The Long Goodbye Part Two: The People
Ìý‘Well, there’s a lot of risk, but with any luck they’ll be happy enough, which is the English version of a happy ending.â€�Ìý‘What do you think makes the English the way we are?â€�‘I don’t know. Opinions differ. Some say our history, but I blame the weather.â€� â€� Downton Abbey
“Many people are just waking to the reality that unlimited expansion, what we call progress, is not possible in this world, and maybe looking to monks (who seek to live within limitations) as well as rural Dakotans (whose limitations are forced upon them by isolation and a harsh climate) can teach us how to live more realistically. These unlikely people might also help us overcome the pathological fear of death and the inability to deal with sickness and old age that plague American society� � Kathleen Norris, Dakota: A Spiritual Geography.
This summer our family was in Houston for a church conference. While I was at a meeting the rest of the family went out to eat and their server made small talk. When they told her they lived in South Dakota she was shocked, saying, “just the other day my co-worker was trying to convince me that no one actually lives in the Dakotas. He said it was a secret government base. I told him that wasn’t true. He replied, ‘have you ever met someone from there?� I said, no. Well, now I can say I have.�
Maybe you too have never met someone from the Dakotas. South Dakota boasts political figures such as George McGovern and Tom Daschle. Wiz Khalifa was born in North Dakota, but grew up elsewhere. Phil Jackson went to high school in North Dakota. Carson Wentz too.Ìý
Let’s stick with Wentz for a minute. When there was speculation that the Philadelphia Eagles were going to draft the Bismarck, North Dakota native, . Here’s what happens before he even checks in at his hotel:
He didn’t plan ahead for a ride from the airport and discovered there was no Lyft or Uber in Bismarck. As he was searching on his phone for taxi info, since zero taxis were waiting for fares at the airport, a fellow passenger asked him if he needed a ride. She said her cousin was coming to Bismarck from three hours away to pick her up, and they would be happy to take him to his hotel. He agreed. Once the cousin came they had to make a pit stop at a gas station, although they got no gas. Instead, they came back with some pot roast. He was amazed that they both left the car unlocked and running while they went inside. Once back in the car they asked him if he’d heard of the two major Bismarck hospitals and were surprised when he said he hadn’t. Neither hospital is the Mayo Clinic, in case you were wondering. They also stopped at an auto-parts store for a car battery and then went to the grocery store for several items, once again leaving the car running and unlocked (after all, it was still winter). Eventually, the reporter made it to his hotel, which was but a few miles from the airport.
Those familiar with the Coen brothers movies have heard about “Minnesota Nice,� and its bubble extends from Minnesota to include the Dakotas, much of Wisconsin, and the UP of Michigan. People will strike up conversations with strangers all the time. They’re also super-helpful if you need something small, and they love to rally around cherished local institutions and specific needs that may come up.
But there’s a flipside, especially in rural areas. Decades of decline amid brutal isolation, severe weather, boom/bust economies, and remnants of a once-thriving history, have all gradually placed a heavy burden on each small town and its residents as they collectively hang on in quiet desperation—it isn’t just the English way.
Some people tend to respond to the burden by becoming naysayers. They root against any and all new ideas and people. Like some sort of cultural George Soros they bet against everything, figuring they’ll more often be right than wrong. And they love being able to say “I told you so� when something doesn’t pan out. “Oh, the newcomer left after six years. Well, I’ve always thought he would think he was too good for us. Told you he was going to leave.�
Those people aren’t too interesting, though, and I doubt they’re unique to the Dakotas either. It’s the other people I’ll miss. Those who, despite all the challenges living on the northern plains gives them, remain full of love and live by hope.
The church I pastor is German Baptist by way of Russia. In the 19th century Catherine the Great sought to see her people more cultured, so she enticed foreigners to come if they knew arts and trades. In order to bring them in she made concessions regarding taxes and military conscription, drawing many Germans to her land. But once she died her son was not as welcoming, and in response many Germans in Russia left, but instead of returning to Germany they settled in America right when the Dakotas were opened for homesteading.
Those who didn’t know how to farm, learned. And everywhere they settled they built up churches. Our church was established in 1897 as a “hub and spokes� setup. Herreid, the hub, had the parsonage, but the pastor only preached here once a month. Other weeks he’d preach at a spoke location in a circuit. He used horses to get everywhere and had a stable on church property by the parsonage. He’d preach in German too. All the worship would be in German. It took World War II for our church to finally switch to English.
German-Russians, as they are called around here, mingled with some Norwegians, Swedes, and Dutch folk, but German food rules the land. There’s kuchen, a lovely custard desert that can also be consumed for breakfast. Fleischkuechle, which is a savory fried meat pie. Knoepfla soup is similar to a creamy chicken-based broth, but way saltier. And there’s other influences as well, including fry bread tacos and combinations such as chili with cinnamon rolls and—one of my personal favorites—walking tacos. There’s plenty of sausage and sauerkraut to go around too, especially at a church potluck. I’m getting off track. After all, even grumpy people can cook and eat great food.
Were I to use one word to describe the people of the Dakotas it is resilient. They aren’t like those who retire to Florida or Arizona and try to convince you it’s not too hot there. Dakotans will tell you it is ridiculously cold in the winter. In January they’ll openly wonder with you why anyone bothers living here. But they’ll also say, “the weather keeps the riff raff out.�
To some extent I suppose it does. People can rattle off the worst winters of their lifetimes. The most recent “famous winter� was in 1997. Another was 1966. I’ve been told I never experienced a bad winter here, which is likely true. But they’ve all been pretty cold to me. Last December the temperature hit -20 degrees Fahrenheit, colder than both poles and anywhere in Canada or Siberia at the time, save for one ridiculous mountain city in Russia that is surely unsuitable for human habitat. The winter wind when it's below zero can sometimes freeze your bones and definitely your snot. It can sting your eyes for them to be opened beyond slits for a second. If experiencing this kind of weather half the year every year doesn’t make you resilient, what will?
Resilience is getting up to milk cows every morning, sometimes having to use a rope tied between the barn and the house to find your way in feet of snow.
Resilience is giving birth at home when the nearest hospital is 30+ miles away.
Resilience is riding a horse to a one-room school with a packed lunch of some ham and a potato.
Resilience is ranching on a land that can withhold rain for what sometimes seems like years or more.
Resilience is growing crops between the nearly minuscule window of frosts in May and October. Oh, and relying on rain alone to water them in between.
Resilience is rebuilding towns that were wiped out by floods and fires.
Resilience is losing siblings and children to diseases and accidents, the latter of which continue to happen today. America’s deadliest roads are rural two-lane highways.
Resilience is staying and caring for your parents after all your siblings have left.
Resilience is moving into town and letting one of your kids live in the old farmhouse.
Resilience is insisting to live alone in town, years after your spouse has died, because that’s all you know how to do.
Another word that comes to mind to describe Dakotans is reserved. I’ve sat with grown children, preparing for their parent’s funeral only to discover they’ve never once heard the stories of how their parents met, fell in love, or even married. People don’t tend to talk much about themselves around here. They don’t cry a whole lot either. Greeting cards often are just signed without much of a note for why they were sent, but they still mean a lot to the person who receives them.
Behind such steely reservation lies some of the steadiest and fiercest love I’ve ever come to know. People who hold the nice, warm hands of loved ones as they’ve died in hospitals and nursing homes. People who rise up early to shovel and clear their elderly neighbors� snow. People who gather to paint the house of someone who no longer has the strength to do it on his own. Who clean up what others may have broken, somewhat wondering when it will all break again.
Some people here have only read my newspaper columns or heard me pray once or twice at a community event. I once attended a graduation party and had a guy point a finger in my face and ask the guy next to him, “who’s this guy?� Others might just sit and watch as I preach from a stage. But those who really know me are the ones I’ve chatted with at their work, or in their truck, or seeder, or combine, or living room, or hospital room, or nursing home room or perhaps they’ve come to my living room to pray or shared a meal with my family. They’ve allowed me to be a witness to what they have endured and are struggling against right now. They’ve let me come to know them as I’m coming to know myself and the pains I've carried as those around me too have died and left.
At my Dad's grave in KansasÌýI might be readying to leave the Dakotas, but its people will always be a part of my story, and their presence will remain through my preaching, teaching, and mentoring of pastors in the far south of Brazil. I’m thankful for the joys of new life, healed bodies, filling food. And also in some way grateful for the journey of losses, deaths, quietude, and painful longing. A journey I've walked myself while living here.
Lastly, I’d say Dakotans are honest, mostly. I was told a lot how young I was for a pastor when I first moved here. I’ve also been told how easy it is to stop coming to church (I’ve always likened it to how easy I find it to stop exercising). There’s little Christianese spoken here. People tell you just what they think from the ugly color of the church building’s siding to how fat I am.
And so when people around here have told me that they will miss me, I know it’s true. One man had watery eyes as I was exiting his living room for the last time. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.
When I receive cards that have more than a signature and include a handwritten message that compliments my preaching, pastoral care, counseling, and even administrative skills, I smile, And when someone writes that my legacy at our church includes influencing our church to be more outwardly focused I say to myself, “yes, somebody got it.� Every Saturday afternoon before I’d rehearse my sermon to an empty sanctuary I’d walk up and down the center aisle, touch every pew, and pray. I'd pray that on the Lord’s Day it wouldn't matter what kind of week someone had coming in, that they would meet God here. Not because of me, but because of him.
Despite all my shortcomings, mistakes, and missteps, God actually used me here.
And I know he will continue using Dakotans here and elsewhere. I hope everybody, like that server in Houston, gets to meet one eventually.
“Many people are just waking to the reality that unlimited expansion, what we call progress, is not possible in this world, and maybe looking to monks (who seek to live within limitations) as well as rural Dakotans (whose limitations are forced upon them by isolation and a harsh climate) can teach us how to live more realistically. These unlikely people might also help us overcome the pathological fear of death and the inability to deal with sickness and old age that plague American society� � Kathleen Norris, Dakota: A Spiritual Geography.
This summer our family was in Houston for a church conference. While I was at a meeting the rest of the family went out to eat and their server made small talk. When they told her they lived in South Dakota she was shocked, saying, “just the other day my co-worker was trying to convince me that no one actually lives in the Dakotas. He said it was a secret government base. I told him that wasn’t true. He replied, ‘have you ever met someone from there?� I said, no. Well, now I can say I have.�
Maybe you too have never met someone from the Dakotas. South Dakota boasts political figures such as George McGovern and Tom Daschle. Wiz Khalifa was born in North Dakota, but grew up elsewhere. Phil Jackson went to high school in North Dakota. Carson Wentz too.Ìý
Let’s stick with Wentz for a minute. When there was speculation that the Philadelphia Eagles were going to draft the Bismarck, North Dakota native, . Here’s what happens before he even checks in at his hotel:
He didn’t plan ahead for a ride from the airport and discovered there was no Lyft or Uber in Bismarck. As he was searching on his phone for taxi info, since zero taxis were waiting for fares at the airport, a fellow passenger asked him if he needed a ride. She said her cousin was coming to Bismarck from three hours away to pick her up, and they would be happy to take him to his hotel. He agreed. Once the cousin came they had to make a pit stop at a gas station, although they got no gas. Instead, they came back with some pot roast. He was amazed that they both left the car unlocked and running while they went inside. Once back in the car they asked him if he’d heard of the two major Bismarck hospitals and were surprised when he said he hadn’t. Neither hospital is the Mayo Clinic, in case you were wondering. They also stopped at an auto-parts store for a car battery and then went to the grocery store for several items, once again leaving the car running and unlocked (after all, it was still winter). Eventually, the reporter made it to his hotel, which was but a few miles from the airport.
Those familiar with the Coen brothers movies have heard about “Minnesota Nice,� and its bubble extends from Minnesota to include the Dakotas, much of Wisconsin, and the UP of Michigan. People will strike up conversations with strangers all the time. They’re also super-helpful if you need something small, and they love to rally around cherished local institutions and specific needs that may come up.
But there’s a flipside, especially in rural areas. Decades of decline amid brutal isolation, severe weather, boom/bust economies, and remnants of a once-thriving history, have all gradually placed a heavy burden on each small town and its residents as they collectively hang on in quiet desperation—it isn’t just the English way.
Some people tend to respond to the burden by becoming naysayers. They root against any and all new ideas and people. Like some sort of cultural George Soros they bet against everything, figuring they’ll more often be right than wrong. And they love being able to say “I told you so� when something doesn’t pan out. “Oh, the newcomer left after six years. Well, I’ve always thought he would think he was too good for us. Told you he was going to leave.�
Those people aren’t too interesting, though, and I doubt they’re unique to the Dakotas either. It’s the other people I’ll miss. Those who, despite all the challenges living on the northern plains gives them, remain full of love and live by hope.
The church I pastor is German Baptist by way of Russia. In the 19th century Catherine the Great sought to see her people more cultured, so she enticed foreigners to come if they knew arts and trades. In order to bring them in she made concessions regarding taxes and military conscription, drawing many Germans to her land. But once she died her son was not as welcoming, and in response many Germans in Russia left, but instead of returning to Germany they settled in America right when the Dakotas were opened for homesteading.
Those who didn’t know how to farm, learned. And everywhere they settled they built up churches. Our church was established in 1897 as a “hub and spokes� setup. Herreid, the hub, had the parsonage, but the pastor only preached here once a month. Other weeks he’d preach at a spoke location in a circuit. He used horses to get everywhere and had a stable on church property by the parsonage. He’d preach in German too. All the worship would be in German. It took World War II for our church to finally switch to English.
German-Russians, as they are called around here, mingled with some Norwegians, Swedes, and Dutch folk, but German food rules the land. There’s kuchen, a lovely custard desert that can also be consumed for breakfast. Fleischkuechle, which is a savory fried meat pie. Knoepfla soup is similar to a creamy chicken-based broth, but way saltier. And there’s other influences as well, including fry bread tacos and combinations such as chili with cinnamon rolls and—one of my personal favorites—walking tacos. There’s plenty of sausage and sauerkraut to go around too, especially at a church potluck. I’m getting off track. After all, even grumpy people can cook and eat great food.
Were I to use one word to describe the people of the Dakotas it is resilient. They aren’t like those who retire to Florida or Arizona and try to convince you it’s not too hot there. Dakotans will tell you it is ridiculously cold in the winter. In January they’ll openly wonder with you why anyone bothers living here. But they’ll also say, “the weather keeps the riff raff out.�
To some extent I suppose it does. People can rattle off the worst winters of their lifetimes. The most recent “famous winter� was in 1997. Another was 1966. I’ve been told I never experienced a bad winter here, which is likely true. But they’ve all been pretty cold to me. Last December the temperature hit -20 degrees Fahrenheit, colder than both poles and anywhere in Canada or Siberia at the time, save for one ridiculous mountain city in Russia that is surely unsuitable for human habitat. The winter wind when it's below zero can sometimes freeze your bones and definitely your snot. It can sting your eyes for them to be opened beyond slits for a second. If experiencing this kind of weather half the year every year doesn’t make you resilient, what will?
Resilience is getting up to milk cows every morning, sometimes having to use a rope tied between the barn and the house to find your way in feet of snow.
Resilience is giving birth at home when the nearest hospital is 30+ miles away.
Resilience is riding a horse to a one-room school with a packed lunch of some ham and a potato.
Resilience is ranching on a land that can withhold rain for what sometimes seems like years or more.
Resilience is growing crops between the nearly minuscule window of frosts in May and October. Oh, and relying on rain alone to water them in between.
Resilience is rebuilding towns that were wiped out by floods and fires.
Resilience is losing siblings and children to diseases and accidents, the latter of which continue to happen today. America’s deadliest roads are rural two-lane highways.
Resilience is staying and caring for your parents after all your siblings have left.
Resilience is moving into town and letting one of your kids live in the old farmhouse.
Resilience is insisting to live alone in town, years after your spouse has died, because that’s all you know how to do.
Another word that comes to mind to describe Dakotans is reserved. I’ve sat with grown children, preparing for their parent’s funeral only to discover they’ve never once heard the stories of how their parents met, fell in love, or even married. People don’t tend to talk much about themselves around here. They don’t cry a whole lot either. Greeting cards often are just signed without much of a note for why they were sent, but they still mean a lot to the person who receives them.
Behind such steely reservation lies some of the steadiest and fiercest love I’ve ever come to know. People who hold the nice, warm hands of loved ones as they’ve died in hospitals and nursing homes. People who rise up early to shovel and clear their elderly neighbors� snow. People who gather to paint the house of someone who no longer has the strength to do it on his own. Who clean up what others may have broken, somewhat wondering when it will all break again.
Some people here have only read my newspaper columns or heard me pray once or twice at a community event. I once attended a graduation party and had a guy point a finger in my face and ask the guy next to him, “who’s this guy?� Others might just sit and watch as I preach from a stage. But those who really know me are the ones I’ve chatted with at their work, or in their truck, or seeder, or combine, or living room, or hospital room, or nursing home room or perhaps they’ve come to my living room to pray or shared a meal with my family. They’ve allowed me to be a witness to what they have endured and are struggling against right now. They’ve let me come to know them as I’m coming to know myself and the pains I've carried as those around me too have died and left.
At my Dad's grave in KansasÌýI might be readying to leave the Dakotas, but its people will always be a part of my story, and their presence will remain through my preaching, teaching, and mentoring of pastors in the far south of Brazil. I’m thankful for the joys of new life, healed bodies, filling food. And also in some way grateful for the journey of losses, deaths, quietude, and painful longing. A journey I've walked myself while living here.
Lastly, I’d say Dakotans are honest, mostly. I was told a lot how young I was for a pastor when I first moved here. I’ve also been told how easy it is to stop coming to church (I’ve always likened it to how easy I find it to stop exercising). There’s little Christianese spoken here. People tell you just what they think from the ugly color of the church building’s siding to how fat I am.
And so when people around here have told me that they will miss me, I know it’s true. One man had watery eyes as I was exiting his living room for the last time. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.
When I receive cards that have more than a signature and include a handwritten message that compliments my preaching, pastoral care, counseling, and even administrative skills, I smile, And when someone writes that my legacy at our church includes influencing our church to be more outwardly focused I say to myself, “yes, somebody got it.� Every Saturday afternoon before I’d rehearse my sermon to an empty sanctuary I’d walk up and down the center aisle, touch every pew, and pray. I'd pray that on the Lord’s Day it wouldn't matter what kind of week someone had coming in, that they would meet God here. Not because of me, but because of him.
Despite all my shortcomings, mistakes, and missteps, God actually used me here.
And I know he will continue using Dakotans here and elsewhere. I hope everybody, like that server in Houston, gets to meet one eventually.
No comments have been added yet.
