As a youth I was enamored of stories of saints and mystics. Lately, in James Mitchener's Iberia I came across the enormous and continuing devotion to St. James, apostle, who is believed to have traveled to Iberia (Spain) and converted persons to Christianity in the First Century. Was this the same James who led the Jerusalem church and was martyred in the holy land?
More importantly, the Bible has an Epistle attributed to James which has a distinct quality. This Epistle of James is especially sharp about his own generation which was not unlike our own in which materialism is rampant in society. The author of the epistle encourages those who live in want to not live in spiritual want. This epistle is attributed to James the Greater. The epistle in my thinking has long been an important touchstone piece of literature and in part explains why I write poetry in an age of rampant and degrading materialism and also choose certain images over others.
While living in North Dakota as a young teacher, I walked on hillsides in the hills east of Binford (not too far from mystical Red Willow Lake) on a visit to Leroy and Bernice Alfson's farm (my wife's relatives and my all time favorite Aunt Barney). These hills are glacial moraine and were for the most part in use as pasture. You could see the flat farms running to the horizon in all directions. On our walk, I remember suggesting to my daughter Kendra, age three, that she pick the wild flowers and bring them down to her mother during our visit.
At that time, my wife Jean, daughter Kendra, and I lived in a school board house rent free with one caveat: we had to heat it. The bills were so exorbitant that we began to understand why it was rent free. Eventually, the home was reinsulated in part because of the skyrocketing fuel oil prices during the Carter Presidency. One of the three winters we lived in Grace City, one family, two of whom were my students, tore siding off of their home to burn in the wood stove. I was not all that shocked because as a youth I had spent two summers for a couple of weeks on Fort Totten Indian Reservation working at a Catholic Youth Organization at Seven Dolors Mission. At that time reservation families were beset with rampant alcoholism and teenagers having babies. At that time,I was shocked to see housing with the siding stripped for firewood.
Oddly, while I seemed to have first hand experience of rural poverty, I wrote a short story about a family in a new housing development in Fargo in which the family was being torn apart by materialism, not poverty. I sent the story into the state fair and nothing came of it. I wonder why I didn't write a story about rural poverty. I think I probably was in it and just didn't realize it. Farm families in some parts of North Dakota live in housing on the farmer's land and probably experience the same rural poverty I was witnessing, but I didn't write about their plight either. The Twentieth Century for many rural families was spare but the families I met were hard working hands or tenants. Most of us were glad to have employment and a roof over our heads.
What I did do to help me mark the passage through the low income years was to write a poem for Sunday school class using the image of wildflowers, Prairie Roses. Flowers like the ones that Kendra and I had seen as we walked that day in the hills. This poem and its attitude about life helped me live those years on a rural English teacher's salary without much ado. Don't feel sorry for me though as the cooking at home was satisfying and the relatives always had great feasts too. The Grace City School had produce from gardens and locally raised beef and deer sausage in home cooked meals. Hot lunch was the highlight of everyone's day in that school.
Don't remember sharing my "Prairie Rose Volunteers" poem it with anyone until I sent it out as a Christmas greeting some years ago. The poem is available upon email request to this blogger. I'd like to think that the author of the Epistle of James would like my poem.
More importantly, the Bible has an Epistle attributed to James which has a distinct quality. This Epistle of James is especially sharp about his own generation which was not unlike our own in which materialism is rampant in society. The author of the epistle encourages those who live in want to not live in spiritual want. This epistle is attributed to James the Greater. The epistle in my thinking has long been an important touchstone piece of literature and in part explains why I write poetry in an age of rampant and degrading materialism and also choose certain images over others.
While living in North Dakota as a young teacher, I walked on hillsides in the hills east of Binford (not too far from mystical Red Willow Lake) on a visit to Leroy and Bernice Alfson's farm (my wife's relatives and my all time favorite Aunt Barney). These hills are glacial moraine and were for the most part in use as pasture. You could see the flat farms running to the horizon in all directions. On our walk, I remember suggesting to my daughter Kendra, age three, that she pick the wild flowers and bring them down to her mother during our visit.
At that time, my wife Jean, daughter Kendra, and I lived in a school board house rent free with one caveat: we had to heat it. The bills were so exorbitant that we began to understand why it was rent free. Eventually, the home was reinsulated in part because of the skyrocketing fuel oil prices during the Carter Presidency. One of the three winters we lived in Grace City, one family, two of whom were my students, tore siding off of their home to burn in the wood stove. I was not all that shocked because as a youth I had spent two summers for a couple of weeks on Fort Totten Indian Reservation working at a Catholic Youth Organization at Seven Dolors Mission. At that time reservation families were beset with rampant alcoholism and teenagers having babies. At that time,I was shocked to see housing with the siding stripped for firewood.
Oddly, while I seemed to have first hand experience of rural poverty, I wrote a short story about a family in a new housing development in Fargo in which the family was being torn apart by materialism, not poverty. I sent the story into the state fair and nothing came of it. I wonder why I didn't write a story about rural poverty. I think I probably was in it and just didn't realize it. Farm families in some parts of North Dakota live in housing on the farmer's land and probably experience the same rural poverty I was witnessing, but I didn't write about their plight either. The Twentieth Century for many rural families was spare but the families I met were hard working hands or tenants. Most of us were glad to have employment and a roof over our heads.
What I did do to help me mark the passage through the low income years was to write a poem for Sunday school class using the image of wildflowers, Prairie Roses. Flowers like the ones that Kendra and I had seen as we walked that day in the hills. This poem and its attitude about life helped me live those years on a rural English teacher's salary without much ado. Don't feel sorry for me though as the cooking at home was satisfying and the relatives always had great feasts too. The Grace City School had produce from gardens and locally raised beef and deer sausage in home cooked meals. Hot lunch was the highlight of everyone's day in that school.
Don't remember sharing my "Prairie Rose Volunteers" poem it with anyone until I sent it out as a Christmas greeting some years ago. The poem is available upon email request to this blogger. I'd like to think that the author of the Epistle of James would like my poem.
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