Knute Nelson

Today is Knute Nelson's 165th birthday. If you know who Knute Nelson is you are either: A) from Douglas County, B) a Minnesota History Buff, C) also named Knute.

Growing up between the towns of Alexandria and Nelson (yes, named for Knute) I was aware of the name. I'm sure somewhere in my childhood someone told me who he was. Leading to my disinterest was the fact that one of the local nursing homes bears his name. A nursing home is not something a 13-year-old wants to associate with.

Besides the nursing home and the town, a ballpark (pictured) and the local historical society are named for him. In fact, the historical society is his old home. It was moved from it's original site to a spot along the railroad tracks (he was elected to get these extended to Alex) on Nokomis. In college I had to stop there to work on an assignment for a college professor who wanted us to research how our hometowns' helped the WWII effort (the old Northwest Creameries produced powdered milk and canned chickens). The building is huge and smells like a house that has out-lived generations of people.

Beyond that, I knew he was a poltician but little else so I checked out Wikipedia.

According to what I read, he accomplished a lot in his life. Besides the epic tale of immigration (loss, sacrifice, adventure*) Nelson worked his butt off to get an education, served in the civil war, and worked his butt off to become a lawyer.

According to Wiki he moved to Wisconsin, practiced law, and became a politician. He married and then headed to Alexandria, MN.

In Minnesota he set up practice and was elected to the Legislature. Tragically he lost three of his five children in May 1877 to a diphtheria outbreak. Imagine that. One month you come home to a house full of children, the next month you've buried three of them.

Despite this he became governor of Minnesota and later a U.S. Senator. Which lead to name a town. ballpark, and nursing home after him.


*(Brokaw should write about this generation- it's difficult to comprehend the courage and/or desperation it would take to make that journey)

Buses, Bands, and (Corn)Bread

I am recovered from two days home with the boys followed by a field trip with 75 fourth graders to Orchestra Hall and the Minneapolis Institute of Art. Great places they both are, but keeping the attention of 10 years olds in these places is tough.

Taking this trip reminded me of two things:
1) Taking the bus to school as a kid
2) That school children cannot easily distinguish between the end of an ochestral piece and a dramatic pause (during the piano solo of 15 minute performance, the kid audience must have started to clap at least six times).

My family has a history with buses starting with my great-grandfather. He drove bus and, if I rememember right, hitched up the sleigh and horses in the winter. On the southwest side of the woods the runners from the old sleigh are still visible (although sunk down into the sod).

Grandpa drove bus for many years and even had a bus garage built on his property that we've since used as a shelter for pigs, horses, bunnies, pheasants, cars, and loads of grain.

The bus driver I had since 3rd grade, Bob, gave me my greatest memories. He was a good guy and a great driver that never got us stuck. Bob would pull over on the highway and let cars pass him rather than hold them up. There was peace on this bus, too. You did not mess with Bob. Even in his mid-60s I remember him pulling a kid out of his seat by the collar so hard the kid hit his head on the ceiling.

The problem was that Bob got motion sickness. He would have to pull over a couple times a week and get out of the bus. When this happened the kids in front would plaster their faces to the window hoping to see Bob throw-up. I'm not sure if he ever actually did. He would usually climb back in and make some joke. After a while it became a routine and the only people that made a big deal out of it were the kids that hadn't rode that long.

It's ironic that I remember the bus days so fondly because I could not wait to get my license and drive to school. The days mom drove us to school were few and far between. They were exotic glimpses into the lives of city kids. I'd like it if a bus picked me up for work and took me home.

In kid news:

Jack brought a new book home from day care to read. They're the Dr. Seuss books with the same basic rhyming words repeated over and over in different sentence patterns. He is doing really well.

He is also a cornbread lover. Jodi bought some at the store for supper tonight. He told her he wished he could just eat cornbread. So Jodi informed him of when she and her dad used to make cornbread on Sunday nights because her mom didn't care for it. "Can we do that?" he asked. Jodi said she'll have to talk to Papa Dale.

Going for a Swim in 1943

January thoughts of jumping into a lake lined by verdant summer trees seem as distant as the date of this photo. Time and climate make it seem like a half-forgotten dream. This was taken in 1943 on an unspecified Alexandria lake.

This might be Lake Henry before it closed. The city park beach re-opened since the water quality has improved in recent years. It should be law that all Minnesota lakes are swimmable. There's no reason why anyone should have to think twice about jumping into a lake in a state where swimming weather is so precious.

As kids Mike and I swam in the backyard pond a couple of times. This was before the pasture the pond is in became overgrown with ash trees. The water level hasn't been nearly as high since they took over. Mike and I caught tadpoles by hand but we had to take a bath outside afterwards. I think Mom worried about runoff from the cow pies.

Dad has an aversion to water. I think it is because of the time he nearly drowned while tubing behind a boat driven by his good pal Larry. Since then he's kind of shied away. Even at Itasca when we jump off the pontoons, I can tell he's worried.

His grandson though loves the water. Jack has been taking swimming lessons since he was 2. During the last two trips to Itasca he has jumped off the pontoon in the middle of the lake to doggie-paddle around in his life jacket. A summer day for Jack isn't complete unless he has gotten wet.

Thanks Arne!

I was browsing the Minnesota Historical Society website tonight. There is a section called "On This Date." According to the MHS on this date in 1994 all schools were closed by then Governor Arne Carlson on account of extreme cold.

If I remember that day correctly it was a Monday and I was a freshman at SCSU. I stayed an extra night at home on the farm and went back with Chad Dahl and Jerry Tischer Monday afternoon after it warmed up (to -40º). I remember helping on the farm that weekend wearing googles outside because of the cold. I think we skipped cleaning the calf pen that weekend.

At home tonight I hear snow scouring the windows and the wind blowing from the northwest. It's cold out, but not nearly worthy of an Arne Carlson declaration.

I could see Will Steger teaming up with Arne for his Global Warming talks. Imagine those two going to the local Lutheran churches. Will's talking about thinning arctic ice, while Arne would be giving the testimonials. "Back when I was governor it was so cold we canceled school because we were afraid the kids would shatter at the bus stop. Ventura was cuddled up with is horses trying to keep warm. I remember John Marty trying to pass a bill to buy sweaters for hibernating bears. Nowadays kids don't even wear jackets in winter."

Did you know? 1982 State Auditor's Race: Carlson 55%, Paul Wellstone 45%-Wikipedia.

Carver County Drive

Driving to Aidan's doctor appointment in Norwood Young America reminds me a lot of driving in rural Alexandria. There's plenty of fields and woodlots. But like Alexandria, few of the farm places actually are full-time farm sites. I'd say the majority of farm places are the homes of retired farmers where they raise some heifers or rent out their crop land.

Some of the farm places have been fixed up very nicely. We passed one place that has new windows and decorative siding. What made it really stand out was the old round-style barn to the west of the house. Having worked in a traditional gable-style barn, I think the round barns are fascinating. Of couse to have a place like that and keep it looking good takes piles of money and this particular place has the obligatory steel shed out back where the pile is kept.

The farm places that get my attention are operating dairy farms. Not the bright and shiny mortgaged-the-farm-for-the-500 -cow-milking-parlor kind. But the small scale family farm that reminds me of how we milked cows.

There is a place on Cty Rd 153. They have a old, red barn running east-west and tempory paddocks outside with woven wire fencing where calves are kept. and some calf hutches, too. The ground is low so you can see where snow melt has made puddles that tractors drove through and froze making treacherous ruts to navigate.

Not only is it low ground, but flat, too. Which makes me wonder about the place in spring when the snow melts and all the frozen manure melts with it and the ground. Spring was my least favorite time on the farm. You had to wear waders all the time and lift your legs up as you walked to pull them from the sucking ground.

The worst was letting cows out to check for heat in that muck. They'd go out and not want to come back in, so we'd have to slop through that knee-deep sludge to get them back in. Then that evening their undersides would be coated in plaster-of-poop when it was time to milk.

Back to that farm place. They had two houses on the property. One is facing the road, the other is behind and perpindicular to it. I can't easily tell which one the orginal because they both have newer siding, although if I had to guess the one out back. The second story seems short like older homes.

On the home farm place we had two houses for a few years. The original house "Sandvik," was were my great-great grandparents and great-grandparents lived. Before them it belonged to the original owners and I believe served as a boarding house.

We lived there for awhile when my grandparents built their current house. I remember the front porch and having breakfast in the kitchen. There was a box in the hallway we kept toys in which was probably the old wood box. There were bats in the walls my mom says, I don't remember that.

The most peculiar thing I remember was the main floor bedrooms. Threre were green-glass partions between our beds. At least that's the way I recall it. I was only 4 or 5 years old.

Anyway, that's the drive to the doctor. Aidan's fine. Funny how eastern Carver County (Chanhassen/Chaska) is so different from the west side.

New Post, Old Story

The following is from a college class I took in 1997? It's about a neighbor farmer of ours that we knew well.

I had never seen a dead body before, unless you count funerals or television. But what I mean is I’ve never seen a dead body outside and undiscovered before.
David was a neighbor farmer in his late fifties. He was a real character who was always quick with joke or a bit of advice. He was also a bit strange. More than once he brought breakfast to morning chores. This usually consisted of cold pancakes, warm milk, and some spicy cheese on crackers. I tried to avoid him on these mornings.

Once, he showed his faith in the purity of our cows by squirting milk directly into his mouth. But in recent months David hadn’t been the same. He didn’t talk as much and wasn’t as animated and peppy. The tattered, old clothes he wore seemed to weigh him down.

The last day I saw him alive was the day after his auction. He sold all of his machinery and livestock. He seemed depressed; broken. David’s dad, whom he farmed with for years, had died in the spring and now my family was running their land. Now that his dad was gone he was left to care for his elderly mother. That afternoon I was at his place with one of my brothers to pick up some hay. We talked briefly and went our separate ways to work.

The next day I recieved a phone call from his sister. David hadn’t come home last night. In fact, he hadn’t been seen since I talked to him. I questioned her about it and went to the pasture across the road where he had set off to work. My dad and two of my brothers came with me and split up to look.

As we searched the pasture that afternoon, the heat and humidity wore us down. Sweat gathered on my forehead, drawing the mosquitoes. As I stepped, frogs jumped in the tall grass and thistles scratched my bare legs causing them to itch. The silence was broken only by an occasional call to David. As we continued, the heifers looked up from their lunch with passing curiosity. Their mouths full of grass, their tails swatting the flies on their backs.

We met near the buildings behind his house. My brothers searched the sheds for signs of David. I stood and thought about where he could be. I knew he would never leave his family, he had to be here somewhere and he was probably in trouble.
An old, rotting round bale caught my attention. It as at the end of a grove of tall Lombardy trees. Surrounding the bale was tall grass and an old one-bottom plow that didn’t sell at the auction. As I walked towards the bale I remember last seeing David walk over in this direction the day before.

Closing in, my attention focused on the foreground of the bale. At first I thought I was seeing an old canvas tarp. But the flies signaled a different story. Before the bale lay David. Flies circled and landed like Vultures on his face and nose. His body was bale and limp. I remember his legs were pulled in like they had failed him.

I turned away. I felt numb. The rest all approached and quickly turned away, heading toward the house to tell his sister and mother. The truly shocking event I witnessed that day was not the discovery of David’s body, but of his sister's cold indifference to his death.

Her matter-of-factness about it angered my Dad and sickened me. We told her we were sorry about David and walked back home. On the silent walk back I didn’t notice the mosquitoes, the thistles, or the heat. The heifers were nowhere to be seen.
Rather, on the walk back I remembered David. Working with him in all seasons on the farm, choking down the cold pancakes, and stifling a laugh at his clothes. A gentle and good man.

Digging up Pictures of the Past

I found this picture at the Minnesota Historical Society website. They have thousands of old pictures with Minnesota connections. I was hoping to find something familiar to the farm, but the sheer quantity of photos is overwhelming.

I typed in Douglas County and over 600 matches came up. Everything from pictures of old downtown building to postcards of early 20th century resorts. I'm hoping to find something interesting to purchase. All the photos are available to buy as jpegs, or you can get them sent developed in varying sizes. It would be nice to have a few for the house or my desk area at school.

I got started on this because Jodi wants a picture of the Minneapolis skyline to hang up downstairs. I'm determined not to buy some tired out, standard skyline picture. I'd like to find something a little more unique.

I read a couple items on Iraq from the Washington Post via Slate.

1. Over 22,000 Iraqi civilians and policeman died violently last year. Two-thirds during the last 6 months.

2. Wesley Clark wrote that in Kosovo (a successful military intervention) there were 40,000 troops for a population of 2 million people. To equal that for Iraq we would need 500,000 troops.