BIOGRAPHICAL AND AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES
It has seemed best to include as a supplement to this narrative a
number of sketches of individuals. Some of these individuals are
already mentioned in the general narrative, and in such instances
these separate narratives continue the record where we left off. Then
there are some not mentioned in the general record but who belong by
every right of circumstance to this Norse immigrant group and whose
separate chronicles are of special interest and importance in view of
our general purpose. This purpose, as already stated, is to hand down
to the sons and daughters of the Norse pioneer immigrants a picture of
the men and women who faced primitive nature in this part of the new
continent and tamed it, causing the wilderness to bloom into the
present prosperous, beautiful land.
A DAUGHTER SETTLEMENT
(Narrated in part by H.B. Reese)
It was a winter day of 1902 that Father said to me, "I have had a
letter from Halvor Hevle today. He wants to sell his land," he added.
"Yes, I suppose he will have no use for that now, seeing he has moved
away", I replied, and dismissed the matter from my mind. After a
pause, Father said, "I thought you might buy it." I smiled at what
seemed an absurd suggestion, for I had about a quarter of a dollar of
money about me just then and no immediate outlook for ready money. I
also knew that Father had none to lend me. So I replied: "He will have
to sell his farm without money and without pay if I am to buy it."
Father thought for some time and finally added: "Hevle asks $1,000.00
for his land (1/4 Sec.) and half of it cash. You can get a loan of
$500.00 on it and he will be willing to take a second mortgage on the
land for the balance."
Thus having nothing to risk in the deal, and moreover the idea of
owning a farm of my very own kindling my ambition and appealing to my
imagination, I readily agreed and the deal was made.
There was a fairly good dug-out on the place built up of stone and
with a sod roof and board floor. The stable was of the usual kind,
straw, with a little framework of rails and posts to support the roof
and walls. But the layout seemed good to me because it was my own and
the first home founded by myself.
I bought a team and broke some ground that summer, living at the old
homestead one mile south. The next spring, however, I married a wife
who consented to share the humble dwelling with me, and it became my
home. Her maiden name was Hanna Bjorlo.
Soon, however, I was given to realize that in going into debt and in
founding a home of my own I had assumed new responsibilities and
burdens hitherto unknown. Thus after going into debt not only for the
land but for the necessary equipment to work it and a few household
necessities, we entered upon the year 1904 of notorious crop failures.
It was also the time of a great financial depression. So that fall,
instead of the original debt of $1,000.00, I found myself involved to
the extent of $1,700.00 with little to show for it besides putting in
two years of hard toil.
In this situation of seeming failure I began to think that farming of
all occupations rewarded its devotees most stingily. A fellow gives to
it the best of his years and strength and moreover allows himself to
be tied down to a place only to be rewarded with crop failures and
ever increasing accumulations of debt.
However, when one has the responsibilities of a family one cannot
well run away from a situation no matter how bad, even if one were
inclined to do so, the only possible procedure seemed to be to appease
ones creditors as far as possible, get an extension of time and try
again. I sold 40 acres of my farm, being the only thing I could sell,
for $450.00. This tided us over until the next year when we hoped for
better fortunes.
The next year came and brought us a better crop, but the prices were
most discouraging. In 1895-6 I sold wheat at 43-45c per bushel, flax
for 48c, corn 15-18c and oats 13c. Hogs were from $2.50 to $2.80 per
cwt; cattle were from $15.00 to $18.00 for a milch cow and $25.00 for
a three-year-old steer. These prices continued more or less for
several years. Hired help was, however, correspondingly low, being
from $15.00 to $18.00 per month during the summer months.
Nevertheless, after nine years of toil on this place with varying
fortunes, I was at last able to pay for the place and also to make
considerable improvements in buildings, both for the family and my
accumulation of stock. The place, in fact, was beginning to look quite
homelike, with trees and more sightly and comfortable buildings as
well.
One would now expect me to feel somewhat satisfied and gradually
settled down there for the rest of my days, raising our family and
enjoying what we had or came to have. We had a nice little farm three
miles from town with our old friends, neighbors and near relatives all
around us.
There is a trait in human nature which is designated by various names
according to the individual point of view. Some call it ambition, or
forward looking; others, greed, covetousness, etc. The underlying idea
seems to be a sort of discontent with one's present conditions and
attainments, no matter what they are, a sort of forever reaching out
for something greater ahead; to expand, explore new paths and to risk
in the hope of winning. Whether this trait is good or otherwise, I
shall not attempt to discuss, but I do know that it is strong in most
of us and often dominating.
Thus I happened to make a trip to Charles Mix county (Bloomington) in
1902. The land there was much more level and the country more open
than where we lived in Yankton county. So it looked to me to have more
advantages for farming on a large scale. Moreover, the land was
cheaper than where we were. So before returning home I had bought a
quarter section near Bloomington, and that next spring we moved unto a
rented place adjoining it.
But we had not been there a year before I realized my mistake. The
level land did not produce the crop which we had anticipated, and
there was not nearly the chance for cheap pasture either that we had
been led to believe. Any free range was a thing of the past. We had a
good start in cattle now, and I began to look around for some place in
the northwest where there would be more room and more chance for this
enterprise.
To understand my next move it is necessary to go back in our family
tree to another branch and its development.
My brother, J.B. Reese, who had gone away to college about the time I
began my independent farming, had now entered the work of the ministry
and had been called to Wessington Springs and to care for the church
work in the surrounding country as well. On a visit home he had told
us of the cheap land and the fine opportunities in that new country,
especially for cattle. A little later he bought a section of land up
there, getting his brother S.B. and sister, now Mrs. Nysether, and
also Martin Nysether to each take one quarter with him. The land was
bought for $5.00 per acre, and as far as the three last named owners
were concerned "sight unseen".
As an illustration of how seemingly small circumstances lead to great
issues in our lives, I recall the first trip I made to size up this
section of land which I contemplated buying for the parties above
mentioned and myself. It was the year after the last big fire, the
notorious one of 1899, I believe. The fire had seemingly burned the
very roots out of the ground, so that the little grass visible at the
time of our visit in the latter part of July, was in tufts here and
there with vacant spaces in between. As I stood on the hill, east of
the present buildings on the J.B. Reese place, the land looked so poor
and desolate that I almost lost "my nerve" as far as recommending it
to my partners for purchase, even with all the faith I had in the new
country generally. But as I stood there realizing that the whole
decision rested with me whether to buy or not, I noticed an angling
trail across the corner of the land to the northeast along which the
fire had been put out. But the thing which drew my interest
particularly was that on the other side of this trail, or where the
fire had not gone the grass was much better. This decided me. I
purchased the land mostly on credit. This led to my brother's coming
up and buying and finally moving up. His coming in turn led to the
coming of practically the whole present settlement.--Editor.
In August 1902 a friend by name of Ole Sletten and myself started out
to drive overland to see this country of which we had already heard
interesting reports thru my brother. We spent the first night of our
journey at Bridgewater, and the country around there seemed good to my
partner. But when we reached Mitchell and vicinity, where the soil was
sandy and dry, so that the prairie was quite seared over, it being in
the month of August, my partner thought we might as well turn back, as
there would be no use in exploring farther into a country like that.
The grass was too short and scant. Moreover, the buildings and other
improvements along the way gave no suggestion of prosperity among the
farmers. Up thru Hutchinson county we passed a great many of the long,
low mud houses belonging to the Russian German settlers there. These,
too, were responsible for our poor impression of the northwest country
at this point.
Nevertheless, we proceeded to Wessington Springs, where we met my
brother, J.B. Reese, who took us out the next day to see the land he
had bought and the country generally. We went out some 15-16 miles
southwest of Wessington Springs, and if the land had seemed poor to us
before, now it seemed only worse. We passed a considerable number of
empty houses which indicated that the inhabitants had been forced to
abandon the land on which these stood. It was in August and dry so
that the prairie was quite seared over. Then, too, the last big
prairie fire which ravaged this section had just gone thru a couple of
years before, destroying the greater number of the buildings on the
many abandoned homesteads and also burning the very roots out of the
ground. What grass was left, or rather roots, stood in tufts with a
big vacant space of ground between these tufts.
My partner did not express himself much as to the new country, but
what he thought about it can be guessed by the fact that he wanted
none of it for his own. However, I bought a quarter section of it
adjoining the tract which J.B. Reese had already bought, before
returning home, thinking it might do for pasture. I paid less than
$5.00 per acre for it, so I felt that I could not lose much anyway.
May we digress for a moment here and point out the history of the
original homesteaders of this section we are just describing, for it
is full of interest and has also not a few of the tragedies of the
prairie. This part of the state has seen more than the average of the
disappointments incident to pioneer life. It has been the grave-yard
of many bright hopes and furnished a burial place instead of a
building place for not a few pioneers of the prairie.
The valley between Templeton to the north and Crow Lake to the south,
with some of the adjacent land as well, was settled mostly by people
from New York, Virginia and Pennsylvania in the early eighties. These
people had some means, according to the standards of those times; were
above the average pioneer in education and in general started in to
build homes embodying not merely necessary shelter but even
refinement and comforts. They planted trees, both shade and fruit
trees; also flowers and shrubs.
The first years of their settlement were sufficiently wet and the
crops were correspondingly good, some getting upward of 30 bushels of
wheat per acre on the newly broken ground. This encouraged the
settlers even to going into considerable debt for equipment to carry
on larger farm operations. Land rose in value from free homesteads to
$300.00 to $500.00 per quarter. Then came the dry years of 1893-'4-'5
and others as well of small or no crops. Not only no crop, but all the
wells dried up so there was the greatest scarcity of water for man and
beast. Many of these people were heavily in debt and it was almost
impossible to borrow any more to tide over the emergency.
Then it was that the people began to stampede, as it were, going out
as many as 30-40 in one company. Some who had many obligations but few
scruples are said to have made their departure less conspicuously,
quietly creeping away between sunset and dawn and without bidding
anyone good-bye.
It was these conditions of the early years and the people who ran away
from here to report their experiences far and wide which gave South
Dakota a black eye and a bad name for years to come.
Yet after the great exodus, when the country was almost depopulated in
a few months, there were found a few left behind. These were generally
the ones who had had little or nothing to begin with and who now did
not have enough to go anywhere else even if they wanted to do so.
Those who were left by 1900 had gotten their second wind, as it were,
having learned to adapt themselves to the country and were getting a
start in cattle.
The big fire referred to above, sweeping over the section in '99 and
destroying many of the vacated buildings, as also the remnants of
orchards and groves, completed the wiping out of the visible monuments
of the first settlers, so the country was nearly back again to the
primitive conditions in the early years of 1900.
It was at this time (1904) that we decided to remove from Charles Mix
county to Jerauld and the vicinity just described. To move such a
distance overland with all one's belongings, including cattle, as also
a family in which were several small children, and in the treacherous
month of March, was no joy ride for any one concerned. After looking
about for a partner in this difficult enterprise, I finally made
arrangements with one, Knut Lien, to join me. He had about 40 head of
cattle and was a single man. I took with me about 60 head, so on a
morning in the early spring of 1904 my partner and I started with our
first loads for the land of wide and roomy pasture if not of still
waters. On the evening of the second day we stopped in front of the
old house on my brother's place, which was to be our future home. But
the situation which met us was not especially encouraging to tired,
cold and hungry men. The window lights were broken; the floor, too,
the house having been used for a granary, had given way. There was no
shelter for our horses and, worst of all, not a drop of water on the
place.
I was, indeed, discouraged at the outlook and said to Knut: "We will
not unload. We shall rest until morning and then return." He made no
reply, and after doing what we could for our horses we lay down on the
floor to get what rest we could.
However, the next day the sun shone, and with the sunshine came
renewed courage. We put some supports under the floor and unloaded our
goods into the house. Then we went on to the springs for lumber and
soon had a shed built to shelter the horses. But the lack of water was
the worst of our needs and could not quickly be met. An artesian well
had been put down the year before in anticipation of our moving, but
it did not furnish any water even with a pump and wind mill. The
shallow wells on the place, too, were dry. It became evident to us
why the people who had preceded us in these parts had left the
country.
However, having severed our connections where we had been living, and
with our cattle to dispose of somehow, there seemed nothing to do but
to go forward. So I returned to Bloomington, and hiring a man to help
us, we started, now with all our belongings, for the new home. On the
evening of the third day, or April 17th, 1904, we reached Crow Lake.
We, ourselves, as well as the cattle, were very tired, so we camped
there for the night, the family having gone on previously to the house
we were to move into.
That night a snow and sleet storm broke upon us, lasting all of the
next day. With no hay and worn out from the trip, the cattle began to
succumb. Two were left on the place, nine died during the five or six
miles which remained of the way, and still five more after arriving at
our destination. Those which survived were so exhausted that it took
them most of that summer to recover.
This, then, was our first taste of the new land, and it seemed at the
time just a little bitter. My cattle dead or nearly so; nothing to do
with; everything to be done.
However, during that spring we managed to get a new well sunk, 1260
feet deep, costing $650.00. I also put in 15 acres of wheat and 18 of
barley with 90 acres of corn. Fortunately we got a good crop that
year, which we also greatly needed.
At first it seemed rather isolated in those days. There were sometimes
a couple of weeks in which we did not see a human being outside of our
own family. The distance to Mr. Smith, our nearest neighbor to the
north, was three miles. To the south, four miles, were Will Hughes and
Will Horsten and also the Rendels. Then there was Mr. Gaffin and two
or three others southwest of his place. So there was room and to spare
between neighbors in those days and for some time following.
From this small beginning has now grown up a fine neighborhood with a
good community church and congregation; rural mail delivery; phones;
modern homes, and good roads. Among those who have helped build this
splendid community should be mentioned besides those above, the Moen
families, the Aalbus; the Fagerhaugs--Iver and Arnt; the Stolen
brothers--Emericht, Olalf, and Martin; Vognild brothers; Bjorlos;
Bjerkagers; Petersons, and others. It is a matter of just pride that
out of this little group above mentioned, no less than seven young men
served in the Great War. These were Reuben Peterson, Martin Peterson,
Hugo Peterson, Ole Sneve, Martin Stolen, William Linsted, and Roy
Goffin. Two of these--Reuben Peterson and Ole Sneve--were at the
"front" for months and went thru some of the bloodiest battles of the
War.--_Editor._