Yellowstone. There aren’t many more words in the American lexicon that conjure such powerful images of Western history and geography.
The Yellowstone River courses through much of the giant state of Montana, and its confluence with the mighty Missouri River is in extreme northwestern North Dakota, near Forts Union and Buford. I’ve visited both, on multiple occasions, and urge everyone to do so when in the area.
As one drives west through Montana, from Glendive onward, the highway follows the Yellowstone River, and it is easy to allow thoughts to harken back to the earliest days of exploration, as well as the lifeways of the native inhabitants. Not only does the river provide water for Montanans, it also is a mecca for camping and fishing.
Gentle reader, recall that trails have been much on my mind in these past months and today I want to write a few words about the Yellowstone Surveying Expeditions of the late 19th century.
One of the best articles that I read was in “North Dakota History: Journal of the Northern Plains,” volume 70, no. 3, 2003 “Thomas L. Rosser and the Yellowstone Surveying Expedition of 1873” by M. John Lubetkin. The article opens in Fort Rice, Dakota Territory, Friday, June 20, 1873.
“For the sixth time in three years the army was escorting a party of Northern Pacific Railroad (NP) surveyors into the Yellowstone valley. Because of Sioux hostility to the railroad, the U.S. Army’s support was massive. The hard-drinking Col. David Sloane Stanley commanded the expedition, Lt. Col. George Armstrong Custer the cavalry, and Thomas Lafayette Rosser, an unrepentant ex-Confederate major general, led the surveyors. …The tensions between these three would soon break into open conflict.” (page 2)
I learned from this article that the first expeditions in 1872 were considered failures because the mapping was not completed due to conflict with the area Native Americans. The first expedition left from Fort Ellis (near today’s Bozeman, Mont.).
Another very interesting article about the 1874 expedition is found in volume 8 of the “Contributions to the Historical Society of Montana” (pages 105-126). The author of this article proclaims that it is “one of the most interesting episodes of the history of Montana.” This article goes into great detail about the adventures and woes of the party.
The “North Dakota Historical Quarterly,” volume 10, page 3, contains the diary of Ferdinand A. Van Ostrand, a man serving in 1871 under Gen. Stanley. “Monday-March 27 (1871). Left Ft. Sully in company with Gen. Stanley….saw plenty antelope. Last twelve miles — roads bad — snow. … Big company.”
The historical accounts are rich with this kind of detail because diaries such as this have been preserved in various archives, to not mention the copious information that is detailed in military records. Much of Lubetkin’s article is due to his access to the diary and letters of Thomas L. Rosser.
“(A) storm caught the surveyors some twelve miles west of present-day Glen Ullin, on the top of a gentle hill sloping west towards a stream later named Hailstone Creek, commemorating the incident that was about to happen. ‘Suddenly,’ a cavalryman wrote, ‘about sunset the sky became overcast with thick heavy clouds which assumed a greenish hue and caused all surrounding objects to have a most ghastly appearance.’ In minutes they were in the center of a hailstorm, later described in a letter written by Montgomery C. Meigs. As the storm became particularly violent, three bolts of lightning suddenly hit the ground nearby, and the men and animals were bombarded by chunks of ice at least the size of large marbles.” Lubetkin, page 6. Present day travelers can visit this place as it is the site of a modern rest area along Interstate 94.
“Map of the reconnaissance survey from the Missouri River to the Yellowstone. Originally drawn in 1871, the map was updated in 1873 and later dates.” This map is reproduced on page 13 of the Lubetkin article with the permission of Small Special Collections Library, University of Virginia.
David S. Stanley’s “Report on the Yellowstone Expedition of 1873” is reprinted in “Personal Memoirs of General David S. Stanley” (Gaithersburg, MD: Old Soldier Books, 1987) if you’d like to read more about this fascinating time period in U.S. history.
Meanwhile, I look forward to my next drive along the Yellowstone River, with perhaps a visit (I’ve been there dozens of times) to Yellowstone National Park. It is on our “list” to get the YNP in the winter. Someday we will.”
Three-quarter of an inch of rain in a wondrous thunderstorm this morning (Wednesday) started the day off right here at Red Oak House. For the second day in a row, it will be cool enough for us to leave the windows open all day.
Vegetable harvest has begun in earnest and Jim has frozen many bags already.
Second harvest of broccoli.
The bean processing station.
Bloody Butcher heirloom tomato.
Last night, we had what we call “nothing from the store supper.” The first new potatoes, beans, broccoli and walleye. Who needs a restaurant?
As you can see from the plate above, we’ve begun to eat our heirloom tomatoes. These are bloody butchers. The jungle promises much more tomato bliss to come.
Healthy tomato patch.
These peas are going to be so yummy with butter.
Other blooming plants make our garden a real oasis of tranquility in the midst of a bustling city.
Yellow Titan Daylily.
Gold Drop Hosta.
Little Rocket Ligularia.
Good old Petunias.
More good old Petunias.
Salvia I started from seed this winter. Bring on the hummingbirds.
Rosy Returns Daylily (“returns” because it is a rebloomer).
Ice Carnival Daylily.
Strawberry Candy Daylily.
Prairie Moonlight Daylily.
Barbara Mitchell Daylily.
Paha Sapa Thundercloud.
The Red Oak tree has begun to drop acorns, littering the driveway with crunchy nuggets.
Blue Cadet Hosta.
A sweet Begonia that was a gift from a friend.
Impatiens are finally blooming.
On a different note, this song I’ve been listening to on Jackson Browne Solo Acoustic is running through my head:
Everybody I talk to is ready to leave
With the light of the morning
They’ve seen the end coming down
Long enough to believe
That they’ve heard their last warning
Each has his own ticket in his hand
And as the evening descends
I sit thinking ’bout Everyman
Seems like I’ve always been
Looking for some other place
To get it together
Where with a few of my friends
I could give up the race
And maybe find something better
But all my fine dreams
Well thought out schemes
To gain the motherland
Have all eventually come down
To waiting for Everyman
Waiting here for Everyman
Make it on your own if you think you can
If you see somewhere to go I understand
Waiting here for Everyman
Don’t ask me if he’ll show, baby I don’t know
In different lighting, Wide Wide World daylily, shows off different hues so why not one more photo? It’s my blog after all.
The first Wide Wide World daylily blooms of the season, taken in twilight.
Time for Manhattans in the shade of the front patio. Cheers!
Jim is enjoying the round ice cubes molds the girls gave him for Father’s Day.
Trails have been much on my mind this year, and I’ll be writing more about trails in upcoming blogs.
This past weekend, I drove to the Black Hills to visit a friend who lives near Hill City, S.D., roughly following the Bismarck to Deadwood Stage Trail, although in my case in a Toyota. I had most of the day to make the drive, so I stopped whenever the spirit moved me, and I wasn’t greatly concerned about taking the fastest route.
If you zoom in on the photo to the right, this beautiful roadside sign, south of Mandan, N.D., gives the brief synopsis of the history of the trail. This was my first of many stops.
When I was a child, my mother and aunt used to point out to me the remnant tracks from the Medora to Deadwood Stage Trail, as we drove back and forth from Slope County to Rapid City, S.D. I come by my fascination with trails (and with history in general) honestly, from these two grand ladies. My mother took her children to hundreds of museums and historic sites and old forts and such, while my father fished. She was interested in these places and, in her wisdom, she knew that we would benefit from these visits as well. I think we did, immeasurably.
I am deeply a Western girl. In the course of my life, other than a stint in Nashville, Tenn., for graduate school and a few years in Okinawa, I’ve always lived in the American West. TheWest is where my soul feels most centered.
When my husband and I searched for a house, we looked at dozens in Mandan, hoping to remain “in the West.” But alas, the house we knew was the best fit for us was in Bismarck, so we capitulated. Nonetheless, we are just a half-mile on the east side of the Missouri River, so I think the argument is strong that we are still in the western part of the United States. Certainly, we are west of the 100th meridian. So that is settled.
As Henry David Thoreau wrote, “westward I go free.”
We find that we also tend to do most of our traveling in the western portion of the U.S. or Canada. Sometimes we have to simply resolve to go east, to see family and sites in the East we want to see and to fulfill our goal of visiting all of the national parks.
Back to my adventure. I hardly needed a map for traveling this landscape, as I know it so well. But since I did venture on some new ground, I consulted Google Maps a time or two. As I drove along, I crossed well-known rivers, the Cannonball, the Grand and the Moreau.
Near the South Dakota border, I began to see lark buntings. On the seat next to me, I had a box of CDs to listen to and snacks. Memories flooded back to me of trips to the Black Hills in our family Ford LTD, listening to the Carpenters on an eight-track tape, singing along to pass the time. Today it was “Abbey Road,” Roseanne Cash and the Dixie Chick’s “Wide Open Spaces.”
The landscape changed from agricultural to native prairie, and east of Faith, S.D., I spotted this year’s first (for me) upland sandpiper. The sere landscape was a testament to the severe drought the Great Plains is experiencing. How wonderful it was to be in a car, alone, driving across the big open, with the knowledge that at the end of the day, I’d be with a good friend.
Here and there, the landscape was dotted with hay bales, cows and harvested winter wheat, but mostly there was grass and blue sky. On the margins of the highway were sunflowers and milkweed (the main food source for butterflies). I have a deep attachment to sunflowers as my earliest memory is from when I was about 3 or 4 and on a Slope County scoria road, traveling to my maternal grandparents’ ranch. The roadsides were thick with them. No doubt I was hanging my head out the window, excited to see my Grandma Lily. My memory is of a tunnel of sunflowers.
I can’t quite get used to the turquoise plastic webbing that is used in many instances on hay bales these days.
Big Bluestem Grass (aka Turkey Track Grass).
Black Angus cattle, the reason for the hay bales.
I traveled through many small South Dakota towns.
Sue. In tribute to the large T-Rex fossils that were found near here by Sue Hendrickson, as described in accompanying photo.
After an ice cream break at Howes Store, I continued on by White Owl.
Near here I saw some pronghorn antelope. Finally, Bear Butte came into view, on the margins on the distant Black Hills. Bear Butte (supposedly its earlier name was “Bare Butte” due to the lack of vegetation on its slopes) is an iconic landmark in this area.
I’ve hiked to the top of Bear Butte a couple of times and recommend it. Please be respectful to the Native’s culture, as this is considered a sacred area. Some accounts report that Crazy Horses’ body was taken here by his family after his assassination at Fort Robinson by Gen. George Crook’s soldiers. It has been the site of many very large Native American gatherings.
On this particular day, I did not take the time to stop at Bear Butte but rather drove along the Belle Fourche River, where I spotted some red-headed woodpeckers in the cottonwoods. Instead, I stopped in Sturgis, on the edge of the Black Hills, for gas. Sturgis is the site of the world-famous motorcycle rally, held in August, and the evidence of this is everywhere.
As I drove, I thought of many trips that I took as a teenager to the Black Hills. Rapid City was the metro area to which we traveled because my parents would go to the Base Exchange at Ellsworth Air Force Base for supplies, and my older sister’s orthodontist was in Rapid City. In fact, until I was in college, I only traveled twice from Slope County to Bismarck. I was born at Ellsworth AFB so returning to this area is, for me, something of a homecoming.
While ranching in Slope County, we’d also take visiting family to the Black Hills, as it is the major tourism destination, and my father LOVES to fish! Our Luther League group would plan an annual trip to Terry Peak (the Catholic kids would go, too) and although I’ve not downhill skied for almost 30 years, I became quite a good skier and always looked forward to trips to Terry Peak.
Finally, as I drove toward Deadwood, I saw my first official signpost for the Black Hills National Forest. A roadside sign for “Custer’s Crossing” caused me to make a screeching stop. Alas, there is nothing left but the base of the sign. This sign described the time when Custer traveled from Fort Lincoln (near present-day Mandan) to the Black Hills in an 1874 expedition, following along much of what would later become the Bismarck to Deadwood Stage Trail.There are many excellent books about this expedition. One book I particularly like is “Exploring with Custer,” which contains period photographs taken during the expedition alongside current photographs of the same areas.
Next, I drove past Trout Haven and am flooded with many childhood memories. When we would drive past the promotional signs for this place, we would beg my road warrior father to stop. Surely, we hoped, such a place would be of interest to him as there would be “fishing.” Eventually, we understood that my father was far above this sort of fishing and was bound for the mountain streams and lakes. Mostly we were desperate for him to stop and let us use the bathroom and stretch our legs.
It would be a bonus to experience these tourist traps, advertised all around us. Yet, to this day, I’ve never done anything but drive right by Trout Haven. I was due at Valerie’s place. I crossed Box Elder Creek and proceeded onward.
My friend, Valerie Naylor, is the retired superintendent of Theodore Roosevelt National Park. One of her homes is near Pactola Dam. She actually has a cabin and a cottage. Pine Cone Cabin and Prairie Creek Cottage, to be specific, where she lives with her Beagle, Jetta, and her cats, Spirit and Diablo.
Pactola Dam, one of the many places in the Black Hills where we camped and fished. It was a busy summer day on the water.
Pine Cone Cabin.
Prairie Creek Cottage, with her newly acquired bison “herd.”
When I got out of the car, the scent of pine on this warm summer day filled my senses. It was 92 degrees in Sturgis, but this high in the mountains it was down to 86 degrees.The Smokey the Bear sign at Pactola Dam informed me that the fire danger was “Very High.”
Valerie greeted me, and we headed out to haul water to the cattle boarding on her land.
Next up was to Hill City for a matinee, an indie film called “Lakota Girls,” where we joined Meg. The film was shown in a makeshift theater on the second floor of a former bar and restaurant, the Chute Rooster. The filmmakers and several of the stars were in attendance. Val likes movies, and so do I.
Meg and Val.
Soon enough, it was time for a good night’s sleep among the pines.
Day Two started with French press coffee and quiet enjoyment, followed by an foray to Friendship Tower on nearby Roosevelt Peak, something that was on my “list of things I’d not yet done in the Black Hills.”
A short walk along the talus slope past the descriptive signs brought us to the stonework tower, built as an effort spearheaded by Seth Bullock in tribute to his friend, Theodore Roosevelt.
Valerie and her beagle, Jetta, on the trail.
A brief section of trail goes through ferns.
I’m impressed by the stonework and cannot help but think about Rapunzel.
Harney Peak in the distance, the highest point in South Dakota. I’ve hiked to the top of Harney Peak, the hard way. But that is another story.
Bear Butte in the distance.
An offering of aster.
Deadwood Public Library.
A clever use of the old Sinclair Station, turned to a fun lunch spot with an adjoining glass studio, called Mind Blown Studio.
Courthouse, now Post office, in Deadwood, S.D.
The old courthouse in Deadwood, S.D.
Somewhere along the trail to Friendship Tower, I mentioned to Valerie that I’d never been to Crooks Tower. Because I said I’d like to show my elderly father a picture of said visit, we agreed that this was a priority and hatched a plan for Day Two.
Crooks Tower, elevation 7,137 feet, is the highest point in Lawrence County, S.D. The tower is no longer there. You need a Black Hills National Forest map to find it (even better, buy a Crooks Tower quad map). I don’t know if the name of the high point is derived from the existence of the tower or if it was simply called this as an honor to Gen. Crook. There is more information available here. If you google Crooks Tower, you’ll find even more information, and some time in the future I’m going to deep deeper into the historical periodical literature to see what I might find.
To get there, one drives through tiny Rochford, S.D. Although Val has lived in or near the Black Hills for many years, she’d never been there, an added bonus. It is 29.3 miles from the turnoff to Rochford on Highway 385 to the summit of Crooks Peak.
Lillian Crook on Crooks Tower.
Looking down from Crooks Tower.
Very pale version of Sego Lily.
A particularly vibrant Penstemon.
The limestone of the area is prominent here.
Remember my obsession with sunflowers?
The nearest USFS campground. Somewhere near here we spotted a couple of bobolinks.
It is so wonderful to be in the vicinity of clear, running mountain water such as Rapid Creek,.
These former camps are found all around the Black Hills area.
One last stop in Rochford at the tongue-in-cheek “Small of America,” and it was time to say goodbye to Val and point the Toyota in the direction of North Dakota.
In Nemo, I had a very good mushroom and Swiss burger and then drove on as per Val’s directions in scenic Vonacker Canyon, where I saw a western tanager.
As I left Sturgis, I remembered a sign I’d spotted on the way through two days before for the Fort Meade Museum and thought “no time like the present” — drove right up to it, paid $5 and learned more about the fort I’d driven by hundreds of times in my life.
The members of the 1874 Custer Expedition camped near Bear Butte, the first encampment of the U.S. in the area. In 1878, Camp Sturgis was established near present Fort Meade, with the final site being several miles south of there, on the edge of present day Sturgis and was officially founded on Aug. 28, 1878.
The fort is beautifully preserved, and the museum is located in the old Command HQ building, which was erected in 1905. The fort is now used by the National Guard for a training site and is a VA Medical Center. The doctors and other medical staff rent many of the houses. You can learn much more about historic Fort Meade here.
Although I did not have time to visit the cemetery, I paid silent homage to a family friend, Ron Hilden, buried here. Judge Hilden conducted our wedding ceremony and is much missed.
I’m also interested in Fort Meade because it was to here that Gen. Crook and his troops, in the late autumn of 1876, came at the end of what is known as his “starvation march.” They were in pursuit of the Native Americans dispersing after that summer’s Battle of the Little Bighorn. After being forced to kill and eat their horses, they limped into the fort.
As the sign explains, it was here that the “Star Spangled Banner” was first used in military ceremonies.
This caught my eye. Remember, I’m interested in trails. There is one just like this at the Cowboy Hall of Fame in Medora, N.D.
I’d never seen anything like this. The soldiers in World War I engraved the spent cartridges found all around the trench areas.
This uniform reminds me of one of my father’s.
This exhibit about the KKK in the area was rather shocking to me.
New homes have been built to blend into the original fort’s architecture.
If you travel to the Black Hills, pick up one of these ubiquitous maps.
A thunderstorm was forming over the area, hopefully bringing some badly needed rain. I finally got serious about heading homeward, taking the route directly past Bear Butte where I intersected with another Bismarck to Deadwood Stage Trail sign, this one describing death ON the Bismarck trail (rather than “of”). I’m so grateful to the people who’ve erected these signs everywhere.
While I should probably have stuck to the most direct northeast route, I wanted to surprise my husband with something, given that I was so close by. So, I headed west again, to U.S. Highway 85. My friend, Clay Jenkinson, in his book “Message on the Wind,” calls this area “the sacred corridor,” and I completely agree.
Castle Rock, S.D.
One of the many pine islands (elevated areas that are vegetated by ponderosa pine) of the Great Plains, in this case, the Cave Hills and the Camp Crook area.
As you will see upon reading this sign, there is an interesting and sad tale about the Crow Buttes locale.
My purpose was to stop at the Crow Buttes Mercantile to pick up their world-famous bacon. It is, after all, approaching BLT season at our house. Six pounds of that naughty treat was my surprise to Jim.
At Buffalo, I headed east again, driving into the Custer National Forest and the Slim Buttes. Gen. Crook’s Starvation March (also known as “Horsemeat March”) took him through the Slim Buttes, where skirmishes were fought with the Native Americans. Here he captured the chief American Horse and is shown in a famous photograph with one of the guidons (triangular-shaped flag) of Custer’s troops (from the July 1876 battle).
As I completed my drive back to Bismarck, my thoughts were filled with so many happy memories of camping, fishing and hiking in the Black Hills, and of so many drives through “the sacred corridor.” I crossed the Missouri River and was happy to be home again, 742 miles later. Thanks, Val!
When I spotted that the Bismarck Tribune was looking for someone to review “Pioneer Girl Perspectives: Exploring Laura Ingalls Wilder” (Nancy Tystad Loupal, editor, South Dakota State Historical Press, 2017), I immediately contacted the editor.
Our home library has an entire shelf of books by and about Wilder, the famous prairie writer, and I’ve read them all, more than once. I still have all of my copies of the Wilder children’s books, historical fiction (mistaken by many to be nonfiction) given to me by my mother in the 1960s, and it was only this past winter that I gifted my hardcover copies of the Garth Williams’ illustrated copies of her books to my stepgranddaughter.
My mother wanted me to remember that while we were living in various Army posts around the world, I was still a child of the prairie, and what better way to do that than to read Wilder’s books?
Now, in my fifth decade, I find myself inspired by the knowledge that Laura was already in her 60s when she began writing her books, and thus I forged ahead with starting my own blog, WildDakotaWoman.blogspot.com.
Readers of Wilder are always eager to read more about her life and to visit the places she lived, as I have done over the years. This new collection of essays, a publication of The Pioneer Girl Project, by a number of notable Wilder scholars, will not disappoint. This book is a follow-up to the wildly popular “Pioneer Girl: The Annotated Autobiography” (SDSHS Press, 2014).
The writers of the essays explore in great depth the issues surrounding the contributions of Wilder’s daughter, Rose, to her mother’s books, Laura’s path to becoming a published author, the myths and truths found within her books and the lasting appeal of her writings. “As Wilder’s letter to (Rose Wilder) Lane attests, whenever these two strong-willed women did not see eye to eye on the manuscript, Wilder usually prevailed.”
Countless readers have been deeply touched by her books and the lessons within them, and it is fascinating to plumb the reasons why her books resonate to this day. “Once again, Laura Ingalls Wilder had proven just how relevant she was to another generation.”
Here is one of my favorite Wilder lines, quoted in the book, from a letter she wrote:
“Almanzo (her husband) still loves horses as well as when he was that Farmer Boy, but he doesn’t drive them now. He drives our new Chrysler sedan instead, at least he holds the wheel. Of course I do the driving with my tongue.”
In the essay entitled “Little Myths on the Prairie,” Michael Patrick Hearn states “It is a clean, concrete, muscular English, almost Biblical in its cadences, Hemingwayesque in its clarity and precision. It is the journalistic style Wilder burnished all those years writing for the rural press. …She dispensed with the gratuitous.”
Focusing on the settings of her books, John E. Miller writes, “The prairie, in Wilder’s writings, was a place of wonder and delight, a rich storehouse of life that pleased the eye with luscious sights of wild flowers, tall grass, animal life, and water flowing in streams and contained in lakes.” She “felt a close connection to the land and used [her] craft to express the spirit of the region.”
“The Little House series is an act of creative, edited memory.” It has given countless readers insights into her prairie world in all its glory and has shaped a love of a unique landscape.
“The Little House is always there, a cherished place where we can go if we need it. And we will.”
Peak daylily time rewards me with new blooms each day. Here are today’s (Friday’s).
Yellow Titan Daylily. These are so large I had to put my hand in for proper perspective.
Desert Princess Daylily.
Ocean Rainbow Daylily.
Daring Deception Daylily.
Rose Corsage Daylily.
Ginger Girl Daylily.
Roses in the Snow Daylily.
Enchanted Illusions Daylily.
Gordon Biggs Daylily.
Ruby Spider Daylily.
Creature of the Night Daylily.
Carnival in Mexico Daylily.
Butter Cream Daylily.
Siloam Red Ruby Daylily.
Ruffled Rainbow Daylily.
Strutter’s Ball Daylily.
Lynn’s Delight Daylily.
Siloam Rainbow Magic Daylily.
Spirit Fox Daylily.
Jim did a big-time bean harvest today (Friday) and has frozen a bunch for our winter enjoyment.
We are triumphant over winning the battle with the rascally rabbits this year! Pesto/shrimp pizza with our broccoli and tomatoes for supper.
And how about this glorious cloudburst? A horrific drought makes such a rainstorm ever so sweeter. All of our plants are so stressed by nothing but city water for so many weeks (not to mention our water bill). Both Jim and I stood outside and got WET we were so tickled by it. Three-quarters of an inch and counting …
Earlier this week, when Jim and I were in Medora, we made time to go to the Chateau de Mores Visitor Center, to see the new exhibit featuring the Civilian Conservation Corps.
The Chateau de Mores is one of the premiere sites of the State Historical Society of North Dakota, and if you’ve not been there, I attest that it is well worth it. I’ve been many times, and a self-confessed history nerd, I always enjoy my visits.
From the SHSND website: “Located southwest of Medora, this site memorializes the life and activities in North Dakota of Antoine de Vallombrosa, the Marquis de Mores, who arrived in 1883. Among his enterprises were a beef packing plant, a stagecoach line, a freighting company, refrigerated railway cars, cattle and sheep raising, land ownerships and a new town which he called Medora, in honor of his wife.”
Working at the Visitor Center was our friend, the inimitable Karen Nelson, and it is always a treat to see her smiling face. Karen has extensively researched the life of Medora, the Marquess, and she portrays Medora for the “History Alive!” programs.
The CCC was a U.S. public work relief program that operated from 1933 to 1942 for unemployed young men as part of the federal government’s New Deal program. The CCC built many wonderful structures all around the country, including the Rhame School gymnasium, where I played girls basketball as a kid. My uncle, Paul Pender, was in the CCC ,thus I’ve heard first-hand stories of those days.
The exhibits, photographs and artifacts focus primarily on the CCC in North Dakota. The sandstone structures in Theodore Roosevelt National Park are a wonderful example of the CCC’s, work and there was a CCC camp within what is now the South Unit. The SHSND worked in collaboration with the NPS for this exhibit
Einar Olstad created this and other iron sculptures. This one adorned the Theodore Roosevelt National Park Entrance, affixed to the sandstone blocks.
Remember, I have a love affair with sandstone.
The original entrance station to the Chateau de Mores.
The Von Hoffman House, built by Medora’s parents and beautifully restored by the Theodore Roosevelt Medora Foundation.
The abattoir smokestack.
Iconic cottonwood tree — found all along the Little Missouri River.
The town of Medora, founded by the Marquis.
If you’d like to learn more about the CCC, the PBS program “American Experience” has a wonderful documentary film on the topic. There are also many very good books and websites. Meanwhile, if you are in Medora, do stop and see the exhibit. Thank you to all of the CCC members who created this lasting legacy.
Don’t you just think about your grandma when you see these flowers?
“I learned this, at least, by my experiment; that if one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours.” — Henry David Thoreau
Today’s Writer’s Almanac pays homage to HDT. I love when Garrison Keillor’s voice comes out of my radio with the day’s installment.
Gentle reader, I’ve been writing about the past, but today, it is time to return to my garden notes as the daylilies are exploding in all their glory. Between my sister and I, we have 219 varieties of daylily. They are fairly easy to grow and hardy in our northern climate.
I was first exposed to daylilies by my friend and mentor, Bernnett Reinke, who was a very enthusiastic collector. Every three years or so, in order for these to thrive, the plant should be divided. Thus, it was that Bern gave me my first daylilies.
When we bought Red Oak House, I joined the Central Dakota Daylily Society and attended my first member auction in the basement of the Bismarck Public Library. At the auction, the bounty of the club’s divisions are sold. Pictures of the cultivars are shown on the screen as well as the particulars like color, height, time of bloom and so on. The club chooses the daylilies carefully for our growing zone and also selects for beauty. Since, then, it has become an annual event for my sister and I, and we come armed with our Excel list of varieties we already own and our newsletter list marked up as our wish list.
In addition to my database, I have markers for all of my perennials. My sister does a better job than I, as she also has a map of her flower beds.
In the fall, she and I are going to have a plant sale. It will be lots of work, but our plants have grown to the point that we can do this with those we both have, and we can build a slush fund for purchasing new varieties.
Peak bloom time has not yet arrived in my yard, but it is almost here. Meanwhile, here are more photos from today.
Evening Enchantment Daylily.
Mom’s Pink Divinity Daylily.
Topgun’s Helen Jones Daylily.
Vatican City Daylily.
Another Day Daylily.
Stella’s Ruffled Fingers, a re-bloomer.
labama Jubilee Daylily.
Ruffled Rainbow Daylily.
First Bird Daylily.
Huckleberry Candy Daylily.
Spirit Fox Daylily.
Strutters Ball Daylily.
Radiant Simplicity Daylily.
Because I have more than just daylilies, Chocolate Drop Sedum.
The first my sister gave to me, Happy Returns Daylily with Radiant Simplicity in the background.
Pow Wow and Prairie Splendor Coneflowers.
Carpenter Shavings Daylily.
Colorado Moonrise Daylily.
Listening to the radio as we drove home, we heard news that some parts of the Bad Lands received 1 inch of rain in Monday night’s storm. That is terrific news,m and I hope it is helping them in the efforts to tamp down that monster (fire).
It is good to be home. My sister has left a container full of her raspberries in our fridge. It is cool in the yard this evening — all things being relative.
Poor little river of my heart, my Little Missouri River. In this year of drought, you are sadly diminished. Monday night’s storm was mostly lightning and thunder and just a trace of rain. This morning dawned another scorching day.
Prairie fires continue in western North Dakota.
The bison and horses and birds continue their wild lives here at Theodore Roosevelt National Park. The wind blows in the cottonwoods, and there is music in their brittle leaves. There is almost no current in the river.
There are campers here, and folks are languid in the heat, but enjoying this peaceful place. Children play in the water. We are drawn to the lifeforce that is water and to the shade of the great cottonwoods.
While many of the breeding birds have gone quiet now, the Western and Eastern kingbirds continue their chatter.
When we lived in Medora, it was my great privilege to work for the National Park Service, as the museum technician, and many of my friends are (or were) NPS staff. God bless them all for the work they do for our country’s treasures.
I’ve hiked every trail in the three units of TRNP, many times, and all of the Maah Daah Hey. But truth be told, my favorite trail is any I’ve bushwacked, either alone or with Jim, or a few close friends. I’ve biked the loop road and cross-country skied and worked on trail maintenance and other projects, and there is no doubt I love this park.
Today while I enjoy the park, my husband (who’d rather be here with me wading and taking in the solace of the Bad Lands) is in Medora giving a speech to the Association of Rural Telephone Cooperatives about why the park is important. He is a warrior.
If we inspire you to show your love of the Bad Lands, please join us and other like-minded citizens who are members of Friends of TRNP and Badlands Conservation Alliance.