An Experience Of Traditional Lakota Storytelling

By Dakota, North Dakota Humanities Council

Fort Yates, ND - The Lakota people call the month of February Čhaŋnápĥopa Wi (The Moon of Popping Trees) or Thiyŏĥeyunka Wi (The Moon of Frost in The Lodge). These are names to articulate the coldest months of Waniyetu (Winter) when Makĥoče (Grandmother Earth) was at rest.

The needle dropped below zero and the only news the wind carried was that more cold was on the way. Over a hundred people gathered together over the course of two evenings at Sitting Bull College in Fort Yates, ND in the heart of winter, to hear a Lakota visitor, an elder from South Dakota, share the Lakota Creation Story and Lakota Star Knowledge.

The room was filled with the murmur of raucous laughter, playful teasing and the cries of hungry babies when an assuming man entered the room and quietly prepared at a table near the front of the room. His name, Rick Two Dogs.

Two Dogs, an Oglala Lakota from the Pine Ridge Sioux Indian Reservation, began the first evening with a little exposition that the stories he was going to share were told in the lodges around the campfire long ago. These were the kind of stories that were shared by the Lala and Uŋči (Grandfathers and Grandmothers) and one can feel the weight of centuries and tradition echo in Two Dogs’ tranquil voice when he began the evening with a prayer of Whŏpila, Thanksgiving.

The attention and quiet in the room which followed was like the crack of a whip, sudden and sharp, and even the youngest of children quickly stood in quiet respect when prayer was invoked.

When the prayer concluded, a traditional horseman named Jon reiterated to the mass what many already know, that elders eat first, then visitors before the rest. Young women dashed off to the front of the line to prepare bowls of bapa soup, a traditional soup made with corn and jerked meat, wŏžapi, a type of pudding traditionally made with chokecherries but for these two evenings is made with blueberries, fresh fried bread and steaming black coffee for the elders. Everyone else formed a line and the jocular murmur of laughter and teasing among friends returned.

When hunger was satiated and thirst was slaked, Jon introduced Two Dogs in Lakota and English. Two Dogs isn’t just unassuming, he’s self-deprecating, and is quick to attribute or credit others for the stories he shared, his Lala especially, who witnessed the Battle of Little Bighorn when he was ten years old.

Two Dogs recalled his Lala fondly. He took his meals seated on the floor, speared his food with his knife and refused the aid of a fork. He would look askance at anyone who offered him a napkin, and wiped his hands on his braids. During the long winter nights, his Lala put a few sprigs of cedar on the wood-burning stove, the kerosene lamps were doused, and firelight lit the home.

When Two Dogs opened the floor to field questions, one man asked, “Why are these stories told only in the winter?” Two Dogs replied that he once asked the Lakota scholar Albert White Hat the same thing and was told that if the stories were told out of season, one would get a hairy butt crack, but quickly reminded the crowd too, that the stories were shared when the world was at rest.

The following night, Two Dogs and his wife asked everyone to imagine the room as though it were one great lodge with one entrance. They divided the room between the sexes with men on the left half of the lodge and the women on the right. Between the men and women they explained was a path, a path of wisdom. The men sat in descending order from eldest to youngest going left from the path, just as the women sat in descending age from eldest to youngest, only they sat in order right from the path. It was an exercise in tradition and order.

Two Dogs’ stories are the traditional stories of the people, and should best be listened to in person, on a cold winter night, after supper, in the natural dark.

Haŋhépi čhaŋečela héčhuŋpi (This was done only at night).

Waniyetu čhaŋečela héčhuŋpi (This was done only in the winter).

Punk Archaeology, An Un-Conference Experience

A photo of the evening crowd at the NDHC Punk Archaeology un-conference in downtown Fargo, North Dakota.

By Aaron L. Barth, The Edge Of The Village

Fargo, N.D. - On the evening of February 2nd, 2013, at Sidestreet Grille and Pub in downtown Fargo, North Dakota, the first global Punk Archaeology un-conference unfolded with song, bullhorn, academic rants and discussion, and more bullhorn and song. The event was simple enough: get a group of scholars together in a tavern, get an audio-video system and a pitcher or two of beer, and have these scholars openly talk about and consider why and how “punk” might be part and parcel to the disciplines of archaeology, history, and art history.

Scholars from North Dakota State University, the University of North Dakota, Concordia College, and Franklin and Marshall College (Pennsylvania) contributed to the discussion. Considering that a winter storm pummeled central and eastern North Dakota that night — that evening, the North Dakota Department of Transportation shut down I-94 between Bismarck and Dickinson — an approximate audience of 300-to-400 visitors to the 5-hour Punk Archaeology un-conference was considered more than a success. One noticeable difference of conferences compared to un-conferences, at least noted by University of North Dakota’s Bill Caraher, was that at punk archaeology un-conferences, scholars are introduced with a bullhorn, and then they are required to give their talks through the same PA that the punk bands play through.

Dr. Kostis Kourelis, punk archaeologist and art historian with Franklin and Marshall College (Pennsylvania), gives his thoughts on punk archaeology through a PA after being introduced with a bullhorn.

In the weeks that led up to this event, a variety of Red River Valley media outlets contacted me, as they were understandably interested in what was meant by the phrase Punk Archaeology, and also what an “un-conference” entailed. Without me rehashing everything that was said, here are the hyperlinks to the media punk archaeology frenzy. Bob Harris of KFGO 790AM in Fargo-Moorhead interviewed me on the evening of January 21, 2013. The first segment of that interview is linked to here, and the second installment islinked to here. On January 23, Kris Kerzman put together a Punk Archaeology write-up for the The Arts Partnership blog here, Kayleigh Johnson ran a Punk Archaeology story in The High Plains Reader on January 31, 2013 linked to here, and The North Dakota Free Press covered it on February 1, 2013 here. The Fargo Forum covered the story in two different instances, once in a January 23, 2013 blurb here, and John Lamb’s January 29, 2013 write-up of it here.  Steve Poitras asked me to chat about this event during his February 2nd, Saturday morning Fargo-Moorhead radio show on 101.9 FM from 7:30-to-8:15AM. So I did that too. This was what the official press covered, and it went over well.

Several additional sponsors of Punk Archaeology included Laughing Sun Brewing (Bismarck), Tom Isern’s Center for Heritage Renewal (NDSU), the Cyprus Research Fund (UND), and the Working Group in Digital and New Media at the University of North Dakota. In all, it was an event that brought together North Dakota State University, the University of North Dakota, and the North Dakota Humanities Council, among others.

In closing, here his Bill Caraher’s blog-spot recap of Punk Archaeology linked to here. It happened. And it was awesome. And there is light banter about doing it again.

Aaron L. Barth is a member of the ND Humanities Council Board, an archaeologist and a North Dakota historian. Visit his work online at: The Edge Of The Village.

Racing To Save A Language

The vesper landscape on the Standing Rock Sioux Indian Reservation. Barren Butte stands alone from the Barren Hill range. Photo by Dakota for The First Scout.

Lakota Language Nest, An Immersion School
Reviving A Language On The Knife’s Edge Of Extinction

By Dakota for the North Dakota Humanities Council

It is the heart of winter on the Standing Rock Sioux Indian Reservation. Gleaming white snow blankets the landscape, the Missouri River has turned to ice and the crisp cold air somehow makes every sound sharper–the peal of a bell seems to carry an impossible distance from town–but the sounds of children playing, laughing and singing warms everything.

The children are in pre-school, ages three to four. Their high-pitched play echoes down the hall when their door opens. The pitch of little voices sounds like what one would hear in any other early child care service across the state, but listen closer and it becomes obvious that this isn’t like any other day care service. The children speak a mix of English and Lakota amongst themselves, but the teachers strictly speak only Lakota in the classroom.

This preschool is called Lakȟól’iyapi Wahóȟpi, the Lakota Language Nest. It is an immersion school still in its first year of practice and based on the language nest model which was designed by the Maori people in New Zeeland. The language nest was established to raise language loss awareness on the reservation and to raise up a new generation of first-language Lakota speakers.

The language nest is one part of the Lakota Language Education Action Program (LLEAP) designed for students to go to college and pursue language studies. Students who are in the program are given financial aid to learn Lakota and gain proficiency in the language with the caveat that LLEAP participants must teach the language. Many of the nest’s learners have parents participating in LLEAP at Sitting Bull College.

Lakota language teacher, Tipiziwin Young engages a little boy, answering him only in Lakota.

Tipiziwin Young, a second-language teacher in the Lakȟól’iyapi Wahóȟpi program, estimates that there are about 200 fluent Lakota speakers left on the Standing Rock Sioux Indian Reservation. “A few years back, I was facetious with Jan Ullrich about who I am and where I’m from when he said to me, ‘You’re language will die.’ He didn’t say it to be mean. He said it to be real. I was moved to silence. I was provoked. The loss of my language motivated me to learn it.” Young is an enrolled member of the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe, born and raised on the reservation, and a mother to three children. “I teach here, then go home and stay in Lakota for my children to learn.”

A little boy with a mop of brown hair approaches me. In a quiet unassuming voice he introduces himself to me. Thinking to obey the rule of the classroom, I go down on one knee and respond, “Hau. Dakota émaĥčiyapi lo.” I gesture to him, an open palm when I greet him, then gesture to my heart. I place my right fist above my left fist over my heart, then gesture with my right hand–index finger–to my mouth when I say my name. I’ve seen few others use the Plains Indian sign and gesture language and the signs I made were for “my” or “mine” and for “name.” I don’t know that his little one has seen the old sign and gesture but he nods his head and smiles.

Sacheen Whitetail-Cross prepares a hands-on activity involving colors and rice for the Nest. 

Sacheen Whitetail-Cross, Project Director of LLEAP and the Lakȟól’iyapi Wahóȟpi at Sitting Bull College, is preparing an activity with rice for the children. For Whitetail-Cross the greatest challenge with the language nest has been to “stay” in Lakota, “I spent a week in Washington DC, speaking nothing but English. When I came back to the classroom, during an activity, I asked a couple of the children, ‘What are you doing?’ in English. They were as shocked as I was.”

One observation that Whitetail-Cross shared about the children of the language nest is that they are showing ownership of Lakota. At a recent program, they heard a Lakota speaker, and many of them told Whitetail-Cross, “That’s my language.”

Tom Red Bird speaks only Lakota with a little boy as they work on a puzzle together.

Tom Red Bird, the first-language teacher on staff at the Lakȟól’iyapi Wahóȟpi, approaches a group of little boys near the window. One mischievous boy stands on a heater behind the short bookcase which was put next to the window. “Héčé šni! [Don’t do that!]” Red Bird says and gestures to the boy to get down. The boy casually climbs down as though he were going to get down anyway and rejoins the other boys.

Perhaps an indication of how comfortable the children are is use of Lakota is in their own little conversations. Two of the children, a boy and a girl are playing with Legos. They began to argue over a few choice bricks in their construction. The boy wants a brick that the girl is already using. As he reaches for it he says in English, “That’s mine!” She retorts in Lakota, “Šni! Šni! Héčé šni! No, don’t do that!” and keeps her brick.

 Two children sort out who gets to play with what in a discussion which involved a mix of English and Lakota. 

A father steps into the classroom. Chase Iron Eyes is his name. His daughter Azilya is among the nest participants. “I heard of this program through community members,” says Iron Eyes, “My wife and I were immediately drawn to it. We wanted her to have this opportunity.” Iron Eyes commutes each week day from Mandan, ND. “She’s not a morning baby. She fights every morning.” He believes the effort is worth the struggle.

Iron Eyes relates to me that Azilya experienced culture shock for the first two weeks then she started to like it and began to speak Lakota at home. Azilya’s older siblings have begun asking their sister and father how to say things in Lakota, and she corrects her father’s Lakota grammar.

Chase Iron Eyes, Esq., founding contributing writer of The Last Real Indians has his mind going a hundred different directions, but his actions always serve the interests of the American Indian people. Profile photo of Chase Iron Eyes from The Last Real Indians.

Iron Eyes doesn’t believe that language revitalization today equals a renaissance. “Its something that’s been building up now since the 1960s and ‘70s,” he points out, “native activists were and are proponents of language practice. It’s not a renaissance because you live it.” Iron Eyes is active with the community and engaged as a parent in the Lakȟól’iyapi Wahóȟpi program.

The children in the Lakȟól’iyapi Wahóȟpi are getting to be good speakers. “Their American accent is going away,” says Red Bird. They hold hands and pray before lunch. Little hands clasped in little hands. When the prayer of thanksgiving, the Wota Wačéki, is finished the children say together in unison, “Mitakuyé Oyasiŋ,” the traditional way the Lakota conclude prayers meaning “All My Relatives.” During lunch one of the little boys stops eating and spontaneously breaks into song, singing in the Lakota language.

Tom Red Bird takes a moment to finish a project while the children are engaged in an activity.

After the parents have picked up their children, Red Bird deeply breathes what sounds like a sigh of satisfaction. The only relief he shares is that the language is spoken again daily. “I like it,” Red Bird says in English, “I get to speak my language all day. It feels good.” Red Bird is originally from the Cheyenne River Sioux Indian Reservation, and had taught Lakota at United Tribes Technical College for several years. “Our Lakota people get lonesome to be home or go home, and language is part of that. That’s where our heart is. I go home to get reenergized.”

Red Bird has hopes for the children, the tĥakŏža, as he refers to them. “If this keeps going, maybe in ten years we’ll have a new group of Lakota speakers who speak the language correctly.” Red Bird is a great-grandfather and he speaks only Lakota to his great-grandson. His optimism for what can only be called a language revival pours out of him, “We have a culture and tradition, our spirituality, a land base, and our relationship with all of those is best expressed with words found only in our language. It is a sacred language.”

Sacheen Whitetail-Cross loves her job, but not nearly as she has come to love the children she teaches at the Nest. She hugs a learner and offers words of encouragement to him. 

Whitetail-Cross’ hopes for language revival echoes Red Bird’s, but her optimism is laced with concerns for the program, “Funding is an issue.” The Lakȟól’iyapi Wahóȟpi program received funding from an Administration of Native Americans grant for three years. The first year of programming consisted of developing preschool curriculum, training for language educators, and classroom startup. The Lakȟól’iyapi Wahóȟpi is in its second year of funding, its first year of operation.

The North Dakota Humanities Council recently awarded a $10,000 grant to the Lakȟól’iyapi Wahóȟpi program to assist the program with publication of language materials, but its not enough. Both Whitetail-Cross and Red Bird have expressed the dire need for age-appropriate language materials. There isn’t much published.

 Artist and author S.D. Nelson is also an enrolled member of the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe. Whitetail-Cross is working with Nelson and the State Historical Society of South Dakota to acquire permissions to print Nelson's works in the Lakota language. Buy your copy from the 

South Dakota State Historical Society Press.

Once a week, Red Bird will take a children’s book, translate the text, and then read the story to the children. Having extra copies of Red Bird’s translations for parents to take home and read with their children would help to reinforce that day’s language lesson. “We desperately need more language materials,” Red Bird said.

Jan Ullrich, linguistic director of the Lakota Language Consortium, shares Red Bird’s concern for speaking the Lakota language correctly. Ullrich has had a hand in the development of a standard Lakota orthography for the New Lakota Dictionary. We converse on Skype getting to know a little of one another before business. Ullrich is from the Czech Republic. As a little boy he admired the survival story of the American Indian. In 1992, he travelled to the Pine Ridge Sioux Indian Reservation and made friends with the Fire Thunder and Looking Horse families and came to learn Lakota.

Jan Ullrich may come from the Czech Republic but his heart is Lakota. Visit his work online at the Lakota Language Consortium.

Ullrich sends me the letters t, o, k and a. He then asks me to pronounce what he’s spelled. I reply TOH-kah which can mean “enemy,” then follow up with toh-KAH which can mean “first.” Ullrich then sends me the texts Tĥoka and Tĥoká. The accent marks take a moment to get used to, but the new standard orthography he employs has me pronouncing Lakota correctly when I read it.

Ullrich’s standard orthography isn’t embraced by all Lakota speakers, nor is it the first effort at standard orthgraphy he admits. Sometime back, a Lakota man named Curly from the Cheyenne River Sioux Indian Reservation developed a thirty-six character alphabet. The main drawback with this alphabet for modern Lakota speakers is that it involves learning and remembering entirely new symbols. The new standard orthography makes use of the modern keyboard and letters with sounds Lakota students learned with English, the only addition are marks for accent, aspirants, glottal sounds and glottal stops.

Jan Ullrich is the editor of the New Lakota Dictionary, but being the editor means little to Ullrich who credits several Lakota people who've contributed to this work. Support the Lakota Language Consortium and buy a copy of this dictionary or any other of their published Lakota language materials online at the Lakota Language Consortium Bookstore.

“Missionaries did a good job of starting the process of recording the language,” explains Ullrich, “But they ‘invented’ new words in the interest of literal word for word translation, rather than translation of concept for concept.” Thousands of entries in the Buechel and Riggs dictionaries should be carefully and critically examined according to Ullrich. These dictionaries should also be praised for bringing the Lakota and Dakota languages to the general public’s attention.

Ullrich recently joined the Lakȟól’iyapi Wahóȟpi via Skype to encourage the young learners and to offer courage to the language teachers. Like Red Bird, Ullrich believes that the key to language revitalizing is learning consistently and accurately.

Tipiziwin Young engages the children in an activity. The children enthusiastically respond with requests for pictures of various faces and feelings. 

Young gathers the children together in a circle on a soft blue carpet. A couple of the children take their time in getting to the circle. Young raises her voice a little, “Inaĥni!” she says, hurry. I know the word well from my own childhood and it becomes obvious that these young ones do too. “Iyotake, iyotake,” Young commands with the strong confidence that mother’s everywhere instinctively possess. Sit down, sit down, and they do so without argument.

She takes out a pen and paper and quickly draws a series of faces with a variety of expressions. The children respond somewhat in unison, “Iyokipiya!” “Wačiŋko!” Happy! Sad! The children tell her in Lakota what faces to draw next and she obliges. When they finish this exercise, they even take time to sing happy birthday to two of the boys, “Aŋpétu tuŋpi,” Young begins and the tĥakŏža sing following her cues. It is to the popular tune “Good morning to all” which was popularly appropriated to the Happy Birthday song, and it’s a close translation in Lakota, They day you were born.

Little voices singing in Lakota continue to echo in my mind when I leave the Lakȟól’iyapi Wahóȟpi, the Lakota Language Nest. It was spoken everyday in the days of warriors and legend. It was spoken everyday when the reservations were established.

The Bismarck Indian Boarding School for girls, 1933. 

Somehow along the way between then and now the language began to die through a variety of reasons. Some speakers were scarred from their experiences in learning English during the boarding school days. Some left the reservation and never returned, their children and grandchildren grew up speaking only English. Schools on the reservation teach only in English. Lakota became a language for church or special occasion.

These tĥakŏža speak the language in fun, in play, in prayer, and even in arguments. They can express themselves and articulate their feelings accurately through the knowledge of two languages. Perhaps English has too many words. There is a word for everything, a noun. It’s a language of things. Lakota is a language of description and relation, and that’s just what we need these days. 

Support the Lakȟól’iyapi Wahóȟpi, the Lakota Language Nest. Contact Sacheen Whitetail-Cross at Sitting Bull College at (701) 854-8034 or sacheenw@sbci.edu about what you can do to save the language.

Support the Lakota Language Consortium. Visit them online at www.lakhota.org. 

Or make a donation to the North Dakota Humanities Council. The NDHC will make sure that the Lakota Language Nest receives your support. Contact the NDHC at (701) 255-3360, or council@ndhumanities.org.

We Have Ways Of Making A Difference

By Brenna Gerhardt, Executive Director, North Dakota Humanities Council

I want to share with you a few of the programs your generosity made possible:

"Playing with Mahpiya [Clouds]"

 Photo by Lakhol'iyapi Hohpi, Lakota Language Nest, at Sitting Bull College, Nov. 7, 2012. 

On the Standing Rock Sioux Reservation a three-year-old child is learning to speak the language of her ancestors from an elder who is one of the remaining people in the world who can speak fluent Lakota, an indigenous language spoken by Hunkpapa Sioux since time unknown.  The girl is taking part in a new language immersion preschool program that seeks to ensure the wisdom of the past is not lost for future generations.

Kristi Rendahl

Kristi Rendahl travels the world working to end the practice of torture. She invites the most remarkable people she meets during her travels back to her hometown of Rugby to talk about critical issues facing the global community through the program Prairie Talks. She started the project to connect common-sense people in the heart of North Dakota to common-sense people from around the world who share the same interest: to better understand ourselves and our neighbors so we can work together for a better tomorrow.

Dr. Terrence Roberts

On September 4, 1957, Terrance Roberts, an African American student seeking a better education was turned away at the doors of Central High in Little Rock, Arkansas, by the National Guard and a horde of angry white protesters who did not want to see black students educated alongside their children. It was a pivotal moment in America’s civil rights movement that directly involved a federal judge from North Dakota, Ronald N. Davies. The court decisions rendered by Davies would change the course of public school integration in our country making the dream of equality a reality for Roberts and future generations. Today, Dr. Roberts is involved in creating a curriculum for students across North Dakota to learn about these events and the lessons of justice and civility they embody.

These programs and many more, all currently sponsored by the North Dakota Humanities Council, help us fulfill our mission to transform lives and strengthen communities by offering educational and cultural experiences that allow everyone the opportunity to reach their full human potential. Our ability to offer these meaningful programs depends in large part on the generosity of a thoughtful and caring community.

Please include the North Dakota Humanities Council in your holiday giving so we can continue our important work. A gift of $40, $60, $100 or more will go a long way in helping make lifelong learning a cornerstone of life in North Dakota.  Use the enclosed courtesy envelope and mail your contribution today.

On behalf of the lives that are charged by your generosity, thank you.

Best Wishes,

[X]

Brenna Gerhardt, Executive Director

p.s. According to the mother of the little girl learning Lakota, “I really see in her hope, now. We have a drug and alcohol free home and she’s learning the language and the ceremonies. We’re breaking the cycle; that’s the hope.” That is the power of the humanities to transform lives and strengthen communities.

Continue to make a difference.

Eating With Eyes On The Community

 By Dean Hulse
This article appears in the Key Ingredients issue of the North Dakota Humanities Council's magazine "On Second Thought," Winter 2012.

I recently came across a note I’d dashed off some time ago that concerned an advertisement (circa 1922),
which I’d seen in my hometown newspaper. If memory serves, I’d been looking through newspaper archives while doing research on a topic unrelated to the ad’s subject, but its copy nonetheless caught my attention. The ad read, “Butter and Eggs, same as Cash.”

My maternal great-grandmother and my grandmother both bartered butter and eggs (and cream) for staples,
probably with the same grocer who ran that ad in my hometown newspaper. According to family legend, my
maternal great-great-grandmother was a “fancy cook” in England before she and my great-great-grandfather
emigrated first to Canada and then to Richburg Township in North Dakota’s Bottineau County.

Mom was an exceptional cook, too, so perhaps it’s genetic. Even as a child I experimented in the kitchen,
and Mom and Dad were generous with what they allowed me to make. Like many farm families of that
era, our “fruit room” resembled a grocery store—with shelves full of jams, jellies, tomato sauce, green beans,
relishes, and pickles (beet, cucumber, corn, cauliflower). Also, canned stew meat and meatballs, with congealed morsels glistening like jewels inside the jars. Without asking, I could go down to the basement and retrieve a package of frozen hamburger, wrapped in white freezer paper carrying the “Not for Sale” label our
local butcher had affixed. The beef came from our own steers. My first food triumph was sizzling as Dad arrived for dinner: hamburgers, releasing the aroma of nearly every dried herb and spice Mom had in her cabinet. A predominance of chili pepper, onion salt, and garlic powder gave these burgers a piquancy that perfectly complemented a melting slab of Colby cheese.

Of course, I had a few failures. A sodden tuna pizza comes to mind. A meal fit for our dog Stub, who
required some persuasion.

“You eat that,” I barked.

I’ll end the tales of my adolescent cooking escapades here.


Beside my note containing the “Butter and Eggs” ad copy, I’d scribbled my reaction: “Oh really? Try making a cake out of cash.” I know about cake. Dad’s avocation was baking angel food cakes, each requiring fourteen egg whites, and many of which he gave as gifts.

Butter and eggs, same as cash? I know bartering is a form of commerce, but during my life, I’ve witnessed this butter-and-eggs sentiment assume a more literal character. I don’t think it’s a stretch to claim that many who frequent supermarkets today behave as though their cash is the same as cabbage, one indistinguishable commodity exchanged for another. For many years, I was one of those shoppers.

When my wife, Nicki, and I first moved to Fargo, I relished the fact that I could shop at grocery stores overflowing with exotic produce at 3 a.m. if I so chose. Like many Americans, I ate daily, and well, without knowing or caring a lick about the food on my plate—except how it looked and tasted, and perhaps how much it cost.

For me, the convenience of that marvelous arrangement helped blunt some repulsive memories of growing up on a farm. Picking eggs as a child was a chore, especially when I’d encounter an unexpected visitor in the henhouse. I once discovered a large rat, sitting on its haunches, exposing an oozing ulcer on its underside. After retracing my steps, lickety-split and empty-handed, back to our house, Dad returned with me to the clucking chickens. That rat departed this world squirming on the end of Dad’s five-pronged pitchfork, creating a silhouette against the early morning sun.

And so, I was OK buying anonymous eggs produced who knows where. But in my late twenties, my outlook began to change. I don’t think genetics was responsible. More likely, it was modeled behavior—that is, my having grown up with gardening parents and my having experienced truly fresh food. What manifested my latent craving for vineripened tomatoes? I can’t say. What satisfied it? Thick tomato slices still conveying the sun’s warmth, made even more perfect by salt, pepper, mayonnaise, and two slices of bread, substantial enough to absorb the free-flowing tomato juices without becoming soggy. A summertime sandwich to savor for only a few weeks, but to anticipate the rest of the time.

At first, we rented garden plots from the Fargo Park District, and we drove to our garden with open buckets of water sloshing in our car’s trunk. Later, I bought a small trailer and adapted it so it could haul two fifty-five-gallon water barrels. One year, someone stole our entire crop of spaghetti squash. I pacified my anger by writing a letter to the editor of our local newspaper, in which I offered a recipe so that our thief could fully enjoy his booty (his large footprints among our picked-clean squash vines). A day after the letter appeared, I got a call from a woman living in Casselton. She offered to share some of her spaghetti squash with me. Another woman from Moorhead did the same. We ended up with more spaghetti squash than we had growing in our garden.

That series of incidents planted a seed that would sprout once we bought a home and had a garden of our own. Now, we didn’t start our backyard gardening with the altruistic notion of supplying our neighbors with produce. But on most years, there are only so many zucchini squash two people can eat. To our credit, we are diligent in checking our zucchini plants. We aim to pick the fruit when it’s six to eight inches long, and that’s what we share with neighbors. Those zucchini lurking at the very bottom of our plants, the ones stealthily growing to the size of small children’s legs, we toss into our compost pile.


We also share tomatoes, eggplant, onions, spinach, chard—whatever we have in overabundance. Our neighbors have been joyfully generous with their in-kind reciprocations. One of our neighbors, an elderly Japanese widow, treats us to several meals reflecting her culture’s cuisine each year. Painstakingly garnished and with precisely cut vegetables, her dishes don’t disappoint in presentation, taste, or texture. I often daydream about her sticky rice. And the source of her homemade herb wine, which packs a punch more like a liqueur, grows right outside her garage service door. This year she’s going to show us how to grow the herb and make the wine.


Another neighbor is the patriarch of a family-owned package store and popular college bar. He repays
with wine or beer, some of which comes to us with a “born-on” date that is either current or only a day or two old. A Montana native, he’s also shared cherries that grow near Flathead Lake.

Contact the North Dakota Humanities Council for a copy of the article in which this except by Dean Hulse appears and we'll gladly send you one at no cost: call us at (701) 255-3360. OR see the entire article and this issue of On Second Thought now online at http://www.issuu.com/ndhumanities.


Dean Hulse is a writer living in Fargo. He and his wife, Nicki, still own his family’s farm in Bottineau County, which is a source 

for much of Dean’s activism and inspiration concerning land use, renewable energy, and sustainable agriculture. In 2009, the 

University of Minnesota Press published Hulse’s memoir, Westhope: Life as a Former Farm Boy.

Chautauqua, A Living History Experience Coming to Bismarck

General Lee signs the surrender papers at Appomattox Court House. General Grant sits at the other table. Standing second from the right is Ely Parker, a Seneca Indian from Upstate New York.

When General Lee arrived at the Appomattox Court House to discuss terms of surrender with General Grant, he was introduced to Grant’s personal secretary, Lieutenant Colonel Ely Parker.  Startled by the sight of the Seneca Indian chief, Lee paused for a brief moment, then extended his hand to Parker and said, “I am glad to see one American here.”  Parker took Lee’s hand and replied, “We are all Americans.”  Grant then had Parker compose the surrender papers, which Lee signed.

“His story is absolutely intriguing.  I think people will be amazed at what he accomplished in spite of the odds against him,” says Reuben Fast Horse, the scholar who will be portraying Ely Parker during the upcoming Everett C. Albers Chautauqua, which runs September 5 – 8, in Bismarck.

L to r: Frederick Douglass, Little Crow, Clara Barton, Ely Parker, and William Jayne.

During the living history event, sponsored by the North Dakota Humanities Council, scholars will present the stories of four people who played significant roles in the Civil War in America: Little Crow, who led the Santee Dakota in the Dakota Conflict of 1862, portrayed by Jerome Kills Small; Gen. Ely Parker, the Seneca Indian chief and Union general who drafted the surrender papers signed by Confederate General Lee at Appomattox, portrayed by Reuben Fast Horse; Frederick Douglass, the former slave, abolitionist, and writer, portrayed by Charles Everett Pace; and Clara Barton, the founder of the American Red Cross, portrayed by Karen Vuranch. Governor William Jayne, who was President Lincoln’s personal physician and first governor of Dakota Territory, portrayed by Dr. D. Jerome Tweton, will moderate the Chautauqua presentations.

All performances, which combine entertainment with education, are free and open to the public.  For those unfamiliar with Chautauqua, the routine is simple: Performers present a 45-minute monologue in character and then field questions from the audience.  According to event coordinator Dakota Goodhouse, “The scholars who portray the characters are skilled interpreters who’ve devoted months or even years of study to present authentic performances.  They imitate appropriate accents and styles of dress.  Most of all, they strive to speak their characters’ words precisely.”

Adult workshops and children’s programs will also be presented.  During the adult workshops scholars step out of character to present more in depth analysis of the historical figure they have researched.  The children’s programs are an opportunity for children to learn more about American history. 

For more information visit www.ndhumanities.org or call 701.255.3360.

Wednesday, Sept. 5, 2012

10:00 AM             Children’s program by Charles Everett Pace at the Bismarck Veterans Memorial Public Library

2:00 PM                Adult workshop by Karen Vuranch at the Bismarck Veterans Memorial Public Library

6:30 PM                Evening Chautauqua program by Little Crow, portrayed by Jerome Kills Small, at St. George’s Episcopal Church

Thursday, Sept. 6, 2012

10:00 AM             Children’s program by Karen Vuranch at the Bismarck Veterans Memorial Public Library

2:00 PM                Adult workshop by Jerome Kills Small at the Bismarck Veterans Memorial Public Library

6:30 PM                Evening Chautauqua program by Gen. Ely Parker, portrayed by Reuben Fast Horse, at St. George’s Episcopal Church

Friday, Sept. 7, 2012

10:00 AM             Children’s program by Jerome Kills Small at the Bismarck Veterans Memorial Public Library

2:00 PM                Adult workshop by Reuben Fast Horse at the Bismarck Veterans Memorial Public Library

6:30 PM                Evening Chautauqua program by Frederick Douglass, portrayed by Charles Everett Pace, at St. George’s Episcopal Church

 Saturday, Sept. 8, 2012

1:00 PM                Children’s program by Reuben Fast Horse at the Bismarck Veterans Memorial Public Library

2:00 PM                Adult workshop by Charles Everett Pace at the Bismarck Veterans Memorial Public Library

3:00 PM                Afternoon Chautauqua program by Clara Barton, portrayed by Karen Vuranch, at St. George’s Episcopal Church

 4:00 PM               Chautauqua Scholar meet-and-greet at the North Dakota Former Governors’ Mansion

Pulitzer-Prize Finalists and US Poet Laureate Coming to Fargo-Moorhead

Four prominent poets and novelists will be visiting Fargo-Moorhead for a symposium honoring North Dakota native, Louise Erdrich.  Entitled Four Souls: Stories from America’s Boarders, the event will feature keynote presentations by Robert Pinsky, Naomi Shihab Nye, Luis Urrea and Erdrich.

The symposium, beginning Thursday, Aug. 23, and running through Friday, Aug. 24 will be held at Bluestem Center for the Arts.  The event is a joint effort of Bluestem and the North Dakota Humanities Council. 

“This symposium is dedicated to the diversity of cultures and ideas that make America such a great nation.  During a time when our nation is deeply divided politically, this is a chance to remind everyone who we are and what we stand for,” said Brenna Gerhardt, executive director of the Humanities Council.  “I hope people will walk away with a renewed hope for both our nation and the global community we are a part of.” 

New York Times best-selling author, Louise Erdrich grew up in North Dakota, where her parents taught at a school run by the Bureau of Indian Affairs. As the daughter of a Chippewa Indian mother and a German-American father, Erdrich explores Native-American themes in her works, with major characters representing both sides of her heritage.   She has said, “One of the characteristics of being a mixed blood is searching.  You look back and say, ‘Who am I from?’  You must question.  You must make certain choices.  You’re able to.  And it’s a blessing and it’s a curse.  All of our searches involve trying to discover where we are from.”   Erdrich will share her journey during an opening conversation with fellow North Dakota author Jamieson Ridenhour on Thursday evening.

Born in Tijuana, Mexico to a Mexican father and an American mother, Luis Alberto Urrea grew up in San Diego, California. Urrea will share his story of transformation from his beginnings on a dirt street in Tijuana to Pulitzer Prize finalist and beloved storyteller. Nye’s next books include On the Edge of the Sky (1981), a slim volume printed on handmade paper, and Hugging the Jukebox (1982), a full-length collection that also won the Voertman Poetry Prize. In Hugging the Jukebox, Nye continues to focus on the ordinary, on connections between diverse peoples, and on the perspectives of those in other lands. She writes: “We move forward, / confident we were born into a large family, / our brothers cover the earth.” Nye creates poetry from everyday scenes throughout Hugging the Jukebox in poems like “The Trashpickers of San Antonio” and the title poem, where a boy is enthusiastic about the jukebox he adopts and sings its songs in a way that “strings a hundred passionate sentences in a single line.” Reviewers generally praised Hugging the Jukebox, noting Nye’s warmth and celebratory tone. Writing in the Village Voice, Mary Logue commented that in Nye’s poems about daily life, “sometimes the fabric is thin and the mundaneness of the action shows through. But, in an alchemical process of purification, Nye often pulls gold from the ordinary.” According to Library Journal contributor David Kirby, the poet “seems to be in good, easy relation with the earth and its peoples.”

The poems in Yellow Glove (1986) present a more mature perspective tempered by tragedy and sorrow. In “Blood” Nye considers the Palestinian-Israeli conflict. She describes a café in combat-weary Beirut, bemoans “a world where no one saves anyone,” and observes “The Gardener” for whom “everything she planted gave up under the ground.” Georgia Review contributor Philip Booth declared that Nye brings “home to readers both how variously and how similarly all people live.” In Red Suitcase (1994), Nye continues to explore the effect of on-going violence on everyday life in the Middle East. Writing for Booklist, Pat Monaghan explained that “some of her most powerful poems deal with her native land’s continuing search for peace and the echoes of that search that resound in an individual life. Nye is a fluid poet, and her poems are also full of the urgency of spoken language. Her direct, unadorned vocabulary serves her well: ‘A boy filled a bottle with water. / He let it sit. / Three days later it held the power / of three days.’ Such directness has its own mystery, its own depth and power, which Nye exploits to great effect.”

Award-winning Palestinian-American poet Naomi Shihab Nye was born in St. Louis in 1952. Just four years earlier, her father and his family lost their home in Jerusalem following the establishment of the state of Israel. As a result of her father's experiences, she learned the importance of place and of being connected - a theme she will address in her poetry reading and discussion. 

Robert Pinsky (United States Poet Laureate 1997-2000) grew up in a lower-middle class Jewish family in Long Branch, N.J. According to Pinsky a poet needs to “find a language for presenting the role of a conscious soul in an unconscious world.”  Pinsky will perform improvisatory poetry with a local jazz combo, “trading fours” with the musicians to create a spontaneous work of art that tells its own story.

According to Sue Wiger, “This is exactly the type of event Bluestem was built for.  It will bring the community together to experience the best our nation has to offer in the way of arts and culture.”

Poetry writing workshops for adults and children will also be offered.

For more information and a full schedule of events, visit www.ndhumanities.org or contact Brenna Gerhardt at 800-338-6543.