A View From Here: Resettling Big Stone County Minnesota

Orion- the hunter

When I wake up maddeningly early and look out my dining room window I can see Orion-- at rest. Usually you see Orion upright-- his belt and blade at his waist and feet beneath him. In the middle of the night, however, Orion rests on the tops of trees lining the east side of our property. He lies there on his side-- relaxing on his elbow-- not hunting for the time being. I've a kind of repoir with this early morning constellation-- "you just rest there-- I'll get the coffee going."

I woke up in St. Paul this morning and walked out into the "darkeness" of the City. I looked straight up and was surprised to see my early morning companion Orion above my head. Upright and at work already-- another day another Horsehead Nebula. I didn't know or remember that I could see Orion in the City.

A bit later in my St. Paul campus office I reached into my jeans pocket and was surprised to find a handful of soybeans.

What I want to say is how this split life brings a reality to both. I can now see the stars in the City because I have come to know them, personally, at home on the prairie. I can now work in the Agronomy Deptartment with soybeans from my own field in my pocket. In some ways it is all the more richer because of the contrast.

But man I'm missing my kids.

Posted by Kathryn Draeger at 06:33 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Photo credit: MN Historical Society 1970
(No details with this picture- but I imagine it is a farmer with his banker. Here's hoping he kept that tractor through the farm crisis)

The countryside is mobilized to bring in the crops. Wheat is in- soybeans coming off the field- the corn has a ways to go. Friday I passed a field full of combines and semi trucks-- a harvest crew working together. It was impressive. On Saturday I watched my neighbor climb into his monstrous John Deere combine holding his 2-year old daughter's hand. She pranced around in a fluffy pink dress. I'm sure they both like the time together-- but with two fulltime working parents and farming, sometimes there is no choice.

It seems that people of this country mobilized against the Wallstreet bailout and their congressional representatives listened-- a victory of sorts for democracy. $700 billion is a lot of money and, in truth, I think it's ok to take some time to figure out the right path. There's some lesson here about honest work by real people for real products-- but I'm not sure I know what it is. Just some vague notions about hard times, hard work, sacrifice, integrity, and the democratic process. If you figured it out, I'd like to know.

Posted by Kathryn Draeger at 04:50 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

“When the wells begin to peter out, the competition for the remaining petroleum resources will grow even fiercer. Are more than the 0.5 percent of Americans who now serve in the military willing to risk their lives fighting overseas so we can continue to live as we wish? Peak oil will force that question on us.”

My favorite, most savored moments of the day are when I put my boys to bed. I lay between them in their shared bed, looking back and forth between their two sweet faces. Jens smiling, Lake sternly plotting to be the one who gets to turn off the light when we’re done reading. One night after the light was out I looked at Jens, the sprite, who still holds the look of a cherubic toddler at age four. My mind flashed forward to him being a soldier—a conscripted soldier. This thought came out of thin air, nothing I’d read or seen on tv had planted the seeds in my mind. This boy—Jens in particular—is not being raised to be a soldier. He’s being raised with tender kindness, humored in his spirited nature, adored for his adorableness. There are not a lot of hard edges in his world. I looked at him and could see his grown up face startled by a world of violence. I could see him remembering me, his mother, and these times together. So sweet, so safe.

Dreher goes on to say:

“A famed U.S. military leader has warned that the fossil-fuel supply on which American civilization depends utterly will run out someday in the 21st century and that our nation cannot afford to place our hope in "the sentimental belief that the things we fear will never really happen. I suggest that this is a good time to think soberly about our responsibilities to our descendants – those who will ring out the Fossil Fuel Age," said Adm. Hyman G. Rickover, father of the nuclear Navy. In 1957.

We've wasted a half-century of precious time, another non-renewable resource. We probably don't have another one to spare.”

Next installment: Can you live out both your dream and your nightmare at the same time?

Posted by Kathryn Draeger at 05:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

If there were a soundtrack to this post- it's this song. This U-tube video was composed as a gift and I'm borrowing it for the music.

photo credit Bryce Ritcher, UW Madison

The other morning there was ground fog-- heavy and wet-- but we could look straight up and see blue sky. I walked Alma to the bus and went for a run. There is a place not far from here that feels holy-- I stop running and walk down to the prairie. I get to the end of the path where it fans out into a grassy turn-around for hunters. It looked like someone dropped a tissue on a stem of bluestem grass. I walked up closer and see it's a huge, dew-covered spiderweb. I get on my hands and knees to look at the beautiful dewdrops, the intricate patterns and marvel at how this spider flew/hopped from stem to stem creating a 3 foot circle between a number of stems.

As I knelt there, I looked up towards the prairie as the pink sun was coming over the horizon, shining through the fog and this is what I saw.

The entire praire was filled with dewy spider webs -- every foot for as far as I could see. It looked as if thousands of shimmering lace hankies had been spread over the entire tall prairie grasses. At first I couldn't even understand what I was seeing. The angle of the sun and the dew had illuminated the entire prairie so I could, for the first time, see that every stem of grass was part of these intricate webs. The combination of dew, fog, and sun revealed a prairie world I didn't even know was there.

Each day since, I look for those webs and can't see them-- even up close.
Minnesota songwriter, Peter Mayer captues my thoughts:

This morning outside I stood
And saw a little red-winged bird
Shining like a burning bush
Singing like a scripture verse
It made me want to bow my head
and I remember when church let out
how things have changed since then,
everything is holy now.

Continue reading "Prairie Revealed (Everything is Holy Now)" »

Posted by Kathryn Draeger at 06:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Prairie Sunset by Tom Lockhart-- Pastel

This was the view as I raced home to the farm tonight.

Earlier in the evening we had our first paid baby sitter out here on the prairie, got dressed up, and went to the vacant Beardsley Minnesota school for a wedding dance. [Aside- Beardsley- pop. 262- has some of the most beautiful brickwork school, church, and auditorium I've ever seen]. Not long after, the phone rang and one of the kids was very sick. All three kids, in some combination, had been home from school sick on Wed- Friday, but we thought we were safe (and due) for a fun night out.

Since we'd hardly started the evening I left Mike with a neighbor and headed back the 30 miles home. Those minutes in the car were the first moment I'd been alone in days. I opened the sunroof to a perfect September evening. Turned the satellite radio up loud to The Verve's "Rather Be Here Than Anywhere" and headed east.

I'd been having a few days where the 'new car smell' had left this adventure on the prairie-- a few hard days in a row-- sick kids, work stress, more tomatoes than I can sell, can or freeze, and when will that wind ever quit blowing?!!

As I headed down the road I saw a line of steel grey clouds stretching across the entire eastern horizon -- a few pinkish floaters in front reflecting the setting sun behind me. Then the moon caught my eye-- a full moon half risen over the bank of clouds. To my left and right were sloughs and wetlands and for a while a flock of ducks flew beside me, just parallel to my car. I could see the blaze orange/pink sun setting behind me in the rear view mirror. The fields of wheat stubble yellow against the still green landscape.

As I turned onto our gravel road--swerving sharply to avoid salamanders-- I could see an animal ahead on the road, either a coyote or very small deer. As I closed in, the tiny deer disappeared into the soybeans. I rushed into the house and scooped up my sobbing, pale, sick son. He's sleeping right here beside me now. It's dark and that same moon is shining right on me. And it is good to feel I rather be here than anywhere.

Posted by Kathryn Draeger at 09:03 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

Our farm is filled with frogs and toads. When I walk out around the garden, I actually have to watch my step to keep from stepping on them. Do you remember Rana pipiens? Remember catching frogs in the pasture?

The scientist (or child) in me keeps chasing down and catching the frogs. I'm "surveying" them to see if we have any of the famed Minnesota deformed frogs. Back in the day we had school kids catching frogs to report deformities. The research was eliminated in 2001, but it continues on my farm.

So far. So good. Nothing but healthy looking happy frogs. Brown, green, and red ones. Lots of toads too. I find it a comfort to live among so many frogs and toads. It means that something is right with this land.

Tell me- do you have frogs where you are? Are you having a good year for frogs?

Posted by Kathryn Draeger at 07:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)

I was stopped on mainstreet Ortonville the other day and someone asked me "what exactly did you end up doing with those eggs of yours?"

It has been one year since we moved here.
One years since we put in the order for those chickens.
I thought that I should revist some past posts and give some updates

~I've found a market for our eggs (Chicken Confidential) selling them to colleagues and friends at some of the meetings I attend in the Cities for $2.50/doz. My artist neighbor, Liz, is also a regular customer and it is nice to have a reason to visit with her on a regular basis.

~Artist Mark Mustful moved to Big Stone County despite the 15 inches of snow the day of his visit last April. It occurs to me that this lovely pottery has an integral connection to local foods as we will need stunning and inspiring butter crocks, bread bowls, grain keepers, and pitchers. James Kunstler says in his book "A World Made by Hand" that as our world became simpler we could no longer fail to incorporate beauty into the fabric of our everyday lives.

~The flash flood through our farm permanently destroyed about 30 acres of soybeans. We moved the bees to higher ground and they seem to be doing well. I opened the hives last week to check on them. The bottom box held dark amber honey, the upper box was pure, clear honey-like thick water. I stuck my hive tool into the honey comb, lifted my veil and tasted the wonderful sweetness of our farm's and the prairie's pollen and flowers.

~ We spent a month at the Ortonville Farmers market (Saturday mornings 8:30 to noon in front of the Columbian Hotel). Since this was our first year we are learning as we go. We've run out of vegetables except for tomatoes and our squash are not quite ripe. We'll spend a few more Saturdays there this year-- maybe selling coffee along with our veggies.

Here's a close up of less than 10 minutes of harvest time. That translates into 10 hours of processing to sauces and canning. This is exactly how I want to spend my Labor Day.

Posted by Kathryn Draeger at 07:06 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

A theater in North Dakota in lieu of the Mill Theater

People have asked me over and over what I miss about being in the Cities. At this point-- approaching one year-- there are no things or places I miss (just people). Good coffee, great conversation, interesting attractions are all around me here.

Let me tell you about last night. After doing our farmers market stand, Alma and I came home and started processing the vegetables that hadn't sold-- mostly the Amish Paste heritage tomatoes. We started making a big batch of ketchup. It was, however, Saturday night and we were all ready for some off-farm fun.

The boys had been begging to see Kung Fu Panda and so we were pleased to see it had returned for a 2nd run to Mill Theaters in Milbank, South Dakota-- 30 miles from our farm. We headed to main street Milbank and enjoyed dinner at the Triple Dip cafe that features ice cream/espresso. The movie theater is a main street gem showing 1st run movies. I'm guessing it's more of a public service than a lucrative business venture. Admission for five, popcorn, 5 pops, 3 candies came to $29. If we wanted to we could have stayed to watch Indiana Jones for free-- but that wasn't going to happen with kids.

It was as fun a family outing as I could expect anywhere. We drove home in the dark across the prairie-- the western horizon slightly purple and blue. Jen commented on the shadows of tree overhanging the prairie potholes looked like trees in the lake.

Posted by Kathryn Draeger at 09:23 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

One of the sights at the Big Stone County Museum

There are a group of folks coming together to Create a Value Added Community in Big Stone County. Through these gatherings I’m getting to know inspiring people, finding new treasures in the area (last nights people brought photos of a 1800's Rendezvous gathering, a kayaking stream, and a cormorant rookery), and working to make the Big Stone area a sustainable community for us (to quote Don Sherman).

We met last night at the Big Stone County Museum. This is a place of wonder and part of my awe was a brief conversation I had with Earl Komis, museum tour guide. Earl, nearly 90, was recently featured in Twin Cities Business Magazine in the 8 to 5 at 85 article. I learned just a snippet of Mr. Komis’ story.

In Minnesota, United States of America, around 1934 Earl Komis and some of his 11 siblings drew straws to see who would leave their farm. There was not enough food for the family. At 14 years old Earl drew the short straws and had to leave with just one loaf of bread. He walked 82 miles, sleeping in culverts and hungry. Along the way, a kind woman in Milan, Minnesota saw this hungry youngster and gave him a meal of grits. This act of kindness still catches in Earl’s throat 74 years later. Earl found a farmer needing help with 17 cows and was paid room and board for 2 years.

I asked Earl what he thought the future held in store for us—not just in Big Stone County but in our country. Earl, who lived through some of the hardest days our country has seen, said “The futures gonna be tougher than we’ve ever seen.�?

I’m bringing Alma to this museum on Friday (when the boys are down for their nap). I hope I can nab Earl as my museum guide and maybe even have a cup of coffee with him. Earl is part of the richness and blessings of living in a county with one of the highest percentage of people over 65 in the nation.

Posted by Kathryn Draeger at 05:34 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Picture, 8/15/08, taken from the north side of our yard

Sometime in the not distant future.

My heart ran cold hearing the single engine plane circling above the township. I tasted the metallic bite of fear in my mouth as I glimpsed the plane to the west. The plane flew low, I wondered if it was some kind of reconnaissance.

My mind flashed back to the first time I’d seen a plane over this land. I was pregnant with my oldest daughter when a crop duster came to spray the corn crops to the north and the east of the house- right along side the house and yard. That would be 14 years ago now. I was so angry then—furious that I couldn’t protect myself and my unborn babe from the pesticides that were sprayed all over. We were just visiting my in-laws for the weekend. The farm was still theirs then and we lived in the city—safe from crop dusters. In fact, in those days part of my job was to reduce children’s and pregnant women’s exposure to pesticides. I remember feeling completely impotent to even protect myself and rage at my helplessness.

Later, after we had moved to the farm for good, I remember one day hearing and seeing the crop duster fly by. By then we’d been struggling a couple years to keep things going with spotty electric and even spottier access to diesel fuel. It was a comfort, to the point of tears, to see that plane in the sky tending crops the “old�? way. We didn’t have the connections and resources to buy seed corn and pesticides, but someone around here still could. If they could, that meant that there was still a system in place producing them. Things might get back to normal. It was a thrill to see that plane—it made my heart swell with pride for the sophisticated technology.

That was nine years ago and we’d seen no planes since. This plane felt like a bad omen. We’d been relatively free from looters over the years. Our crops our own--taking care of our neighbors as we could. Maybe we were faring better than others in the wider world, who knew? I regretted for the first time the garden and crops laid out in straight rows that my husband was so proud of; a clear sign from the air of our relative “prosperity.�? I was stunned by the next thoughts that went through my mind—could it be shot down? As the plane flew out of sight to the east I heard its engine whining and a distant repercussion.

None of us would be going to see what had happened to that plane, though I could guess. Today four families were gathering to make cheese. I subconsciously ran the math on the number of calories we would store up for the winter ahead. Enough calories for our 3 children for 3 weeks. This would be a good day after all.

Posted by Kathryn Draeger at 06:21 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Jeanne Taylor, Small Town, 1940

Yesterday I drove many more miles across rural Minnesota on my way to St. Paul. One of the pure luxuries of living in 2008 is that I can get a very fine espresso in small towns throughout the state. I pulled into a parking spot on mainstreet MN, population 1007, and got out of my car for a coffee and scone. Joy of joys on lovely summer morning in the oak savanah.

As I got out of the car, there was a family gathered around the small late model SUV in the next slant in parking spot. The patriarch of the family was sitting in the passenger seat of the car. Elegantly dressed, thick well groomed grey hair, his eyes squeezed shut, and cannulas deliverying oxygen into his nose. I walked into the coffee shop, forgot my go cup and back to the car, I overheard the family saying that he could stay in the car and people could visit him there.

At the counter- the owner took my order then turned to some of the family members and friends of the gentleman and asked if they would be coming in. No-- they wouldn't be able to bring him in afterall. The owner of the coffee shop asked if he could go out to the car to say goodbye. "Of course. By all means."

The coffee shop was rearranged to recieved the man, his family, his friends. They all came to mainstreet to say goodbye. In the end, he couldn't come to that table. But people stood in mainstreet-- hugging each other, leaning into the passenger seat-- saying their goodbyes.

As I got into my car and drove out of town I was struck by the public goodbye, but even more by the empty table that was ready, but unable to be occupied.

In my minds eye I saw Pastor Arlan at the alter. Turning to the congregation- smiling-- saying "The feast is prepared! All are welcomed to the table." I drove on for miles with the tears running down my face.

Saying goodbye-right there on mainstreet. The table is ready.

Posted by Kathryn Draeger at 06:19 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

photo courtesy of Amy Stewart- worm author

I found my first earthworm on the farm yesterday. I pulled up a giant pigweed and saw the first worm in a clod of dirt. I was surprised to see it-- my surprise made me stop in my tracks. Worms have been completely missing from the soil- garden. In fact, I don't even recall seeing them skirming on the driveway after the rain.

I was struck with the sudden realization that our farm is absent of worms. And I hadn't even notice their absence until I pulled that first one out-- a 1 inch pinkish/blue worm. I ran across the field back to the house with the clod and the worm to take a picture for you all to see. Between the porch and the camera there was some kid emergency-- they got cold in the swimming pool and needed hot cocoa even though it is 84 degrees in the house, no breeze, and humid. By the time I got back to my clod of dirt the worm was missing. But it had been there- really.

It's good news that the worms are returning to our east field. It means the soil is coming back to life after all the anhydrous ammonia and pesticides.

Posted by Kathryn Draeger at 05:03 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

On their back were vermiculate patterns that were maps of the world in its becoming. Maps and mazes. Of a thing which could not be put back. Not be made right again. In the deep glens where they lived all things were older than man and they hummed of mystery.

Posted by Kathryn Draeger at 11:50 AM | Permalink | Comments (5)

On Saturday morning I was up before sunrise and in the garden picking our vegetables to take to the Ortonville Farmers Market. The half moon was over my head as the sun came over the horizon. The Mourning Doves cooing and replying to each across the fields. I pull a bush of snopeas into my lap and uncover a shining chunk of granite underneath. Even the rocks are beautiful in this field. I'm content with my morning coffee at hand.

We harvested new red potatoes, eggplant, broccoli, cauliflower, snopeas, and beets. I also brought along a platefull of some homemade, organic monster cookies.

Mike set up our small table in front of the old Columbia Hotel in Ortonville. Jame Howard Kunstler would agree that this old hotel is the type of architecture that makes America worth caring about and even fighting for. Our being at the farmers' martket doubled the number of farmers from 1 to 2. It was fun to meet and visit with the local folks-- got to see my former English teacher from high school in Silver Bay! We sold out of eggplant, new potatoes, broccoli, and cookies.

And Alma was a lot happier to be there than it appears in this picture. She stood on the sidewalk waving to every car and holding a sign she made that said "Vegetables." [Note to self, leave adorable, energetic boys on the farm next time]

I'm still thinking about how this plays out in our lives. At this point, it's not really a money making venture-- more of a social affair blended with community service.

Posted by Kathryn Draeger at 06:16 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Last Friday we laid Uncle Conrad to rest at Artichoke Lake, Minnesota-- a beautiful, lonely resting ground out on the prairie. Forty-five years ago there was still a general store at Artichoke and the name of the town appears on most Minnesota maps. But no people live there now.

The message at the funeral created a buzz around Big Stone County, in part because of the length, but mostly because of the content. The preacher, Brother Jobe, came straight out of the distant past or perhaps the not so distant future. He flew in from Pennsylvania (note--he wasn’t native to this place) and was presented the honor of giving the funeral message.

Brother Jobe’s message was old-timey, riveting, and delivered with the best oratorical skills I’ve ever experienced. I was rapt at his words and gestures. Brother Jobe called for the complete subjugation of women in business, church, government, and home. He called for the uplifting of men. The 80 and 90 year old women in front of me squirmed in their seats.

Out here on the prairie they suffer no illusions about women. Uncle Daniel said- with an economy of words that I lack- this land would not have been settled without pioneer women. Leadership, fortitude, grit, strength- was called for from every pioneer—man or woman. Men and women had different work- but every effort was needed and valued- a partnership for survival.

When a First Lady at the turn of the 20th century began a national campaign to eliminate girls athletics in high schools, rural Minnesota was among the very last to abolish women’s basketball. My grandma- who would have been 100- played basketball in high school. Why was rural Minnesota the last to ban women’s sports? Because those immigrants who settled this harsh prairie had no illusions about the frailty of women.

Posted by Kathryn Draeger at 12:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)