'm gonna do dat ven I vin the lottery."..."Do vat?" asked Ole... "Send my lawn out to be mowed."
 ...
Quite a stir occurred on local tv this past weekend.  Ron Burgundy, otherwise known as Will Ferrell, came to Bismarck and sat beside a weekend anchor gal for the whole half hour and brought a few laughs.

Up to Minot

I drove a state car up to Minot today, Tuesday, with my old rider.  She needed to go to the local office up there, and since it's worth a few bucks,  away we went.  I;m amazed at the number of wind towers sprouting up on this side of Minot.  I can't hazard a guess because of the rolling ground, there's always more on the other side of a hill.  They must number in the hundreds.  I wondered how I would like living in the midst of them, like some people do.  They sure ruin a nice view of the natural landscape.  That city is busy like any of those in the oil patch, go, go, go.  As I had lots of time to kill, I took along my laptop and a book I'm reviewing for the Bismarck Tribune - Murdering Indians.

The story is one I know something about from working with the Wm Wade book.  Wade's wife helped prepare the slain bodies of the Spicer family.  I got to know a living relative from Linton who edited a book of all the newspaper articles he could find regarding the murders and the subsequent lynching of three Indians.  The book I'm reviewing really stands on the shoulders of the Linton resident and all his work.

The mail brought me another shipment of books to review from my editor in Santa Fe.  A couple of them look pretty good.  I should work more hours each day to get done the things I want done, but I like my Lazy Boy time, too. 

In my journeys through books I run into some pretty good stories like the one about the boy who twisted the mule's tail.  They say he doesn't look so good anymore, but he's a helluva lot smarter.

TR

I headed west to Dickinson last Friday to attend the annual Theodore Roosevelt symposium. This year's topic was “Theodore Roosevelt and American Culture.” An attendee could get three days of it, but I always just take in Friday's; it doesn't cost anything that way.

The most appealing topic was “TR and John Lomax: The Preservation of Cowboy Culture,” conducted by Hal Cannon of Elko, NV. Cannon is the founding director of the Cowboy Poetry Gathering held every winter in Elko. The main subject of his talk dealt with the work of John Lomax who traveled the country with a heavy voice recorder and collected the old poems and music that made up the cowboy vocabulary of a time gone past. Theodore Roosevelt endorsed Lomax's work feeling it represented something worth preserving.

The more we hear about old TR, the more fascinating he becomes. I recently purchased Doris Kearns Goodwin's new book - The Bully Pulpit: Theodore Roosevelt, William Howard Taft, and the Golden Age of Journalism. It's a long one, but I'll do some picking and choosing of sections that interest me most.

Dickinson State University counts their blessings that they jumped into the arena and got named as the depository for TR's digital records. It's a huge undertaking, but people will be able to become TR scholars from their kitchen tables using a laptop. Now they want to build a new library to house their efforts. The state legislature approved $13 million for them provided they raise $3 million on their own.

TR's reading habits intrigue people. He claims to have read a book a day – who's to argue. The one great story about his reading habits has to do when he tracked down three thieves who stole a boat belonging to him from the Little Missouri River. He made them walk for three days to reach Dickinson where they could be charged and jailed. As he walked along behind, he read Tolstoy's Anna Karenina.

Doris Kearns Goodwin's book tells of an incident early on in his political career. It was a rough and tumble time controlled by political bosses. He got bullied by three goons one day and promptly decked two of them with his fists and watched the third one run away.

A similar incident occurred in Wibaux, Montana when he established residency in the Badlands. He went into a saloon looking for something to eat. A drunk bully accosted him in there saying he looked like a sissy. He then tried to get Roosevelt to buy him a drink and pulled his pistols. TR knocked him out. The next morning saw the bad guy jumping into a boxcar and getting a ride out of town.

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To Branson

Last week we boarded a motor coach and headed south to Branson, MO.  With a loaded bus, we made good time and landed in Branson mid-afternoon of the second day to start taking in some shows.  The package offered seven shows, and all were good.  My two favorites were Daniel O'Donnell and M-M-Mel Tillis.  Old Mel at 81 still sings well although band members sometimes filled in the high notes he couldn't hit or furnished words he'd forgotten.  In ten more years I'll be in the same shape, I hope as good.

When you get to Missouri, you get to Civil War battlefield country.  In St. Joseph on I-29, you cross under a street named Division Street.  It really did divide something, the North from the South.  Stories abound how families and friends, depending on what side of the line they were, might become shooting enemies in a battle.

Branson is filled with motor coaches from all over the country at this time of the year.  Branson calls it their Christmas season and most of the shows have at least part of the performance oriented that way.  Seven shows in three days goes by quickly and the time comes to return.  We took a very interesting side trip to Diamond, Missouri.  Near there is the birthplace of George Washington Carver.  It is part of the National Park Service and is manned by park rangers.

Carver was born into slavery, but when freed he chose to find an education.  Lucky for him, he was born sickly, therefore spared from hard physical work in the fields like most young men had to do.  He chose to educate himself and had to walk far to find a school that would admit him to classes.  He went on to be an agricultural scientist and found many uses for the humble peanut.  That little fact freed the sharecroppers from the death grip that cotton held over them.  A new crop opened some doors.

I'm ready to return to Branson next year.  It doesn't matter which shows we see, they're all good.
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A joke told on the bus:  Ole was a good artist and was approached by a beautiful young lady who asked him, "Would you paint me in the nude?"  Ole thought a bit and replied that he would have to ask Lena for her approval.  Later he answered the girl saying he would.  They met in his studio and Ole began taking his clothes off.  When finished he stood there stripped except for his socks and said, "I have to leave them on so I have someplace to wipe my brushes."

Along the Missouri

The copper roofing on this house under construction on the banks of the Missouri River caught my eye as we floated past awhile ago.  I think in a few years the copper color will turn green.  I wonder if I'll be able to see it then.

The writing goes well.  The Independent continues to print my articles, the Emmons County Record will start publishing some, and a query letter I sent off to "Roundup" magazine came back with a positive answer for an article I proposed. And I continue to blurb on this blog.  It all keeps my mind active!  It's hard to find time to eat. (If you believe that, you'll believe anything! :)

 And now today, an editor at the Bismarck Tribune sent me another book to review.  My shelves are bulging (I get to keep the books.)  Some of them aren't too good, but some are stinkers. I'll just weed them out someday.

We're heading for Branson, MO next week.  That is one nice trip.  We ride the bus owned by Farmers Union and will see seven shows.  Everything is arranged for us, show tickets, motels, some meals, etc.  Then six days later we head home again. 

Wild Horses

Wild Horses

Some people will travel a long distance to see a wild horse. On one side of me sat a family who'd come from California, and on the other, a pair of independent film makers from Delaware. We sat shoulder to shoulder in the Wishek Livestock auction barn to witness the recent wild horse sale on September 28th. To say this event packed the house would be an understatement since it did that and more. Latecomers, denied admission to the sale ring due to a full house, watched and/or bid over a closed circuit television in the town's civic center.

The management of the Theodore Roosevelt National Park had culled their herd of wild horses in the Badlands by half and hauled them to Wishek to sell at public auction. A carnival-like atmosphere met the sale goers, most of whom attended for the entertainment. The TRNP made it a fund raising event and charged $10 to get in the door, $5 to view the animals in their pens, and $10 for a catalog.

I chose only the $10 admission fee thinking I'd see the animals as they entered the ring and could read someone else's catalog. That was a good decision since, when I asked the man from California to look at his, we struck up a conversation lasting the whole afternoon. He stuck his hand out, “Bill's the name.” As we talked I learned he was a retired Air Force combat pilot having flown the F-14 Tomcat plane (think Tom Cruise in Top Gun).

Critics of the sale caused the management to take extra precautions to ensure the safety of the animals. The last time TRNP wild horses sold, at a Dickinson auction barn in 2009, some negative news resulted. One of the horses jumped the sales ring fence and injured an older man using a walker.

Here friend Bill started relating a wealth of information. I asked him if he knew anything about that incident. “Sure, I was there, took pictures of it.” He started scanning his smart phone and produced a couple, one where the horse has just cleared the top rung of the fence. “A friend of mine bought that horse for $35, says it's the best horse he owns. Name's Bashful.”

Bill said during his career his wife had set aside her interests while accompanying him all over the world. Now, after his retirement, she has taken the opportunity to start her own career on a small ranch near the marine base of Camp Pendleton. Her interest lies in therapeutic riding for post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) victims and trains and uses some of these wild horses.

To offer comfort to the wild horses entering the ring in twos and threes, a mounted rider rode slowly ahead of them and one rode behind. The sale manager had hired eight horsemen to assist with the task, and a good job they did. Surely, an SPCA representative sat in attendance as well as other critics of the sale. They had nothing to fear. The sale proceeded very smoothly.

The TRNP went to the trouble of naming the horses: Liberty Bell, Freedom, Firecracker, etc. Breeding as they do in the wild, the offspring come in a variety of colors. There were red and blue roans, sorrels, bays, blacks, and pintos. A stallion caught my eye, the auctioneer called it a strawberry roan. It sold for $2000. Here Bill leaned over and said, “Up til that one sold my wife and I held the record for the highest price paid for one, $1750 in Dickinson.” Soon, another stallion brought even more - $2800. “Now we're third.” He showed a picture of it.

One group, Legacy Mustang from Virginia, came with pockets full of $28,000 they'd raised to bid against meat buyers. They bought 35 horses but had nothing to fear from the dogfood crowd. The sales manager apparently told them to stay away. Just in case of a problem, several sheriff's deputies and highway patrolmen stood on hand.

What did the film makers plan for the video they shot? “We're making a film about wild horses, and tomorrow we're going to the Badlands to film them in their habitat.”

Friend Bill explained he and his wife were also heading to the Badlands after the sale to volunteer in the TRNP keeping records on the remaining herd. He explained she has a huge following on her facebook page “Wild in North Dakota” with over 39,000 “Likes.” Sure enough. One of the videos she posted is of her and a companion shooting pictures of the horses.

The next day the wife and I drove through the Badlands on I-94 headed to Wyoming and noticed three horses standing on a butte. With their heads down and the wind whipping their manes and tails, they appeared as if posed for a western painting named “Forlorn.”

On the Road to Linton

This was the sign hanging outside the library at Linton last Thursday.  I was invited down there to talk about my book with these others - six of us and about a dozen community members.  That's about what I expected, but it was fun.  Besides, I sold six more copies.  The editor of the paper down there asked if I'd be interested in writing an occasional column for his paper similar to what I'm doing at the Enderlin Independent.  The editor in Enderlin has published half a dozen so far and said she wants more.  After a lifetime of reading history, it's a good outlet for writing.  So I carry on.

Little kids running loose in a store makes storekeepers nervous.  We saw this sign in Sheridan, WY:  Unattended children will be given a strong latte and a kitten.

Mary being under the weather today, I drove to Lisbon alone.  There was quite a bit of business to be done, so I drove in high winds and rain all the way.  It needs to dry up.  Farmers are having trouble harvesting now with the wet fields. 

Travels

 

With a lot of hype leading up to the wild horse sale held in Wishek last Saturday, I, of course, had to go and check it out. To get in cost $10, to view the animals in their pens $5, and $10 for a catalog. I sprung only for the admission. The place was packed and overflow were shunted over to their city hall to watch on closed circuit. I met some interesting people who chase them around a lot further than I did.

Last week we took a drive into Wyoming and Montana. First stop – Miles City. Long I'd heard that there was a good museum there. It's very large filling several buildings packed with items from the frontier era. I couldn't help but notice this scene in a restaurant in Miles City. Five people sat eating, obviously three generations. The old man, a grizzly looking sort who with lots of miles had lots of stories and wisdom to impart, his son, and his three grandchildren. What were the grandkids doing? All three had their noses buried in their cell phones. Someday, I'm sure they'll wish they'd have given a little more attention to grandpa.

From there we headed south to Sheridan, WY. One of the attractions in that town is King's Saddlery. They've built a reputation on good quality leather works and ranching tools. I stopped to looked at a display of pincher types. A cowboy came to look, too. He picked one up and said it was a good quality. After using one for ten years,he said he could still clip his thumb nail with it. The price - $250. One building, called a museum, holds over 500 old saddles people have brought in. The curator said that was only a part of them; they're stored in buildings all over town. In another room a man sat tooling fancy leather goods such as belts, wallets, etc. He's not taking orders now, being about one year

behind.

We took in the Buffalo Bill Historical Center in Cody. That is one great museum! We spent several hours in there. Of course, the government shutdown affected us. We wanted to drive through both Grand Teton Nat. Park and Yellowstone Park after that. No admittance! Off to Helena, then, with an overnight stop in Bozeman.

Here a darn bug I'd been fighting got the best of me, and wife Mary said we should head for home. No argument from me. It's a good thing, because the next day winter hit Montana, and we'd have been driving in snowy conditions. We got home before the weather system hit us here in Mandan. Good timing.

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Sign hanging in Wishek Livestock: Behind every successful rancher is a woman... who works in town.

Mish-mash

The picture is of the railroad bridge between Mandan and Bismarck taken from a boat in the river.  Note the iron ice-breaker on the right side of the pillar.  This piling is said to be the original.

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We had a busy week, the way we like them.  Last Thursday we took an OLLI field trip to Fort Abraham Lincoln.  To get there, we rode the five-miles in an open trolley car.  With low temperatures and gusty winds but enough clothing, we arrived to tour Custer's house, then down to the Indian village.  We've been there a few times before, but it is always fun.

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We attended the Governor's History Conference on Friday night and all day Saturday.  One of the Little Rock nine attended to give the keynote address.  On Friday evening we watched a film about Judge Ronald Davies, the North Dakota judge who was called to Arkansas to adjudicate the problem of getting the black students enrolled in high school.  Quite an impressive man.  I asked one retired judge here if he knew Davies.  He did, and agreed that he was tough and no-nonsense.

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On Sunday we drove to Washburn to attend their open house of the new and improved Lewis & Clark Museum.  It was free so we decided to take advantage of that fact.  It's a nice facility and the parking lot had lots of out-of-state license plates.

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There's a big day coming on Saturday - wild horse sale in Wishek.  I plan to attend and take pictures and see if I can't get a story to write out of the event.  The Western Writers of America might like it. There's a pushback on the sale.  The Nokota horse people say the wild horses are no different than domestic horses; that they have the true wild horses.  A letter to the editor in the Tribune claimed the Theodore Roosevelt Park, the wild horse experts, and the Wishek sales ring are having a big party at the horse's expense.

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A couple of months ago Mary and I were asked to come to the BSC campus and sit for a promotional video being made for the Osher Institute.  We did and thought they might use a bit of our remarks, but they did more than that.  Check it out.  Search uofnorthdakota.  When at their website search for recent videos and click on "What is OLLI?"  It's about eight minutes long, and we appear three different times.
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My old buddy sends me an Ole and Lena joke occasionally, and this is the latest:

Government surveyors came to Ole's farm in the fall and asked if they could
do some surveying. Ole agreed, and Lena even served them a nice meal at noon
time.

The next spring, the two surveyors stopped by and told Ole, "Because you
were so kind to us, we wanted to give you this bad news in person instead of
by letter."

Ole replied, "What's the bad news?"

The surveyors stated, "Well, after our work here, we discovered your farm is
not in Minnesota but is actually in Wisconsin!"

Ole looked at them and said, "That's the best news I have heard in a long
time. I just told Lena this morning that I don't think I can take another
winter in Minnesota."
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I'm taking a week off so there will be no blog "Miscellaneous Musings" next week.

Cruisin'

Monday morning found us cruising down the Missouri River on the Lewis & Clark riverboat. The reason: we signed up for a class through the Osher Institute called “The Mighty Missouri River.” So what could be better than floating down it listening to Tracy Potter. I've come to one conclusion about the river and the areas adjacent to it. There's a heckuva lot of history around here.

Tracy told an interesting story about the man piloting the boat. When he needed a pilot a couple of years ago, he advertised all over the country. A man from Key West applied to come up during our tourist season, and then he heads back down to Key West to run fishing boats down there. Sounds like a good fit.

At the point where the boat started to turn around for the return trip, it seemed to stall. I thought, “Uh, oh, we're hung up on a sandbar.” Anyway, Tracy asked him later what happened. The pilot said he was just experimenting on how slow he could go and still maintain his position. He needed to know because in a couple of weeks , he would be parking it in its winter berth and needed the knowledge for controlling and steering it in the Missouri River's strong current. What with the sandbars constantly changing in the river, it was a safe guess about being stranded out there. (At least I thought so.)

Later this week, Thursday, we will spend the afternoon on the grounds of Fort Lincoln for another class tour. And on Saturday the North Dakota Historical Society sponsors the Governor's History Conferece, the topic being the integration/segregation at Little Rock, Arkansas. One of the black students involved in it will be the featured speaker.

Here is where the map should fold

Here is where the map should fold. Here is the boundary between east and west. On the Bismarck side it is eastern landscape, eastern grass, with the look and smell of eastern America. Across the Missouri on the Mandan side, it is pure west, with brown grass and water scorings, and small outcrops. John Steinbeck - Travels with Charley.

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We ran one of our infrequent garage sales last Friday and Saturday. Items sold well, and no large items

remained at the end to lug back into the house. The large annual Indian powwow was being held, lots of new people were in town, and residents put up garage sales signs all over the twin towns. The reason: to get some of the Indian money, of course. A steady stream of lookers stopped by our place on both days, several being Indians.

I enjoyed visiting with one woman who did something interesting. She was talking on her cell phone as she looked at our wares, and it wasn't English she was talking. When she finished, I asked her, “What language were you speaking?” She answered right back, “Crow.” Sometimes a question like that can turn sour if they think it's none of my business. But she visited with me about it and told me she had been raised by her grandmother who spoke nary a word of English. This lady, about 40 years old and well dressed said, in fact, Crow is her first language. She'd rather speak it than English, although she spoke it very well, too.

…

It's no secret I like frontier history, and I ran into an interesting tidbit in the weekly Mandan News. They always run a column named, “Those Were the Days,” going back as far as 125 years to 1888. Last week this item appeared, “It is a matter of regret that there are a few boys in town who can be correctly called hoodlums. The latest development among them is a desire to disturb a religious meeting in some way. Not long ago, during a prayer meeting in one of the churches, a boy came quietly to the door and yelled at the top of his voice 'Get the ____ outa here!' and then ran away as fast as his legs would carry him. Such shocking behavior would never have occurred here just a few short years ago. Obviously, the parents of these boys are largely to blame for such actions; lack of discipline at home is the cause.”

Having been in the school business, the poor parents always got blamed when the kids acted up. I also know that many hell-raisers came from very strictly disciplined households. Things haven't changed in 125 years.

…

A few days ago our daily paper ran a cartoon I couldn't help but clip and save. It's a single panel cartoon showing Dick Tracy in the forefront looking at the radio-thingy he always talked into. Now this was 60 years ago or better when I started reading his cartoons. Anyway, here comes a younger couple meeting him, both of them looking at the phone on their wrists. One says, “Who's the old guy trying to be hip?” Isn't there a line in a song that goes something like, “when everything old is new again​”?

Labor Day

South of Mandan

Chaotic action is preferable to orderly inaction. - Will Rogers

The official celebration of Labor Day was signed into law by President Grover Cleveland. He didn't do it because he liked labor, but because he was afraid if an official day wasn't given over to labor more riots and bloodshed would occur, like that of the so-called Haymarket Massacre.

One of the early leaders in the Industrial Workers of the World labor movement was Big Bill Haywood who effectively organized mine workers in the West. A biography of the man has been written, I've read it, and came to admire his steadfastness in the face of threats and intimidation. The Wobblies, their popular name, made enemies among the owners and management for their tough tactics.

My hometown's poet Tom McGrath wrote in his book-length poem – Letter to an Imaginary Friend - about a scene he witnessed as a boy at his uncle's threshing machine. His uncle took offense for the labor troubles occurring in his field and beat one of the Wobblies severely. Nothing settled. McGrath wrote, “My uncle was cursing the Reds, Ordering the rig to start, but no one started. The men drifted away.”

That is just one small example of labor and management's struggle. In this present time, there seems to be little mention of unionism. Plants get shut down because the workers are making too much money. Then re-open in a year or two without union representation.  There was a time, though, when the Will Rogers quote made a lot of sense to union organizers.

The West

Even if you're on the right track, you'll get run over if you just sit there. - Will Rogers

*     *     *

Where else but on the sundown side of the Missouri River would you find a street sign saying "Wolfsong Loop?"

I'm writing this in Fargo in the home of Clint's family. Clint is at work while the kids' mother travels to the country of Latvia to serve as an event team doctor for an ice skating competition. Clint and the kids will travel to meet her later this week and then tour a couple Scandinavian countries as well.

Whenever I get over here to Fargo, I can't help but think of all the rich farmland being covered up by concrete and asphalt. It'll never be reclaimed. Maybe someday wheat will be grown in roadside ditches and front lawns of all these houses and businesses so we have enough to eat. 

With all the hot weather we are having, it doesn't feel a lot different than the temps I experienced in June in Las Vegas. Besides, we get a lot more humidity with our heat than they do down there.

*     *     *

It didn't take me long to decide I agreed with this statement made by an unknown author: "Peace is that brief glorious moment in history when everybody stands around reloading."  That business in Syria is troubling.  The President is being pressured by some to get more fully involved, but I don't think we can stand another military action.  I am not looking forward to another war!  Pacifist I'm not, but this does not appeal to me.

I'm back in Mandan now, and the lead story on the morning show is Syria.  The war drums are a'pounding.  Of course the Miley Cyrus story will be covered, too.

Poetry and Such

What the country needs is dirtier fingernails and cleaner minds. Will Rogers

* * *

We English majors are supposed to know and appreciate poetry (I think). There are a few of the classic poems that really do speak to the innards, especially this sonnet by Percy Bysshe Shelley -

Ozymandias

I met a traveller from an antique land,

Who said - “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

Stand in the desert....Near them, on the sand,

Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,

And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

Which yet survive, stamped on those lifeless things,

The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;

And on the pedestal, these words appear:

My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings,

Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare

The lone and level sands stretch far away.

The gist of the poem is that no matter how mighty and great Ozymandias may have been, his statue lies half buried in the sands that “stretch far away.” Said to have been the Pharaoh Rameses in Egypt the statue does exist on display in the British Museum. I suppose the metaphor at work here is that the sands of time change everything. He says, “Look on my Works, ye Mighty and despair!” What is there to look at except for the crumbling statue and the desert. How many dynasties, dictators, and empires have come and gone in this old world, and which ones will be next...?

* * *

School's about to start and there is a movement by some parents to get the state legislature to pass a law to wait until after Labor Day. I talked to someone yesterday at the fitness center who is ready to begin now. He is a retired teacher and coach who now volunteers in the athletic departments of the local high schools. He likes being around and of service.

School for us old-timers will start soon, too. I'm talking about the Osher Institute and its offerings. I've signed up for a class about history of the Missouri River where one of the sessions will be aboard a riverboat to take an informative cruise. Another will deal with history of Fort Abraham Lincoln, and still another with cavalry horses. In addition we always sign up for free monthly movies which have all been good. Last Friday we saw “Quartet,” a story set in a retirement home for musicians. It was fun watching the old fogeys interact with each other. Lots of laughs and a good moral, too.

* * *

Sven and Ole worked in a factory and were talking:

Ole: “I can make the boss giff me the day off.”
Sven: “And how vould you do dat?”
Ole: “Yust vait and see.” He then hangs upside-down from the ceiling.
Boss comes in: What are you doing​?”

Ole: “I’m a light bulb.”
Boss: “Have you gone crazy. I think you need to take the day off.”

Sven starts to follow him and the boss says: “Where are you going?”
Sven says: “I’s going home, too. I can’t verk in the dark.”

Juxtaposition

Everything is changing.  People are taking their comedians seriously and the politicians as a joke.  Will Rogers

Will Rogers was generally spot on.  Politicians get lots of attention from the comedians, and the thing about it is they usually see the situations correctly.  Take the orange flower above standing out in contrast with the large sage surrounding it.  Pretend it's a politician who stuck his foot in his mouth or got caught doing something foolish.

The biggest problem we have in this country are people who repeat propaganda so many times that stupid people start to believe it.  I still love the title of a book I own: When did ignorance become a point of view.  Enough for now.  More next week.

Big Blue Sky

Never let yesterday use up too much of today. -  Will Rogers

I love that big, blue sky when viewed in a rural setting.  I'm going to have to go  on a picture taking safari again since I've about used up my inventory.  But this one is worth bringing out...  It's been pretty cool here the last few days.  The weather sure is changeable.  Naysayers won't admit to any climate change taking place, especially so when the threat of action affects their pocketbooks.  Hell, we've got all that oil just sitting there waiting for the taking.  Maybe when it's depleted we can do something else.  You have to hand it to the lobbyists, they sure twist arms in Washington, North Dakota for that matter.  But then the people have a right to petition the government through their representatives according to the Constitution, so there you have it.

Lots of activity took place in Bismarck this past weekend.  The annual Capitol Affair took place on the capitol grounds.  I don't know how many vendors showed up, but there sure were a lot of them.  We didn't buy anything except two orders of tacos in a bag for noon lunch and a huge bag of kettle corn which we're still munching on.

A large chautauqua tent stood just off to the side, and that's where I spent most of my time.  North Dakota has some distinction with the chautauqua, but I'm not sure what.  Maybe, the first to do it.  Whatever, the four hour-long programs brought in some pretty heavy historical characters: General Stand Watie, General Ely Parker, General George Armstrong Custer, and President Abraham Lincoln.  Watie, a Cherokee from Oklahama, served as a Confederate general; Parker, a Seneca, became a civil engineer, then a friend of Ulysses Grant, and under Grant's order, composed the surrender documents for General Lee to sign at Appomattax; Custer, aw, come on, everyone knows who he is, and Lincoln, who we didn't stick around for since it was scheduled to run at 5:00.  We've taken chautauquas in every chance we get; they just don't come around very often.

Awhile back I picked up an old worn copy of Chet Huntley's The Generous Years.  Finally opening it yesterday, I found this passage that made me reminisce: "The harvest meals were shameless competitions of abundance.  Each ranch wife was a keen competitor for the ultimate decision of the threshing crew that she served the finest food of the season.  I am not certain about the justice of their decisions, but it guaranteed them a perpetuating array of food."  I still remember the good food we ate when Dad and his three brothers put up silage in the fall.  I don't know if the ladies were competitive, but mmm...

I wonder what Ole and crew have been doing lately -
Ole, Sven and Lars die in a tragic Lutefisk accident. They are met by God on the stairway to heaven.
God says, "There are 3,000 steps to heaven. It's very serious up there. I'll tell you a joke on each 1,000th step you reach. If you laugh you go to hell."
So they start walking and reach to the first 1,000th step. God tells a joke, Lars laughs out loud and goes straight to hell. Ole and Sven look at each other nervously.
On the 2,000th step God tells another joke, Sven tries his best but laughs and goes to straight to hell.
On the 3,000th step God tells the last and best joke, Ole doesn't laugh and proceeds to the gate.
Suddenly, Ole bursts out laughing hysterically. God asks, "What are you laughing about?".
Ole replies, "Oh dat's funny. I yust got da first yoke!".

End of Another July

 Things in our country run in spite of government, not by aid of it.  Will Rogers

It's been awhile since I dusted off some of my old poems.  I found this one that I'd almost forgotten I'd written - 

I just heard Tom T. Hall sing

"Back when gas was thirty cents

a gallon."  For a dollar

I could buy seven glasses

of beer, then dream nightmares

of dancing with, fat, boozy,

foul-mouthed women.  Good neighbor

below us just mowed leafy

spurge in his horse pasture,

and I bought a rich armload

of books at my favorite

thrift store where a college prof

keeps them lined up on their shelves.

Epic fires eat at Texas

and I still write of blizzards

stalling wagons trains back home.

Then there is this one, probably the most thoughtful one I've ever written -

We were drinking beer in Herb's

when Walter said, "Your dad should

have kicked your ass more often

just as far as I'm concerned."

Walt was a World War II vet,

a gunner in a bomber

who told of watching bullets

bounce off the armored belly

of German jets he shot at.

He flew thirty-some missions.

How could I argue with him?

Just maybe he knew something.

Then I looked beside Walter

to the next man.  He'd once said

a man could have walked ashore

on floating soldiers' bodies

killed while attempting to land

on gory foreign beaches.

He rarely spoke, yet his eyes

looked at me saying, "He's right."

The next in line at the bar,

a D-Day paratrooper,

spoke cheerfully, masking facts

of his war - hearing screams

of Germans after he threw

explosives in their concrete

bunker.  His box of medals

sat unsung, collecting dust.

In spite of his easy laugh

his eyes pierced this guy's know-it-

all attitude to say,"You

have a lot to learn yet, boy!"

Though my spirit had weakened

from this beating I'd taken,

I could still stand at the bar.

My eyes settled on the vet

who hosted a metal plate

in his head for which he'd paid

a piece of his skull and brain.

The crew of his tank had stopped

to cook coffee.  A sniper

traded his bullet for the flesh

of this man, neutralizing

forever his reasoning.

Those unfocused eyes watched

me through a clouded beer glass -

was I friend or enemy?

the one who had wounded him?

I had entered this man's world

thinking I was an equal,

but this cadre proved harsh worlds

apart from mine existed.

That ragged line extended

further down the long counter,

and men's faces became blurred.

Each had his private story

and bore sore wounds in body

and mind.  Retreat from their hell

was the better course for me.

Years have passed and none remain

to share their stories and shame

me into humility.

It is this I remember.

Pretty Flowers

I'm spending most of my time researching topics that interest me, all at the expense of a shaggy lawn, broken garage door opener, and a host of miscellaneous other jobs I should take care of. But none of those are much fun. I got steered into some website information Monday night by a friend with common interests and is a veteran researcher. I told him if he ever runs into information regarding horse buyers in this country during World War One that I'd appreciate any tips. He went right to work when he got home and found sources without looking very hard. The website is chroniclingamerica.loc.gov and draws from historic newspapers. I looked at a few Bismarck Tribunes and found a number of interesting tidbits, ie one article headlined West Now Being Drained of Horses where one paragraph stated, “Probably 6,000 to 7,500 horses are being shipped out of Montana and northern Wyoming monthly, all destined for war service.”

* * *

Quite a stir with “Rolling Stone” magazine when they pictured the young Boston bomb maker on its front cover. When I was last in Barnes and Noble I picked up an issue, but not to read about that. No, I wanted to read an article featuring Willie Nelson. You gotta love that guy. He must have completely disarmed the interviewer with this joke: A man went to the doctor for a checkup. Says the doc, “You're going to have to quit masturbating.” “Why?” says the patient. “So I can exam you.”

* * *

That same morning we went to Denny's for breakfast where a young native American gal took our order. The restaurant was very busy, and I remarked in my sometimes heavy Norwegian pronunciation of things, “You look bissy.” She looked confused, looked around and said, “I'm not Bessy, I'm Alva.” After explaining my sloppy pronunciation, we all had a good laugh over it.

* * *

Sometimes I think news people must feel trapped in a whirlpool from which there is no escape. I'm talking about the birth of a new royal baby in England. Now that is very nice, but how much of it do we need in this country. Watching Mika on Morning Joe, I'm sure she feels that way. She as much as said so, but then reverted into some more baby news.

* * *

I've been reading good books lately.  Richard S. Wheeler from Montana writes of the West,and the last of his I read was Bat Masterson.  Wheeler was a newsman in his earlier life, and often uses a newsman as a character in his stories.  He really is a wordsmith.  Now I picked up his Richest Hill on Earth, a story about mining in Butte, Montana, and sure enough, a newsman gets right in the middle of things.

Lookin' Good

What with such a late spring , the flowers in Mary's garden got off to a slow start, but now she thinks they have reached their peak of beauty, and that's not bad.  What was it - three months ago that we had such a deep snowfall.  Most people had put their snowblowers away and had their lawnmowers ready to go.  It's a good thing I went around the yard yesterday morning with my camera because I came upon a running water hose she had forgotten about.  I suppose the extra water bill will just come out of my allowance.

*     *     *
 Speaking of the wife, I drug her kicking and screaming to The Lone Ranger on Sunday.  It took a couple weeks of pleading, but finally she relented.  Of course, what were the first words she spoke as we walked to our car after the movie, "I really liked it!"  There are some good laughs in the story.  Tonto always made sure to feed the dead crow he wore on his head for good luck.  A little fantasy is good for anyone.
*     *     *
An article in this week's Time magazine finally educated me as to why there is a big environmental pushback trying to prevent the Keystone Pipeline from being built - that stuff is really gunky and dirty. 
*     *     *

What's with the television station in California that reported on the pilot's names of the Korean airplane that came in for a hard landing.  There must have been a bunch of slugs running around in that studio and in front of that camera to say these names out loud: Sum Ting Wong, Wi Tu Lo, Ho Lee F__ , and Bang Ding Ow. I choose not to fill in the blanks on the one name, but it's easy to figure out.  If that's not outrageous enough, here is another to add to it.  A newspaper in Chicago wrote the headline "Fright 214."  They got in trouble because it was perceived as a slur to Asiatic pronunciation of an English word.  

*     *     *

The Zimmerman case in Florida brings out more racial anger.  Of course, mobbery erupted in protest.  And our role model,  the Senate argues.  The House of Reps argues.  No one gets anything done.  I spent a little time the other day looking at a magazine in Barnes and Noble - American Cowboy, August/September - and read an essay written by President Jimmy Carter in honor of John Wayne.  Of course, with Carter being a liberal Democrat and John Wayne being a conservative Republican they were bound to disagree.  But Carter liked the man immensely.  Here is a quote from that article: What I learned from him as we engaged during my tenure as president was that patriotism, policy debates, even major disagreements about the nation's direction need not be hostile or personal or contentious, and that no matter how much we disagreed, we had more in common than our differences might suggest.   If only we could have people like that around today.  The democrat Tip O'Neill and the republican Ronald Reagan fought during the day but were great friends at night.  Something seems to get in the way of that occurring today.

*    *     *

Ole and Lars were working for the city public works department in Fargo.  Ole would dig a hole and Lars would follow behind and fill the hole in. They worked up one side of the street, then down the other, then moved on to the next street, working furiously all day without rest, one digging a hole, the other filling it in again.  An onlooker was amazed at their hard work, but couldn't understand what they were doing. So he asked Ole, "I'm impressed by the effort you two are putting in to your work, but I don't get it -- why do you dig a hole, only to have your partner follow behind and fill it up again?  Ole, the hole digger, wiped his brow and sighed, 'Vell, I suppose it probably looks odd because ve're normally a three-person team. But today Sven, who plants da trees called in sick.'"

Whatever comes to mind...

“Some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again.” - C. S. Lewis

What better way to start a blog than to see a picture of a pretty, young lady hard at work with an important task.  This, by the way, is my little granddaughter so seriously intent on her work.

I'm still processing in my mind the convention I just attended.  People we meet there might just be the most important reason for going.  At one evening banquet I sat with a couple from California whom I found to be very interesting.  As the meal wore on I mentioned that I was interested in the history of horse procurement in the Midwest by buyers who looked to supply military needs in Europe during the first world war.  On the battlefields, horses and mules suffered the same fates as infantrymen, i.e. wounding, gassing, injury, and killing.  Even though my grandfather never talked much of his experiences in the Meuse-Argonne, he did mention to one of my cousins how he hated to hear the screams of the wounded horses in the night.  These were horses that couldn't be put out of their misery with a simple gun to the head.  They were horses trapped in "no-man's land" between the two opposing forces where no man dared to tread.  Their fate was to suffer until finally succumbing to their wounds. 

The man listened attentively, and then said it was something he too was interested in.  His father had purchased these same horses for the remount depot in Montana.  It was a story he'd always intended telling, but now at 88 years of age with only 10% vision remaining due to macular degeneration, he no longer could.

He wants me to tell it and gave me sources of information to find the nuts and bolts of that period of history.  Then, on Sunday, I received a telephone call from him with more words of encouragement.  Now to start gathering facts and figures.  

My interest developed when I'd read about a famous bucking horse from this region named Tipperary.  He was so wild that buyers wouldn't take him, and men quick to take advantage, started entering him in rodeos. A book named Tipperary had earlier been given to me by the stepmother of the past Governor Schafer, Sheila Schafer. 

I hope I have time remaining to finish everything!

Some words on the WWA convention

 For people who watch the History Channel's Pawn Stars show, they will recognize the man with the flat Amish style hat, Mark Hall-Patton.  This picture was taken in the Barnes and Noble store in Henderson, NV where WWA book-signing event.  I didn't sell, but I bought way too many. And then as I lugged the heavy bag into the hotel, I wondered if I would be able to pack everything and get it home.  Hall-Patton spoke to the group twice, here, and the next day at a breakout session at the convention.  He says he will not tell anyone what an item is worth and usually doesn't know.  What he does is authenticate it as real or call it fake.  As for the show, he said it is produced.  That is, an interesting subject is lined up and then they call him to come in, something which takes a half-hour to travel from one of the three museums he manages.  People were interested in the personalities on the show, mostly the old man and Chumlee.  Is the old man as grumpy as he appears?  As a matter of fact he is, but he suffers from migraine headaches and has a reason for it.  Why does Chumlee stick around with all the guff he takes?  Don't worry about Chumlee, he's laughing all the way to the bank.  We passed the Gold and Silver Pawn Shop one day in the bus when it was 111 degrees.  I guess some people like to suffer, because a long line stood outside the shop waiting to be admitted.

The mystique of the American mob drew a busload of WWA convention-goers to the National Museum of Organized Crime & Law Enforcement, better known as The Mob Museum, on Thursday, June 27. The city of Las Vegas deems it important, because, after all, its website proclaims, “The Vegas of today wouldn't exist without the mob of yesterday.” Housed in the city's old federal courthouse and post office, the museum's three floors have been re-purposed to hold memorabilia, photos, films, documents, and interactive displays featuring well-known crime figures and some dogged lawmen who pursued them. That the mob continues to draw interest among the public can be illustrated by the accolades given to actor James Gandolfini after his recent death. The character he played was a murderous mobster.

Two .45 Thompson sub-machine guns were used to slaughter five members of Chicago's North Side Gang on February 14, 1929, thus the eponymous St. Valentine's Day Massacre. The very brick wall the victims faced when shot in the back has been dismantled brick by brick, moved to Las Vegas, and reconstructed. The profusion of bullet holes in those bricks gives testament to the grim facts of the scene. A glass case displayed one of the guns used. If eyes had not seen, an observer would never have believed that a petite, young lady could pick up a Thompson and begin firing away at a human target in the museum, but assuredly, it did happen that day. It must be disclosed, though, that the gun, however lifelike, was an electronic simulator.

These conventions are very interesting for me.  A person doesn't even know who he doesn't know.  At the Saturday night banquet I sat at a table with some folks, one of whom's name was Andrew Fenady.  It meant nothing until he told me he was a movie producer, and among other movies had produced John Wayne's "Chisum."  He told some great stories about the business and about John Wayne.  He writes a lot of books, too, and gave me one that evening.  I'm halfway through already.  It's a good one.

Another fellow I visited with, William McGee, gave me a very good lead on finding research material.  I told him I was very interested in writing a story centering on the horses during World War I that European buyers came here looking to buy.  European countries couldn't keep the armies supplied because they were being killed off on the battlefields.  He said it was a story he always wanted to tell, but now at the age of 88 and with only 10% vision remaining, he can't do it.  He was knowledgeable of the topic; his father worked as an agent buying those horses. 

 

Next year we head to Sacramento, CA for the convention, and I plan on taking Mary with.  I know she will enjoy it.

 

More from Vegas

Full day yesterday, another coming up. Posted are pictures from the auction last night.

Wednesday PM

Today was a big day of panel discussions. This morning the topic owas The Victorian West: Virtue and Vice. The panelists got right down to the nitty gritty in talking about gambling, prostitution, venereal disease, etc. A great story dealt with a gambler who, when he died, had a baptist, Presbyterian, Jew, and a catholic speak, he wanted to cover the odds.

This afternoon Getting It Right: Writing About Cowboys had several old grizzled old time cowboys who laughed at how many writers have portrayed them and their activities.


Second this afternoon - Black Cowboys in the West dealt with how large Ola presence blacks were in the West. The picture shows the members of this one.

Lastly the discussion centered around the Old Spanish Trail, the least interesting to me.


The second fellow on this picture is known as Cowboy Mike. He possesses the heartiest laugh I've ever heard. I shouldn't have talked to my editor, he gave me two more books to review for Roundup magazine. Now my pile is seven books high. Oh we'll, I guess I asked for it. More tomorrow.

Location:Las Vegas Blvd S,Winchester,United States

Wednesday @ WWA

here is the poster that says it all. More to come.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Las Vegas

In Las Vegas

I made it to the WWA convention, but I'm having trouble figuring out this mini iPad.  I'll try again tomorrow.

4-4-0 and more

Finding information and collecting my thoughts in preparation to start the next writing project, I started thinking about the old railroad engines that whistled, steamed, and smoked through my little hometown.  There were many configurations of wheels on the engines, and this one shows a 4-4-0 arrangement - four wheels in front, four driver wheels, and no trailer wheels, a very typical engine in the late 1800's, I have a commemorative collector plate hanging on my office wall of  Locomotive No. 1, The William Crooks  which says on the reverse side, "The first locomotive to operate in Minnesota."  Garage sales result in some great finds, this included.  On the accompanying Certificate of Authenticity, this statement appears: Completed in 1862 for the St. Paul and Pacific Railroad, this locomotive made its first run between St. Paul and St. Anthony, now Minneapolis.  The Crooks was carried for many years as Locomotive No. 1 on the roster of the Great Northern Railway, a BNSF predecessor.   Comparing this picture to the one on my plate, I can find no difference.  Vintage photos show similar engines used in North Dakota during this period.

Railroads weigh heavily in any thinking about old towns in pioneer days. Towns either existed because a rail line went through or withered and died because the railroad bypassed them. Picture this humorous scene in my hometown as reported in the newspaper: December, 1866 – “Tuesday afternoon the snowplow came through, ran into a little snowbank close to the depot, and before the smiling agent could wink, he was nearly buried with the 'beautiful.'” In February, 1885 we learn that “the freight business of the Fargo and Southwestern is rapidly on the increase. Twenty cars of freight passed west yesterday.” This fellow had quite the ride: “A man who rode in a sealed box car loaded with salmon from Portland, Oregon was heard crying for water in the Northern Pacific yards at Fargo, Dak and was promptly arrested.” Trains spooked horses: “Liveryman Hickey met with quite a painful accident on Sunday afternoon. He was leading a colt which became frightened at the whistle of a locomotive of one of the gravel trains and plunging forward, hit Mr. Hickey with his shoulder, breaking a couple of ribs.” (Hickey, I've learned, was an experienced horseman.) It took lots of manpower to build and maintain a railroad: “A gang of the swarthy sons of Italy have been assisting the regular section crew putting in new ties for the past two weeks.”

Certain events in history have enough importance to find preservation in books such as the killing winter of 1886-87, and when we read of events leading up to it one wishes he could holler loudly, “Stop, can't you see what's going to happen!” This appeared in the May, 1885 issue of The Sheldon Progress: “Thousands of head of cattle have been bought in Northwestern Iowa in the last few weeks to be taken to the large ranches in Dakota and Montana for fattening purposes.” This is the stuff of science fiction, being sent back in time to alter history. Teddy Roosevelt's investment disappeared in this winter of severe blizzards and cracking cold. He thought it would be easy money to buy cattle, fatten them on prairie grass, and ship them out for a large profit. Hundreds of thousands of cattle died.

My favorite line from our old newspaper states this to confirm in my mind that Sheldon once stood on the edge of the frontier: “Several prairie schooners passed through town yesterday bound for the west.”

About that same time this appeared: “Saturday was a lively day in Sheldon. Thirty or forty teams could be counted on Front Street at almost any hour of the day.” I aim to tell some of these stories.

***
Ole and Sven were on a train taking a trip to Nort Dakoda.  A beautiful woman in front was saying she heard the Dakoda Indians were the world's best lovers.  She asked Ole what his name was, and he says "Ole Redfeather."

***

Change

This blogsite is undergoing a bit of freshening up. Change is inevitable. It's been said the only constant in this world is change. There are still some things to do in remodeling, but this is a first step. I need more help from Brandon before I call it done. I thought about establishing a website, something which can be a little different, but I decided to stay with this blogger site. To be added will be some links, plus another category or two.

But this blog is not going to be about change, just the opposite: some people don't want change in their lives. Some of the great books, as far as I'm concerned, are about old codgers who refuse modern ways. The book Monte Walsh tells the story of a cowboy who wanted to keep on doing things the way he always did. Jack Schaefer, the author, has a storekeeper asking Monte why he threw a man out a closed window for repeatedly asking a certain question. “What question?” the storekeeper wondered. “Why, when was I going to turn my horse in on a goddamned autymobile.” Schaefer is the one who also wrote Shane.

Elmer Kelton wrote a good many highly respected western novels. He writes in one, The Good Old Boys, that Hewey Calloway “... lives in an impossible dream, trying to remain changeless in a world where the only constant is change.” I regret not having had the chance to meet Kelton. He regularly attended the Western Writers conventions and had many admirers among the other writers. Unfortunately, I joined up too late since he passed away several years ago.

Luddites were a group of British workers who between 1811 and 1816 rioted and destroyed laborsaving textile machinery in the belief that such machinery would diminish employment. Owners of the factories became victimized by Luddites who wanted the old ways left intact. Once in awhile the term luddite still gets resurrected and used in dialogue of today.

On the wall in front of my desk, at eye level, hangs an 11x14 picture of a Buffalo Pitts steam engine entering a shallow ford on the Sheyenne River. Hitched to it is a threshing machine. A loaded bundle wagon stands behind, and on either side, in water, are a horse and buggy and a team pulling a water wagon. I recently acquired it from Tom Spiekermeier of Sheldon. The picture appeared in 1981 Sheldon Community History with the caption “The Wall Bros. Threshing Crew crossing the 'Froemke' Sheyenne River crossing south of Anselm, ND. This is just west of where Argil Froemke now lives.”

In searching archival newspapers I ran onto a few notations pertaining to this very outfit in 1901: July 19 - “Fred Wall and brother Alfred have bought a fine new threshing outfit and will make the straw fly this fall.” August 2 – Harvest hands are getting $2.00 a day and that is about right.” August 9 – The whistle of the steam engine is heard in the early morn – threshing is under way.” and August 30 – Last Friday was a damp day and made threshing a slow process, yet Fred Wall seems to have gotten there with both feet. He threshed on that day 2121 bushels wheat, 90 bushels of oats, and 32 bushels of barley. The total time in the field was 11 hours and five moves were made during the day. The separator was a 40-60 Nichols and Shepard, Red River Special and a Pitts 22 H.P. engine.” Whether or not the picture was taken in 1901 can't be determined from the information I have, but it is safe to assume at the least it was taken in the early 1900's.

Earlier research on High-Low Water Trails between Forts Abercrombie and Ransom leads me to believe this would have been one of the fords used at the time of the bullwhacker and mule skinner freighting days between the two forts.