Here for two days, then gone again ....

No concert this week, although there are many to choose from .... rather, Tuesday evening -- the concluding night of April 2019 -- will be spent listening to a young lady photographer from Bergen -- not Anita, unfortunately -- but Sigrid Lien, who is a professor of art history and photography studies at the University of Bergen.

Ms. Lien, cited as "a leading authority on Norwegian photography," will be discussing her new book, "Pictures of Longing: Photography and the Norwegian-American Migration," at Norway House in Minneapolis -- a mere 30-minute drive from my own house. The book contains more than 250 photographs sent home by some of the 750,000 Norwegians who immigrated to North America between 1836 and 1915. My own ancestors arrived here in the 1850s from Norway and Germany.

According to a press release, "Seeing these photographs alongside letters by Norwegian immigrants provides a comprehensive account of how this collective photography practice involves 'the voice of the many.'"

Ms. Lien's appearance in Minnnneeeesoootttaaa is sponsored by the Norwegian American Historical Association. Admission is $15 -- a bargain at ten times the price, I would think. I assume her book will be on sale at the event and I definitely will purchase a copy.

 

The photograph accompanying this post is of the book, with Ms. Lien inset in the lower left corner. Her stop here is one of several as part of a tour through the United States. And, just to keep this sort of a Bergen post, the video shows a band, Fairy, composed of young ladies from Bergen singing the song, "Capture" .... hmmmm ....

 

As indicated by the title of the post, this blog will be visible to any and to all who pass by during the next two days, then will retreat behind the curtains again for a while ....

Cathedral of Saint Paul et al

There came a request for a better view of the Cathedral of Saint Paul. Here it is. It would be a safe bet I did not take this photograph, and I really do not know who did take it. This particular structure actually is the fourth to bear the name the Cathedral of Saint Paul. A log cabin constructed in 1841 was the first under the guidance of then newly-ordained Father Lucien Galtier, who had been sent to minister to the French Canadians in the settlement of "L'Oeil de Cochon" or, in English, "Pig's Eye," as Saint Paul originally was called. A few moves and a few buildings later, work began on this structure in 1906 and continued until completion in 1941.


Et al No. 1: If you need something to read to occupy your time and keep you out of mischief for a while, try this pair. Many keys to the future can be found through studying the past:
https://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/article/new-fossils-mass-extinction-wiped-out-dinosaurs/
https://www.pnas.org/content/early/2019/03/27/1817407116


Et al No. 2: Ernest Hemingway wrote a series of Nick Adams short stories, including one he named, "The Three-Day Blow." It first appeared in a 1925 collection entitled, "In Our Time." We are in the midst of our own three-day blow, this one being a full-fledged blizzard. Snow accumulation is expected to reach twelve to twenty inches in some areas with sustained winds of forty to sixty miles-per-hour. Daytime high temperatures will be below the freezing mark. Actually, such "Aprille" storms are not at all unique in Minnesota .... but, then again, this might be the Fimbulwinter as described in the "Poetic Edda" of Snorri Sturluson. You might want to read Hemingway's piece some time. In the story, Nick and a friend get drunk during a three-day storm while talking about books and authors, baseball, fathers, occupations, young ladies and other elements in their lives. It is a story in which feelings of loss, anger and evil are ignored or repressed, and it is quite fascinating. I think I will reread it during my three-day blizzard ....

This is not an April Fools' Day joke

While Nebraska, Iowa, Missouri and a few other states have been getting all the attention in recent days because of flooding, the photograph demonstrates that Minnesota has not escaped the wrath of the water gods. This is Harriet Island in the Mississippi River. The river actually still is rising and, undoubtedly, it will be a while before the kiddies are able to enjoy the playground again. The dome in the distance is the Cathedral of Saint Paul, where I was able to enjoy a concert by the King's College Choir from Cambridge last Thursday evening. I will be traveling thirty miles in another direction this Friday for a Blue Öyster Cult concert. Wish you could be here, baby .... 

Time to escape for a while

"The longer I live, the stranger life gets ...."

Those words form a line uttered by Jim Lassiter in a film version of Pearl Zane Grey's western classic novel, "Riders of the Purple Sage." The book appeared in 1912. A few film versions have been made; this line is in the 1996 rendition in which Ed Harris portrays Lassiter and his wife, Amy Madigan, is Jane Withersteen.

I agree with that sentence.

Just to drift for a moment: Grey was a former minor league baseball player and dentist who suffered from bouts of depression, anger and mood swings, which affected him most of his life. He would make an interesting neighbor, it seems to me. I have read a number of his books, beginning around age eleven or twelve with, "The Last Trail," and, "Spirit of the Border," historical novels about his ancestors during the Revolutionary War.

University of Delaware English professor Thomas Pauly, in his biography entitled, "Zane Grey -- His Life, His Adventures, His Women," attributed the following quote to Grey:

"But I love to be free. I cannot change my spots. The ordinary man is satisfied with a moderate income, a home, wife, children, and all that .... But I am a million miles from being that kind of man and no amount of trying will ever do any good .... I shall never lose the spirit of my interest in women."

Evidently he did not, either, and even after marriage had many open affairs. I might write a post or two about Grey and his books someday, but today is not that day. Hmmmm .... really drifting now .... time to get back on track ....

I also sometimes think the longer I live, the stranger I become, although I would modify that sentiment to apply to all human critters -- past/present/future. The distinction being most people either do not see it that way or see it and do not believe it.

This is (has been) the long way of saying my blog will be idle for the most part for a time. I still may appear at your blogs and, occasionally, leave a comment. But, I do not think I will be back here with a post until sometime in May when I write a piece or two about O.E. Rölvaag and his novel, "Boat of Longing." Of course, should World War III begin or another catastrophic event occur somewhere along the line, I might not be able to resist temptation and feel compelled to assert my two cents worth of thought about it.

To avoid interlopers "messing" with my blog, I will be locking it to any who are not on the "guest list," so to speak. If you provided your email address to me in the distant past, you are still on that list unless you have since changed your email address. In which case, provide me with your current if you wish access. I will install the blog block on April 11.

Just to turn political for a moment: For the most part, I have enjoyed my time on the sea of blogs and, for sure, I have learned a great deal about people and about myself by having been a participant here. I am assuming I will be back from time to time to take another "swim" in it. For those who have read my writing here, I am indebted; to those who have commented here, you have my sincere thank you. Later, baby ....

All our times have come
Here but now they're gone
Seasons don't fear the Reaper
Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain
We can be like they are
Come on, baby... don't fear the Reaper
Baby, take my hand... don't fear the Reaper
We'll be able to fly... don't fear the Reaper

Why this post?

Here we have a late Nineteenth Century photograph of Deadwood, South Dakota, by John C.H. Grabill, with an inset of James Butler Hickok, better known as "Wild Bill" Hickok.

 

The photographs of John C.H. Grabill

 

If someone were to ask me, "Why this post?" my response probably would be words to the effect:

 

"Just for the hell of it. Why ask me why I do anything? I like to say I have a reason for everything I do, but, sometimes, the reason escapes me, and just for 'the hell of it' seems as good an answer as any."

 

The long and the short of it is that I really am not sure of the reason. I encountered a few "stereoscopic" photographs by a guy named Grabill, surrendered to my curiosity, did a bit of research. The following paragraph is direct from Wikipedia:

 

"John C. H. Grabill was an American photographer. Little is known about his work. In 1886 he opened his first photographic studio in Sturgis, with studios in Hot Springs, Lead and Deadwood, Dakota Territory. He had presumably already been active in the area before this date. In this time he was the official photographer of the Black Hills and Fort Pierre R.R. and Home Stake Mining Company. From 1891 to 1894 he operated a studio in Chicago. Most is known from 188 photographs he sent to the Library of Congress between 1887 and 1892 for copyright registration. His work documents the frontier life in Colorado, South Dakota and Wyoming. His photographs of Pine Ridge during the aftermath of Wounded Knee are most remarkable."

 

The reference to photographs from Wounded Knee is absolutely correct. Remarkable might not even be an expressive enough word to describe the photographs. I have a book, "Eyewitness at Wounded Knee," (Richard E. Jensen, R. Eli Paul, John E. Carter / University of Nebraska Press: Lincoln and London) with more than 150 photographs contemporary to the 1890 event. For those not familiar with Wounded Knee, do a bit of your own research.

 

I have enjoyed photography since my pre-school years. My mother taught me with her camera, and I "stole" money (sort of) from my "piggy bank" (literally) when I was five years old to buy a camera and a roll of film. My interest comes and goes, rises and falls, and I have been a "serious photographer" (depending on the definition of serious) at times, like when I worked as a journalist.

 

I particularly like old photographs. I relish studying them in detail, often with a magnifying glass -- looking at faces, at buildings, at firearms, at dogs, at landscapes .... well, you catch my drift. I have found this to be an excellent means to study and to learn what was here before me, and, by that means, to learn more about myself.

 

Actually, that probably is a better explanation to the question of "why this post." It is sort of a "thank you" to Grabill for doing what he did: Take photographs of the world as it was during his lifetime for me to enjoy and to study during my lifetime a hundred years later .... and, I want to bring him back to life for a while, in a manner of speaking, so others might know of him and see his photographs.

 

Here are two internet websites which contain many of Grabill's photographs:

 

http://www.loc.gov/pictures/collection/grabill/

 

https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/John_C._H._Grabill

 

 

"It's a terribly difficult language to learn"

"But I'm beginning to see that I can't hold out for long in this life as a hired man. It is becoming more and more impossible. Not because the work is so hard; I could stand that and not grumble too much, but I have lost all interest in this kind of work. As long as it was new it was interesting, but after I had once learned it I could keep my thoughts on it no longer. They wandered off into other worlds. Therefore I have decided to try something else. I am going to attend a Norwegian-American academy this winter -- in order to learn English, if for no other reason. I will leave for school in a few months."

 

Education always has been important to immigrants, as illustrated in this photograph taken at a one-room, sod school house in Custer County South Dakota. The year the photograph was taken is not given, but evidently it was before the area residents were able to afford a wooden structure requiring the use of sod. It is fascinating to study the faces of the "schoolmarm" and her charges. Other than the clothing being worn, the individuals present might be those in a 21st Century school. Being the curious sort, I cannot help but wonder if these boys and girls had happy, healthy, productive lives.

 

Growing Unrest -- 1898

"The Third Life of Per Smevik"

 

(Third of three parts)

 

Some believe and would argue that everything begins at a tribal level, and that the first tier of tribalism is the family. I tend to agree with that position.

 

I recently completed reading, "The Third Life of Per Smevik," by Ole Edvart Rølvaag, also known by the pseudonym of Paal Mørck. The bottom line of any book, I think, is would one person recommend it to another individual. In the matter of Per Smevik, the answer is an unequivocal yes. Here are three examples of why.

 

Smevik (Rølvaag) is speaking about learning the English language: "I have gotten pretty good at English now, although I must admit that it goes more slowly than I had expected. It's a terribly difficult language to learn. The worst of it is, the words are spelled so differently from the way they are pronounced. You have to learn each word twice, both spelling and pronunciation, and that’s not so easy .... The English word 'honor,' for instance, is pronounced 'ahner' but it has to be spelled honor. Have you ever heard of anything so ridiculous? But I don’t dare say anything about it or people will think I am dumb and don’t understand anything."

 

Later, Smevik (Rølvaag) is writing about a split in a church congregation which included a dispute between the church sexton and his wife: "One day as they were eating dinner -- they had had an especially lively debate at breakfast that morning -- Andreas suddenly began to heave the dishes at the wall, first the coffee cups, then the saucers, and then the cream pitcher. He didn't get any further than that in his berserk rage. For when the cream pitcher went, the Madam arose in all her dignity and power, grabbed the poker, and people swear it's the truth that she used it effectively, too .... This happened more than ten years ago, but those two old folks are still acting like idiots. Andreas subscribes to one church paper; Anna to the other. She supports one congregation; he the other. When he gave twenty dollars to his church, she forced him to hand over another twenty dollars which she conscientiously gave to her church. I know this is true ...."

 

Finally, when Smevik (Rølvaag) was a parochial school teacher, he was asked by a father to conduct a funeral service for the man's young son. Against his better judgment, he did: "When I found a Bible text I thought I could use, I asked the parents if the child had been baptized. 'Yes,' said the mother. 'No,' answered the father. Then a cold chill ran down my spine. I felt sick. How these two people could sit there with the dead child between them, and one of them lie, was more than I could comprehend .... Who lied about the child's baptism, I do not know. Presumably what the mother said was true. She may have had the child baptized without telling her husband. We can hope so, at least."

 

Time to go a-roaming with a few words: "The Boat of Longing," was Rølvaag's favorite book among those he wrote and my second favorite behind, "Giants in the Earth." Much of the story in The Boat is set in Minneapolis, and holding the book in one hand I was able to trace many of Rølvaag's footsteps and see places he described in the novel. The story relates the experiences of Nils Vaag, a young Norwegian immigrant who leaves behind the life of a fisherman in Nordland and emigrates to the New World in 1912. There -- in downtown Minneapolis -- he sweeps saloons while living in a boardinghouse called "Babel" for the many languages used by its residents. Actually, Babel was a hotel which still exists and, actually, Rølvaag lived and worked in downtown Minneapolis for a while.

 

Some have described The Boat as poetry in prose form. I would agree with that description.

 

It has been a number of years since I read, "Giants in the Earth," so recalling details and specifics from the story are entering the realm of shadows. Never-the-less, if anyone were to read only one of Rølvaag's tales, this novel would be the "king of the hill" and my first recommendation. Giants is the story of Norwegian settlers on the Dakota prairie. Central characters are Per Hansa, a natural pioneer who sees promise in the windswept plains, and his wife, Beret, who misses the ways of her homeland to the point loneliness overpowers the deeper reality of life lived on the American frontier. She eventually loses her sanity.

 

A man filled with blind ambition, perhaps, describes Per Hansa best. At the end of the novel, he ventures out into a blizzard on skis to find help for his dying friend, but he never quits thinking about taking more land and fulfilling his ambitions. Per Hansa stops to rest along the way and freezes to death. His body is found in the spring by a group of boys:

 

"To the boys, it looked as though the man were sitting there resting while he waited for better skiing .... His face was ashen and drawn. His eyes were set toward the west."

 

This seems like an appropriate place to end these commentaries about Ole Edvard Rølvaag and some of the stories he told ....