Reply from Aggie Casavant (’69):  Fort Mill, SC

Was  happy  to  see   that  so  many  people  enjoyed  my  story  on  the  blog  after  my  return  from  N. Dakota.  After  re-reading  it  I  realized  all  the  typing  and  wording  errors.   I  think  I  still  had  a  substantial   “flu  hangover”  when  I  wrote  it.  It   was  an  awesome  time.  Gary  I  am  so, sorry  to  hear  about  your  brother  Alan. This  is  beyond  awful. He  will   continue  to  be  in  my  prayers.  Take  Care  and  God  Bless, and  thank  you  for  all  the  work  you  do  in  keeping  this  blog  going.  Aggie    P.S  thought this  would  be  a  good time  to  let  everyone  know that  I  no  longer  have   the  internet, so  if  it  takes  me  awhile  to  respond  to  messages  that’s  why…. Blessings!

 

Ole Bursinger song clipping from Art Rude’s (’71) Face Book postings. 

Thanks Art for this live nostalgic clipping. Brings back memories for so many of us.

Prince died yesterday, so here is a gospel song about goodbye from the king of the Turtle Mountain Hillbillies, Ole Bursinger. I found this video while going through some old files the other night. It was taped at one of the “Rendahl Gospel Festivals” that I put together on the grounds of the Rendahl Lutheran Church that burned down in 1991. The church was just up the hill from our farm. I don’t know which year this was, I had a Festival there 9 years. The guitar player in the middle is a friend from Canada, Abe is his first name, but I don’t recall his last name, maybe some of my friends can help me out with that one. It was great fun, and great people participated from both sides of the border. It’s hard for me to believe Ole has been gone for 10 years. He will always be the king of the Hillbillies to me.

Ole Bursinger song clipping link

https://www.facebook.com/art.rude/videos/10156798354055263/

 

Copenhagen ‘Snus’ Story
From Vickie Metcalfe (’70):  Bottineau, ND

Gary and Dunseith Friends,

Since I am a homegrown product of the hills,  I ‘d like to begin sharing several ‘snus’ stories from my farm girl repertoire.

Some town and prairie folks called people of the Hills,  Hillbillies.  I think they meant the term  to be  a derogatory. However, people of the hills being  fiercely independent, hold to our own.  We are who we are and what we are.

I need to begin by letting you know how it  came for me to know about my family and its legacy with “snus”.

I grew up North of Dunseith on Highway Number Three,  on a road which was located  at “Snus” Box Junction .  My Daddy called it Snus Box junction because several folks East and West of the “Snus Box” Junction were serious tobacco chewers.

Our family lived to the East beyond the big Oak Hills. Across the highway, away West my Uncle Bill lived.  Dad and Bill were the  7th and the 1st borne brothers of the clan.   The brothers were snus chewers, and their  choice of chew was usually, Copenhagen.

T’was over fifty years ago, on a warm Sunday morning about this time of year, Uncle Bill drove into the yard, accompanied by his youngest grandson.

They came in and visited with mom and dad.

This was the first time we’d ever seen this kid who was, Uncle Bill’s Grandson. Uncle Bill said,  “This is Lorraine’s youngest.  And She has moved back with her three sons  to live in Dunseith.

My brother was about the same age as this new cousin. Curiously, the little boys glanced at each other.

My brother wore jeans long sleeved shirt and worn boots. The cousin had on a little baseball cap, jeans, light tennis shoes and a short sleeved t-shirt.

Uncle  Bill needed a  piece a piece of iron which he thought Dad might have. Uncle Bill and Dad both wearing boots, long sleeved shirts, and striped overalls walked  through the gate, down from the old house into the cattle pasture to the farm ‘junkyard of abandoned machinery’.

While the men perused graveyard of old equipment my brother and his cousin exchanged shy glances at each other.  They had kept their distance, were about five feet apart when suddenly, the new cousin began hollering, jumping up and down then  dancing around.  My brother, scratched his head and dubiously looked with wonder at all the strange antics and weird sounds and moves coming from of  his new found cousin.  Was this the way of  “city boys”?

Finally, the grown brothers attention was drawn across the yard  to where they believed the little boys were playing.

Alas, one was silent and had a look of  astonished wonder on his face watching the other who just a few feet away dancing, CRAZY!

Dad and Bill watched the boys for a bit then…..

“BEES”! Shouted Uncle Bill.

They dashed across the yard.  Uncle Bill yanked  the young howling grandson away from the ground-nest of angry swarming yellow jacket bees..

In tacit agreement the two brothers pulled wads of brown slickery, snusy, spit from their mouths and began slathering brown slimy goop onto the boys stinging body as they carried him to the house.

Angry red, hot, swelling welts were everywhere on his little body as they removed his clothes and continued to open the cans of  Copenhagen.

The two brothers, in unison, faster and faster, “chewed and spit”. “chewed and spit” Chew tobaca,  chew tobaca,  spit, spit spit….while the little boy whimpered. My mom brought cool wrung out wet towels.

The piece of iron would wait for another day.  The poor lad tucked into his Grandpa Bill’s pickup, down the road in 1st gear, toward the Snus Box junction  and beyond over west, to the loving arms of Grandma Mary and Mom, Lorraine.

Yes, our family believed in  and used alternative medicine.

Thanks Gary.

Vickie Metcalfe