Sacred Sites

And our name shall be forgotten in time, and no man shall have our works in remembrance, and our life shall pass away as the trace of a cloud, and shall be dispersed as a mist, that is driven away with the beams of the sun, and overcome with the heat thereof. Wisdom of Solomon 2:4, New American Bible

Yesterday afternoon I attended another of the monthly "Conversations at BSC." The topic - Sacred Places on the Great Plains - reminded me of the Bible verse above. Things will be forgotten!

The discussion mostly centered on Native American sites in the region which they consider as sacred. So many of them were excluded outside the boundaries of the reservations, and they became forgotten or unusable by the Indians. One example pointed to the Medicine Rock site near Leith, ND, which is protected as a historical site by the North Dakota State Historical Society. A picture showed the rock with a small protective fence surrounding it; it's not big. In the Q & A session, an Indian gentleman in the audience stood up and told this story of how small the protected area was and how all the surrounding land belonged to a farmer who would not give permission for ceremonies to extend beyond the fence. For all practical purposes the site cannot be used by them for their traditional worship.

The picture above is Bear Butte in South Dakota, and the development in front resulted from the success of the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally. The butte is considered very sacred, but they cannot keep sightseers and hikers from encroaching on their ceremonial ground. They have asked visitors to refrain from visiting the butte in the month of June without much luck. Of course, all of the Black Hills was given to the Indians in an early treaty, but the discovery of gold changed that.

Other modern developments take away sacred sites. The flooding of the Lakes Sacajawea and Oahe covered much, and this is not to forget the property of other cultures as well.

The two gentleman moderators, President Skogen of BSC and scholar Jenkinson, prefaced the afternoon with a brief rundown of a recent trip to Europe and their break-away jaunt from their group to track down some historical topics, one of which was to see the site of Mussolini's death in Italy. I think the whole afternoon was well setup when they said they asked around for information for the World War II era dictator, but couldn't get much satisfaction as they asked mostly younger 30ish people. This group wasn't any better informed about historical matters than 30 somethings anywhere else.

Maybe the George Santayana quotation I memorized years ago teaches a horrible truth: "Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it."

Culture Clash

I attended my last session at the Osher Institute last evening, the one dealing with the military frontier. The time goes too fast and all three topics I attended , Myths and Legends, History of Rock and Roll and this one, should have lasted longer. But I can always look forward to the new material next fall. In addition, free movies once a month have been shown. A few days ago we attended "Sweet Land." The blurb in our catalog read thusly: Norwegian-American farmer Olaf Torvik and his rural Minnesota community must struggle to overcome years of anti-German propaganda and prejudice when he discovers that his mail-order bride, Inge, is not only a German but also an accidental Socialist. . . . award winning tale of love's ability to triumph over ignorance. It seemed so true, especially since both my wife and I have knowledge of that happening in our families. In the movie, Inge found herself being shunned, talked about, ignored, whatever. The poor girl did not understand English, but headstrong, she made herself learn as quickly as possible. Olaf was a good man, a Norwegian bachelor farmer like Garrison Keillor often talks about on his weekly radio show, but felt the influence of his culture. They did come to love each other and everything worked out for the good.

Dad's family lived at Nome for a few years when he was young. Nome was a Norwegian community but Grandma, a German from Russia, never felt comfortable among the Norwegian speaking folks, sometimes thinking they were talking about her. Then it was that they relocated to Sheldon, and I - a result of the rest of the story.

Ma's family experienced cultural difficulties, too. Her father was drafted into the army in World War I while still a citizen of Norway. When he married Grandma she lost her citizenship because of it. He went to war and fought in bloody battles but no slack was shown to Grandma. She had to go through the citizenship application process when she wanted to receive social security payments.

Mary's parents, both from Raleigh, ND, were of different German cultures in Russia. For instance, the word potato was voiced as krumbera (sp?) by her mother and kaduffala (sp?) by her father. Some of the nuances in their respective cultures clashed a bit and were looked on as being a bit odd by the others.
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p.s. This blog is number 601. I've been bloviating a good deal, it seems. But there is still more to come, so why count.

The March Horse Sale in Mandan

The March horse sale in Mandan,
right at the edge of the West,
parking lot full, (and lots more),
horse trailers, pickups, and cars.
"Don't park three deep in a row,"
the sale catalog warns all.
Step inside - the hallway's full.
Sans boots and big hat, you feel
out of place. Climb the stairway,
look down in that arena.
A mare for sale and her rider
circle to the auction chant
that's unintelligible
to ears not schooled to its pleas.

Buddy enters the sale ring,
bay gelding quarter pony,
ridden by a lad, "The kids
use Buddy in the pasture
moving cows and checking fences,
handles any job you give."
Twelve hands high and twelve years old,
he brings four and twenty-five.

Here comes Twobuck Cracker Jack,
AQHA dun gelding,
"Cracker is a big, stout made
gelding that's a true ranch horse.
He has a true one hand neck
rein, pivots, side passes and
backs." A pretty little thing
rides him in, slips the halter
from his head and loops a loose
rein under his neck. Sure 'nuf,
he still does just what she asks.
The gavel raps, it's final,
four thousand dollars he brings!

Princess and Peggy enter -
a matched team of three year old
blue roan mares "that drive single
and double and also ride."
And such showy harnesses
they wear, dozens of nickel
studs shine, leather's deep-dyed
black with polished balls on hames.
Bid them separate times two -
they sell fourteen-fifty each.
From a colony down south,
their pitchman wears a full beard
and a black hat. His young son
comes with, apple not far from
the tree, suspender askew.
Now they sell the harnesses
almost half the horses' price,
six-fifty for each times two.

A little taste of the West,
some shit on the shoes, sour arm-
pit smells of honest sweat, a
few hundred of these horses
sell, twice a year it happens
here: Hermanson-Kist Horse Sale.

Harvest Memories

Set back amongst the weeds and trees in Fort Rice, I spotted this old threshing machine. I think those iron and steel wonders might just last forever being that they've been constructed with so much galvanized metal. As we drove around the rest of that day I began reminiscing about my days as a custom combiner in Kansas and Nebraska. Mary found it interesting and insisted I write-up some of those experiences. Here is one of them.

In the spring of 1965 about to finish my first year of teaching, I was approached by a man asking if I would like to accompany him south to Kansas and work for him as a custom combiner. After giving it some thought, I agreed to accompany him during my summer break. To get to southern Kansas I had to drive an old truck on which was loaded a combine complete with its 14 foot header, a three-day, white-knuckle experience. We finally arrived in Medicine Lodge, Kansas, and began looking for acres to harvest. A patient man, the owner was content to wait until someone came up to ask for our services. Eventually one did.

It was a hard-luck story he gave. His wheat crop, located near Lake City, looked especially good until the Medicine Lodge River flooded and left it flat on the ground and strewn with branches and logs. No custom operators were interested in tackling the job because of the condition of the ground. Wanting to get started our boss accepted and we moved to Lake City. The story ended well for the farmer: we salvaged 60 bushels per acre for him. For us, it was a headache, what with stopping the machine to clear away branches, running the headers as low as we could to the ground to pick up the prone straw, and continuously getting stuck in muddy spots.

And rain fell occasionally which caused us to park our machines and wait for dry weather. What to do during our downtime stretched our imaginations some. We tried fishing one day and sat on the sandy bank where we had been cautioned to watch out for the bites of crayfish. We drove a few miles to Sun City and drank too many schooners of 3.2 beer. We sat in a little country store, the only business in town, eating cheese and crackers and listening to the yarns of the locals.

From a local we learned the sad story of the man whose acres we were combining. His only son and heir had committed suicide, his wife was losing her mind, and the maintenance of their house and buildings was being ignored. He drove a grand old Chrysler Imperial that had driven its best miles and his well-fitting clothes were soiled and neglected. Everything about him spoke of a well-to-do past, but now his only motivation seemed to be to survive a bit longer.

The success of our harvest work did please him and he said so. I often wonder how much longer he held on and what has become of that little collection of buildings that comprised Lake City. I still remember one encouraging sign as we drove out of town that last time and looked into my rear view mirror: a Case tractor plowing his red Kansas soil in preparation to plant another crop.

A few years back I wrote this poem in remembrance:

I recall another place,
another time: winter wheat
fields near Lake City, Kansas.

Summer, nineteen sixty-five.
A custom combine crew, we
sat parked in Medicine Lodge

looking for acres to whet
the appetites of famished
machines we hauled chained to trucks.

Russell Lake came - bottom land
flooded, bumper crop flattened,
now spurned by would-be cutters.

(Who'd take their machines to fields
of hidden driftwood and mud?)
He proffered, we accepted.

"Well, boys, we came to cut wheat.
Put your headers way down low.
Let's get his wheat harvested!"

A gentleman, Mr. Lake.
His world showed little future,
his heir shot himself, his wife

talked strangely to canaries,
and white paint peeled from his home.
Our work cheered him, though. Bushels

flowed at sixty per acre.
(I'll be able to pay bills.")
Fields harvested, I recall

my rear view in the mirror...
his Case tractor plowing red
Kansas dirt for next year's wheat.

Fort Rice, ND

Very few inhabited houses exist in the town of Fort Rice. This picture of the school and an outhouse illustrates the general appearance of the town. The only place I recall that could be termed a business was the junkyard located right along Highway 1806, as we turned in. Dead as the town is, it once held a place of prominence. Fort Rice came into existence as a fort in July, 1864 when General Sully passed through on his expedition to punish Indians who resisted the westward push and place them on reservations. It was named for a Civil War general killed in battle.

The ground hadn't dried enough yet at the actual site of the fort to allow us to drive in, but a bit of searching turns up some facts of how it looked. Sully ordered his men, several companies of the 30th Wisconsin Infantry, to build a stockade of cottonwood logs measuring 510 feet by 500 feet, two log blockhouses 20 feet square, and a number of log buildings with sod roofs.

I learned a new term with the following information. The Wisconsin troops were replaced with six companies of the 1st U.S. Volunteer Infantry who, in reality, were Confederate prisoners of war to whom were given the name Galvanized Yankees. Of the choices these men were given to be repatriated, they chose service on the western frontier.

As with service on any of the frontier forts, life proved harsh. That first year, 81 men died from scurvy, diarrhea, typhoid fever, or miscellaneous other diseases, and seven died in combat.

Fort Rice served as Sully's base of operations when he led his men out on expeditions in 1864-65 and hosted several Indian council meetings. Indian attacks did occur on the men of the fort, while probably not from frontal attacks they needed to be alert for attacks on the hay and logging crews as well as raids on the horse and cattle herds.

Cannonballs

On Saturday the temperature reached into the 70's and the whole town and countryside seemed to come alive. Just as the grass knows when to grow or the geese know when to nest, so too do the fishing boats on the Missouri know when to slide into the water. I think I saw at least three dozen of them, along with some shore fishermen.

We drove south twenty miles on a short camera safari past Huff onto Fort Rice. We saw lots of shacks and junk cars which I think make interesting subjects, but we also saw quite a few "cannonballs" that, over the past, people have taken from the river. Those in the picture set close to the road along someone's sidewalk as ornaments.

In 1804, the Lewis and Clark expedition came upon numerous cannonballs at the confluence of the Cannonball and Missouri Rivers. Captain Clark, on Thursday, October 18, 1804 wrote in his journal: "Set out early proceeded on at 6 mls passed the mouth of la Boulet (French for Cannonball River). . . above the mouth of the river Great numbers of Stone perfectly round with fine Grit are in the Bluff and on the Shore, the river takes its name from those Stones which resemble Cannon Balls. . ."

As I know the story, scavengers have pretty well cleaned out the river of the "cannonballs." They have been moved to ornament people's yards. If they had survived nestled in their natural state, they probably now would be under the protection of some official park designation, but too late is too late.

The river originates in rough country north of Amidon, and like many of the rivers and creeks in that part of the state, it resembles a long snake in a big hurry with nary a straight line in its wriggling back.

The Post

On a visit to the Barnes and Noble store I picked up a new book on Eisenhower: Eisenhower in War and Peace. A big book, it seems to give a fairly balanced account of the man, warts and all. I ran across one amusing anecdote in the biography that occurred after he moved his office across the channel to France after D-Day. Some farmers made a gift to him of a milk cow to furnish his office with fresh milk. Three of his staff members sat down with a pail, but their efforts to turn the spigots on were to no avail. Ike came by and after seeing them struggle told them to step back, sat down on the stool, and easily filled the bucket. He said something like city guys don't know anything. Stories in history like that one make it interesting.

The picture above is a historical boundary marker from mile 91 that may well have come from the North-South Dakota border. It sticks in the ground at "The Post," just a couple miles south of our house and makes an ironic statement. The history behind it just might be lost and I don't know where a person could find the information. A couple years ago I was steered to the North Dakota State Water Commission website where they have access to the original survey of North Dakota and the comments in the handwriting of the surveyors. Randomly I clicked into a spot of Ransom County near the present site of Sheldon and an entry dated August 10th, 1870 came up. Here is one entry: Drove charred stake and post in mound for quarter section corner. Another comment: Land low, level & wet. Another: First rate land, level, low and sandy.

I intend to study these surveys a bit more in the future since I think an interesting story can come from them, if I only live long enough, that is. This country had a lot of growing to do after this date. To think that Custer didn't get his due for another six years. A survey crew consisted of several men with various duties.

A while back I'd d0ne some research of the original surveys. It was in 1784 that Thomas Jefferson proposed the pattern of squares, and on 1785 Thomas Hutchins, the first official geographer of the U.S., unfurled a 22 yard long surveyor's chain on the west bank of the Ohio River. The Northwest Ordinance had been passed that year that called for "disposing of lands in the western territory" and required him to lay out lines running east to west 6 miles apart, make a grid of squares which were our townships 36 miles square.

Wednesday blank

Sometimes a guy just draws a blank. Nothing much comes to mind. An empty wagon illustrates it better than anything. We had two beautiful days, almost balmy feeling, and now, today it's cold and blustery again. The seven day forecast holds promise for more nice days, though. Mary puttered around in the yard already. Her fingers itch to get out there to dig, plant, and scratch mosquito bites.

The Repubs held their caucus in North Dakota last night; Santorum won. I thought it amusing when Santorum's people started crying today that they wish Gingrich would drop out because he prevented their man from winning a couple states where Romney won. Romney struts around in faded blue jeans trying to look like a common man but when he was asked if he knew some race car driver a few days ago he responded that he didn't but did know a couple men who owned the team. Foul-mouthed Rush Limbaugh found a limit to his rants about a woman testifying about contraception when many advertisers pulled their ads from his show.

Jokin' around

Yesterday I listened a bit to Garrison Keillor's show which featured sick jokes. He told this one on Ole. Lena got to thinking Ole hadn't been amorous enough of late so she got him an appointment with a therapist. When he returned he started singing love songs to his John Deere tractor. Lars drove up, "Vat in the world are yoo doing, Ole?" "Vell, Lena sent me to the doctor and he said I should do something romantic to a tractor." :-) ---Yeah, I know, it took me a couple seconds to figure it out, too.
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We were in Staples on Saturday, and as we left, I had to wait a bit to get into my car because an older couple parked beside us had their doors open to load their purchase. As I stood there I noticed the lettering on the back of his jacket saying something like Senior Athletics of Utah. I mentioned it and he said he's participated many times and has won lots of medals. "I don't know how much longer I'll be able to do it, though. I'm in the 90 to 95 age bracket." Then he got in his car and drove off.
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My wife stayed with her dad yesterday so I went off to a movie that she did not want to see: Act of Valor. It's a good thing we saved the price for her ticket. That movie had received quite a bit of attention lately because they used actual Navy Seals as actors and followed them through made for the screen scenarios. It appealed to the lowest common denominator. I saw more guys getting shot through the brains with blood spattering the wall behind them than I've ever seen. A lady hostage had a drill bit drilled through her hand to make her talk. A Seal fell on a grenade to muffle the blast and we saw his body rise from the explosion. The story line was weak. It tried to follow the personal life of one whose wife was expecting. Of course, he was killed in action. I give two thumbs down on this one. I thought it would have some value because of its controversy. Some ex-Seals thought it gave away too much of their tactics. Wrong.

The Pine Tree Patch

I've been enjoying a bit of research and reading about the army division my Grandpa Sandvig served in during World War I. The patch of a pine tree was worn on this division's uniform sleeve, being adopted because the men in this unit came from states where pine trees grow (so goes the legend). Therefore they were called the Pine Tree Division. The 91st Division had another nickname, though, that was much more interesting: the Wild West Division. Men from California, Oregon, Washington, Utah, Idaho, Nevada, Montana, and Alaska comprised the 27,000 men of this group who trained in Fort Lewis, Washington.

Presently, I am working on a magazine article and am finding a good deal of information that I never knew where to find before. North Dakota soldiers were never mentioned as being part of the 91st and I often wondered how Grandpa found his way in there. An answer came when I saw his regiment, the 362nd, contained mostly Montana cowboys. So the stretch wasn't too great then that they reached into the neighboring state to find a few.

The 91st adopted as their motto, "Powder River, let 'er buck!" Supposedly this came from the Wyoming cowboys where the Powder River runs. I've been interested in this topic for several years, but with the movie and book War Horse, I made myself reacquaint with it. When this outfit got into France they were transported part ways in railroad cars called "40 et 8" which meant 40 men or 8 horses could be hauled in them. One source said that with these broad-shouldered cowboys, though, 40 were too many.

One story told by a family member told of the time when Grandpa was on the troop train headed for training camp in Washington. The train stopped at a station in Montana to pick up some men. There, a sergeant started barking orders at them. One cowboy, not yet schooled in the ways of insubordination, hauled off and decked the sergeant. Apparently, whenever the train stopped after that armed guards stood ready.

The war effort made on these plains has many facets to it, one being that many thousands of horses were gleaned from the countryside to be shipped overseas to serve on the battlefields. Many thousands of these animals died from wounds and disease. Another story I want to tell is that of one named Tipperary, a horse too wild to be accepted for army duty but went on to be a famous rodeo horse.

Code Talkers

Here is a picture of the Enigma Code Machine with which the Germans in World War II placed their confidence thinking that coded messages produced with it could never be read by anyone other than those who possessed the secret. But its secrets were cracked and our military went on to read important details of Nazi war planning. I wrote in the last entry where a retired curator of the Smithsonian told us that Indians were successfully used as code talkers in not just World War II but also in World War I.

It so happened as I was doing some research for another topic in the archives of The Stars and Stripes newspaper I ran across this article from the Friday, January 10, 1919 issue that bore the headline Boche Wire Tappers Run Into New Code.

It read as follows: "Because of the nature of the country over which American troops fought in the Meuse-Argonne offensive, the Germans found it easy to cut in on our field telephone wires.

The commander of one brigade of artillery attached to an American division was particularly annoyed by enemy wire-tappers in a heavily wooded section of the Argonne. Code messages from artillery observers were being intercepted by Boche listeners-in, and the commander knew, as all armies know, that no code is impregnable when experts get working on it.

The artillery commander took up with the colonel of one of the line regiments the question of the Huns' wire tapping activities. And the colonel hit upon an idea.

Two Indians, both of proud Sioux lineage, members of one of his companies, were assigned as telephone operators. One was to go forward with the artillery observer, the other to remain at the brigade receiving end of the wire which the artillery commander was certain the Germans had that day tapped somewhere along the line.

The two Sioux, both intelligent, willing men, were sent for and given instructions. Those instructions were to transmit, in the language of their fathers, all messages given them at their respective posts.

Now, when two Sioux Indians get talking together in their own tongue, what they say sounds very much like code, but isn't. Anyway it raised hob with the code experts of certain Prussian guard units.

The Sioux stuck on their jobs for three days and nights. They and the artillery commander and their own colonel enjoyed the situation immensely. If the Germans got any fun out of it they kept it to themselves."

Indian Warriors

MSgt Woody Keeble
Medal of Honor Recipient

Yesterday the Jenkinson-Skogen duo hosted another of their Conversations at BSC, the topic being "Changing Interpretations of Native American and Western History." Their guest was Dr. Herman Viola, curator emeritus at the Smithsonian's National Museum of Natural History. He discussed some very interesting points regarding the service of Indians in the U. S. military.

Navajo code talkers in World War II generated a lot of interest in the past because of their ability to mystify the enemy, but he said code talkers actually originated in World War I and soldiers from many tribes contributed knowledge and use of their language to fool the German translators. Thousands of Indians volunteered in World War I, and they weren't even considered citizens. But they were an asset; the Germans were afraid of them, they took scalps.

The warrior code of showing no fear in the face of an enemy and counting coup lived on. Viola's story of this was amusing. In World War II an Indian wanted to do the ultimate and capture a horse. It so happened he was in hiding with a small patrol when they spotted an SS unit ride up, corral their horses, and bed down for the night. He asked permission from his officer if he could approach the horses in the dark. He and another man crept up to the horses and the Indian gave him instructions that when he was mounted he would holler his Cherokee war cry and the other was to open the gate. Apparently the action succeeded.

Another instance of this happened in Viet Nam, the only problem: the Viet Cong never used horses. One night an Indian waiting in ambush spotted an elephant loaded with supplies being led along the trail. He eliminated its handlers and captured the elephant. When he got home and reported this to the tribal elders to get his acknowledged credit, they told him, "Nice try, but it wasn't a horse."

Dr. Skogen, a retired Air Force officer, at one-time in his career taught at the Air Force Academy. He took a class of cadets in full uniform on a field trip to a powwow. When they entered the large hall they were impressed with the large number of U. S. flags hanging on the walls. They learned they hung in commemoration of their many tribal members who had served in the military. Skogen said the cadets expressed surprise at the patriotism shown by the Indians.

Woody Keeble, whose picture is at the top of this post, earned many medals for heroism in World War II and the Korean War. They included the bronze star, silver star, distinguished service cross, and the medal of honor, plus two purple hearts. The medal of honor was awarded for his bravery on a Korean battlefield where he was seriously wounded but refused to leave for medical attention. Instead he stayed with his men and went on to destroy three machine gun nests. A member of the Sisseton-Wahpeton Sioux he worked many years at the Wahpeton Indian School.

North Dakota Skyscraper

Structures like this silo disappear regularly. Not many people have use for them anymore. The cupola on the roof has withstood the prairie storms and survived in good shape. In the background to the left sets another old time standby, a boxcar. Old railroad boxcars found new life in many farm yards. I've never heard how much the railroad charged for them, but I presume they came pretty reasonably priced.

Today's farms look completely different from this one. Sterile looking metal buildings are the construction of choice. I'm sure that's the efficient way to build. The old hip-roofed barns disappear. Keeping them shingled is prohibitive. Besides, farm tractors can't be driven through the small doors.

Architecture suffers to make way for the modern. Beautiful old churches embellished with their bricks, murals, and color stain glass stood maintained for years as a matter of pride in these small communities. New churches followed the way of the farmstead where many of them stand as a metal building with maybe a nice facade on them.

Not everyone notices things like this or cares about them. Younger eyes see them as being modern.

Hot Days in the Hayfield

Last evening at an Olli Institute session of "The Military on the Western Frontier," the instructor displayed a large collection of period firearms, bayonets, uniform clothing, and other equipment. I found it interesting when he compared the different firearms, their effective ranges, who used them, etc. One piece of equipment he brought was a cloth-covered canteen that kept water cool when he soaked its covering.

I used to drink out of a container like that, too. A gallon crock jug wrapped in burlap and tied on with twine acted much the same way, especially when placed in the shade of a swath. Quite large and heavy, a person could either put it to his mouth by placing it between his two hands and hoisting it up, or by hooking a finger in its handle and rolling it over to the crook of his uplifted arm. I preferred that way myself, maybe it was more macho.

Speaking of water, the Missouri flows freely again. I didn't see any ice on it this morning when I crossed it. We drove four miles west to a truckstop for breakfast last Saturday morning and saw absolutely no snow on the hills. Any run-off just won't be there this year; therefore no floods are expected.

Imagined Discussion

Each time I'm in that cafe
I want to ask that lady
"Just who are you?" She stares out
from her portrait frame - I think
she'd talk if I'd take her down.
I can only imagine
what she'd want to say: "I lived
on that place with the small barn
that you snapped a picture of.
We built it with high prices
received during World War One,
and used it for a horse barn
with lean-to added for hens.
You found it in that hollow
southside of the interstate
where the wind skipped on the hills
and howled away in disgust
when it failed to molest us.
But the years flew by, I died.
They found my picture, faded,
in a bin, gave a dollar,
then they hung me on this wall.
Now stranger, beware, some day,
they may hang you beside me.
We'll watch them eat the buffet."

Ma's Birthday

Today, February 17, is my mother's birthday. She is 92 and was born in 1920. The picture above may or may not be posed, but I suspect she and her brother were actually doing some kind of chore with the team of horses. From stories all that generation tell, when they got to be the age of them in the picture, they had to start working. For some reason, I told people she would be 93, but when I mentioned it to her I was darn-well corrected, "No, I was born in 1920!" I need to be forgiven for little mistakes like that since I just turned 70 myself.

In 1920 the world was trying to right itself after being upset by World War I. Some of the stories from that year: The Yankees purchased Babe Ruth from the Red Sox for $125,000 - The League of Nations was established. - Silver was $1.37 an ounce. - The 18th Amendment providing for prohibition went into effect. - Baseball outlawed all pitches involving tampering with the ball. - The Panama Canal opened. - Babe Ruth set a home run record with 54. - Pancho Villa surrenders. - The 19th Amendment establishing women's rights enacted. - U.S. Airmail service began. - Man O' War won his last race. - Warren Harding was elected president. - Enrico Caruso gave his last performance. - Bob Hope became an American citizen.

We visited my mother on Wednesday. We were told by some at the funeral we attended that they were going to visit with her today so she will not be alone. So we will go down that road again in about three weeks to make another visit.

Looking at a Rocking Chair

Walking uphill, out of breath,
I opened the door labeled
The Eighth Decade and stepped in
to rest. I thought I would stay
awhile and picked up a pin -
A Septuagenarian
its letters so boldly spelled.
Instructions said, "Put it on,"
which I obediently did.
I saw a history book
I don't remember writing . . .
but that author's name was mine.
I read line after line, some
sad, some disgusting, and some
delightful, all genuine.
Yes, I needed to admit
the story's mine, I wrote it.
I limped over to a chair,
focused my remodelled eyes,
and scratched the itch on the scar
where my prostrate gland had been.
The book was long and its plot
read slightly convoluted,
and soon I took a long nap;
I will make a book report
at another time. The book
hasn't been completed, anyway,
but, oh-oh, who'll read it then.

My Valentine

Around this house a pot of begonias works well for a Valentine's Day present. She does love flowers, and it's a good thing she can raise plenty of them for herself.

We saw a very good George Clooney movie this weekend: The Descendants. We were drawn to it because it took place in Hawaii and thought maybe we'd see some of the scenery we just traveled through. The movie was one that the wife and I analyzed for some time after because of the different levels of family life it dealt with. It started with the tragedy of a wife and mother who was injured and in a coma ready to die. The Clooney character had lots to deal with, but he did it in a way that we could not predict. It was very satisfying and I'm glad we went.

We're off to a funeral in Lisbon tomorrow for someone who died too young in a tragic accident. We'll be able to visit my mother after and celebrate her birthday a couple days early.

Deep Snow Winter

As I sit looking out the window I see no snow, whatever. It's drier than a bone, like they say. It sets one to wondering if that will be the outlook for the coming spring and summer. The picture posted here shows a steam locomotive that tried to plow through deep snow. The snow proved way too much for it and it derailed. I think of all the poor devils who had to go out with shovels and clear the packed snow away from it. I visited the Heritage Center libraryyesterday and browsed through the end of the year issues of The Sheldon Progress for 1886. The winter of 1886-87 went down in history as being one of the most severe on record because of the hardships it caused. Cattle by the hundreds of thousands perished in the deep snow and bitter cold.

The newspaper articles began to mention that winter's hardships as we have come to know it. For instance, the editor wrote "a team of mules attached to a cutter took a glorious tumble in the street opposite our office. The mules were not shod sharp and being driven on the smooth ice of the street, one of them went down and the other rolled clear over him." A couple weeks later this mention: "Tuesday afternoon as the snowplow came through, it ran into a little bank of snow close to the depot, and before the smiling agent could wink, he was nearly buried." One more of several: "A good many supposed that Dr. Henning went to Lisbon Tuesday, but he didn't. The train got about four miles west of town and struck a drift. The genial doctor waited until his patience was exhausted and then started on foot to Sheldon, arriving here just as the snowplow, followed by the east bound freight arrived. Soon after he left the train the plow from the west arrived and relieving the train pulled it into Buttzville, where it met the freight coming east. But the doctor says the walking is good and exercise beneficial, so we are all happy."

Old newspapers and their fearless editors make for very entertaining reading. I liked this one: "A Shenford man says that if the people could find out for a certainty who cast that 'one vote' for 'Gil' there on election day, they would promptly duck him in the Sheyenne." They proved to be a forgiving lot because two weeks later I spotted this: "The man who voted for 'Gil' here on election day could not read and we will excuse him."

On this little laptop computer I have the Skype program with which we can visit via a video phone call to my son and his family in Minneapolis. Last night just for fun I "called" without having made any prior notice. Lo and behold my five year old grandson happened to be sitting at that keyboard. It took him by surprise when his grandpa's face appeared on the screen. The look on his face: priceless!

Full Moon over Mandan

Last night, February 7, a full moon hung in the cloudless sky. These days, with light pollution from the city lights, the moon is about the only object one can see to appreciate. Stars don't stand out like they did when I was a kid growing up in the country. Sometimes then I would be outside looking up and being overwhelmed by the many points of light. Recently in Hawaii while doing a night tour of a volcano, I felt and saw the same scene. As darkness settled our knowledgable guide started pointing out various constellations. I'm glad I experienced it again.That same moon was shining down on the frontier fort of Abraham Lincoln, too.

Last evening the teacher of the class on the military frontier spoke of the hardships that troopers endured out here. The cavalry parade ground stood right in front of Custer's house, and he told us of the terrible mud conditions in wet seasons and the dusty clouds in dry seasons. Both were hard to tolerate. Someone said that dust is just mud with the juice squeezed out. Almost the same when you look at it that way.

Frost on the Trees

Saturday morning we made a trek through Lisbon to visit my mother and then on to Alexandria, MN to celebrate the granddaughter's birthday. Trees and foliage all the way hung heavy with thick coats of frosting. Visibility wasn't a problem, so we had a beautiful new world to view for many miles.

This morning I attended a presentation at the Institute about the history of two little towns west of here: Sims and Almont. A married couple living in that area take seriously the job of preserving their local history and presented an interesting perspective. Almont still consists of a small population, but Sims can be called a ghost town with only two people still calling it home. The term "ghost town" is appropriate, too, since a ghost is reported to reside in the vacant parsonage. It so happened that two sisters attended this morning who were children of one of the pastors. They reported to us that the presence of this spirit was comforting; they were not afraid of it. Such things as footsteps, cold breezes, furniture being moved around, etc. were the signs of its presence. One of them had a picture painted of the house from a photograph, and upon receiving it remarked that he painted in the ghost in an upper window. The artist didn't know what she was talking about until the lady pointed to the cloudy figure he had unconsciously included.

Baxter Black, my favorite cowboy poet, told this one. A rancher called a veterinarian one day and said he had a cow with a broken leg. The vet wasn't going to waste his time on an animal he knew was doomed. "Shoot the cow," he told the rancher. A while later the rancher called back. Now he had a cow with a broken leg and a bullet wound.

Problems

History has taught me to keep trying to solve our problems; we will never be without them.
Former Supreme Court Justice Sandra Day O'Connor

Problems develop constantly and some go unsolved, just ignored. I couldn't help but think about a letter to the editor yesterday written from Williston. The gist of it was "the good people" in that community can hardly cope with the oil boom. The writer said about 1,200 of them have left. It wasn't long ago that the state relished the coming of new money and jobs created. Now the negative side of it all begins showing up. This boom might just last and forever change the character of the state and its residents.

I can't complain much about the problems I have. I eat pretty good, live in a decent house in a nice neighborhood. One of my biggest problems I think about now is how to finish this darn poem:

Upon opening that book
a scrap of paper fell out
on which I'd written the line
of an unfinished poem:
"The first time I saw those elk
wintering at the bottom
of the Grand Teton Mountains
I almost hit a bull moose
cantering along the road
east of Dubois, Wyoming."
That line, forty some years old,
illuminates memories
resting just below the lip
of the horizon where dusk
turns to dark.
This old, scarred desk
creaks as I rest my elbows
and think of more lines to add.
Maybe I should write of French
trappers starved for women who
saw those mountains and thought they
looked like big tits, or hunting
elk in the Wind River Range
discovering at day's end
my rifle had no front sight...

Classes at the Institute

I feel fortunate living here and being able to participate in the offerings this community offers. The Osher Life-Long Learning Institute located here as the second location in North Dakota after first being established in Grand Forks. It exists in many of the states - how many I don't know - and provides non-credit classes to seniors which are limited in subject matter only by the imagination of those who suggest them.

The winter session just started up again where I found three offerings to attend: The History of Rock and Roll; Myths, Fables, and Legends; and The Military in the Dakota Frontier. After attending each of them one time now, I am still excited about going.

A retired University of Mary music educator conducts the rock and roll session. Also, he now works full time for the public broadcasting system as a disc jockey playing classical music. He likes rock and roll, however, and almost blasted us out of our seats with some high-volume recordings to illustrate his points. He brought in a guest musician to demonstrate a few electric guitars.

A retired public school English teacher offers the Myths, Fables,and Legends class. She has developed a personal interest in material of this type and presented us with a highly organized session. It will be a good one, too.

An active Captain in the North Dakota National Guard teaches the military frontier class. I am especially interested in this one, and told him of the research I am doing to support story writing. After the class another fellow who is an active amateur historian and I hung back to talk to him. We told him the members of the class were a pretty well-educated bunch. One man is a retired district judge, another is a retired UND history professor, and "that lady sitting over here on this side," a sitting supreme court justice. After being apprised of all this, he remarked, "Oh, God, I think I'll just stay home." The class holds high promise.

Last Thoughts

It's time to start thinking about other things, so this entry will be the last regarding our trip to Hawaii. There are many tidbits floating around in my head that I will give short mention to. For instance, we drove past the Aloha Stadium in Honolulu where today the Pro Bowl will be played . . . The state bird of Hawaii is the nene goose,which, except for its color markings looks like a Canadian Honker. It's gone through some evolution, however, since it only flies a bit and swims a bit. The webs on its feet are less fully developed to enable it to more easily walk across rough lava beds . . . A van driver took us to the lava fields and said when a kid he threw rocks on flowing lava expecting it to splash, but it clunked and bounced instead . . . In the Denver airport I visited with an interesting artist and his wife. Check him out at frankhagel.com . . . A few of us rode a trolley around Waikiki which was driven by one wild woman. If she wasn't high on life, she was on something else. Fun! . . . The Hawaiian Islands consist of 132 islands. Locals refer to the island named Hawaii as The Big Island . . .

Much property in the islands is owned by Japanese. When they came buying, prices rose and forced retirees out. Where have we heard that story before? . . . In the Pali Valley the constant whine of the wind is said to be the cries of the enemy that King Kamehameha's army pushed over the cliff. We saw it, a tall, vertical cliff. . . . We drove past the golden statue of Kamehameha that shows up prominently in the television program Hawaii 50. . . . It was humorous to hear our Samoan guides try to say this phrase in a Norwegian accent, "Yah, sure, you betcha" . . . The island of Kauai, one of the wettest spots in the world, runs thick with chickens released from their coops by some past hurricane . . . From one of the islands a guide pointed in the distance to the island of Kalaupapa where Father Damien gained fame in ministering to the leprosy colony established there in 1866 . . . At one location electric fence wires ran low to the ground to hold pigs in. They ran and grazed on the macadamia nuts fallen on the ground. It reminded me of the fifteen sows I bought once that had been feeding on fallen acorns . . .

The southern most point of Hawaii is 150 miles further south than Key West . . . pine trees were introduced in the days of sailing ships to provide masts for ships, but by the time they had grown tall enough, steam power replaced wind power . . . In places cactus grew profusely. It was explained to have been brought in from Texas to provide cattle feed in times of drought . . . geckos are fast, wary little creatures and look just like the one on tv . . . We saw a school of dolphins arc through the air and the tail of a whale as he dove . . . In Honolulu and Waikiki many high rise residences poke the air . . . The apostrophe in Hawaii is written backward, actually upside down from what we recognize . . .

The trip, though costly, was very enjoyable. It can now be crossed off the bucket list. I couldn't help think, though, that their culture and physical attributes have become oriented to tourism, not much different than what they have done in our own state of Medora. We have cowboys, they have grass skirts. It goes something like this: If you've got it, flaunt it ... Good-bye.

Polynesian Maps

While the diagram looks like a bunch of hen scratching, it really meant something to Polynesian navigators. It is similar to the piece hanging on the wall of the church I spoke about in an earlier blog. The Polynesians had no written language; therefore they could not publish maps or books of seafaring routes. A written language was not produced until Christian missionaries came deciding the natives were not living the good life. The particular church we spotted this in was Congregational whose first missionaries, in 1820, sailed from New England, then around the tip of South America, and then came to Hawaii to Christianise the islands and build this building.

I wanted to know a bit more about the old ways of navigating the ocean among the tiny dots of islands that rose in the Pacific. It seems to me they could easily be missed. Here is what I found in the online encyclopedia Wikipedia: "Polynesian navigation is a system of navigation used by Polynesians to make long voyages across thousands of miles of open ocean. Navigators travel to small inhabited islands using only their own senses and knowledge passed by oral tradition from navigator to apprentice, often in the form of song in order to locate directions at various times of the day and year. Polynesian navigators memorize important facts: the motion of specific stars and where they would rise and set on the horizon of the ocean; weather and seasons of travel; wildlife species which gather at particular positions; the direction, size and speed of ocean waves; colors of the sea and sky, especially how clouds would cluster at the locations of some islands; and angles for approaching harbors."

Skyward

That's Pilli climbing a coconut tree into the sky on the last morning we spent on the big island of Hawaii. The towel wrapped around his feet to use as an anchor is visible in this picture. Both times we saw him do this he came down exhausted. Pilli was strong, but he was heavy, too, and it took lots of energy to climb like this. This is how he harvested coconuts as a kid when he was much lighter. A falling coconut presented a danger if it landed on your head. He likened it to having a bowling ball dropped on it.

Speaking of the sky, I counted our taking off and landing eleven times on this trip. I used to be very afraid of flying but became an old pro at it. Never did we have a bumpy flight. The only problem presented itself on the last night in Honolulu International. We looked on the flight board and discovered our flight had been postponed from 11:00 pm to 6:00 am. Did that mean we might have to spend the night sprawled out in a chair. Luckily, Jeff Willer, the transportation director of the Farmers Union was traveling with our group (there were four groups) and promptly got on the phone to the travel agent in Jamestown who started looking into it. She found an alternate flight for us to board that worked out better. Originally we were routed through Chicago but now flew to Denver, then straight up to Fargo, actually getting us in an hour or so earlier. Besides, we received a $15 food voucher to use in Honolulu.

My wife's sister and her husband rode with us to Fargo, and in Honolulu, he spotted a book he thought I should have about the islands and bought it for me. In it I found this fact: in 1959 the first jet airplane landed in Hawaii and took about five hours from San Francisco and opened up the islands for the huge tourist traffic that now travels there.

Regarding the flying, I couldn't help but notice the large numbers of TSA workers that check everyone and everything before boarding the planes. Because of my leg, I had to go through a body searching pat-down each time which I didn't enjoy.

A tree called a monkey pod grows commonly in the islands and spreads a large canopy of shade. One other use was found during the war; they parked airplanes underneath to shield them from enemy eyes should they have returned after Pearl Harbor.

In an old church in the last town we stayed, Kona, some beautiful bench pews stood. They were constructed from koa wood and would be very expensive to use today. It was on a wall of that church, though, that I spotted something very interesting. It looked like a maze of long popsicle sticks arranged in random order. The lady greeter explained what it was: a map. The early day from the whole region could not read, nor did they have maps, except, that is, for the knowledge of winds and currents that could carry them from place to place. The wooden maze on the wall represented those routes that the voyagers knew and used. Comparing the culture of the Polynesian islands and our own native Americans, they matched well considering they could wrest their livelihood with their folklore and knowledge of the natural world.

I think I've got one more blog entry regarding my trip to the Hawaiian Islands and will get it up within the next couple of days.

Our Dinner Cruise Ship

On Saturday night, Jan. 21, we boarded an open-air catamaran for a cruise to eat, dance, spot whales and dolphins, and drink freely. The boat bobbed around quite a bit, and I couldn't tell if the folks were lurching around on deck from the roughness or the imbibing. I suspect it was a bit of the two in combination, and, I, the non-drinker, enjoyed watching their antics. Whales co-operated by doing their dance in the water, and a school of dolphins made their appearance, too. A party followed the eats and drinks, and the following blogs show the fun we had.

In talking with our son, Brandon, who's celebrating his 36th birthday today, he told me he would crank up his snowblower today since it turned wintry there in Fargo. We've enjoyed temps averaging about 80 degrees for the last two weeks. We leave here tomorrow, and this will probably be the last blogging I do until I reach home. We have one more luau this evening and then will pack up to return. Aloha meaning good-bye.

Dancer

For a half hour or so this gal sat by the stage as the combo played. I thought maybe she would participate later on in the evening and, man, did she ever. She had more moves than I could imagine, and she wasn't shy about it either. It was fun to watch her with her self-confidence in performing for us. She was no shrinking violet as she changed outfits several times during the cruise.

Music Makers

1

These two men made great music on our catamaran cruise by playing several instruments and singing. They had the boat a-rockin' and dancin'.

In the Conga Line

Here sister-in-law Angie dances in front of my camera imitating the moves of the hula dancer on the program. She's got moves!

A Picture's Worth...

This is my darling wife in the arms of our Samoan guide. Actually, this is all my fault since he stood there dancing with a pole. I told Mary, "Look at Pilli over there dancing with himself and that pole. Dance with him." She did and this was the result. It was a hoot to say the least.!

Dancing at the Luau

A trip like this can't be all work! One of our tour guides got up and started shuffling around to the music by himself. It did not take long for women in our group to answer his call and here is Elaine Cudmore sliding across the floor with Pilli. The food has mostly been good, except for one of the dishes, poi. It looks blue-gray, has a gritty texture, and tastes terrible. The natives like it, though, since it supplied them with a starch product similar to potatoes or rice. When mixed properly, I guess, it didn't taste too badly.

Bird of Paradise

It takes little imagination to see why this flower is named the Bird of Paradise. Beautiful!

Hawaii was known for its pineapple growing but those crops have left the islands for lands with cheaper labor, Mexico and the Phillippines. Pineapples are still grown here but on small scale for local consumption only, and do they taste good!

Sugar cane fields grow thick but the sugar processing industry shut down depriving many locals of jobs. The raw sugar gets shipped for processing to California, thus C-H brand sugar.

Haleakala Volcano

Sometimes I exaggerate; sometimes I don't. With this entry I am not. Yesterday we drove to the top of the Haleakala Volcano which rises 10,000 feet above sea level. The drive took us on a very winding road up through nice country. On the valley floor were sugar cane fields, then we passed through expensive developments, then open cattle range, then barren ground, then volcanic ash fields. At the top no clouds blocked the spectacular view. Far below, almost two miles, the green sugar cane fields lay in checkerboard patterns, the Pacific Ocean lapped on the shore, the mouth of the volcano opened wide in multi-colors, and the sun shone clear. Far off the island of Hawaii stood tall with its volcanoes that we will visit tomorrow.

We've flown between all the islands on sweet flying little B-717's and will do that once more to get to Honolulu to board a big one to get back to the mainland. Gas here is around $4.20 and seems to be no barrier to driving like crazy on the streets.

Mary & Her Flowers

Yesterday on our way to the top of the Haleakala volcano, our van driver stopped at the 3000 feet level for a rest stop and to purchase things. (I think drivers and vendors are in cahoots) Anyway, these Bougainvillea were in full bloom, and we just had to snap a few photos. Plants grow here the year round so this is not an uncommon sight.

Hilo, Hawaii

We just \rrived on the big island of Hawaii where we were told all the rest of the Hawaiian islands would fit here land area-wise two times. We stay one night here in Hilo and then tomorrow move across the island to Kona for three nights. Internet connection in the last connection cost something like $10 an hour; therefore, I did not write any entries. Here the wi-fi is free in the lobby, so I will catch up on reading and writing. More later today.

Inside Iz's Shirt

A famous singer/uke player in the islands with the shortened name of Iz wore this shirt. His full name was Israel "Iz" Kamakawiwo'ole (I had to look up the spelling). Before his death at an early age he weighed approximately 800 pounds, therefore he wore shirts this size. He made famous a song that I know everyone has heard, "Somewhere Over the Rainbow." Check him out on YouTube.com and search for Iz, Uke player or something to that effect. He is easy to find. Our tour bus driver stopped today at this location where they hang the shirt. I told her I knew who he was so she insisted I get inside to try it on. We have a big luau tonight, and tomorrow we fly off to Maui.

Back on the Internet

I've encountered difficulty getting my laptop to work in our new motel in Kauai but finally got it going with a little help. This morning, Sunday, we toured a farm here that raises chocolate, vanilla, bamboo, etc. The picture shows chocolate pods. This farm consists of 8 1/2 acres of ground, and not all of it can be used because of hills and dips. Land prices must be terribly high. Land uses have varied through the years: pineapples to sugar cane to things like this. We passed some huge fields that lay idle and thought that strange. It seems that moneyed interests own it to show losses in their total business operation and are holding it for future use of condominiums, time-shares, etc. when they can then reap huge profits from their investments.

More Chickens

I thought there were lots of chickens on Oahu, but when we got here to Kauai, even more of them showed themselves. These are right outside the open air restaurant where we ate a noon lunch. They could fly like a pheasant. Some of them had to because they flew over a lagoon to get t0 the other side. I don't think they could swim. You can hear roosters crowing all over the place.

Polynesian Cultural Center

We spent the better part of Friday at the Polynesian Cultural Center. The show opened with barges like this one floating in performing groups that showed their culture. This one happens to be from Tahiti. After this show we walked through different pavillions and watched short performances by the groups. A large show in a large theater that evening capped off the day.

Mary rushes to catch a breaker

I snapped Mary rushing to catch a breaker on a sugar sand beach. She became excited and caught herself just before diving in. :) Those beaches are a mighty popular spot; cars fill the parking lots and line the side of the roads for sunbathers and surfers to enjoy themselves.

At Fern Grotto

On the island of Kauai we boated on a river to a place called Fern Grotto and were met by these folks singing and dancing. We arrived in Kauai about Saturday noon after a short flight from the island of Oahu. This island is much smaller and less touristy, but these folks found a way to get some tourist money. We stay at the Courtyard Marriott here for three nights. There are no doors on the entryways to the building because the weather is so nice. As we neared this motel our bus driver told us the story of how Frank Sinatra almost died here in the surf where he got in serious trouble. Consequently, he donated some money to make improvements for swimmers because he was so grateful to motel employees for saving him.

Fierce Samoan

This is Pilli LaFaele. He looks mean, but he is just posing. He is one of our two tour guides and really is a nice personality and very helpful. He hails from Samoa as does his partner. Many students enrolling in college made their way to the island of Oahu to the Brigham Young University branch located there. He majored in math and accounting.

Chickens

In some places there are chickens running around wild. An interesting story relates to this. In the "old days" of the plantation workers on the island there was little to do in the area of entertainment, so they took to raising fighting cocks. That went on for awhile until the later day animal rights people complained enough to succeed in putting a stop to it. Some of them were turned loose and have begun to multiply. The Samoan chief in the preceding entry was surrounded by hens and little chicks that ate the scraps of cocoanut he produced in his show.

As we stood at the overlook of the place where Frank Sinatra and Deborah Kerr acted their steamy love scene in From Here to Eternity I saw something quickly slink through the grass. I believe it was a mongoose. The story about them goes like this. There are a lot of large rats on the island that can do a lot of damage to certain trees because they like to nest in their upper branches. The powers that be decided to combat the problem by importing mongooses (mongeese? I doubt it!). They thrived and multiplied, too. One problem that arose, rats are nocturnal and mongooses are diurnal; therefore, never the twain shall meet. Now they have two problems - an over-population of both mongooses and rats.

Island Circle Tour

This is the Samoan chief and is one of the funniest characters I've seen in quite a long time. He explained how the native peoples lived off the land without the aid of modern inventions, but he kept the crowd laughing the whole time. This outdoor show took place at a macadamia nut store where we sampled as much flavored coffee and nuts as we comfortably felt not being foolish from doing so. Oh, yes, we bought plenty, too.

I've been interested in the Hawaiian language as explained by different people who have talked to us. The language consists of five vowels but only seven consonants which explains a lot of things to me. Pronunciation is quite another matter, though, when a person tries to twist his tongue around the proper sounds.

As the tour bus drove us on the island circle tour, we passed many interesting sites: ranch land, crop land, lagoons, surfing beaches, mountain scenery, etc. Many cultures have blended to comprise the population of the island now, but they seem to blend well. I learned once about something called synergy meaning the sum of the parts can total to more than the whole. That's about what happens here.

Last night we went to another stage show featuring a magician and a dance troupe of Samoan style dancers. Great stuff! Not much to complain about yet and maybe won't have, except we get tired.

More tomorrow.

Pearl Harbor

We remain on the island of Oahu and the city of Honolulu-Waikiki that sprouts tall, skinny skyscraper hotels and apartment buildings like a thick forest. Like a weed, a junk-shop, touristy place called ABC stores proliferate. I asked one of the guides how many there were and he thought about sixty of them. Last evening we ate a large feast and then attended a Las Vegas type, high-energy stage show that kept us entertained for about two hours.

This morning we boarded two tour buses that took us to Pearl Harbor's visitor center which includes the memorial to the USS Arizona. A featured movie includes video of the attack made by the Japanese planes, which, some years ago, the Japanese government made available to this memorial. I've often wondered why the memorial, constructed over the sunken battleship has a sway back. The reason given by its architect is to show we were at a peaceful high point prior to the attack, sunk to a low point during the war, and then rose again with victory. With the flowered leis we received at the airport we participated in a bit of ritual where we could spread the orchid petals on the water at the memorial's site.

Our guide told of an infant going down with the USS Utah. It seems a set of twins was born to an officer of the ship, and one of them died after a couple of days. The officer carried her cremated remains with him on the ship to spread on the water. On December 7 while he waited for a clergyman to board the ship and perform a burial ceremony, the attack occurred. Therefore, a baby girl rests with 50 or 60 sailors that went down with the ship.

A bus tour of sites around Honolulu followed the memorial visit, and now we are resting up for another big night of a feasting luau and Polynesian entertainment. More tomorrow.

Waikiki

The beach at Waikiki is just a short walk from our hotel. No doubt a popular spot as evidenced by great numbers of strollers, sunbathers, and nubile young things slathering up with sunscreen. An early morning meeting sponsored by the tour company filled us in as to what we will do the next two weeks, and, of course, the extras are extra. Since this may be the only time we come, we will scratch it off our "bucket list" and go for all the frills. (The preacher always said he never saw a u-haul backed up to a grave dumping any money in.) This afternoon we flashed our hotel key and got on a free shuttle ride around the city which took about an hour. For extra flavor, we enjoyed the wit of the driver who maintained a steady stream of verbal entertainment. Tomorrow the tour includes Pearl Harbor. More then.

Honolulu

We arrived in Honolulu at 8:25 pm Central which translates to 4:25 Hawaiian time. Some real live orchid leis were hung around our necks. Three airplanes got us here, a small commuter jet picked us up in Fargo and took us to Denver, a 757-200 carried us to LAX, and a 767-300 brought us into Honolulu. All three flights were very smooth, a magic carpet ride, and, to top it off, our luggage arrived with us. A wise-cracking bus driver shuttled us to our hotel from the airport. I noticed he wore an interesting necklace made from two curved teeth from some critter that were formed into an amulet. I commented, and he said they were teeth from his first wife. More tomorrow.