North Dakota

I had been to North Dakota before, but that was a long time ago. I was in a college chorale and our bus drove through on a singing tour. I don’t think the state made much of an impression on me then. All I really remember is that it took a really long time to get from one end of it to the other!

Of the 50 states, North Dakota ranks 19th in land area and 48th in population. Less than 650,000 people call this northern state home, which means there are a lot of wide open spaces. As we drove along Highway 94, I was struck by the seemingly endless rolling prairie, with nary a house, barn, or silo in sight for many miles. Tall, strong prairie grass blows in the breeze and amber waves of grain beautify the horizon. Fields of sunflowers smiled at us as we passed by and purple and yellow wildflowers adorned the roadside. The corn grows tall and the cattle look like they’re loving life. Here, one could almost believe that all is right with the world.

For the most part, the highway is straight as an arrow and the speed limit is 75 MPH.

You can’t come to North Dakota without hearing about the buffalo (aka bison). Bison in the fields, bison statues, bison burgers, bison brats…you get the picture.

Right now the temperature here is perfect but come the third week of September, the first frost sets in. I’m told that the winters are long, bitterly cold, and the wind blows mercilessly.

We’re getting the scoop on the oil reserve here. Apparently one guy who owns the refinery has a monopoly on the oil and ships it all to China. Nice thoughtful American.

About 100 miles north of us is Minot, which has recently experienced terrible flooding. Even here in Jamestown, the problem is apparent. They are at a 500 year water table, which means that North Dakota hasn’t seen this much water in 500 years. (How they figure those things out, I’m not sure. I can’t believe people were keeping records of such things 500 years ago. But, then, that is why I’m a preacher’s wife and not the chief bottle washer at the U.S. Geological Survey office.) Walk down Jamestown’s sidewalks and you will walk over black hoses snaking out of people’s basements; the sump pumps are working overtime. The reservoir near us is past full. Afraid of a dam break, they are letting water through, which of course raises the level of the James River that runs through town. A sand bagging project is scheduled to begin this week, in especially vulnerable areas of town, to minimize damage when they release more water from the reservoir. Incidentally, the camp we are staying at is tucked within a bend in the river. Pretty, but it is running steady and deep…quite a reminder of the problem this town is encountering right now.

Jamestown is a town of 14,000 or so. It’s the boyhood home of Louis L’Amour. I’ve read a number of Louis’ books in my life. Dad used to leave them lying around and my brother and I read everything in sight; shoot-‘em-up-bang-bangs were no exception. In case you’ve never read one, there’s really no need to start now. The standard plot is this: A good or semi-good guy is just minding his own business and along comes a problem. Rough hombres, cattle rustlers, and evil bullies threaten the security of the wild, wild west. The good or semi-good guy saves the day with flying colors, a Robin Hood of sorts who achieves the impossible and usually comes out with just a few scratches from flying bullets and the girl on his arm. Ah, well, here in this state where everything is legendary, it would hardly seem right if good ole Louis had been born anywhere except wild-and-wooly buffalo country!