A Bit of Nostalgia

When I was a little girl my father was a farmer in north central North Dakota, where the farms are small compared to what they are here in the Red River Valley. My father farmed 400 acres of soil that wasn't very productive, especially during the dry years of the early 50s. In order to hang onto the farm he had to take another job, which ended up being something called a "grease monkey" for a road construction crew. Not exactly a politically correct job title in today's society, but back then that's what it was. Today he would have been called a mechanic for heavy equipment.

So my Mother was forced to move from an eleven room farm house into a 25 foot trailer house with three kids, and no indoor plumbing. We lived like gypsies. I won't say we even became "trailer trash" because that indicates you embed yourself in one place. We didn't. We moved from one location to another, following the progress of the road that the construction crew was working on. Many times I remember my Father coming to the trailer and telling my Mother, "We've got to be moved down the road to the next location within one hour." And we would.
Now mind you, there were 20 to 30 families living like this - vagabonds. And a big "cook car" - which was a mobile kitchen, run by several ladies who would do all the meal preparation for the single guys who worked on the crew. Inside on one end was a kitchen, and the remainder was one long table going through the center of the car with benches on each side for the guys to sit and eat.

So this whole procession of trailers and the cook car would go down the road several miles to another location, which was usually some rancher's pasture, pull in and set up camp. Now think about this - this was a pasture - no well for running water, or sanitation faciliites. First things first - several holes would be dug for the outdoor biffies, then one very large hole to bury garbage. Then a truck with a huge water tank on the back would arrive and park itself somewhat centrally located. One of my brother's regular jobs was to fill water into buckets and haul it to our trailer whenever needed so we had water to drink, cook and wash dishes with. Baths were taken once a week in a large round galvanized tub that my mother used to wash clothes in every Monday. Otherwise you did a "spit and polish" between the times when you would sit in the galvanized tub. And all HOT water was made hot by heating it in a large pot on a gas kitchen stove.

I often think when we're out traveling in our motorhome, my Mother would have thought she'd died and gone to heaven with all the conveniences I have. Completely self-contained - solar powered, gas/electric hot water heater, same for the frig, TV, air conditioning - We often park in the middle of the desert for weeks at a time when we travel in the winter, and have all those conveniences. She had NONE of that. But then neither did anyone else in the "camp."

Going to town for groceries on Saturday afternoon was always a big event. We got to go to TOWN!! They were mere wide spots in the road, and sometimes up to 30 miles away on gravel roads, but it was still a big event. Places like Elgin, Carson, Cannon Ball, Amidon, Black Butte, Flasher - some of which no longer even exist other than a few fallen-in buildings. But at that time most every little town had some kind of a grocery store where a big treat would be a bottle of pop (soda to you NON-upper-midwesterners). Nesbitts orange and grape Nehi were my favorites.

I have very fond memories of those days as a kid - playing with all the other "camp kids" out in the pasture not knowing what you were going to "step" in or find - and that included rattle snakes!! Most generally the rattle snakes were hunted out of the area we were going to be camping in. The construction company would send their snake crew in ahead of time and they would locate the snake dens and clean them out. An ugly, dangerous job, but it had to be done.

I remember very vividly a time when a large bull snake decided he was going to move in under our trailer. He was only about six feet long and possibly six inches in circumference. The scariest part was that these snakes would crawl up into the underside of the trailers looking for warmth on chilly nights, and could possibly get into your house. Wouldn't that be cute - wake up during the night and have a snake that size trying to crawl under your covers to warm up!! That's just slightly intimidating. We didn't know it at the time but bull snakes weren't poisonous - but beneficial. They caught lots of mice. I don't care - I still wouldn't want him for a bed partner - AAAACCCCKKKK!

Most of the roads that my Father worked on were in western North Dakota and all over South Dakota - a very slimly populated area, even back then. It's even more thinly populated now, but still holds a mystique for me when I travel the area. There's something so hauntingly beautiful about it. Take a look.

PSSST: You may want to go waaaay down to the bottom of the page and turn off the Christmas music because this video has it's own music. Somehow they just wouldn't sound good together!

Photo and video editing at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Meet Johnny Aason

Johnny Aason alongside a normal sized man.

In yesterday's entry I made reference to a man named Johnny Aason. He spent the winter living with my Grandpa Knudt in his 10x10 homestead shack. He was 7 feet tall and weighed in at 375 pounds. Can't you imagine how he had to duck to get through doorways.

Johnny was a resident of the area for many years, having arrived in North Dakota from Wisconsin with his widowed mother about 1899. They came to file on land, but by the time they got there, there was nothing left, so she purchased a lot in town and opened up a restaurant. She became ill and died, leaving three children; Johnny, then age 12, a brother, aged 9 and a sister that was 6. The kids were farmed out to various families, Johnny going to live with Grandpa Knudt's brother, Gilbert.

Gilbert raised Johnny like a son and saw to it that he went to school at least through the 8th grade. When Johnny was in grade school, he was the smallest in his class. He didn't start growing until he was in his teens, and then I guess he forgot to quit. Gilbert often said feeding him was like pouring water down the sink without plugging the drain hole. By the time Johnny reached adulthood he wore size 16 shoes, had an 18 inch dollar and a 29 inch inseam. He had to duck going through ordinary doorways and dodge electric lights hanging from ceilings.

Johnny worked on various farms around the area and helped Grandpa Knudt get his homestead started by doing the plowing, seeding, etc. One spring one horse of the team became ill during the critical planting time, so Johnny put on the horse collar and walked alongside the other horse to pull the plow and get the plowing done.

At one point he joined the circus and toured the country with Barnum and Bailey. After he grew tired of that and when his health started to fail he came back to North Dakota. My father was a young man at this time and was enthralled at how well Johnny could play the harmonica, which was made to order for him because his hands were so big. Dad learned to play the harmonica from Johnny and in his later years was quite an artist also.

My Dad said that Johnny was not well when he came back to North Dakota, probably issues due to his size and malfunctioning pituitary gland. He suffered all kinds of infections, was in and out of the hospital many times and finally died at age 48 from pneumonia.

Gee, I wonder if he had a girlfriend - and if he stood her on a chair to kiss her (snicker).

Grandpa Knudt and Grandma Mina

Hi Folks, Lena here - but then you already knew that, didn't you.

A few days ago I wrote an entry about how my Mom and Dad met. I made a reference to my Grandfather (Dad's father) and how he homesteaded in North Dakota and I promised you more interesting and titillating details (yeah, sure). Those old Norwegians were so stoic I don't know if they ever did anything interesting or titillating (snicker) But now the Finns - that's another story. You know that Ole is Finnish and he's got an extremely interesting and titillating past. But that's a story for another day, okay?

Anyway, Grandpa Knudt (could you get more Norwegian than Knudt?) immigrated to America with his parents and most of his brothers and sisters (7 immigrated) when he was 16. When he was 24 he put a claim on some property and lived on it for six years with a couple of his buddies that needed a place to spend the winter.

Below is a picture of that homestead shack - one door, one window, dirt floor, no insulation of any kind, just bare boards over 2x4's. It was 10x10 - not very big. Imagine the wind and snow blowing in between the cracks in the winter when it's 40 below!!


The shack stood until just a few years ago. It was leaning so far by that time that a healthy breeze (like we get here in the Midwest) blew it over and then the scraps were burned.

The land that Grandpa Knudt homesteaded had initially been claimed by a family named Brown, but they unknowingly settled on the wrong land. They had intended to be one section over, but miscalculated somehow. The Browns had built and lived in a sod house. Unfortunately, Mr. Brown died during the summer that they were planning to move to the correct property. Grandpa Knudt put up a tent on the property to start his claim and lived in that for the summer. But winter came, Mrs. Brown was still living in the sod house and Knudt needed somewhere to live through the winter because a tent just wouldn't make it. So he moved in with friends on the next homestead - Ole and Nels Olson.

The men could see the sod house of Mrs. Brown from their shack and watched all winter to make sure there was smoke coming from the chimney. After a bad blizzard, they didn't see any smoke and decided they better check on Mrs. Brown. They snowshoed over to where the sod house was and found it completely covered with snow. They found Mrs. Brown outside where she had frozen to death attempting to care for her livestock.

After the homestead shack was built (picture above) Grandpa Knudt lived in it, along with his brother, Gilbert, and a friend named Johnny Aason.

After the homestead claim was completed Grandpa Knudt built a bigger house and a grainery. Eventually he built the big barn that I showed you in the previous entry. That's the house pictured below.

Grandpa Knudt eventually found the girl of his dreams, named Mina (pronounced Meena) in 1903. She was at home with her parents on her wedding day waiting for Grandpa Knudt to pick her up in the buggy and take her to town for the wedding. Apparently he didn't get there when she expected him and she started crying, thinking that he had backed out of the wedding. But he finally arrived - late like a good Norwegian. After the ceremony, they was to be a reception at the Ole Oftedahl (another good Norwegian name) home. Between the parsonage and the reception someone found a full bottle of whiskey on the ground, so that was brought to the reception and everyone partied. Remember, it doesn't take much alcohol for a bunch of stoic old Norskies to loosen up.

Below are pictures of Grandpa Knudt and Grandma Mina on their wedding day.

They had six children. The first birth was a set of twin boys that died at birth. They were followed by three boys and one girl. Mina died at the age of 52 from cardiac complications from an affliction known as St. Vitus Dance, which she acquired as a child.

I never knew Grandma Mina, and very vaguely remember going to Grandpa Knudt's funeral. We were living in South Dakota at the time and it was winter. My father was notified of his father's death and we immediately packed the car, a 1953 Hudson, piled in and took off on a 350 mile trip. I remember it being very dark out, nighttime I suppose, and driving through a very heavy snowstorm. I so vividly remember the huge flakes flying at the windshield and it being very difficult to see. I will never forget as we got within just a few miles of our destination out of the ditch came a white horse and ran in front of the car. I remember being thrown into the dash as my father slammed on the brakes to avoid hitting the horse. It was obviously someone's horse who had gotten out of the pasture or barn, was confused and running with the storm.

Have I bored you enough yet? or do you want to hear more.