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 (¼ 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.