Our Prairie Home Companion

Several years ago my father, through the magic of the Internet, found a late twenties pickup truck rusting of disuse on a Dakota farm. Rescued to Dad’s garage, the soul of its past echoed through the hand-rigged gun rack that housed the instrument a long dead farmer undoubtedly used to feed and protect his family. Reincarnated as a hot rod that now rolls through my hometown, the truck is a reminder that the past can never be blown away.
I’m reminded of that ancient vehicle while watching the winds catch the tall grasses of the Northern prairie states that brings “amber waves of grain” to life, as they hadn’t been since childhood. Those winds swept life back from history and tied it to a largely unchanged land. Waves of vegetation crash against rusting vehicles and tractors that served a life of purpose until finally giving out, dying on its still unmoved resting spot amongst the swaying grasses and tying its past to the visual present.
All through Western Minnesota, North Dakota and into Saskatchewan, Canada there are these ghostly reminders in the form of vehicles and homes long since abandoned. The presence of these markers allows the laughter of former inhabitants, in a land of Scandinavian decent, to emerge through the winds while life passes by and reminds us to pause like the knight in Bergman’s “Seventh Seal” and enjoy a moment with friends because life is fleeting.
Of flesh and blood those who lived here are gone, but upon their toils the present and future thrive. North Dakota is awash in its farming and fossil fueled past while also appearing to be ground zero for emerging technologies. Ethanol advertisements dot the windswept landscape that is shaded by the shadows of windmills harvesting a renewable resource.
Those who continue to call this land home are sparse but hearty stock. They live amongst whispering ghosts and build upon their heritage. In Southern Saskatchewan we refill at a small family owned, full service gas station that looks to have been around for generations. Dust from the wind is washed from our car’s windshield while Ethanol laced gasoline is pumped into our gas tank by an attendant undoubtedly descended from one who on that very spot serviced myriad late twenties pickup trucks.