Here we left the Yellowstone Trail and followed the National Parks Highway north to Fargo, North Dakota, 265 miles; winding in and out over good roads through a myriad of lakes—ten thousand, we were told—in Minnesota. Every mile of the way, as far as the eye could see, were acres of potatoes, corn, and wheat, fertile and green. If you want to visualize Frank Norris’s books and understand how we can feed starving Europe, motor through this state. It was harvest-time. Great tractors were snorting like live creatures, hundreds of men on the big ranches were “bringing in the sheaves,” the country was alive with action, and the world was to reap the benefit of the toil and endless energy of these sturdy men. You have never seen our country until you have traveled through this great grain-belt. Every small town had two or three grain elevators. There were beautiful fields of alfalfa, a mass of bloom with its bluish purple flower as sweet as honey. As we came near these fields, the air was always cool. We couldn’t account for it; but it is a strange fact that the air is considerably cooler when you near an alfalfa field. Can you see the picture? Lakes on every side, as blue as great sapphires, sparkling in the sun, the road lined with the wild sunflowers, often forming a golden hedge on either side for miles, the blue mass of color of the alfalfa fields, and above it the green corn and golden wheat. The magpies were in flocks, and the sea-gulls were skimming over the inland lakes, hundreds of miles from any large body of water, and hundreds more of them were resting on the shores. Strange, was it not? Through the West we have noted the absence of many birds, especially in Montana, Idaho, Utah, and Nevada. But here the crops were so abundant that the little songsters “had first whack at the grain,” as my husband remarked. He was the bird-man of the party, and when he was driving at a top-notch speed or turning a hairpin curve he would calmly ask, “Did you girls see that blue heron?”
Alexandria, and the hotel of the same name, were comfortable beyond our hopes. The next day we passed through Fergus Falls, where the cyclone of June 22d had demolished the better part of the town. It had been a thriving, attractive place in the heart of the grain-belt, with fine buildings and pretty homes. Now, less than two months later, the wreck and débris were appalling. The wind had wrought strange sights. We saw a sewing-machine in the top of a neighbor’s tree, festooned with bedding, petticoats, and a bird-cage. Houses were turned over as if they had been toys; others were crushed to kindling. Here a small tree or a chicken-coop would be intact, and a building five feet away would be demolished. We stopped off for lunch in a small café in the part of the town that had escaped the gale. The people were talking of nothing else. The whole countryside had driven in to see it, to take the sufferers home, or to render assistance. The waitress paid no attention to our order—just talked. “Why, lady, it was the awfullest thing you ever heard tell on! One moment we were all sitting at our work, and then we heard a roar like a mad bull, or thunder, and the sky got so black that you couldn’t see across that counter. Windows smashed in, and this house shook like jelly. Folks were blown down that street like old newspapers. Scared? My Gawd! we just crawled under the counter and prayed! The door was blown in and the front window smashed. A little kid was blown across that street and straight through that broken glass. My maw’s house was shook to pieces. Maw was cookin’, and she and the stove went off together. Paw was feedin’ the cattle; when we found him he was lyin’ in the next lot with a cow a-lyin’ on top of him and a milkpail a-coverin’ of his head. Most everyone got cut by the glass or broke an arm or leg, tryin’ to hold on to somethin’. The piany in the schoolhouse was took up and planted in a street two blocks away not hurt a bit. It sounds just beautiful now. Some folks I know had their two cats and three dogs killed, and the canary was a-singin’ like mad when they found the house in the end of the garden. The wire fences were the worst; they just wound themselves up like yarn.” Many others told us similar weird tales. We left that town, already being rebuilt, a sober party.
“I wonder what would happen to us if we should meet such a cyclone,” said Toodles.
“I think we would ‘blow in’ to lunch with our friends in Boston,” mused the bird-man.
He has given me this list of birds that we saw through the West: Mudhens, bluebirds, bluejays, robins, ospreys, cranes, loons, terns, the Canada goose, song-sparrows, meadowlarks, hawks, wild swans, woodpeckers, orioles, wild doves, and others. Later we saw sagehens and eagles.
VIII
MILLIONS OF GRASSHOPPERS
We had wired to our cousins, Mr. and Mrs. H., of Fargo, to make a reservation for our party, which they did at the Gardner Hotel. We found a big comfortable hotel, with large rooms, good table, and excellent service. We enjoyed our “stop off” of two days here more than in any other city on our trip. Fargo spells hospitality and “pep.” Our greeting was, “What can we do for you?”
“Find the Packard service station, give us some home-cooking, and let us play golf and tennis.”
“There are only two Packard cars in town, but the manager of the garage owns one and can help you out.”
He did—kind, obliging person! Our second request was granted to the full. Never did fried chicken and creamed potatoes covered with gravy taste so good. We went back the next day and finished up the rest of the chicken. After driving about this charming “up-to-tomorrow” Western city, we went out to the Country Club and the links, and met many truly delightful people.