Travel on the Gravel

"North Dakota 101" is a program organized by the North Dakota Council of Churches to provide orientation for clergy new to the state. I'm just back from Sacred Heart Monastery, Richardton, after participating in a ND 101 session for about thirty pastors and priests. This is a pleasant and edifying group to spend time with, of course, but here's another thing about the effort that is satisfying: people organizaing and attending recognize that historical knowledge might actually be useful in their day-to-day life and practice. In my mind it goes right back to Carl Becker, the idea that historical experience is all we have to go on. So in this case, if you're going to have a successful ministry in North Dakota, then you need to look upstream of the river into which you're stepping. I hope that a few of the experiences and discussions I offered will be useful to these folk.

Here's George Fletcher, whom we got to talking to in Jack's Cafe, Eastend, Saskatchewan. More about George later, but right now, a word about Jack's, a truly fine eating establishment in a town of 600. And a place chock-full of literary significance, beginning with its ties to Wallace Stagner and Wolf Willow. There was a strong relationship between the Greeks who ran (and whose successors still run) Jack's and Stegner, and it shows in his work. Notice that picture of the Parthenon behind George? And recall that the final chapter of Wolf Willow is called, "False Front Athens"? There's another layer of history in Jack's, too, applied by the proprietress immediately preceding its current, capable owners. Angela Doulias, in 1997-98, painted a sequence of murals covering all the walls of the main dining room--consulting with patrons as to what should be depicted, working on the murals at night, eventually producing what this one-time immigrant bride called her "love letter to Canada." It's an amazing cultural work that is both an individual accomplishment and a community statement. Beginning in the northeast corner of the dining room and running clockwise to the northwest corner, it depicts western Canadian history from beginnings to the present. Historical eras transition through space, with scenes including a buffalo jump, the arrival of the Mounties at Fort Walsh, and many other developments and episodes. Much to contemplate while you munch through your order of honey garlic ribs and finish up with some rice pudding, the house signature dessert--say, wasn't there some rice pudding in the "Genesis" chapter of Wolf Willow?

I just heard from Von Rothenberger, with the Ise Farm Foundation, in Downs, Kansas. The foundation has issued a nifty brochure, Sod & Stubble Country, to guide heritage tourists following the trail of Ise's classic memoir. A map in the brochure lays out a driving tour to such points as the disputed road of "The Road Fight," the picnic site at Baertsch Grove, and the Ise School. The tour begins with Booth Hill, where Henry Ise paused to give Rosa her first view of her new home, and concludes with the Downs Cemetery, site of the "Pioneers O Pioneers" monument. This is a fine piece of work, a great example of investing the land with heritage. Copies available from Osborne County Tourism, email: vonr5@ruraltel.net

With this posting I'm back to Eastend and Stegner country--specifically to the Cypress Hills, touchstone of so much of the historical writing in Wolf Willow. Drawing on standard western Canadian mythology, Stegner contrasts the mild (Canadian) West with the wild (American) West, with the Northwest Mounted Police as the linchpin of a more orderly western settlement. He relates the poignant tale of Marmaduke Graburn, the first Mountie killed in the line of duty, murdered near what is now the Alberta-Saskatchewan border in 1879. Here's the monument to Constable Graburn. And here's a story about it. A month or so after taking this photograph, I brought my NEH seminar on the Great Plains to the Cypress Hills. On our itinerary was a visit to Fort Walsh, where we were impressed with some of the good-natured historical reenactments done by the youthful summer staff. The Mountie who greeted us and played the leading role in the reenactment seemed to us particularly youthful. That made us all the more reflective when the group subsequently made pilgrimage to the Constable Graburn monument, for we realized that our young host at Fort Walsh must have been about the age of the martyred Mountie in 1879. Now, here's an image of Conglomerate Cliffs, which has become my favorite vista in all the Cypress Hills. On the day this photo was taken, turkey buzzards and pelicans were both riding thermals at eye level as we looked north from the cliffs.

Yesterday I was in Ellendale, and I got to laughing when I thought how often people remark there is nothing going on in small towns. If you're involved with your community, it's the opposite--you're exhausted much of the time, because there are so many things going on. Today in Ellendale is the Applefest, the fall festival, and tomorrow is the fall dinner at St. Helena's Catholic Church. Plus, of course, you have to get to the high school volleyball and football games, right? Something that's been going on regularly since July is the Artist's Showcase, the first Tuesday every month, on what the commercial community calls Market Day. The next Artist's Showcase is coming up on October 3 and features Ruth Redlin and Shirley Engbrecht--details on this flyer.

In May we were doing some nosing around Eastend, Saskatchewan, and made a visit to the Riverside Cemetery, overlooking Eastend. If you're looking for people who figure in Stegner's book, Wolf Willow, then in some cases you need to learn what their real names were, since Stegner changed most of the names. Any attentive reader, though, will be drawn to the grave of Corky Jones, Stegner's mentor in local history. He rests beside his wife, Muriel. Jones lived out his last days in the Wolf Willow Lodge, a rest home just two blocks away from Stegner's boyhood home.

Lands restored after strip mining, however meticulously the job is done, come out of the process less than attractive, aesthetically. They are so obviously landscapes of human artifice that they hold no interest. I suppose, though, we should remember what lands strip-mined and not reclaimed look like. Here are some reminders from near Lignite, North Dakota: Spoils 1 - Spoils 2 - Spoils 3

Back in May we made a research junket to Saskatchewan, which was great, but getting there and back was part of the fun, since we always find interesting roadkill. For instance, southeast of Kenmare, North Dakota, we stopped to contemplate the high school class memorials made on one south-facing hillside after another. Constructed of glacial stone whitewashed and arranged to signify graduation years, these constructions are a notable tradition for the Honkers. Someday someone from Kenmare is going to have to tell me all about this. Many of the Kenmare class memorials are in the vicinity of the Des Lacs National Wildlife Refuge, where we also spotted this ingenious, homemade cattle oiler. It makes use of a gas tank and automotive springs and other junk parts. I wish someone would tell me about this contraption and its maker, too.

The forecast was for frost last night, right about on schedule for the average frost date in these parts. So at dusk I was in the garden conducting salvage operations--buckets and buckets of ripe tomatoes, half-ripe tomatoes, green tomatoes, chiles, eggplant, melons, and squash coming into the house. Lovely produce, which I set alongside the spuds, carrots, and beets I lifted over the weekend. You gotta love those root crops--especially roasted, as they were on Sunday, with a venison sauerbraten. Other processed produce currently sitting around the kitchen: rhubarb syrup, plum butter, pickled jalapenos, tomato sauce, quart relish, dried green chiles.

The past summer was exceedingly dense, producing such a mass of recollections and images it's hard to know where to begin, and so perhaps I'll just start, a bit at a time. The centerpiece of the summer was convening, once again, the NEH summer seminar for teachers, "The Great Plains from Texas to Saskatchewan." In preparation for that, while on a family visit in Austin, Texas, I took some time to track the historian, Walter P. Webb, in his old haunts.

For instance, I had a selective look through his papers at the Texas History Center. This produced several gems, including a sheet that I take to be Webb's opening remarks to his research seminar, likening himself to a hunter and the seminarians to the hounds. It was particularly interesting to look through Webb's grade registers. What I learned was that Webb hardly ever flunked anybody. This confirms my general belief that the great ones are not inclined to bust the chops of their students.

Did you know there is a Webb Hall at the University of Texas? Here's a picture of it. Pretty nondescript, but still, it's a building named after a historian. Mostly it houses the alumni association and foundation of the university. The building directory reveals, however--and oh how rich this is, considering Webb's writings--the Women's Studies Program of the university! Also inside, though, there's a placque extolling Webb, the "Distinguished Historian."

Webb and his buddies, J. Frank Dobie and Roy Bedichek, used to like to gather at Barton Springs to swim and gas. The sculpture, Three Friends, immortalizes their friendship in bronze. Barton Springs today is quite a place to see and be seen for the young and beautiful of Austin, a city for the young and beautiful. As best I can figure, Philosopher's Rock, where the three friends used to gather, must have been right about here. To the left in the image, on the near side of the water, is the old split pecan tree; Bedi's rock, I think, was across and to the right, in the vicinity of the present diving board.

Now and then I pause just long enough to consider the complexity and richness of the stuff I enjoy day to day. The calendar is full, downright cluttered, it seems, but if the parts articulate, the result is not chaos but, as I said, complexity. This is no safeguard against exhaustion, but it does prevent boredom.

So last Thursday I set out in the afternoon for Walhalla, a 3 1/2-hour drive into a drizzly cool front backing up the Red River Valley. The drive, nevertheless, was easy, punctuated by a stop for a burger at the West Side Drive In of Grafton. Arriving in Walhalla, I checked into the Forestwood Inn, which has become a pleasant haven for travelers to this town, and then strolled across the lot to the Walhalla Inn for a nightcap. That's a great place, too, and I like it that nowadays I see people there I recognize.

The reason I know my way around Walhalla is that I've begun a line of work there for NDSU Extension, working with Walhalla and two other towns on programs in arts & heritage for community development. (I'll be writing more about that enterprise in this and other venues.) I spent all day Friday consulting with citizens in Walhalla who were interested (or in some cases, who ought to be interested!) in restoration of the Walla Theatre. This wound up with a public meeting in the evening, which meant I got back home to West Fargo well after midnight.

Ordinarily I would have slept in after that, but Saturday was opening day of the grouse season, so at 5 in the morning I was up and headed for Crystal Springs, with Arnie the WonderDog in the back of the truck. We picked up a limit of sharptails, and I only had to walk about 6 miles for them. Plus I found a couple of whopping puffballs, which I'll try to make something of, I'm not sure just how to make the best culinary use of them. After that it was back home to get ready for the first Ladbury Lecture at the old Ladbury Church--a lovely gathering, and full of fun, but I'll have to admit I was flagging a little bit by the conclusion. (See the pages of the Center for Heritage Renewal for more on the Ladbury Lectures, including two more upcoming.)

Neither was Sunday a day of rest, because this is North Dakota, and that means September is fall garden produce time. We've got crockpots full of plum butter, and a bucket of kraut percolating, and chiles scorched and ready to dry, and what the heck am I going to do with all these eggplant? To top it off, toward evening on Sunday here came Old John looking to do a little dove shooting at a nearby waterhole--the hunt being futile that evening, but the sunset was lovely.

Somehow, none of these things seems disconnected with the others. Somehow, having plum butter and kraut in the pantry makes me more enthusiastic about such causes as restoration of the Walla Theatre. And somehow, getting together with a bunch of neighbors to talk about history in the old Ladbury Church makes the landscape come alive as I trek across it after birds. It's an embarrassment of riches, but I'm not at all embarrassed.

Before I forget, let me share a couple of images from the latest junket to Walhalla. First, here's a post-cardy view of the Pembina Gorge, taken from alongside the Masonic monument at Walhalla. Second, here's a photo of The Tuckers, a funky new piece of wood-art by Matt Werven. It's tucked into a tree hollow back of the swimming pool in Riverside Park. I'm thinking of all sorts of ways you could scare kids with this fixture and a flashlight on a moonless night.

Received, a few days ago, a kind letter from Reverend Lucinda Nygard Lien, who pastors the Lutheran churches in Marion and Litchville (Trinity, south of town). She writes that Trinity will have its fall supper on October 15 (sorry I'll miss it, as I'll be in Missouri that day), and Marion will have its Fall Fling the first Sunday in October. Mainly, though, she writes of the "Stitch in Time" event coming up at Red Willow Bible Camp, near Binford, this Sunday, September 9. This looks like a splendid blend of history and craft, and for a good cause, too. Here's Pastor Lien's letter. And here's a link to Red Willow information.