Plains Folk

“The merry-makers then joined hands in a circle and sang ‘Auld Lang Syne.’” Thus closed last week’s Plains Folk essay, which marveled at the depth of energy and the sense of community exhibited by New Year’s celebrants in Emmons County in 1885. By this time not only had the custom of singing “Auld Lang Syne” established itself on the prairies, but its manner of observance--holding hands at midnight in teary comradeship--was a commonality of such occasions.

New Year’s Eve, 1885, at the Williamsport Schoolhouse, Emmons County, the crowd was less than expected on account of rough weather, but all that was promised as far as community and conviviality. Thirty-some neighbors answered the call of Dan Williams for a night of festivity.

The Jamestown Alert of 7 December 1883 printed the bill of fare for the “dust cap social and oyster supper given by the ladies of the Methodist Church at the Dakota House dining room.” So now you’re thinking, What the heck is a dust cap social, or possibly, what the heck is a dust cap? That’s a subject for another day, because this week I’m returning to the topic of oysters as a treasured culinary custom in the folkways of the Great Plains, especially during winter holidays.

Press reports from Jamestown in November 1915 described a “stag party given at the farm home of Russell Wright” that featured fried oysters on the menu. “A number of masculine neighbors and friends made things very sociable during the afternoon,” we read. “Mrs. Wright was not present.”

Remember first, as you read Sarah Vogel’s remarkable book, The Farmer’s Lawyer, that it is a memoir. This is her story to tell, grounded by solid legal records and trial transcripts.

Over the past couple of years I’ve been engaged in a revival of balladry on the Great Plains. Returning to my roots as a folkie from way back in the twentieth century, I have been revisiting the histories of folksongs once considered of unknown origins, documenting them, and singing them as a contribution to our regional literature. It is amazing how, with the advantage of digitization of documents, especially newspapers, it is possible to track traditional ballads to their very origins.

The activity of the mind of George Will was matched by the activity of his legs. Son and heir of the seedsman Oscar Will of Bismarck, he put his Harvard education to work on everything around him, from horticulture to folksong to archaeology. And he was a boots-on-the-ground sort of guy.

“The village of Mountain in Pembina County is the center of a sizable Icelandic community,” writes Father Bill Sherman in his classic study, Prairie Mosaic. The settlement in North Dakota spun off from the colony of Gimli, in Manitoba, and comprised not only Mountain but also Hallson and Gardar. Mountain, however, was a cultural center.

She was reluctant at first--to go live, reading her own writing to strangers, at a public celebration--but when the time came, Rose Sell, the country correspondent from Guelph, North Dakota, nailed her part.

In March of 1901, the country correspondent at Bloomenfield informed the readers of the Jamestown Weekly Alert about the recent local movements of the horse trader, Herman Cook, from Windsor. “Think the charming young lady at Mr. K’s has something to do with it,” was the report. “How is it, Herman?”