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Grottos of South Dakota

The Midwest was host to a unique folk art movement in the early 20th century, as German-American Catholics brought with them the grotto tradition. There are two small grottos in South Dakota, on opposite ends of the state: Saint Peter’s in Farmer, and Saint Martin’s in Oelrichs.

The Midwestern grotto tradition was kickstarted by Father Paul Dobberstein with the Grotto of the Redemption in West Bend, Iowa. Near-death experiences are a common theme in grotto-building origin stories. Father Dobberstein promised the Virgin Mary that if he survived a bout with pneumonia, he would build one. And he did. In 1894, he built a small grotto, Our Lady of Lourdes, at the Saint Francis de Sales Seminary outside Milwaukee.

He wasn’t done though. He began to amass a collection of boulders for his magnum opus, which he began in 1912 and continued until his death in 1954. A parishioner named Matt Szerence helped him from the start, continuing also until his death in 1959.

The two artists often made excavation runs to the Black Hills, returning with rocks removed by miners or railroads. They studded the surfaces with colorful minerals, gemstones, petrified wood and glass. The Grotto of the Redemption is actually a series of nine grottos that tell the Catholic story of Redemption, beginning with the Fall of Man and culminating with the Resurrection.

Perhaps the second most famous Midwestern grotto is the Dickeyville Grotto and Shrines, built by Father Matthias Wernerus in the eponymous small Wisconsin town between 1925 and 1930. Probably inspired in part by Dobberstein’s work, Dickeyville is a tribute to God and country, combining patriotic and religious themes. With his splashy use of color — utilizing semi-precious stones, glass and pottery shards — Wernerus prefigured later religious folk artists, working in different mediums, like Howard Finster at Paradise Gardens or Leonard Knight at Salvation Mountain.

The South Dakota grottos are neither as grand in scale as the Grotto of the Redemption, or as visually frenetic as Dickeyville.

Saint Martin’s in Oelrichs is the most austere, relying less on colorfully ornamented concrete, and more on the stone bounty of the Southern Black Hills to recreate a naturalistic cavern for the Virgin Mary. Father Gerhard Stakemeir, another German American priest, built the icon between 1932 and 1934, with help from parishioner Nick Bogner. According to the National Register of Historic Places, Stakemeir and Bogner utilized, “petrified wood and moss, and fossils taken from Wind Cave National Park.

“The car tunnels leading through Wind Cave National Park were being enlarged in the late 1920s and early 1930s, which left vast amounts of debris … Bogner used a trailer and his Buick to haul the rocks from the passes to aid Father Stakemeir’s project.”

The bells no longer ring at Saint Martin’s, which closed as a church in 1999, a victim of rural decline. The property owner maintains the grotto, which receives few visitors.

Father Peter Scheier built the Byzantine-style Saint Peter’s grotto in Farmer between 1926 and 1933. Scheier may have been more influenced by his contemporaries in West Bend and Dickeyville than Father Stakemeir was at Oelrichs. The facade of the turrets and walls at Farmer are decoratively studded with thousands of fresh-water seashells and shards of colored glass, among the gathered stones. Like Stakemeir, and even Paul Dobberstein, Scheier made excursions to the Black Hills to gather materials. The Farmer grotto is cherished by alums and locals, some of whom took part in a restoration project in the early 2000s.

Maybe it’s just a coincidence, but Lemmon’s Petrified Wood Park — one of South Dakota’s great folk art monuments, which could be seen as a secular take on the grotto movement, in which fossils and stone foster the contemplation of deep time (or at least put Lemmon on the map) rather than the glorification of God — was built during the peak of the Midwestern grotto-building era (1930-1932).

In its grandiosity of scale, Ole Quammen’s Petrified Wood Park shares more in common with the Grotto of the Redemption or Dickeyville than Stakemeir’s or Scheier’s smaller icons, nearly swallowed by the prairie and demography.

Saint Martin’s and Saint Peter’s remain modest reminders of an interesting moment in sacral folk art.

Michael Zimny is the social media engagement specialist for South Dakota Public Broadcasting in Vermillion. He blogs for SDPB and contributes arts columns to the South Dakota Magazine website.

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Surviving Wind Chill

Chores need doing, even at 40 below.

“Wind chill is 70 to 90 below zero.” I shrugged as I snapped off the radio. I moved cattle on horseback one day when the wind chill was 60 below. Once it’s that cold, what difference can a few degrees make?

I found out. Exposed flesh freezes in well under a minute. In the time I took to open a gate, the naked skin behind my glasses began to sting. I think my nose is shorter — frozen off when my scarf slipped down as I hacked at six inches of ice on the cattle tank. When I stepped out of the pickup my often-frostbitten hands began to ache at once, and didn’t stop until hours later. My eyes burned for several days. My face felt sandpapered. My lungs ached, in spite of the scarf.

I followed all the well-known rules for living through cold weather. I kept a little water running, flushed the toilet frequently, checked the sewer vent pipe for frost, hauled in an armload of wood every time I went outside, plugged in the truck heaters. I called a neighbor before I went out to do chores, and called her when I got back safely.

But I survived. And that amazed me. I went outside often, though the radio was advising people not to, because I had work to do. I carried 50-pound sacks of cake to the cows, chopped ice, ducked behind a windbreak when I could, put my free hand inside my shirt when it hurt too much, and drove back to the house more often to warm up. I walked slowly, so I wouldn’t gasp for deep, dangerous breaths.

Once I went out when I had nothing to do, really — just to look at everything with new eyes: to see how the animals were staying alive. Grouse clucked at me from bushy branches of a cedar, an owl dropped silently out of a broken barn window. The cows had gone over a hill to a gully on a south slope and didn’t reappear until two days later. Their eyelashes were frosty, but their month-old calves were fine. I resisted hunting for them in the deadliest weather, remembering my father’s rule:”A cow can stand more cold than you can.”

That’s what amazes me: that humans survive at all. We are so dependent on our machinery and our miracle fabrics, so overconfident about our often-wrong interpretations of nature, that I don’t understand how we’ve lasted this long. A freight train barrels into a town, out of control and speeding because the air brakes didn’t work. Anyone who has heard her own footsteps on a 30-below morning knows cold air is thinner. Misguided folks feed starving deer and chase them away from hunters, thinking to help. They fail to see that starving deer mean too many deer for available grass. They should thank hunters for killing them mercifully instead of letting them be smashed on the highway. Our lives are so nearly automated that a problem requiring thought can kill us — because we are not used to thinking.

And if you’re not thinking when the wind chill is 90 below zero, you can be dead. I reached above my head to pull a bale of hay into the pickup. Two dropped, knocking me backward. I was quick enough to roll over the side of the pickup. But heavier bales might have knocked the wind out of me, broken a bone, made me fall on my head. Later I could think of a half-dozen ways I might have been badly hurt. Ten minutes of lying in the snow would have killed me. Next time I didn’t stand below the bales. Another of my father’s rules flashed through my head:”When you’re handling cows, it helps to be smarter than the cow.” Or a bale of hay.

Editor’s Note: This story is revised from the January/February 2005 issue of South Dakota Magazine. To order a copy or to subscribe, call (800) 456-5117.

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The Perfect Load of Grain

Loading a grain truck is dirty business. Thick clouds of dust obscure the air, or it’s so dark on a fall harvest night that you can’t see how full the truck is.”One day we just decided to fix the problem,” says Groton farmer Shawn Gengerke.”We tried cameras and other stuff, and it just didn’t work at all. We tried two or three different technologies and they didn’t work, either. Finally we built a hybrid that could do it all, and now we’re waiting for a global patent. We’re literally the first of our kind with this technology.”

In Gengerke’s Load Judge, six sensors in the trailer transmit information to a smartphone or other mobile device. The driver can then determine when the trailer is adequately loaded.”I’m a fourth generation farmer, and this is just what we do,” says Gengerke, who farms several thousand acres six miles north of Groton on Highway 37.”We’ve got a few retired farmers that help us and they can’t climb these ladders any more. They’re breathing in dirt and dust. Just the health aspect of it is important. You can sit in the cab and know exactly when you have to move the truck.”

Gengerke worked on prototypes for several months before debuting the Load Judge at the Dakotafest farm show in August 2013.”Most everything gets installed with industrial strength double sided tape,” he says.”There’s no oil or screws anywhere. The one hole you drill gets the cable to the power module.”

Editor’s Note: This story is revised from the November/December 2013 issue of South Dakota Magazine. To order a copy or to subscribe, call (800) 456-5117.

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A Modern-Day Homesteader

The story of how I came to be a farm wife in South Dakota isn’t your typical road to the farm.

I am originally from a small town in Indiana, where I grew up with my mom and sister. After my dad married my stepmom, I became the oldest of six. Speaking of my stepmom … she’s Jeanette Lee, the professional pool player also known as”The Black Widow.” As you might imagine, I grew up having experiences that not everyone can say they’ve had.

Even though I didn’t grow up on a farm, agriculture has always been a part of my life. When I was younger, I was involved in 4-H and FFA, which led me to pursue a degree in agricultural education. I did most of my schooling at Purdue University, but once I met my farmer I finished at South Dakota State University.

My husband and I met on FarmersOnly.com, a website for people who love the rural lifestyle and have a passion for agriculture. We met for the first time face to face on the exit ramp that is now down the road from our home. I lived in South Dakota for a year before I was sure I was ready to do this whole “farm wife” thing. But I love my farmer, and I would do just about anything to be by his side.

We have been married over five years and have one adorable little girl. Life is always changing in our home, and we were so excited to have our son in April through in vitro fertilization, which is another story. The road to start our family has definitely not been easy, but we feel so blessed that God chose us to become parents.

Before kids, my days used to be filled with helping out on the farm as much as possible — watching gates, running for parts, working cattle, raking or moving hay, cooking, driving grain cart or cleaning water fountains. With kids, I still do a lot of those same things. I just carve out a lot more time for them, and I am thankful to have a wonderful mother-in-law right down the street and two great babysitters always on-call.

I have always said one of the best things about my relationship with Jason is our passion for agriculture. It is something we both love and appreciate every day. We are truly living our dream jobs.

On my blog, I talk about life on the farm from the perspective of someone who is living it for the first time. My husband can boast coming from a long line of farmers, but mine truly is the story of a First Generation Farm Wife.

Morgan Kontz lives on a farm near Colman with her husband, Jason, and two children. She blogs about her experiences as a first generation South Dakota farm wife and writes a monthly agriculture column for the South Dakota Magazine website.

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The Spirituality of Hanson County

At 435 square miles, Hanson County is the third smallest county in South Dakota. But what it lacks in area, it makes up for in spirituality. The lazy James River quietly runs through the southwestern quarter, past the graves of two men who died defending their staunchly held religious beliefs. In Alexandria you’ll find a shrine dedicated to a modern miracle. And in between the lakes, fields and streams provide ample opportunities to reconnect with nature.

Most visitors will arrive in Hanson County driving 80 mph on Interstate 90, but that’s the fastest pace you’ll find here. Exit at Alexandria and spend a few quiet moments at the Fatima Family Shrine, an elaborate exhibit of Catholic statuary started in 1987. It pays tribute to the 1917 appearance of the Virgin Mary to three shepherd children at Fatima, Portugal. The shrine features an image of Mary modeled after the statue at Fatima. At the base is Portuguese rock and soil from the very ground by the oak tree on which Mary was seen.

St. Mary of Mercy Church in Alexandria.

The shrine is next to Alexandria’s historic St. Mary of Mercy Catholic Church. Across the street is a cloistered convent called the Monastery of Our Mother of Mercy, where 14 Carmelite nuns work and pray for world peace in relative isolation from the public.

Another powerful spot is burial site of Michael and Joseph Hofer, two Hutterites who died after refusing to fight during World War I. They rest in the cemetery at Rockport Colony, 8 miles southwest of Alexandria. The Hofers were drafted in 1918, but as pacifists they were conflicted. After consultation with elders, they decided to report for training but to abstain from any activity that furthered the war effort.

They were jailed, taunted, beaten and starved until they both contracted pneumonia inside the prison at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. The Hofers died within days of each other. Their bodies were returned to Rockport and buried in the tiny colony cemetery.

Today the story of the Hofers is well known among the North American Hutterite community, though few others are aware. Hutterite children learn about the brothers as schoolchildren, and families from across the continent come to Rockport to pay their respects at the grave.

Michael Hofer’s gravesite at Rockport Colony.

Rockport Colony sits on the very first townsite in Hanson County. The first settlement grew in 1865 when the U.S. military sent soldiers to keep peace between Indians and encroaching settlers. The men used quartzite, which is plentiful along the banks of the James River around Rockport, to build Fort James, one of the only stone cavalry forts in the West.

Fort James was occupied for only two years. All that remains are quartzite foundations and a marker placed at the site following an archaeological investigation of the area several years ago.

Hanson County was originally created in 1871 and named for Major Joseph R. Hanson, one of Yankton’s earliest residents. Hanson was born in New Hampshire and moved west seeking better business opportunities. He arrived at Sioux City in 1858, crossed into Nebraska and set up a winter camp just across the Missouri River from present day Yankton. At the time, only four white men lived in the area, and all worked at the Frost, Todd and Company trading post.

Fort James was occupied in 1865 and 1866.

Longtime state historian Doane Robinson credits Hanson as being the second actual settler of Yankton behind John Holman, who had built a cabin there a month before Hanson’s arrival. He served two years as chief clerk of the territorial legislature and helped secure the fledging town against Indian raids by direction construction of the Yankton stockade in 1862. Hanson became a prominent citizen with a successful farm just east of town.

The first civil settlement in Hanson County occurred at Rockport, when Peter, Samuel and Michael Bloom, Jerry Flick and Frank Foster arrived in 1872. A small post office was built and a town platted in 1878 in preparation for Rockport’s designation as county seat. But the county’s boundaries were adjusted in 1879 and the railroad chose a route through Alexandria. Voters moved the county seat to Alexandria after the election of 1880. Rockport became the site of a Hutterite colony in 1894 and remained so until 1918, when nearly all Hutterites in North America moved to Canada in opposition to the war. The present Rockport Colony was created in 1934.

Lake Hanson, southwest of Alexandria. Photo by Christian Begeman.

In that same year, the Depression-era Works Progress Administration built a dam along Pierre Creek 2 miles southwest of Alexandria. The resulting impoundment became known as Lake Hanson, a popular spot for water recreation. Another fishing hole is Long Lake, just north of Farmer. Anglers catch bluegill, sunfish and largemouth bass there.

Hanson County is largely rural. Alexandria is its largest town, at about 630 people. Emery, just southeast along Highway 262, is a town of 450 people. In Fulton (pop. 94) sisters Mary Wipf and Elizabeth Soladay run Con Brio Studio, a business specializing in restoring and re-hairing bows for stringed instruments. Only 10 people call Farmer home, but the community still manages to hold a grand antique tractor parade the weekend following Labor Day. Their slow procession contrasts starkly to the traffic zooming along I-90 just 5 miles south. Maybe those cars should get off the freeway and experience the laid back and reflective life that Hanson County can offer.

Editor’s Note: This is the eighth installment in an ongoing series featuring South Dakota’s 66 counties. Click here for previous articles.