Western Americana persists and thrives on the northern Great Plains. A photo of a poem from cowboy poet Shadd Piehl, this commissioned by the Hotel Donaldson, Fargo. Shadd is a good friend.
The Bohemian pulse runs thick in the Piehl DNA (see here for detail). Some days I know we’re living out a long extension of a Willa Cather My Ántonia novel here in the 21st century. We’re sitting in the saddle of the 49th parallel on the northern Great Plains, North America.
A Bismarck Daily Tribune story from July 6, 1913.
As we recover from the pyro-mania hangover associated with America’s Independence (no doubt, celebrated with hundreds of millions of dollars of Chinese fireworks), I came across this 100-year-old local story from The Bismarck Daily Tribune, front page, July 6, 1913. If you have ever witnessed the residential and professional fireworks displays on July 4th in Mandan, North Dakota, this little snippet may resonate with you. It feels somewhat like a war zone. Somewhat. Here is a bit of deep cultural backdrop on things that blow up, and have blown up, in Mandan, North Dakota around the first week of July. Enjoy.
The Edge of the Village 