Sandra, I did not realize when we talked yesterday that your mother is a Casavant. Are you related to Rene, Joe, Gerald and that family of 16 wonderful siblings?  Gary

.

.

From Dick Johnson (68):

Gary and Friends,

Everyone has a wild night to remember, some of us more than others, I
imagine. One such night that I will never forget was August 22, 1961. I
was staying at the farm with my grandparents and had gone upstairs to
bed after a hot day and had opened a window to hopefully cool of the
room so I could sleep. I was sleeping like any 11 year old, without a
care in the world, when all at once rain water was hitting my face and
the wind had the curtains standing straight out in the room! Grandpa
Hans came running into the room and grabbed my arm and dragged me down
the stairs and down into the cellar! He shut the trapdoor above us and
said we may be in a tornado! It roared like crazy above us for a few
minutes and then we heard a loud crashing sound followed by a boom!
Grandpa said, “That was the barn.” It got still within a few minutes,
except for a slight wind, and we came up from the cellar. Looking out in
the night we could see a big pile of debris where the barn had been! The
overhead wires were laying on the rubble and rubbing together making a
constant shower of sparks, so Grandpa ran out to the power pole and shut
off the master switch so what was left wouldn’t burn. He was soaked to
the skin within seconds from the downpour, but didn’t want to see a fire
too! Well guess what! The insurance company said he had insurance for
fire but that they had written off wind coverage because the barn was
looking old and possibly not sturdy!! There is a story about how good
guys finish last, and this sort of fits! Oh,by the way, my memory isn’t
quite as good as it seems. The date is on the back of the picture, even
though the picture was taken later in the fall. I did cut a hole in the
debris and found my saddle unharmed! Not to good for most of Grandma’s
chickens though! The picture shows the aftermath of one of the strongest
winds I can ever remember! Thanks Gary!

From Dale Pritchard (63):

Dale, that does look like your mother.  Gary

Gary,

The picture is pretty dark but I believe that’s my Mother, Dorothy Pritchard, seated on Edmar Tangen’s right side.  This is a good picture of your Mother, Gary.  In some close ups of you, I see you inherited her eyes.

Dale

Standing: Glenda (Mrs. Russell) Fauske

Seated R to L: Elaine Stokes, Alice Hiatt, Charlotte Hiatt Lang, Esther Tangen, Edmar Tangen,

Dorthy Pritchard, Dennis Hiatt

From Shirley LaRocque Wendt (59):

.

.

From Gary Stokes (65):

Picture taken in the Ackworth school in about, I think, 1992 at the annual Alumni.

Note: All those seated have passed on. Charlotte died in Jan 1994 and the rest have passed on since.

Many of you are closely related to those in this picture.

For you Pladson folks, Is that your mother, Ella, sitting on the far side of your uncle Edmar?

Glenda (Mrs. Russell) Fauske Standing,

Seated R to L: Elaine Stokes, Alice Hiatt, Charlotte Hiatt Lang, Esther Tangen, Edmar Tangen, ??, Dennis Hiatt

From Dick Johnson (68):

Dick, the only one, in this picture, that I for sure recognize is Dwight Lang. In this picture he looks like he could be related to the Hiatt’s, of which I know he is proud of.  Gary

Gary,

My best guess on the names of the band kids–

Dick

.

.

Picture L to R:  1956 DHS Band

Front row: Gayle Bedard, Caroleen Lider, Janice Lacroix, Marjorie Landsverk ?, Lowell Williams,Lois Hiatt.

Row two: Karen Woodford,Coleen Conroy?, Gerald Lamoureux, Girl??, Duane  Woodford, Guy with tuba??,

Girl in front of music stand?,Susan Brew, Girl in front of base drum?, Joanne Kester.

 Back row: Director??, Flute player?, Small person?, Luella Kalk??, Ronnie Link, Short kid?, Dwight Lang,

Curt Halvorson?, Don Conroy, Neva Haagenson?,John Morgan, Ellen Graff, BIG DAVE SHELVER, Girl?, Duane Lang?

.

.

Hi All:

I, for one, am enjoying Dick & Brenda’s trip to Norway tales.  I’m just wondering, though……….Dick, did you tell your relatives any Norwegian jokes?????????

Paula I. Fassett

just stood there, and I tried to maneuver my chilly body behind some brush, and they kept moving around.  The other guys

Police investigate the death of 19-year-old in Grand Forks

Evan D. Poitra

Cleaning out old email, I found this. Thanks for the smile Gary Stokes!

Short and Funny

I dialed a number and got the following recording: “I am not available right now, but thank you for caring enough to call. I am making some changes in my life. Please leave a message after the beep. If I do not return your call, You are one of the changes.”
~~~~~
At pilots training back in the Air Corps they taught us,
“Always try to keep the number of landings you make
Equal to the number of take offs you make.”
~~~~~
Aspire to inspire before you expire.
~~~~~
My wife and I had words, but I didn’t get to use mine.
~~~~~
Frustration is trying to find your glasses…without your glasses.
~~~~~
Blessed are those who can give without remembering and take without forgetting.
~~~~~
The irony of life is that by the time you’re old enough to know your way around, you’re not going anywhere.
~~~~~
God made man before woman so as to give him time to think of an answer for her first question.
~~~~~
I was always taught to respect my elders,
but it keeps getting harder to find one.
~~~~~
Every morning is the dawn of a new error.

Part 1 of 3 – Metcalfe’s Clouds, Thunder and Lightening

Posted by Vickie Metcalfe (’70):  Bottineau, ND

Gary and Dunseith Blog friends,

Please bear with me during this July, as I tell this tale in at least three parts.

Part I

                For everything there is a season.
This is the season of my life, when I have finally chosen to write about clouds, thunder and LIGHTENING. 

                Clouds, Thunder and LIGHTENING; and why the Cliff Metcalfe  branch of the Metcalfe clan makes  an unspoken choice. The choice, always concludes with action,

                STOP. Get off the machinery or horse. Go inside.               

In my earliest memory, my family began the haying season in earnest in July.  Dad would mow alfalfa, clover or timothy, let dry to cure, then rake and stack before the ‘’’’rains’’.

The “tame hay” ;1^st cutting Alfalfa and Clover were always first, then Timothy and finally meadow hay.  The best cutting of sweet hay unblemished by rain, was hauled to the barn, lifted into the haymow  with various pulleys and oft times pure horse power.  This precious hay was saved for the milch cows, in  the midst of winters cold breath whilst the frost was thick upon the walls.

I believe I had completed 2^nd grade in Mrs. Hansen’s  combination room on the old gym stage. And I was lookin forward to moving into 3^rd grade come fall.

A July 28^th ,  like none other,  I dasn’t forget is permanently etched.  It is the colour of a bright glowing shiny dime into memory. Time. I refer to was in the early ‘60’s

T’was an ordinary summer morning but with an anticipation of excitement, we knew it was not ordinary at all. My sister and I were quite excited for July 28^th . It meant  the summer birthday of our cousin. Our family would drive north after supper to celebrate with the family of Martha and Dean.  Martha’s mom, Dorothy had a knack for baking cake  and decorating.

We did our usual morning chores, helping in the barn,  separating and washing each disc  from the cream separator, carrying water and breakfast dishes.

While our mother, prepared the noon dinner, my sister and I took the old blue blanket out into the front yard, spread under the big Elm tree, sat waiting listening, until the time to run up the hill to fetch the mail.

Dad was out on the  flat, the “Homestead” with Sonny haying.  They had started that field the day before and it was perfect drying weather.  The “Homestead” was located within a  mile south west of  Art and  “Eva’s. 

Finally calling from the house, mom told us it was time to go get the mail.  We loved that job.  Everyday on the farm, mail was our treasured mystery, what would it be today?

Would  brown Jenny Wren be building her nest in the mailbox?  If lucky, we might get a glimpse of her on sitting on the nest!

Perhaps, the Dakota Farmer came?  Mom liked the recipes and stories, Dad the ads, and Me? I rather liked, looking for the  funnies,always trying to figure out the humor.

My sister and I walked up the hill  through the gate to the mail box. Mom liked  us to hurry because  when Dad and Sonny came in for dinner she wanted  the water to be poured cold into glasses.

The mail had come. We  had just reached and  pulled it out of the box,when_______”BOOM”___thunder?

Surprised me,  because looking  at the sky, I was seeing only about three  clouds  south in a clear blue sky with the bright sun overhead.

Splat….Few rare big splatting  sprinkles hit us dashing down  down the hill to the house. Splat.

 Oft away in the distance, a few booms.

Rains did not come.

                No LIGHTENING?

                                No more big thunder booms ?

Dinner was ready. Water poured, glasses  were condensing…..

                NO Dad and Sonny . 

We did not eat.   (At our house, at that time, we never ate until everyone was at the table ) My sister and I went out into the yard sat on the blue blanket waiting.  I cannot recall if mom got a telephone call or not.  We had a persnickety ringer telephone, Our ring was  a short– a  long___ a-short ring.

We girls sat  waiting on the blue blanket under the shady Elm tree.  A long wait. Listening…..to the quiet.

Listen.

Finally, we hearing the sound of the pickup coming up the big hill  from the west, by the East well.  The black Ford pickup slowly crunching on the gravel, slowing at our gate, turned, and came down the hill to our right.

 Dad  was   ____alone. _____he was__ all___alone.

The black pickup  stopped by the door,  dad sat for a time quiet, he got out, went into the house and spoke with mom.  We girls said not a word. I don’t believe I even breathed.   Something was wrong.

The door shut quietly as dad came to the blanket on the grass.   Solemnly, we kept quiet. 

Dad sat then leaned back, laid his head down on the blanket. He said nothing. All we heard, just the sound of his deep slow breaths.

I think my sister and I both knew something bad happened.  My chest hurt. An awful feeling in my gut, like couple years before when our uncle was killed.

  Dad spoke not a word, just weary breaths.

We said not a word going to the house, our mom spoke.

She said, “Sonny is dead.”

 I don’t remember  the rest of the afternoon, doing chores or eating supper.

We did  get in the car and drove up to Floyd and Dorothy’s. I don’t recall much of Martha’s party, grown ups murmuring quiet voices.

I do know I was there with my family, and we were not alone.

 A heavy black feeling had followed us there.

This is all for today.

Thanks Gary,

Until part 2.

Later. Vickie

.

.

      Posting from Neola Kofoid Garbe:  Bottineau & Minot, ND

.

Saying Goodbye to Mother

    We were 
dressed, and ready to go out for the New Years Eve Party. We 
turned on a night light, turned the answering machine 
on, covered our 
pet parakeet, and put the cat in the back yard.
   We phoned the local cab company and requested a taxi. 
The taxi
 arrived, and we opened the front door to leave the house. 
As we walked out the door, the cat we had put out in the 
yard, scoots 
back into the house. We didn’t want the cat shut in the 
house 
because she always tries to eat the bird.


    My wife goes on out to the taxi while I went back 
inside to get the
 cat. The cat runs upstairs with me in hot pursuit. 
Waiting in the
 cab, my wife doesn’t want the driver to know that the
 house will be 
empty for the night.  So she explains to the taxi driver 
that I will 
be out soon. “He’s just going upstairs to say goodbye to 
Mother.” 


    A few minutes later, I get into the cab.  “Sorry I took 
so long,” I
 said, as we drove away. “That stupid bitch was hiding
 under the bed.  I had to poke her ass with a coat hanger to get her to 
come out!  She 
tried to take off,  so I grabbed her by the neck.   Then I
 had to wrap 
her in a blanket to keep her from scratching me, but it 
worked!  I
 hauled her fat ass downstairs and threw her out into the back yard!”

    The cab driver hit a parked car.

Gary,

Please give my regards to Bernadette.

I so liked the photo and pie story, you shared on her birthday.

To my Dunseith friends, this tale is about rhubarb.

Life sometimes throws us tangy, yet if we look closer, perhaps, 

can find, sweeter Knowledge.

Once again, with Gary’s  story of Bernadette’s Pumpkin dessert

 I recall  my first  attempt, baking from scratch _Homemade Rhubarb Cake.

side note ( I don’t believe I ever used a cake mix from a box until I was an adult,)

I believe, I was going into the 4th grade.

I had finally recovered from appendix surgery, and was moving  free again.

One morning, after breakfast, I asked my mom if I could bake, and ran to the patch. 

I looked and found rosy red, tender rhubarb stalks which I pulled, and cleaned there in the garden.

I estimated and filled a flat pan,went to the house, got a sharp knife and the cutting board, sat on the steps,

I chopped rhubarb like I had watched my mother.

Mom had pulled her recipe from her box and gave it to me.

I  read the recipe and did not ask questions or for  any  help.

After all, I was going into 4th grade and I had read 98 books in third!

……I was “so full of myself again………”

After the pitiful hospital experience in later May, with determined outlook,

 I once again claimed back my inner INDEPENDENT nature!

I set the oven on preheat.

I gathered ingredients; cream, sugar, salt, eggs, flour, vanilla.

I got to use Mom’s electric Sunbeam mixer!

And,  I mixed while  keeping all the tools clean.

I kept fingers out of the bowl, absolutely NO licking! 

Yes, I was tempted, but more than determined.

 I did not want to jinx this, first time.

I placed chopped rhubarb with sugar in the bottom of the old cake pan. 

I put in the 1 tsp. of pure vanilla, and inhaled the smell. 

Then folded,and smoothed batter over the rhubarb.

Perfect, Perfection……..

I did waste,  a taste,  or  a lick! 

 I was not to be deterred by a quick finger lick, however tempting.

The cake pan went into the combination wood/electric stove.

I  waited and watched, the clock for the alloted time,and kept busy.

YES!

 For my first cake making experience,  that  afternoon,

as others watched “Queen for A Day” on Television,

 I truly OWNED the kitchen!

Our family had just gotten running water that May. 

While I was hospitalized, Dad hired Duane Sorbin from Bottineau.

He had finished digging a deep ditch to bring water from the well

and  another to a drain field for the sewer. 

I did not know this was going to happen.  In those days in privacy,

 parents made quiet plans and discussed finances without children.

My parents were two of a kind, savers. They saved so they could finally have running water,

and indoor plumbing. 

No more going out side to out house toilet or dumping winter slop pails!

No more heating water on the stove!  No more carrying buckets of water from the well!

My parents did not tell us about this changing event until one day it was there, it began 

while I was hospitalized.

Somehow, in our family there were ingrained  lessons, like, 

don’t go to school to brag about what the family has.

It was so much fun, because I had used Mom’s electric Sunbeam mixer,

 all by myself and I did not tangle  scraper or spoon in the beaters.  

For once I was careful….I was on my own. It was only me, Queen of the kitchen!

I got to clean up in a stainless steel sink, with hot water flowing from a tap!

I did not have to carry waste water out to water out door flowers.

Me?  I did this whole thing by myself.

NO help or  or going for advice.

Without a lick……Lickety split!

 I washed  the batter bowl,mixer, spoons and wiped the counter.

Then, tiptoed around the kitchen careful about a falling cake.

I did not peek into the oven.

Heavenly aromas______fragrant  mix of mom’s pure vanilla,

 and tangy sweet rhubarb filled the house and my senses.

I was fairly dizzy with delight.It smelled so goooood.

 I allowed myself to  finally opened the oven at the correct time,

that cake so golden brown edges were just pulling away and the tooth pick came out clean.

The cake looked and smelled beautifully perfect.

Once carefully put in a cooling place, I went off to do outside chores.

Mom began making swiss steak, fresh small garden potatoes and peas for supper.

After barn chores, milching feeding calves  and such.

Dad and Ward came in and washed up with plenty of hot water and soap.

They had spent a day of fencing in south pasture woods with Skippy the dog, 

 and  accompanied by…many, many ticks. 

Dad with his pliers and Ward with his teeth……….

At the supper table I could not contain myself to be done eating the main course.

Finally time came, 

I got up and cut the cake into perfectly…. big pieces. Yumm, 

 I continued to resist temptation and placed on plates in front of each person.

I watched dad, when he said how good my cake looked.

He took a bite.

His eyes got big and he swallowed and said, “Umm, Vickie after the supper your mom made,

I can’t eat any more.” (disappointed)

Everyone else took a bite. Not one took a second bite.

No one……….

My sister began snickering which erupted with uncontrollable giggling.

Confused, I bit into my piece.   UGH! S-a-l-t  etched into my pride, my poor  wounded pride.

Eyes teared, as hopes for perfect were dashed by a whole lotta salt.

The stomach fell to my feet, thoughts, 

“How could this have happened, I followed the recipe to   a “T” and a “t”?

Without  a word, only Ward kept eating, he’d  take another bite,  and another, 

he finished eating one piece. 

He  said, “Vickie this is good cake, can I please have another?”

At that moment, I soared into a life lesson.

 “For as much as we dream, plan, follow  directions, and work toward a goal,

sometimes plans just don’t always turn out  the way we imagine.”

“Dreams can be struck downward in a split second and disappointment fill the soul……”

A sometimes cruel lesson. 

Stop, think,look closer with awareness, and another gift may appear.

As I look back now and think I didn’t get just one GIFT.

I got many GIFTS that day.

My mother, Lottie,did not scold, because I, put 4 teaspoons of salt not the recipes 1/4 teaspoon.

She did not critically say, “You wasted good food”. 

She  just quietly cleaned the table. Then, showed me the recipe.

She said, my mistake in messy writing. But, there it was; 1/4 in her writing.

My father did not put me down in anger.

He quietly,pushed away his supper plate,  politely said,  “It looks good Vickie,

I ate too much of your mothers cooking, don’t believe I can eat another bite.”

And little  Ward Anthony?

Ward Allen Anthony said my cake looked and  smelled good.

He ate not one but two big  pieces.

Awareness, a marvelous glimpse knowledge about my father.

I finally, learned what my father Cliff Metcalfe, knew.

Look beyond, the smell, the snuice chewing, never bathing, 

the reeking smell permeating the house after he left,

his snapping ticks with his teeth, yodeling,the  squeaky fiddle playing, his silly stories and giggles,

and his odd misshapen skull.  

All things that often people found they could use to tease him like an object.

That day ,I too ,saw what my dad saw. 

One of God’s  own.”A good person. A human with a kind and gentle spirit.”

My first lesson in rhubarb?

Life does at times throw experiences which make me sour.

If I’m lucky the experience is a wee bit tangy.

Hope you all found  happy midsomer’s dreams……

I do believe soon when  this North Dakota June rain lets up.

I will go to my patch, pull and gather juicy, rosy red rhubarb,

fill my house with tangy smells and sweeter wonderful memories.

Thanks, Gary,

I do have a hot July thunderstorm story which I intend to  through my memories.

As ever,

Vickie