“Wolves howl eerily in the distance. Below the star-studded black sky, wide-eyes look nervously about in the immediate darkness of the new land. Held high, the cattle’s huge nostrils inhale the piercing cold of the tall-timbered landscape through glistening broad wet noses. Ears pivot toward the shadows beyond. Heavy cloven hooves settle, one beside the other, on the frozen pockmarked soil of the crude corral; irregularly patterned hides around swollen bellies white with frost collide reassuringly against another. A falling star streaks across the sky unnoticed.
Inside the two-room log cabin, the last wrinkle falls from a handmade dress atop the children’s clothes. A child coughs from the darkness. Pine needles and wood chips, strands of meadow grass, manure, and melting snow clinging to leather-soled boots near the stove. The vapor of warm breath wavers in a thin beam of moonlight stretching diagonally from roof to floor in the small log-walled room. The sighs and movements of people under heavy blankets, sleeping in a dark room; the wrought-iron bed frame squeaking.
A chilling breeze crosses the floor. Mice scurry, darting under beds, along walls, sniffing, nibbling, afraid and unseen. Setting the lid aside, a child uses the chamber pot. The hot liquid streams into the porcelain pot, steam rises; the lid replaced, the pot placed again out of the way. Footsteps pad back to bed; the feathertick yawns as the child re-enters the bed, curls up, and snuggles under cooled covers.
White fringed ash around an orange-red pulsing honeycomb of solidified fire falls through the grate of the woodstove as coals gasp their last; a cob settles with a bump.
All within, and without, are asleep another night. Adults and children sleep where, in less than two generations, few people will know nor care they even existed."
One of Ray and Ann Morrisey’s descendants (See Wannaskan Almanac March 4th blog post) urged me to research a family named Olofson who once lived and raised eleven children in a now non-existent two-room log home, that stood for at least ninety-seven years after it was built one mile east of the junction of State Hwy 89 and one mile south on Marshall County Road 53.
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| The Martin and Anna Olofson family: Melvin (1912-1970); Henry (1914-1968); Mabel, wife of Walter Lunsetter (1915-1996); Arthur (1918-1986); Harold (1920-1991); Herman (1924-1952); Palmer (1925-2002); Noble (1926-1994); Marvin (1927-?) Berger (1929-1996; and Mildred, wife of Rueben Kilbo (1933-?) |
The late Walt Lunsetter, a well-known Grygla area historian, met with me and was able to provide me with a wealth of information about the family. He may even have loaned me a photograph of the family as well that I used in THE RAVEN story: THE MARTIN & ANNA OLOFSON STORY, Vol 8 ISS 1, 2005. It was one of the best biographies that we ever published. This was but an excerpt.
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| Unidentified Olofson children |
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| A sun-kissed corner of two white-washed log walls |
Very eloquent!
ReplyDeleteThe italicized portion is wonderful, and so unlike your usual style and tone. Man, you are developing some kinda range! Don't get me wrong; your "usual style" is fine and dandy; this piece just adds to your repertoire.
ReplyDeleteIf you hadn't given directions, I would have guessed that the homestead was/is located north of County 4, a ways north on 9, on the west side. I've always made up images and stories of who lived, laughed, sweated, and wedded in that house. It would be a great mystery exploration to discover the history of other such houses around our area. Alas, I'm not up for spelunking in those ruins.