Bordertowns: Chapter 4

Dear Readers:

The chapter you are about to read, is very special. Once you read it, you'll understand. It is full of details of what life would have been like in our area 130+ years ago. But it gets better. Not only does the author draw a vivid picture of what life was like, but he brings it alive with amazing characterizations of the very kind of individuals that created our communities. They could be our grandparents, or great grandparents. Read on, and lose yourself in the next chapter of Bordertowns, by the one and only Charles Walker... ____________________
The next morning Patrick and Ian applied for work at the railroad contractor's shanty, and were hired to start work at seven o'clock the following morning. The job called for a ten-hour day and a six-day week, scraping dirt from either side of the survey stakes to build up the right-of-way for the rails. Each man was to receive $1.50 per day, but as Patrick furnished his own team, he was to receive an extra $2.00 each day.

That same afternoon Ian and Patrick purchased a sulky plow at the Ashdown Hardware and successfully dickered for three mules and their harness at Vance's Livery in Emerson. Ian's selection of a riding horse took more time, seeing they had to attend the corral at West Lynne to make that purchase. With his father's guidance, Ian selected a nearly coal-black gelding, a bit over four years of age, standing nearly fifteen hands.

At first, both Patrick and Maggy felt like strangers while attending the Presbyterian Church service. Reverend John Scott put them at ease with his comment after the service. "It seems strange we Presbyterians have to hold our service in the Baptist Church, but it's only temporary, until we can build. Why, the younger members are already planning a concert to raise money for an organ." He leaned to Maggy's ear and whispered, "Some of the elders don't approve, but I do like music."

Maggy grinned conspiratively, "More power to them. Pastor, and I like music too!"

That Sunday afternoon Patrick and Ian assisted Jerold in striking off furrows on the new land in Minnesota. One week later, Jerold completed plowing slightly more than the required ten acres. He also plowed a good-sized garden by their tent, which Maggy and Mary hoed fine and seeded to vegetables.

Inexperienced at letter writing, Maggy determined to write Patrick's father and mother, outlining their present situation. When she finished the letter she was dissatisfied, for it seemed dull and commonplace.

Emerson
June 22, l877

Dear Father and Mother,

We made the trip in only eight days and had no trouble. All people we contacted were helpful. People are different here! Our total cost was $105 for the boat. $70 was for our passage and $35 for the team and wagons. We were four days and nights until arriving in Duluth and were fortunate in getting a small cabin. The boys slept outside for the weather was good.

We are living in Canada along the line fence that separates us from the state of Minnesota. It is only a short walk to the Red River where the steamboats run every day, and the fishing is good, if you have the time. We see the United States soldiers from the fort for they often ride along their side of the fence. They are friendly, and wave to us, especially to Mary!

Pat got two quarters of land in Minnesota and Jerold broke ten acres on it this past week. We wouldn't have had to do anything to it this year, but we are hurrying.

Everyone gets a town lot in Emerson for free. It is to encourage people to build here. There are settlers here from Orillia and Beaverton, Irishers and lots of Scots. You have never seen such soil! Anything will grow!

Mary is well thought of and boys and men come by often. She is to begin teaching at the school. The people here are different, and you are treated nasty like in dirty Orillia. We hope to build a house before fall, and then, when we move to the land in the States, sell it.

The nearest post office is at the Hudson Bay post at West Lynne, just across the river, to the west.

Hope this finds you in the best of health. Write soon.

Maggy

Maggy and Mary had little idle time. They were up at dawn to feed the men, then after tending to household chores, worked in their two huge gardens. Their vegetable plots required constant weeding for the native grasses were difficult to eradicate. They had acquired the second garden, planted mostly to potatoes, when Patrick found a house for rent. When a month passed and no word came from Patrick's father and mother, Maggy began to worry. With Mary's help she composed a second letter:

Emerson
July the 26, l877

Dear Father and Mother,

Why haven't you answered the letter I wrote to you a few days after our arrival here? We have been expecting a letter every day, and are worried. We are all well, but uneasy about you.

Nothing could induce us to leave this area. This is the best country we've ever seen! We rented a house for the remainder of the summer and for the winter. (Instead of building) The owner left a large garden, mostly planted to potatoes. The rent is $25 for each three months.

Food prices seem high at present. Flour is from $2.50 to $3.00 a hundred, eight pounds of sugar for $1.00, tea the same as there, butter 16 cents a pound, eggs 15 cents a dozen, and cordwood $3.00 a cord. The wood comes in four-foot lengths, either oak or ash.

Patrick and Ian are working for the C.P.R. contractors, grading roadbed. The people here call the Canadian Pacific Railway the C.P.R. Jerold is now working in the brickyard, getting a dollar and a quarter a day. Mary is teaching at the school and I am holding everything together.

Mr. Nash, the lawyer at the Canadian Registry office, says I am eligible, the same as the men, for a land grant in Minnesota. He seems to know much about the land on the States' side. There is a quarter near the border not spoken for. Patrick will see to it, but says it is quite far away, to the east. I will have to go with him to sign the papers. Jerold says he will plow the necessary five acres, but it's too late to crop it this year.

We bought a new stove for $20; it holds enough wood to last all night. Furniture is high here, so much so that we do without. We have not even a chair, but have made benches.

The land is so rich. Why people in Orillia with their big gardens would get l00 bushels of potatoes if here. Most families have only two cows and a garden, yet they live well. Our cabbage plants are growing fast and strawberries and raspberries are plentiful. Small Mike made himself four dollars picking raspberries and selling them for 25 cents a quart. We stayed too long in Orillia!

Already we have four churches, two taverns, four stores, a Masonic Lodge and an Orange Lodge. There is nothing we want that we can't get in this town. We are getting two railways next year, the C.P.R. from Winnipeg and the St. Paul and Pacific that Jim Hill is building from Crookston. They are to connect here. It is told a big railway yard is to be built in St. Vincent, just two miles south of us. They have already cleared the land for it.

Steamboats plying between Winnipeg and Fisher's landing stop here, usually four boats each day. We could have driven our team and wagon overland from Crookston, but the riverboat was quicker. Fishing is good in the river and the Indians and breeds are anxious to sell us fish.

The oats Jerold planted on the acres he plowed are already showing well. We will cut it for winter hay as Patrick plans on buying two or three cows before the winter sets...

After completing her second letter to Patrick's father and mother, Maggy's days seemed to fly by. The land agent, Alex Turner¹, helped her secure 160 acres of Minnesota land in her name, although the quarter was several miles to the east. At the time Patrick remarked that it was too far away, but the agent suggested, "Hang onto it, and prove up each year. Eventually someone will come along and offer you a good price."

It took her only a few weeks to realize that heritage seemed to enter into the world of success. Although the Irish outnumbered the Scots in Emerson, Maggy noted the Scots worked and saved. The Irish, on the other hand, seemed content to hang around the local taverns, singing and brawling, constantly arguing about religion.

Maggy rightly guessed Mary's growing listlessness was due to her lack of a letter from Robert; each day her daughter asked about the mail. Gradually her expectations faded and she seemed to withdraw within herself, seldom speaking unless spoken to. Then, in her obvious loneliness, whenever possible she began to meet the steamboats traveling south.

Her days had been full until mid-July when school was dismissed for the summer. Now she was worrying herself sick because of Robert's lack of communication. He had made her feel so special and she had enjoyed feelings she'd never felt before. As each day passed, another small doubt entered her mind and her imagination ran wild. Had he been sincere in what he said, or was it his manner with every girl? Certainly he had met many other attractive women in Ottawa, Montreal and Quebec. Also, he apparently came from a moneyed and well-placed family. Had she been just another conquest? Was she to have her hopes dashed? She pondered, 'Why can't I just forget him and get on with my life?'

It was the last day of July when Mary chanced to meet the Ashdown wagon returning from West Lynne. The driver pulled his rig over and called, "You're Mary McLaren, aren't you? I've a letter addressed to you; it's from Winnipeg."

Sorting through a box beside him, he added, "Mr. Winkler of our store asked me to pick up the Emerson mail while on my delivery. It's foolishness to continue this driving across the river to the Hudson's Bay Post to get the mail. We need a post office in Emerson."

She felt a wild surge of excitement as he handed her the letter. Then, as the man drove on, she hastily tore open the missive. Strange sensations overwhelmed her, almost to the point of breathlessness as she withdrew the several pages. Nagging doubts that had accumulated miraculously vanished as she opened the folds.

Cross Lake, Manitoba,
July 18, l877

Dearest Mary,

I was hired by the C.P.R. contractor the day of my arrival in Winnipeg and left the next morning for the east. Surveys were run here years ago but no one really considered the difficulty of the swamps and muskeg. As fast as we build a roadbed it disappears, literally sinking out of sight. It is there at nightfall, but gone the next morning, as if swallowed by magic. Everyone is frustrated to see thousands upon thousands of tons of gravel and rock sink out of sight into an apparently bottomless swamp. We are working between Cross Lake and Rat Portage now, plagued by mosquitoes. Fortunately, the black flies are dwindling, their season nearly past.

The corruption, nepotism and favoritism of the contractors and their political friends are beyond belief. I believe much of the money appropriated for the railway is pocketed. (Please do not mention it further, for my opinion could cost me my job.) Best I not complain, for the final surveying is not difficult. Oh, I take my turn at cutting brush as do the rodmen and chainmen, but I don't have to do really heavy labor. Yet, I have a problem leveling a transit while standing chest deep in water. My hands and feet look like prunes at night. It's no wonder the workers take to drink. Keeping the men sober is a monumental task.

Our men are Irish, Scots, French-Canadians, Americans, Icelanders, Swedes, Norwegians, English, Mennonites, Breeds and other races, all struggling to put through the roadbed. I fear it will be three or four years before the final steel will be laid.

My pay is now $60 a month; I've proven myself. My supervisor is named Armstrong; he is a fellow surveyor, an exceptional man.

Darling, I will see you sometime this winter when work slows down. Just now there are no other qualified surveyors available. We are all working long hours; night finds me too exhausted to do else..."

She was impatient to get to their personal relationship. She gasped when she came upon the first part:

"I wrote my parents about meeting you, and of your gentleness and beauty. Oh yes, and of my plans for you. They support me, even though I disappointed them by moving west."

Deeper into the letter, she felt her face warming and found herself actually blushing at his exciting prose. After reading the letter a second time, she carefully refolded the pages into the envelope, and then tucked it into her dress, tight against her breast. Walking back home, she felt a wondrous sensation. Hers was a kingdom of dreams and bliss. Most of the first portion of the letter she would disclose to her folks, but the latter pages would remain her delicious secret.

Finally a letter arrived from Patrick's father and mother. Maggy's mind was eased. The pages passed from hand to hand until they were limp and wrinkled. After a long morning spent working in the garden, she sat down to answer.

Emerson
July 30, 1877

Dear Father and Mother,

We received your letter today and were glad to hear of your being well, as this leaves us enjoying the same blessing. It has been so long that we had nearly given up on you.

Emerson is still our home and we will winter here. Pat plans to build on our farm in Minnesota next summer, that is, if he can find the time. Both he and Ian are working long hours for the C.P.R. Next summer they will lay the sleepers and steel rails. (The wood cross ties under the rails are called sleepers by the crews here.) Hopefully the trains will run by late fall of '78. Work on the other side of the line from Warren, Minnesota, to St. Vincent seems slow. Still it is said that end of the line will be completed first. Of course it was already graded to Warren, Minnesota in '72, so they haven't as far to go. When the road is finished to Winnipeg, it's expected that hordes of settlers will come from the east and Europe. Most of the land hereabouts in Minnesota is taken, except for what the St. Paul and Pacific Railroad owns, and is to sell in the future. And that is a great amount of land!

Jerold works for McRae and Ferguson, who own the brick factory. He has just turned 14 years. We depend upon him as much as we do Pat and Ian. He is almost as tall as Pat and still growing, very muscular and strong. I believe he will outstrip both Pat and Ian.

I am proud of our family and especially proud of Ian. He helped keep the wolf away while we were in Orillia, and now he is his own man. He plans on buying land when the railroad sells, for he does not qualify for a grant due to his age. Pat will help Jerold get land at the same time. Both of our older boys have grown to be courteous and kind men, no drinkers. Yet, neither will accept any abuse. The town girls are after Ian, but he seems to have no favorite.

Pat purchased three fine cows just yesterday; two are milking and one is to calf in September. This is free-range country, meaning cattle can roam anywhere, but if they get into someone's garden or crops, they can be seized until damages are paid. Mike is now our herder, with Mary to assist. Jerold will cut the oats on our acreage as soon as it gets high enough for hay. It was seeded very late. Oh, you can get thousands of tons of prairie hay if you wish. All you have to do is cut and stack it. Hay is everywhere.

There is a great demand for milk, butter and vegetables. We plan on more cattle when we move to the farm. The half-breeds are the only ones selling garden stock; nobody else has time. Of course most families have small gardens for the table.

The climate here in summer is the same as back home. Our garden is flourishing, as the Lord has been generous with rain. You've never seen better potatoes or cabbages. There are fine cows here, brought up from the south. Food prices are dropping, flour $2.50 per hundred, sugar 10 pounds for a dollar and the best beef steak only 10 cents a pound. We have a new gristmill, another tavern, three blacksmith shops and six new stores. Most of our wash water comes from the Red River, hauled by cart. Mary and I save the soft rain water from the roof to wash our hair.

Mike has a pet baby badger that Jerold found in the field. It follows Mike everywhere like a puppy dog and does not bite. In fact, except for its waddling action, it acts almost like a dog.

Now is my sad, or rather good news. You are the first to know. I am three months along with a baby. Foolish me, thinking there would be no more. I haven't had the courage to tell Pat yet, but perhaps tonight. He is working such long hours and so hard I dread breaking the news. I know he didn't plan on any more children.

Don't throw away your spare looms. If you come here I might make some rag carpets.

Maggy

Patrick found the first few days of walking behind his team and handling the heavy horse scraper trying. Glancing toward Ian, he saw no slackness there. Although his body glistened with sweat, his son handled his team and scraper with ease. Ian's long, muscular legs and effortless stride made the work look easy.

Lordy, Patrick thought, it's simple for a young man! I ache in every joint. Still, I'm glad we left Orillia. Why, Maggy took to this move without a complaint, and not a murmur from either Jerold or Mary. Even small Mike thought the trip was a lark. He twisted his shoulders to slip his sweat-soaked shirt from under his armpits where it was binding.

Though he longed for a smoke, the two horses demanded his full attention. Slapping the reins on the rumps of his team, he encouraged them to climb the embankment. Suddenly the scent of his own perspiration reached his nostrils and he realized how rank he smelled. A little like a polecat, he thought. Yet, two more years of picking up extra work and we'll be independent -- then to hell with the railroad!

Already he could vision golden wheat, chest high, each head holding sixty kernels. And now the railroad was being built just in time to haul future wheat crops to the mills in St. Paul.

At noon he joined Ian for their sandwiches and cold tea. Many of the men carried only large pails of beer made at the West Lynne Brewery. It was strong and cheap, costing only fifteen cents for a six-quart pail.

"Long morning," he commented to Ian.

"A longer afternoon coming." Ian's face bore a wry grin. "Trouble is, this long day leaves us little time to work on the land."

"Jerold is keeping up."

"Pa, we can't push too much on him. He's just turned fourteen." Then he said morosely, "I hope the foreman will give me another team soon. The horses I'm driving are old and played out. I hate to force these old plugs beyond their strength."

A man resting nearby spoke up. "That boss is a miserable bastard. He won't give you anything. Seems all he wants is to work us from can see, to can't see. Hell, if his head was full of gunpowder and he had a match, he couldn't even blow his nose."

Another man broke in, "That crooked-necked whore's son hates himself!"

Patrick made no comment because their foreman was new on the job, having come down from Winnipeg. The man was huge, with a dour look that brooked no sass. He walked with a swagger, was curt with the crew and did no work himself. His only effort was to shout and curse at the men as he sat on an unused scraper, his jaw busy with a cud of tobacco. His neck deformity added to his formidable appearance.

"Time! Time! Back to work!" The cry came along the line.

As Ian stood and turned toward his team, he said, "Pa, I'll be late to supper tonight. Look at this," he added ruefully. As he held up one boot, the sole dropped limply. "Have to get new boots. Can't use these any longer."

"Stay away from the girls!" Patrick joshed as he arose.

Looking back over his shoulder, Ian grinned.

Ian was absent when they sat to the table that evening. When the last platter of food was placed and Maggy and Mary sat down, Patrick offered a short grace. Maggy glanced around, and then said nervously, "Before we eat, I have an announcement to make. I'm going to have a young one this winter."

For seconds there was a total silence. Then Patrick broke into loud laughter. Mary and the two boys were stunned and looked at their Father as if he had gone mad. Shocked at his action, Maggy stormed, "And what are you laughing at, you bloody clown?"

"Faith now!" He began to wipe his eyes. "I wondered how long it would take you to tell me. My gosh, Maggy, did you think you could hide that from me when we sleep together every night?"

Relief soared through her like a cooling breeze. "Then you're not disappointed?"

He smiled as he looked around at the others. "Why no, 'Course you're getting a bit long in the tooth to have another, but we'll manage." Suddenly he was serious. "We'll have to take mighty good care of you."

She protested, "I'm as strong as a horse. There's naught wrong with me."

As Jerold and Mike began to smile, Mary broke in, "Oh, Mother, a sister I hope!"

"Naw, I want a brother!" Mike spoke up forcefully. Jerold stood, walked over to his nother, and bent to kiss her cheek. Then he said quietly, "Congratulations are in order, Mother. We'll be happy, boy or girl."

¹ - Alexander Turner (as the majority of the characters in Chuck's stories are) was a very real person who settled, lived, and died in St. Vincent. Alex was born February 14, 1832 in Tweed, Berwickshire, Scotland4, and died September 21, 1917 in St. Vincent, Kittson Co., Minnesota. He married Margaret Purvis February 23, 1849 in Bunkle & Preston, Berwickshire, Scotland. She was born July 16, 1827 in Berwickshire,Scotland, and died July 18, 1905 in Kittson Co., Minnesota.

An article in the St. Vincent New Era on October 5, 1917 reads:

Mr. Alexander Turner died at his home in this village and 5 o'clock, on Friday, Sept. 21st, 1917, age 85 years, 7 months, and 7 days. Deceased was born in Berwickshire, Scotland. He immigrated the Eastern Canada in 1851 and came to the
United States in 1867. He lived in Goodhue County, Minnesota, for several years prior to his coming to this section in 1876. Deceased was one of the first settlers in this part of Kittson County. What is now the Blair farm was his homestead. In the seventies and early eighties, Mr. Turner acted as homestead locator for those seeking government land in this section. In 1909, he moved into this village to enjoy the fruits of his many years of hard labor. He was a man of strong convictions, candid, outspoken, fearless and honorable. He was a big factor in the development of this section in the early days, being closely identified by public affairs and a hard worker in securing homesteads for any who were seeking land homes. He was the father of seven children, six of whom are living, viz: Robert John, William and James Turner of St. Vincent and Alexander and David Turner of Emerson, and Mrs. C.E. Johnson of Ellsworth. Wisconsin. One daughter Jessie, died while yet a child. The funeral service was held at the residence in this village, at 2 P.M. Sunday. The Rev. Avlward of the Emerson Presbyterian church, in charge. The remains were interred in the Emerson cemetery beside those of his wife, who preceded him several years.

More About Alexander Turner:
Burial: September 25, 1917, Emerson, Manitoba, Canada
Cause of Death: General Exhaustion
Occupation: Farmer, land assessor
Politics: Republican
Religion: Presbyterian
Residence: 1910, St. Vincent Twp, Kittson, Minnesota

Canada/US Border: Passport Now Mandatory

The new law is fully in effect as of this week. I am ready for it, with my passport and all, but boy, I wish they could do photo retakes...! I look pretty strange in mine - and since then I have lost a lot of weight. But hopefully they'll still believe it is me!

Fan Mail

This blog generates a lot of interest among expatriates from the area. And there is nothing I love more than hearing from them.

The message below was received by me recently from one such individual, John Krogness Hansen. It is an amazing recollection of his time living in our area, written a lifetime later. It is so vivid, I wanted to share it with all of you...

I have enjoyed St. Vincent Memories for a period of time, so tardily, have decided to send you a note of appreciation for what you are doing. It's almost like you know me and are trying hard to assemble materials to please me! Keep it up! I feel you may have some interest in who is reading your material and why we have a shared a continuing interest in St. Vincent, Pembina and the surrounding area.

My parents, John and Margaret Hansen, were living in Pembina when I was born in the Hallock hospital in June 1926. They were renting a home on the south side of the coulee across the street from the Doc Harris home. My father was one of the first five people appointed to the Customs Patrol and was stationed in Pembina. The following year he received a permanent Customs appointment as an Inspector and Deputy Collector at Noyes, MN. In November of 1928 he was transferred and opened the Port of Entry at Noonan, ND. While I have memories from this period, at the age of two they are limited.

After eight years in Noonan and two years in Portal , my father was transferred back to Noyes as Acting Appraiser and Deputy Collector in January 1939. We rented space in the north half of the Doc Harris home plus one bedroom upstairs on the Harris side. (This was during the period when Chuck Walker was away at school so, for all I know, it could have been in his former bedroom. Because of the timing, I knew most members of the Harris family very well (except for Chuck.) This was the first time our family had enjoyed an inside bathroom and running water but our arrangement was rather interesting. We shared the same bathroom with the Harris family and it was located just off of our kitchen area. The doors to both apartments would be left closed but unlocked. When in use by a member of our family, we locked their door. When in use by the Harris family, they did the same.

Father contracted the construction of a new home almost immediately and by the start of a next school year we had moved in. We were now located on the same street as the Catholic Rectory but at the west end of the block. This also placed us at a location kitty-corner from where the old courthouse was located. All that remained of the courthouse was its sunken foundation and its sewer system. The sewer system meandered by our home and down to the Red River. My father was aware of this during construction so this sewer line now served our new home.

I was in the middle of the seventh grade when we returned to Pembina. Because of WW II, I accelerated my high school program so I could graduate and enter the service when I turned 17. I was involved in athletics, band, boy scouts and many other activities and had the good fortune of having some very good teachers. I had friends from Pembina, St. Vincent and Noyes..

At that time, the kids from St. Vincent and Noyes were attending Pembina High School. Short's Cafe was our high school hangout. We would often stop in there after the Thursday night or weekend movie. With gas rationing, many of the trips from Pembina to Short's Cafe were made by foot crossing over the old Red River bridge.

While in high school, I worked as a part time clerk and delivery boy for Heneman's Cash Store. (Interestingly, many people charged and settled up at the end of the month.) This meant I was in charge of the stores Model A and used it to deliver groceries in Pembina and St. Vincent. This was another opportunity to meet people.

I lived in close proximity to Pembina in 1948-51, when I served as superintendent and basketball coach in the Bathgate schools. From 1951-55, I served in the same position at Crary, ND. While retuning to Pembina for my brother's wedding in August 1952, my wife gave birth to our oldest son, Mark, at the Fitzpatrick Nursing Home in St. Vincent. We stayed also in Pembina during the summer of 1954 when I had a temporary appointment in the US Customs.

My father was working as Custom Appraiser in the Pembina District Office when he died in 1961. My mother stayed on for several years before selling her home to be near her sister in Fergus Falls. After that our visits to Pembina became less frequent but would still occur for reunions and, sometimes, just to touch base.

Recently you added a number of pictures on the 1950 flood. I found them very interesting since I knew the photographer, they were excellent pictures and that was the year I got married. The flood did complicate the planning.

Mother Nature was playing games that Spring which mad the occasion especially memorable. The Red, Pembina and Tongue had all escaped their river bank and once again occupied vast portions of the bed of the ancient glacial Lake Agassiz. To the east was almost all water with the exception of some roadways or higher potions of ground. In Pembina, my parents home had flooded. In Bathgate, the home of my future in-laws had an early inundation from the Tongue. Even the Bathgate School, where I was finishing my second year as superintendent, was flooded. (It was a strange feeling standing in an upper story classroom to see the water a half mile away and heading for out building. We evacuated immediately and soon the school and school yard were flooded.

The flooding was not the start of my problems. It was a 42 mile trip from Bathgate to Langdon where my future wife was employed. We had well above normal snowfall that winter and getting through the Pembina Mountains en route became a progressively difficult challenge. My 48 Plymouth was equipped for many potential emergencies. It had a block heater and snow tires. In the trunk, I kept a shovel, chains, an old coat for under-wheel-tractions, a sleeping bag, and food. Sometime, in a blizzard, you would keep a window open to help look for the side of the road. You learned to judge snow drifts as you drove. In some cases you would accelerate. In some cases you would shovel. In a few instances, you might put on the chains and detour around through a farmer's field in order to by pass an otherwise impossible road blockage. In the end, snow plows gave up a loosing battle and Highway 5 remained blocked for the rest of the winter and did not open up again until about the middle of June. Langdon could only be reached by a near 200 mile detour to the south.

One weekend I picked up my bride to be in Langdon and brought her back to Bathgate for fitting her wedding dress. In order that we both could be at work on time that coming Monday, we arranged for a small plane to fly her back to Langdon. When she was ready to move back to Bathgate before the wedding, I again made the 200 mile detour trip to Langdon but our return trip to Bathgate was shorter and easier. I headed east and north using several county roads to end up on the escarpment just above the City of Walhalla. There was a road covered with a deep layer of mud that slowly followed the path of the road down the hill that went straight down into Walhalla. I entered this ooze, which came up to running board level ,and gently steered my way to the bottom. At that point, a person with a tractor pulled us for about a half block so we were out of the mud and could continue on our way.

My father was taking care of our flooded home in Pembina. Getting him out of there and to the wedding presented another challenge. While most of the land was under water, the County road to the east towards Highway 81 was serviceable except for two rather large washouts. Local farmers had resolved this problem by placing parallel bridge planks across these washouts. I was not too enthusiastic about their solution but if you made absolute certain they were parallel, the right distance apart and you could drive straight, they were possible to cross in an automobile. In order to not add weight to my car, and possibly other reasons, my passengers did elect to get out and walk or crawl across these planks. With slight unease on each occasion, I crossed these chasms going and our return trip. Reaching Highway 81, we drove north toward Pembina finally stopping where water covered the rode just south of the Pembina airport. Using hip boots and a pole, to avoid falling into the ditch, we waded north a short distance to the section line north of the airport. Following this road over to the Northern Pacific RR track, we only had about a mile to walk into town. Meeting Dad, we reversed our track and headed back to Bathgate.

My best man came by train from Minneapolis to Noyes, MN. The National Guard provided transportation to Pembina by duck boat and from there you know the route.

I probably have already written too much in introducing myself and expressing interest in your site. So, again, thank you, and I'll be visiting!

Looking South

Taken from Canadian side of border, looking south, this is the Emerson, MB/Pembina, ND border crossing. [Courtesy James McClelland, Emerson...]

I know - the last thing most of us wanted to see was MORE flood photos! But I really liked this shot.

MHS on YouTube: Hill Family Collection

Type rest of the post here

Weather: Early Observations I

Alexander Henry, known by some as Henry the Younger to distinguish him from his well-known uncle, was a prominent figure in Canada's North West Fur Company during the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. He spent considerable time exploring, hunting, and trapping in the Red River Valley and helped establish old Fort Pembina just across the river from present-day St. Vincent, Minnesota. A literate man, Henry was one of the first pioneers in the region to keep a journal that contained detailed weather observations. Documents suggest that he established his trading post on the same ground used by Charles Chaboillez¹ in 1797. Chaboillez was a partner in the North West Fur Company who later supervised a company post on Lake Superior. He, too, kept a journal of his activities near the junction of the Pembina and Red rivers, but it lacked the weather and climate detail of Henry's.

Henry traded alcohol, tools, and weapons with the native americans who lived near Fort Pembina: the Dakota tribes of the plains on the western side of the river (later North Dakota) and the Ojibwe on the eastern side of the river. He was meticulous in keeping daily weather observations from September 1807 through June 1808.

The landscape of northwestern Minnesota was vastly different during Henry's time. Buffalo and beaver were abundant, as were red deer, moose, bear, and wolves. The wide river valley was populated with tall prairie grasses and old trees (oak, birch, maple, pine, poplar, and willow, among others) and dotted with wetland areas (sedge and marsh.) A mosaic of trails and paths devoid of vegetation weaved across this prairie where the abundant buffalo herds trampled and compacted the heavy, wet soils. In addition to hunting buffalo and red deer for food, Henry and his men had good luck fishing the Red River, which was full of sturgeon.

Henry prized his daily journal of weather and nature observations, three volumes of which were published in 1897. Though some historians consider the Henry documents to be dry and humorless, for climatologists they are a treasure trove for use in evaluating the weather behaviors of a bygone era. His records are also noteworthy because they include climate descriptions of the area before the end of the Little Ice Age (1850)², a relatively cooler period for the northern hemisphere.

The Minnesota State Climatology Office has archived records of Henry's daily weather observations from September 1, 1807, to June 1, 1808. These include morning, midday, and evening observations of air temperature, wind, and sky condition, along with remarks describing the day's character. The following tables show comparisons between Henry's observations and current published climatic normals at Pembina, North Dakota, and at Hallock, Minnesota.

In general the tables show that the climate of the Red River Valley during 1807-8 ws similar in temperature to today's climate, with one major exception: April was a remarkably warm month, producing a rapid and early break-up of ice on the Red River, with associated flooding. Henry noted the return of migratory birds as early as April 4 and 5. He also brags of enormously successful sturgeon fishing: on April 24 he "set a sturgeon net and caught 3 instantly." A more detailed book shows that the lowest temperature measured by Henry during the winter was -30F on February 18, quite close to the modern era's usual lowest winter temperature, which ranges from -30 to -35F at Hallock and Pembina. The coldest spell in February 1807 also coincided with some of the strongest winds Henry noted, likely producing wind-chill conditions in the -50F or colder range. However, the winter of 1807-8 saw only 43 days with temperatures below zero degrees Fahrenheit. Modern records from Pembina and Hallock both show an average of 67 days each winter with such temperatures. Thus, Henry and his men did not have to endure the persistent cold that Mother Nature usually brings to the area.

From Minnesota Weather Almanac, by Mark W. Seeley (Published by Minnesota Historical Society © 2006)

¹ - Charles Chaboilliez (Chaboille/Chaboillier) IV: (b.1772, Montreal - d.1812, Mascouche, Lower Canada) Charles was the son of Charles III & Marguerite Larcheveque and he married Jessy Bruce in 1811 at Quebec. Their children were; Charles V (1805-1863), Jean, Marguerite, Pierre (b.abt.1808) (m.Josette bef.1841), & Louise (b.1809)(m.Allan Morrison).

In May of 1791 he was hired by Joseph Frobisher for 4 years as a North West Company clerk. He was at the Cumberland House & Ile-a-la-Crosse NWC posts until he was assigned to the Assiniboine & Red River Departments in 1796. While trading at the mouth of the Pembina River he kept a journal until the summer of 1798. The list of his voyageurs include: Dubois, Chaurette, Roy, Bercier, Desjarlaix, Sauve, Bourret, Francois Delorme, Richards(the HBC trader that left that company to join Chaboilliez), Mineclier, Le Duc, Bertrand, Chevalier, Allard, Bibeau, Pouilliot, Foumas, Lambert, Cadotte & Hyversoit. On 14 Mar 1798 the David Thompson exploration expedition arrived at the Pembina post and 7 days later Chaboilliez accompanied Thompson to Vincent Roy's NWC post south of Pembina on the Forest River. In 1799 he became a partner in the NWC and was given charge of the Lower Red River Department for the company.

On October 31 1804 Lewis & Clark wrote to Chaboilliez from the Upper Mandan village on the Missouri; "...we met with Mr.Hugh M'Cracken, who informed us that he was in some measure employed by you in behalf of the North West Company, traffic with the natives of this quarter...we have determined to fortify ourselves, and remain the ensuing winter...If, sir, in the course of the winter, you have it in your power to furnish us with any hints in relation to the geography of the country, its productions, either mineral, animal or vegetable, or any other information...we should feel ourselves extremely obliged...". - From Trade Goods

² - The 'Little Ice Age' was an interval between about AD 1500 and 1850, characterized by advancing glaciers in mountainous regions of Europe and western North America. However, it is unclear whether this cool moist period was truly global in extent, or how it was manifested in other regions with different climatic controls. A high-resolution reconstruction of salinity fluctuations in Devils Lake, North Dakota, based on fossil diatoms, ostracode-shell geochemistry, and bulk-carbonate geochemistry, indicates that saline conditions prevailed throughout much of the recent past. These results suggest an arid climate in the northern Great Plains throughout the 'Little Ice Age' and that during this interval climatic gradients between the Great Plains and regions to both the east and west may have been quite steep. - From 'Little Ice Age' aridity in the North American Great Plains: a high-resolution reconstruction of salinity fluctuations from Devils Lake, North Dakota, USA by Sherilyn C. Fritz, Daniel R. Engstrom, and Brian J. Haskell (The Holocene, Vol. 4, No. 1, 69-73 (1994))

Sketches by a Camp-Fire, Part I

This is the first of several posts taken from first-person accounts of a mid-nineteenth century expedition expedition started out in late August 1851...

Pierre Bottineau who contracted to take our [treaty expedition (1851)]¹ goods and provisions from Sauk Rapids through to Pembina, is a half-breed Chippewa; of a highly-nervous temperament, with Indian features strongly marked, very swarthy, dark hair, tall, muscular, and active, and is about thirty-seven years of age. He is an excellent hunter and voyageur; was born in, and has spent his whole life in wandering in and exploring, this territory and adjacent country. He has along eight carts, each loaded with about five hundred pounds of freight, and six Canadian French boys as drivers; also two half-breed men of the Chippewa tribe - one his own brother...

...at two, P.M., we started on, and soon found the dragoons again. They were encamped in the edge of the woods on Tongue river, where they remain till to-morrow. We now had eight miles of swampy prairie to cross, and at four, P.M., came in sight of the first houses at the Red river settlement, much to our great joy; as a house was as much a novelty to us after a tramp of five hundred miles across the unpeopled prairies, as the first sight of land is to the weary and tempest-tossed mariner.

The houses were full of half-breeds, who saluted us with the discharge of guns, &c. Dr. Foster and Mr. Lord rode on ahead, and were treated to milk and potatoes - a treat equal to that of the milk and honey received by the wandering children of Israel of old. A mile beyond we came to the unction of the Red and Pembina rivers, and found the trading-post of N.W. Kittson, Esq., and the settlement called Pembina in the angle at the junction. Here we found half a dozen log-dwellings, and a quantity of half-breed and Chippewa lodges; the American flag flying from the top of a tall flag-staff; with barns, stables, haystacks, horses, cattle, &c., and things generally looking very comfortable. On the muddy banks in front stood an admiring group of several hundred whites, half-breeds, and Indians, of all sizes; with any quantity of dogs, very large and wolfish: and amid this Babel of cries, yelps, barks, and shouts, from the said big dogs and little papoose Indians, we came to a halt and reconnoitered, on the southside of the Pembina and west of the Red river, standing almost glued fast in the sticky, tenacious mud, caused by the rains and annual overflow of these two rivers for three years past. The timber upon their banks is dead (drowned out), the ground destitute of grass, with tall, rank weeds three and four feet in height abounding.

The rivers are very muddy and deep, with but little current. Red river is about one hundred yards in width, and the Pembina twenty-five yards. The country is very flat all around, and the streams heavily wooded, while a thick growth of young, dead willows line the water's edge from Pembina to the Selkirk settlement. Mr. Kittson and Messrs. Rolette and Cavileer soon visited us and took us over to the town, giving us the freedom of the place, besides sending some Selkirk butter and eggs across to us at camp. Our carts arriving at dark, we built a rousing fire, pitched tents, covered the banks with grass and weeds, spread our oil-cloths and mattresses, and were once more comfortable.

This is our last night "out of sight of land" - slept out last sleep on the tented prairie for the present, which I regret, as it is far preferable to a bed of down within a palace. Slept well, too, considering the multitude of discordant and almost unearthly sounds which struck upon our drowsy ears, accustomed to quietness and calm. Now are heard the Indians shrieking and beating upon drums at their camp across the Pembina; and those big dogs keep howling dismally, like a host of wild, voracious wolves. The dark and cloudy night is made hideous with hell-like wailings; and the mournful sighing wind bears to our ears the sharp and piercing cries from a hundred deep-toned throats, sounding in their awfulness like the despairing howlings of the damned. So much for our first night at Pembina.

We have thus made the march from Sauk rapids to this place in twenty travelling days, being Twenty-two in all, and from St. Paul just twenty-five days. Messrs. Kittson and Cavalieer came through a short time since in twelve days, or about nine- and a half days of marching time, the quickest trip on record.

¹ - The object of the expedition narrated in the pages these excerpts are taken from, was to form a treaty with the Red Lake and Pembina bands of Chippewa Indians for their country lying in the valley of the Red River of the North, and south of the British line. Governor Ramsey was appointed commissioner to treat with them, and Dr. Thomas Foster appointed secretary. The treaty was formed, but was afterward rejected by the United States senate...
[To Be Continued...]

The Big Lonely Revisited

I wrote about the song featured in this video awhile back. It's an amazing song all about what it was like to be a trapper/voyaguer in the "Big Lonely" (of which our area is a small part of...) back when...a true masterpiece of storytelling in my opinion. You really should take a look, you'll be glad you did...

Bordertowns: Chapter 3

I dare you, dear readers, to read just the first paragraph below, and not tell me that Chuck Walker is a master storyteller. He knows his subject, and his descriptions bring the time period, places, and people of our region alive. Chuck can write a mean love scene, too...*wink*

I proudly present Chapter 3 of Chuck Walker's Bordertowns...

The distance from Fisher's Landing to the Red River across country was only twelve miles, but by the twisty river the distance was nearly forty. As the river was sinuous, the International seemed to crash from one bank to the other, pausing for minutes to reverse engines, and then proceeding forward. Trees grew to the edge of the bank, scraping stanchions along the deck, leaving broken branches and leaves lying everywhere. Never did the boat go forward for more than a few minutes before contacting the bank, swinging crossways, and sometimes sticking fast. Maggy expressed her feeling pointedly.

"Pat! The captain must have the patience of a saint to absorb this punishment. Will traveling on the Red River be as bad?"

"Naw! We should be out of this river and into the other late this afternoon. The Red's supposed to be a good-sized river, wide enough for a boat with barges."

Long before dark they reached the much larger Red River and proceeded a short distance downstream before tying up. They secured alongside barges loaded with steel rails destined for the new Canadian Pacific Railroad to run between Emerson and Selkirk, in Canada. The barges had been loaded at the rail-end in Moorhead, and then floated downriver over the rapids to Grand Forks. The remainder of that day was spent securing a barge to each side of the boat and loading a supply of cordwood for the boat's boilers.

Ian struck up a conversation with one of the Norwegian crewmen to find they were paid $35 per month. They numbered twenty-two deck hands: The captain, the pilot and other officers. In addition to their work of loading and unloading cargo, each man was required to carry aboard one cord of wood each day, for the boat burned twenty-two cords in the two boilers every working day. Upon a casual inspection of the cargo at the bow of the boat, he noted consignments for the soldiers' fort at Pembina. Stacked high behind this were barrels, boxes and crates of machinery for Emerson, Manitoba. Even further back were massive piles of freight destined for the Hudson's Bay Company and other trade stores at Fort Garry. All had been arranged in convenient groups to facilitate easy unloading at succeeding ports of call. Being a deck hand is not the job for me, Ian thought. Too boring, and what do the men do when winter comes?

Supper that evening was served in the narrow central passageway that ran through the center of the hurricane deck. Maggy deemed it more of a hallway, but it was carpeted and along each wall stood several ornately decorated chairs for the patrons. These were interspaced so that beside each chair was the door to a stateroom. After the meal the dining tables were removed and the long corridor again became a sitting room. The ceiling was high, bridged across with slightly curved beams. A row of narrow skylights extended on either side for the full length of the long corridor. Decorative ropes with huge tassels hung below the coal oil lamps spaced along the ceiling. Here and there were small tables that could be moved at the passengers' convenience.

Their first-class tickets entitled them to three staterooms, which Maggy scorned as broom closets. "Pat, there's barely room to stand, let alone dress. You'll have to take the upper bunk. Two could never fit in these narrow beds."

"Not to worry, Maggy. At least they're nearly three feet wide." Running his hand over the upper bunk, he suddenly laughed. "Wonder how Ian will make out. These beds are not even six feet long." He turned to Maggy; she was smiling too, thinking of Ian's well over six-foot height.

Near midnight ominous claps of thunder became audible, gradually growing closer. Pulsing breezes that rapidly turned to a gale accompanied the sound. The slow sound of raindrops pit-patting on the small window rapidly changed to a steady drumming. Finally a tumult assaulted the roof above.

"What's happening?" Pat awoke with a start.

"It's pouring outside . . . nothing to worry about."

As he dozed off, Patrick thought of his earlier conversation with the captain, of the man's mention that the river was getting mighty low for navigation. He thought of the old saying: "It's an ill wind that blows no good."

The next morning it was still raining and the river had risen appreciably. At 5:30 a.m. they cast off for the Canadian border. Although it continued to drizzle, the wind subsided and the passengers could walk on the covered, exterior hurricane deck without getting wet.

The interior salon, which ran the entire length of the hurricane deck, remained crowded because of the inclement weather. Time played upon Maggy's mind as she noted and chafed at Mary's absence. She brought it to Pat's attention. "She's spending too much time with that boy. I don't want her getting involved at her age."

"Not to worry! The lad is going on to Fort Garry. They'll probably never see each other again."

"I wish I was as sure as you." Maggy was not mollified.

Mary was confused, for golden dreams were invading her mind. The strange feeling of response to Robert had begun in Duluth. Now, standing at the rail, she felt a tingling sensation, for he had put his arm around her waist and was holding her gently. Her sensation was a feeling of bliss and peace. She wanted to be loved and felt that her life was just now beginning. Unwanted warning thoughts came, perhaps orchestrated by her mother over the past years: Let your mind be superior to what your body says! Be strong! Men are weak but won't admit it! Casting unwanted advice from her mind, she raised her face to his. He drew her body tightly to him and kissed her tenderly. For seconds she was captivated, then she pulled away, almost breathless. But wasn't this what she wanted? Hadn't she wondered when this would happen? He was still holding her in a close embrace. Why was she pulling away?

Slowly she thrust loose, her sanity returning. "Oh, Robert, I'm only sixteen. You mustn't even think of loving me." Warning bells rang in her mind and she knew she must fight the feeling in her heart.

As Robert released her, he realized he was committing himself to this young girl. She appealed to his protective instinct and aroused his sense of responsibility. Now he believed he had pushed too hard and frightened her.

Grasping her shoulders gently, he said tersely, "Someday in the future you'll be my wife. I'll wait for you to grow up and mature. We'll be happy together, you'll see! Now, I've got to make my way in the world and build a future for us, but I'll be back. It may take some time, but I will be back." Pulling her warm body close, he kissed her again. She found herself clinging to him fiercely, returning his kiss with fervor.

Late in the afternoon as they approached Fort Pembina, three long echoing blasts of the ship's whistle brought nearly everyone to the outside deck. As they cleared the last bend, the passengers could see a group of soldiers walking down the hill on the west side of the river. When the boat nudged into the shore, wagons from the fort arrived to carry the cargo up the hill. Little could be seen of the fort itself except rooftops of stables on the high bank. The actual unloading at the fort took less than thirty minutes. Then the whistle sounded twice and the boat backed away amid a hissing and puffing of its engines. Minutes later they barely cleared under a telegraph wire that extended across the Red River near the settlement of Pembina.

On the west side of the river a ferry hugged the shore. It was apparent they had just lowered the cable crossing the river, enabling the International to proceed. Passing the mouth of the Pembina River, they swung into the west bank to unload goods at Pembina.

The stop here was brief, and after pulling back into the channel, the crew was kept busy moving cargo forward to the bow of the boat. Soon, just as the ship's whistle again sounded three deep blasts, Ian overheard one of the crew members remark, "We're just crossing into Canada. Emerson is around the next bend." Hearing the comment, he hurried to harness their team of horses.

Emerson had no dock, but the east bank was corduroyed with logs. A road angled down from the crest, leading to a widened, leveled-off space. As the boat swung in to tie-up, spectators came down the hill. With the giant paddle wheel still churning slowly under power to hold the bow of the boat firmly to the shore, the crew began to cast off lines to the barges. The downriver barge was tied ashore and the current swung it snugly to the bank. A team of horses was required to swing the other barge upstream, clear of the boat. These steel rails were to be unloaded for the Emerson end of the new railroad.

Simultaneously with the removal of the barges, the boarding ramp was lowered to the shore and the passengers began to disembark. Maggy and Mike watched apprehensively from shore as preparations were made aboard to move the team and wagon. Robert Douglas had come ashore and was standing to the side, conversing with Mary. For moments it seemed the horses were too frightened to cross the hurriedly placed plank ramp. Their terror forced Ian to jump from the wagon to grasp the bridle of one horse. Patrick reached the opposite horse quickly, and with soothing words the animals were coaxed step by step across the hazardous ramp to the shore.

"Judas! I'm glad that's over!" Ian sounded relieved. "Good thing there were two of us. One man couldn't have done it alone. Lordy, the horses were nervous."

Patrick wiped his forehead with his sleeve. "Let's get the family together and hunt up a place for the night."

Just as Ian climbed to the wagon seat, a well-dressed man approached Patrick. "Sir, my name is Thomas Carney. I watched you two manage that wild team. That was bully work!"

"They weren't wild, just nervous. They're young horses." Ian was quick to defend the team.

"Just so. May I ask if you are here as businessmen, or as settlers?"

Patrick noted the man's grey whiskers and balding head before answering. "I'm Patrick McLaren, and this is my son Ian. We're from Orillia, Ontario; we're looking for farmland."

Carney looked pleased. "We've plenty of land. Why don't you camp on the edge of town tonight? The campground is just up the hill and to the south. You can look up the government land agent in the morning; his name is Newcombe. It's too late to do anything tonight." Then he suggested, "Or would you rather stay at Hutchison's Hotel? It's not much, but they have food."

"No, I think we'll camp out. We have plenty of grub and can graze the horses. We'll probably see you again." Patrick was anxious to get his camp set for the night.

"See you later!" Carney raised his hand, and then turned to join other passengers.

It was evident to Maggy that many of the townspeople met the steamboats for the novelty. They apparently judged the financial status of each arrival by their clothes, equipment and furniture. She overheard comments to that effect made by the townspeople, especially the women.

While Ian drove the wagon slowly up the hill, his father and Mike followed on foot. Mary had tarried behind with Robert Douglas. Maggy turned impatiently, just in time to catch the two in an emotional embrace. Pretending not to notice, she turned her head. Moments later she heard Mary's hurried steps as she endeavored to catch up. Casting a quick glance at her daughter, she saw the tears and stricken look on her face.

Upon reaching the crest of the embankment, they noted several tents pitched on the open prairie to the south. "We'll camp there for tonight." Patrick pointed to the field. Ian nodded, and turning the team, selected an area far removed from the nearest tent. Unloading, they made hurried preparations for their camp.

Nightfall settled soon after they completed supper, and darkness found them all seated comfortably around their small campfire. All seemed too excited to seek their beds. "I wish Gramps was here with his fiddle. It'd seem a lot more like home." Mary sounded wistful and a bit homesick.

"Perhaps they'll come in another year or two. This is our home now." Maggy seemed unshakable. Then, turning to Patrick, she asked, "What are your plans for tomorrow?"

"I'll see the Canadian land agent first thing, and then check with the man representing the Minnesota land. We'll have to find out about a school, also about a church."

"Mary and I can see to the school and church. You and Ian look to the land." Pausing, Maggy looked up at the stars. "It's such a beautiful evening; it's cleared so perfectly that the Big Dipper stands out. Suddenly Patrick heard a distinct slap, then her voice again, "Darned mosquitoes!"

After an early breakfast Patrick took his family on a walking tour through the streets of Emerson. They were amazed to find the town, founded only three years ago, almost as large as Orillia. Every desirable type of store was available: a land titles office, a registry office, even a Masonic and an Orange Lodge. Most of the families lived in tents, but here and there were houses of log or frame construction. Several homes were in various stages of building.

Leaving the men, Maggy and Mary looked for, and found four active churches: a Methodist, Anglican, Baptist and Presbyterian. The latter, they were told, was still in the process of being formed. They also found the schoolhouse, and Maggy introduced herself. The schoolmaster, George Baldwin, was ecstatic to learn of Mary's advanced schooling and of her interest in mathematics. He questioned her at length to determine her qualifications, and then said, "You'll be a welcome addition to our one-man school staff, as I need an assistant. In fact, it's quite possible you may be able to teach in a school of your own in the near future. We're crowded, but will make room for you and your brother." Turning to Maggy, he said, "Alas, your youngest is just too young. Perhaps next year."

Patrick and Ian entered the Registry Office and were greeted by a jovial, florid faced man. "Come in! Come in! What's your pleasure?" The man seemed overeager. "My name is Bill Nash. If you're looking for a place to build, I'm your man!"

Patrick cast a wary glance at the man, suspecting chicanery. Finally he said, "We're looking for information about farm land. Can you help us?"

"That's no problem. First of all you are entitled to a free lot, courtesy of Mr. Carney and Mr. Fairbanks; they founded this town. If you're looking for work, the railroad is hiring anyone and everyone for grading, no questions asked." Then he said optimistically, "I guess you can find work anywhere. There's a dearth of labor."

"I'd be interested in that free lot, but all we have at present is a tent."

"It's all most of the newcomers have. Some don't even have that." Nash broke into a smile.

"We're farmers; we're looking for land."

"Then you need to see the titles agent, George Newcombe. His office is next door. He sold over 150,000 acres of government land last year, and is having a great run this season."

"What's land going for?"

"Well, the Hudson's Bay Company is asking twelve dollars per acre for their land, but the government wants only eight. I believe you can get terms from either."

Both father and son looked disappointed.

Ian spoke up. "I understood two quarter sections of land were available just for the filing fee, and homesteading."

"That's true, but that's land across the border in Minnesota. We can't match those prices."

"Then that's where we'll have to go; our finances are limited." Patrick turned to leave.

Nash looked crestfallen. "We'll hate to lose you; but before you leave, pick a lot from this plat sheet. I'll assign it to you free of charge. Perhaps you'll change your mind. You say you have a tent for your family, so you'll need a temporary spot. Also, we have a school for any children you may have."

"Sounds good," said Patrick. "A place along the border would suit us best, somewhere near our camping spot."

"There's lots of room. How about here, just east of the camp?" Nash slid his finger along the map. "I'll put you down for this one, just north of the boundary. It's #7, and staked on all four corners."

"Thanks! We'll find it."

Turning to leave, they heard Nash's final words. "Ask for Alexander Turner -- he's the land agent in St. Vincent."

Returning to their camp, they spent the remaining time until noon striking their tent and moving to the new lot assigned to them.

After a brief lunch, Patrick, Ian and Jerold drove south on the trail to enter the state of Minnesota. The grass along the dirt trail to St. Vincent was alive with prairie chickens and grouse. Interspersed between trees and brush were occasional patches of grass. At times birds ran along the path ahead of the horses before breaking into flight.

"Pa, we'll never starve here. Why, just look at the deer tracks." Ian marveled aloud.

"Look at those big tracks in the dried mud," Jerold added. They can't be made by cattle."

"Those are moose tracks, son," Patrick observed. "This land once belonged to the Indians. No wonder they didn't want to give it up."

Jerold interjected, "But Pa wasn't it bought from them in '63, by treaty?"

"Yup, and that's why they had to establish Fort Pembina. The Indians and Métis sold out and each got scrip for 160 acres. Trouble was, they sold the scrip for little or nothing to the traders, and then they wouldn't leave the land. In fact, they caused so much trouble with the settlers that the military had to be called to boot them out. I've heard they're still raising a ruckus with settlers in the Pembina hills, west of here. Oh, there were other reasons to bring in the soldiers: the Sioux began raiding close by in '68, and then Riel aroused the half-breeds in '70."

"Pa, why do they call the breeds Métis at times?" Jerold was puzzled.

Patrick mused thoughtfully. "Son, Métis is the French word for breeds of French-Indian mix. The English still call them half-breeds or breeds. Reflectively, he added, "Come to think of it, the word Métis sounds better."

Angling onto St. Vincent's main thoroughfare, they observed a narrow lake to the south. Scores of ducks could be seen. The lake seemed to extend far out of sight behind huge trees.

On the right side of the road men were clearing brush and cutting timber, making way for the future railroad yard of the Saint Paul and Pacific. The road from Crookston to Emerson was to be completed by the year-end of '78 to connect with the Canadian Pacific Railway, now under construction between Emerson and Selkirk.

Nearing the river, they by-passed a tent camp, and then approached several buildings along the west side of the load.

"Look, Pa! There's a lumber yard," Jerold observed. Patrick was gazing in contemplation at two men setting fence posts on one side of the road. "Ian, stop and we'll speak with them."

The rumbling of the wagon drew the men's attention, and they both looked up expectantly.

"Beg pardon! Can you tell us where to find the land agent, Turner?"

The nearer man was lanky, clean-shaven, with a weathered face covered with wrinkles. He studied Patrick for moments before pointing toward his companion. "He's Turner, I'm Joe McCaffery.

Turner thrust back his hat and approached the wagon. He was tall and thin¹, with a long goatee. "What's up?"

"I'm Patrick McLaren and these are my sons, Ian and Jerold. I hear tell you can put us onto some homestead land."

The land agent hesitated, as if in thought. Turning to his companion, he said, "Joe, we both need a rest. Hook up the horse. Damned if I'm going to ride in that wagon with them."

Turning back to Patrick, he smiled. "No insult intended, but you've only got one spring seat on that wagon. My buggy fits my rear end a lot better." Then he said reflectively, "The railroad is supposed to get all the odd-numbered sections for six miles on each side of the track, so that cuts the choice of land. Up to now they aren't selling -- guess they can't until they get the railroad in operation. What land I represent is all prime, with plenty of black loam. The quarters are scattered though, due to what has already been taken up. Do you understand the requirements? You get a quarter section by homesteading and a quarter by preemption."

As Patrick nodded, Turner added, "It'll take a few moments to get my map."

Upon his return he removed a pencil from a pocket to point out details on the sketch. "Now this section is nearby; these two are about two miles away; the rest are along the border." He glanced at Ian, "How old are you, son?"

Ian sensed disaster. "I'm nineteen."

"Too bad. You won't be eligible until you're twenty-one." Turning back to Patrick, he asked, "I assume you'll want land close to town."

Patrick nodded seriously, "Within reason."

Just then McCaffery returned with a single-seated Democrat, pulled by a large bay. Turner advised, "You and your boys follow us. We'll take a shortcut around the slough to section 12, then cut across to the other land. All of the quarters are well marked -- just surveyed this spring. If you can't find land to suit you by four o'clock, we'll try again tomorrow."

He tugged on the gold chain that hung across his vest, releasing his pocket watch. Glancing at it, he smiled. "I promised Johnny Kabernagle to meet him at his place in Pembina for supper and a game of billiards." Grinning, he added, "He fancies himself a pool shark, but I'll take his coin!" Then his manner changed, "We'll have to push hard this afternoon."

It took less than two hours for Patrick to pick two quarters of land, two adjoining quarters lying just southeast of town. Using a shovel from his wagon, he had tested the depth of the loam in several places. Nowhere could he find the depth of the rich, black topsoil less than 12 inches.

Turner sat quietly in his buggy as he watched his client dig. He seemed amused at Patrick's diligence. Finally he commented, "Mighty fine land, isn't it?"

Patrick grinned at Ian and Jerold. "Sure suits me." Turning to the agent he questioned, "That bush along the river -- is it included in this quarter?"

"Yup. Reckon there's about 25 acres of woodland. Plenty of trees to build a cabin, and for your firewood."

"No log cabin for us. We'll build a frame house when the time comes."

Ian felt depressed, almost wishing he had lied his age. Turner's final remarks brought expectations.

"Half of the settlers won't keep their land after proving up. They'll sell their improvements for a small amount, and then move on." He looked to Ian. "It'll be legal to pick it up by paying their price. Also, the railroad will be selling their grant land as soon as they get title. They don't care how old you are. Money talks! Further south of us, the St. Paul & Pacific² has been selling on yearly payments, making it easier to buy. I don't expect they'll change that policy." He concluded, "I'll register these quarters and submit your application and fee of $15. You can pay me now and move onto the land at your convenience."

After accepting Patrick's registration fee, he laboriously made out a receipt, wetting the lead of his stub pencil repeatedly with his tongue. "Good thing you're paying the filing fee in hard coin. Most paper money is worthless around here." Tearing the receipt from the pad, he handed it to Patrick. "Don't lose the slip. It's your only proof of purchase until I can get it recorded. You'll have to come to the office soon to sign the papers."

"Can we cut our winter's wood from the river quarter?" asked Patrick.

"Sure, it's your land now. So long." He stepped up into his buggy, turning the horse back toward town.

It was late in the afternoon when they returned to Emerson. The return trip was enlivened by rapid and enthusiastic conversation. Jerold was the silent listener. The older men could hardly contain their jubilation at the ease with which the quarters had been acquired. They knew that the preemption quarter required a payment of $1.25 per acre, but they had thirty-three months to comply with that payment.

"We should break your ten acres as soon as possible," Ian suggested eagerly.

"Yup, but first we need to buy a plow, maybe even another team of horses or mules."

"Why don't we work for the railroad the rest of the summer?" Ian replied. "I heard mention that they need horses for grading the right-of-way. Why not buy another team and let the railroad pay for them? I've saved over 100 pounds sterling from the smithing; that's over $500 out here. I'll pay for the plow and team."

"Pa," Jerold broke in. "I can do the plowing if you'll get me a team. Then you can both start working right off."

Patrick and Ian exchanged amused glances for a moment; then both realized the wisdom of his offer. "You think you can handle it, son? It's no easy job." Patrick was thinking it just might work.

"Sure, Pa. I saw several plows at that Ashdown's Hardware, and one is a dandy. It's a St. Paul Star, a riding sulky, with a cutting coulter and a 12-inch breaking bottom. I think it has a three-horse evener, but maybe our team can handle it."

Patrick put his arm around Jerold's shoulder and smiled. "O. K., son, in for a penny, in for a pound." At that moment they arrived at the open gate at the border and turned to their corner lot. "We'll think it over and decide tomorrow." Patrick seemed complacent.

Mary approached the slowing wagon excitedly. "Oh, Pa, I have a job!" She seemed overjoyed and was dancing from one foot to the other. "Mr Baldwin, the schoolmaster, was here this afternoon. He said the school board will pay me eight dollars a month to help teach. I'm to instruct in arithmetic." She smiled proudly, "Why, I don't even have a certificate to teach yet!"

Maggy approached with a well-pleased look, "What do you think of your daughter now, Pat? Is she too young?"

He stepped down to the wagon hub, then dropped to the ground to clasp Mary in a hug. "Colleen, it's proud of you I am." Turning to Maggy, he exclaimed, "We'll all be working soon; we've finally gotten our land."

She looked at him incredulously.

"It's true! We came here to seek land and a new life. Now we've got the land and can move onto it whenever we want!"

Maggy stepped forward and grasped him in a joint hug with Mary. Ian and Jerold exchanged amused glances. Young Mike seemed puzzled by their enthusiasm.

______________

¹ - NOTE from Trish: Knowing the Turner family as anyone from my area does, I can vouch for this description of a Turner...tall AND thin!

² - The earliest predecessor railroad to the GN was the St. Paul & Pacific Railroad, which Hill purchased in the late 19th century. He formed the Great Northern Railroad in 1889 merging the StP&P with the St. Paul, Minneapolis & Manitoba Railway and Montana Central Railroad. - FROM Great Northern Railway (U.S.) history

Border Security: RFID

A recent Associated Press article states:

PEMBINA, N.D. — New technology is being installed at the U.S.-Canada border crossing at Pembina, in northeastern North Dakota.

Radio frequency identification readers are being installed in all vehicle inspection lanes.

The technology can read chip-enabled travel documents, promising shorter waits for travelers who have them.

The technology is being installed at 39 ports of entry along the Canada and Mexico borders

More details: RFID Technology Installation to Begin in Pembina, North Dakota