Love Locked Forever

Yesterday, we woke up in Oslo to the celebration of our fifteenth wedding anniversary. How fitting that we are in some interesting place, learning new things about people and history and foods…and traditions. Strolling across a bridge in Frogner Park, we chanced upon these padlocks, wondering what their story is about. In New Zealand, rural fence lines are decorated with bras, something like how we see cowboy boots on barbed wire fences in the U.S. But, as we learned, the locking of the padlocks are globally, not nationally or regionally, steeped in tradition. While we could see initials and dates and hearts, we did not then know of the Love Locked Forever symbolism. The names or initials of sweethearts, and often the date, are inscribed on the padlock, and the key is tossed into the river to symbolize unbreakable love. A blessing of our partnership and shared travels has been that we often stumble into marvels. We are not carrying padlocks in our tucker bag, but we carry the sentiment forthwith.

Lincoln in Oslo

Spent most of yesterday in and around Frogner Park–first going through the Vigeland Museum, then wandering for hours among the sculptures in the park, sustained only by key lime pie and coffee from the park cafe. I am at a loss to describe the extent and effect of these works of Gustaf Vigeland. Maybe later. For now, I offer some observations about two direct connections between Oslo and our home in North Dakota.

First, among the exhibits in the Vigiland Museum are numerous plaster casts for works destined to be rendered in stone or bronze and emplaced elsewhere. In a corner stands Henrik Wergeland, Norway’s great romantic poet, as fashioned by Vigeland. This took me by surprise, although it should not have. Immediately I realized that this was the plaster version for the bronze Vigeland would have cast for Island Park, Fargo; it stands there still.

The second thing we went looking for. In 2014 Governor Louis B. Hanna of North Dakota traveled to Oslo to dedicate a bust of Lincoln in Frogner Park. The bust of Lincoln was a gift from the people of North Dakota, as duly authorized by the legislative assembly, to the people of Norway in celebration of the centennial of their independence from the tyrannous Swedes. Hanna, as befitting a leader of the Progressive Era, loved monuments. Moreover, there were political overtones, for Hanna, a Republican, delivered the casting of Lincoln, founder of his party, to the people of Norway, immigrants from which comprised a substantial part of the voting population of the state of North Dakota. And yet the journey, and the gift, transcended politics. They spoke to a common love of liberty, the kinship of peoples of good will. This is why during the Second World War, the Lincoln monument in Frogner Park was a gathering place and symbol of hope for the Resistance.

Here stands Lincoln today. God willing, this monument will again become a symbol of liberty and hope across oceans and borders.

Morning in Oslo

We’re lodging in the hotel at the central railroad station, which is just about perfect for our needs and preferences. Ordinarily central city would not be my comfort situation, but it’s Oslo. Passage here: trans-Atlantic was a breeze, some discomfiture with getting bookings settled at our Amsterdam connection, and then, arriving Oslo Lufthavn, totally chill. Convenient fast train in to Oslo Sentral. A walkabout last night, with the obligatory ascent of the Operahuset for a look around, thence around the quay to a food truck-bar complex to grab a bite of supper, hang out, and read. Up in the night with old-guy leg cramps, which disturbed Dr. Kelley’s sleep, so she’s lying in this morning. While I work out, write a review, and graze the breakfast buffet. Excellent coffee, of course.

Not sure what Dr. K will propose for the day’s itinerary, but I think we need to get over to Frogner Park and see the Fjelde bust of Lincoln that Governor Hanna sent over and that became such an important symbol of Norwegian resistance during the Second World War. I’m sure sometime during the day we’ll settle in somewhere for reading and writing.

Speaking of which, I did finish my paper for presentation in a few days in Stavanger, and found myself channeling Bernie DeVoto by resorting to synecdoche. I know that’s a wonky literary term, but it just means deploying a representative and symbolic personage or episode in order to represent a larger and complicated subject. In this case, the larger and complicated subject is the changing climate (Little Ice Age to the modern, warming era of the Holocene) and the difficulty understanding it while experiencing it. Late in the paper I home in on 1886, the perilous pinnacle of the range cattle industry on the northern plains, to argue that the cattle kings assumed continuity of the LIA regime of cold, open winters favorable for over-wintering livestock, but in fact, the warming climatic regime was set to deliver disastrously snowy winters. In that year the Motana stockman John Lepley penned a ballad, “The Cattle King’s Prayer,” imploring the Almighty for “Italian skies and little snow.” I will sing his ballad. It’s a good one.

Is this sort of literary touch acceptable in a scholarly paper presentation? I know it will go over fine; I’ve done this sort of thing before. It will come as a surprise to the international scholars among us, but there will be anough old friends present to warm the reception. Dr. K says this is unfair. I’m seventy years old, and I don’t care. I also believe there is enough fresh substance in my interpretive paper to carry it.

Now, before Dr. K emerges and we organize our recon of historic points of interest in the city, I’m turning back to the buffet and to Randall Parish’s 1907 history, The Great Plains: The Romance of Western American Exploration, Warfare, and Settlement, 1527-1870. Organizing a review of it for Plains Folk. Good morning.

To Stavanger

High summer in North Dakota–so naturally, we’re getting ready to leave the country. Tuesday we fly to Norway to tour around a bit and attend an academic meeting–the annual conference of the Agricultural History Society, in Stavanger, 4-6 August. We’ll fly into Oslo, there to see some sights, thence to Kristiansand, where we hope the sun shines. After that we board a train for Stavanger, and at conclusion of the conference, we’ll also take the train back to Oslo.

It’s 1:00am, and Dr. Kelley is still hard at work on a project for NDSU Press. She needs to get this book to the designer before we leave in order to keep to production schedule. She already has pulled one all-nighter on it. Me, I just a few minutes ago finished a draft of the paper I am to present in Stavanger: “A Radical Misapprehension: Reckoning with Climate Change on the Great Plains of North America.” I’ll give more details later. For now I’ll just say, the argument is that major human developments on the plains–the rise of village farmer peoples on the northern plains, the acquisition of horses and emergence of Plains Indians as pastoral peoples, the rapid rise and fall of the range cattle industry, and agricultural settlement by EuroAmericans–all were enabled by the advent, duration, and conclusion of the Little Ice Age.

It’s been a full summer, and lately, we’ve been pushing hard, so we’re both looking forward to the trip. And, believe it or not, looking forward to the transactions of the conference. Because of the venue, the attendees will not be just the usual suspects. Oh, we’ll see old and good friends, but also meet quite a few new ones. With maybe some new ideas. The quality of work at the AHS conference typically is remarkably high.

We’ll be packing some work along, but Dr. Kelley promises to relax now and then while we’re gone. I hope so. Although I find myself packing a number of short writing projects, and I’ll have to log on via Chromebook and work on getting my fall courses in order.

Rest now.

WSSA in Denver this week

Wrote this on Wednesday, but failed to post it: “Headed for Denver – Dr. K & I & five graduate students – for the annual meeting of the Western Social Science Association. All presenting papers. If United gets us off the ground from Fargo. This will be a pretty hectic trip. Any down time, I’ll try to catch up on writing. Also, with all the grad students along, it’s a good time to catch up with them as to their individual programs. And, gonna try to find someplace to wine and dine Dr. K in style. She works too hard.”

Well, we did have a bit of a celebration for Dr. K on Thursday night, recognizing both her recent promotion and her birthday with a get-together at the Brown Palace. Old friends, along with our students, made a festive time.

Otherwise it was mostly business Thursday and Friday. Dr. K and I each gave papers in the New Zealand & Australian Studies Section of the meeting; mine revisited our long line of research on the Lindis district of Central Otago, looking toward renewal of that work post-COVID. Dr. K can talk about her paper for herself.

Our grad students really distinguished themselves. Aaron Barth, Dakota Goodhouse, Jake Morris, Stefani Aulner, and Oliver Sime all presented papers and all knocked them out of the park. They really burnished the NDSU brand here.

Last night we streamed the folk school from here at the Hilton. Lisa Ossian, coordinator of the Rural & Agricultural Studies Section, wrote it into the program, so we had a local audience on hand. This was fun and seemed to go over well. The core of the folk school program was my paper on the granger ballad, “The Farmer Is the Man.”

We spent most of the day today walking around downtown Denver, first to the Wynkoop Tavern for an indulgernt lunch, then over to the Tattered Cover in McGregor Square. Dr. K picked out her birthday present – an armload of books.

Tonight we’ll attend the president’s reception of the WSSA, where one old friend, Tony Amato, will hand over the gavel of the presidency to another old friend, Bill Schaniel. Good. It’s time to wrap up a productive meeting and, tomorrow, get back to the home office on Willow Creek.

Unwinding in Wichita

Got the South Dakota-Michigan game on, have to cheer for the ladies from Vermillion, who are leading at half. Turns out the game is here in town! Had I known that in advance, I’d be down in the arena tonight. Instead I’m at my little motel desk, one eye on the game, the other on the computer screen. I may go out for a bite to eat and a celebratory bourbon in a little while, but I have plenty of work to occupy me here, too.

The meeting of the Kansas Association of Historians wound up well today. We were well hosted by the folks at Newman, and the organization has good leadership. I made the acquaintances and connections I hoped for here, and also presented my paper on “The Stern Old Bachelor” today. Not a large audience, but an appreciative one, and I think the paper went over well. Because of its subject, I’ve met a couple of folkies here, one of them being Tom James, from here in Wichita. Finding that I research the history of folksongs, he made mention of one of his favorites, “Rivers of Texas,” with which I was unfamiliar. I said I’d see what I could find out about it.

I just did a little checking. Here’s what I have on “Rivers of Texas”:

I like the 1956 version here. I haven’t gotten to the bottom of the song’s origins, but then, nobody else has, either. We’ll see what turns up. I like the song.

Old Songs, Old Friends, New Songs, New Friends

Day 3 in Wichita, doing research, getting some writing done, attending the Kansas Association of Historians, reconnecting with old friends, making some new (younger) ones, livestreaming the Willow Creek Folk School, and today, presenting research on Great Plains folksong.

Last night, returning to my palatial Best Western room from sessions of the KAH, I went live with WCFS #95. This was essentially a shakedown of the paper I will present today, a study of the prairie ballad, “The Stern Old Bachelor.” I discovered the original text and author of the ballad last year in research for the WCFS. Today’s paper presentation will be the first more formal scholarly packaging of my research on Great Plains balladry. It is the first of many to come. (The second will be next week, in Denver.)

Such a pleasure yesterday to reconnect with Virgil Dean, editor emeritus of Kansas History, and to have him formally introduce me to the current and exceedingly competent editor, Kristin Eps. As a member of her board of editors, a Kansan, and a prairie historian, I wish her all success with the journal. Also good to chat with Joyce Harrison, of University Press of Kansas. All best wishes there, too. The great delight of the day was time spent with Lynsay Flory, public historian extraordinaire and a PhD student of mine.

The final KAH session I attended yesterday was a screening of the docu-drama Home on the Range and a Q & A with its producer, Ken Spurgeon. Looking forward to release of his cincmatic work in progress, The Contested Plains.

I find myself taking a lot of notes – on history and historians – which is a good sign. OK now, off to sessions, thence back to my desk to unwind and write.


I am ensconced in a semi-seedy Best Western is west Wichita, but working well and taking pleasure in a combined research-conference-see-old-friends expedition. Flew in here yesterday morning and immediately Ubered over to Wichita State University, more specifically its Ablah Library, and therein down to Special Collections, holders of the Joan O’Bryant papers.

Joanie was a legendary folklorist and folksinger of the generation just preceding mine. Born and raised in Wichita, she returned there to get her degrees and settled into teaching English and doing folklore at Wichita University, now WSU. She died in a car crash in, I think, 1961.

Her papers are a treasure house of collected lore – including, of course, lots of folksong, both from the Ozark region (she was buds with Vance Randolph) and from Kansas. I spent 2 1/2 hours poring over folksong texts, capturing wonderful stanzas and leads. Some things were new to me – they are in the realm of lost folksong – and these were of great interest. I can take these into my digital research and, I am sure, place them into lineage and context and, in some cases, the evolving canon of Great Plains balladry. Other things were new-to-me iterations of known ballads, always welcome. A couple of hours of manuscript research gave me leads I will be following up for months – will write more about all this, but right now I have to move on to other things.

The folks at the Ablah were most kind to me. After fiinishing up there, I was met by the wonderful Andrea Mott Glessner, our PhD grad from NDSU, but a Kansas girl, who works in a research center at WSU. We lingered over coffee for a couple of hours, catching up and talking prospects. This was a great pleasure.

Before settling in for an evening’s work back at the hotel (thesis chapters on my screen), I walked over to a local legend, the Oasis, for a burger they call the Widow Maker (see my Instagram post). I’m still alive this morning, so I beat the odds.

This morning I resumed desk work, but now must Uber over to Newman University, which is hosting the annual meeting of the Kansas Association of Historians. I’m not on the program today, just attending sessions and politicking and recruiting, and I look forward to it.

Then it’s back here to convene the Willow Creek Folk School at 8pm CDT. On the agenda is a run-through of the paper I will present to the KAH tomorrow, dealing with the Kansas origins of the classic ballad, “The Stern Old Bachelor.” Drop in if you’re inclined – Facebook Live on the Facebook timeline of Plains Folk.

After that, if I have any steam left, I have writing commitments to get back into. . . .

Meanwhile, I wonder what Dr. Kelley is up to in Philly. She should check in now and then, don’t you think?


We’re getting questions from young or young-ish or urban friends and readers what “RFD” means. Perhaps the beginning of an answer is in this image.

Year of issue: 1996

Then see: RFD: The Changing Face of Rural America, by Wayne E. Fuller. Indiana University Press, 1964.

Paper Products & the AWP

I am a paper product fiend.

As I prep and pack for my trip to the Association of Writers and Writing Programs (AWP) conference today, I picked up this blank-page book, dusty at the back of my desk. I love the feel and heft of it; love pulling out a sweet pen for writing. It’s a book I carry when traveling so I can jot down research notes, memories, tidbits about trips, and observations about conference sessions. As I opened this beautifully bound, leather book, I saw my notes from 2019, where this book begins and ends. A postcard from the Metcalfe Fine Art Museum falls from the pages into my lap, and I am immediately transported back to our Oklahoma visit . . . traipsing the grounds where Augusta Metcalfe–the subject of my biographical writing–also traipsed as she fetched produce from the garden, horses from the barn, paints and canvas from her art supplies stash. Following pages take me to New Zealand, with my notes from the Hocken Collections/Uare Taoka o Hakena on Lake Dunstan, the Clyde Dam, hydro development, and–from our vintner friends–the “catch of the yeast.”

The last notes taken in my book are about writing and publishing Indigenous fiction, publisher contracts, how to grow the next generation of publishers/editors/designers/indexers, and commentary from a fabulous session called, “This is Not Your Mom’s University Press.” The occasion? The 2019 AWP conference. How fitting that–as I dust off the cover and cast off the two-year stay-at-home protocols–my book’s next adventure will be at the 2022 AWP!

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