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Leet School: Spanning Time and Space

Once a teacher, always a teacher. That’s true of many educators, and it also applies to a little country schoolhouse built long ago in Sanborn County.

The Leet School, built in 1883 by Norwegian immigrants near Letcher, was painstakingly deconstructed board by board in 2007. It took two weeks to disassemble and pack the country school into a 40-foot container. The school was sent by train to New York City, then by freighter to its new home — the Norwegian Emigration Museum in Hamar, Norway.

Eight years after its relocation, the doors of the Leet School have reopened at the Norway museum as part of a permanent exhibit.”The school is a wonderful addition to the Norwegian Emigration Museum because it is a true, unbroken link with Norwegian-American pioneers,” says Elyce Rubin, who originally notified the museum about the Letcher school. “It will teach invaluable lessons of self reliance, love of the land and patriotism.”

Rubin, a travel writer, became aware of the school when she came to South Dakota researching pioneer photographer O.S. Leeland. She sent out a request to South Dakotans to contact her if they knew of any information on Leeland. H. Richard Christopher, a Letcher farmer, knew of some Leeland photographs and contacted her in New York. When Rubin visited Christopher in Letcher, she was amazed to find the Leet School on his farm.

When the school closed in 1968, Christopher purchased it at an auction for $115. He moved it to his farm and started collecting items from the school’s past. Over the next several decades Christopher found furniture, textbooks, photographs and assorted school supplies including lunch buckets and a school bell, a coal stove and kerosene lanterns.”The school was my baby,” Christopher told a South Dakota Magazine writer in 2007.

Donating the school to the museum was difficult, he said. In the end, Christopher agreed if he could control the classroom’s setup and placement of his memorabilia, which included his own report cards, art and tests. The museum was especially thrilled to receive the school’s contents, which Christopher had carefully displayed in the school.

“I tend to give life and personality to inanimate things. I had dialogue with the books and desks and what these items meant to me. I thought about keeping the teacher’s desk bell and a student desk. But they all seemed to say to me, ‘We all want to stay together,'” he said.

Eight years after Christopher made the hard decision to donate the school and its contents, he is traveling to Norway this month for the grand opening of the Leet School, now called the Leet-Christopher Skolehuset. The simple schoolhouse has new life in Norway.

Someone once said that education is a matter of building bridges. In the case of the Leet School, the spans of time and distance are fairly impressive.

Editor’s Note: The article on Leet school, written by Steven Garnaas, was originally published in the November/December 2007 issue of South Dakota Magazine. To order a copy or to subscribe, call (800) 456-5117.

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Watermelon Capital

Editor’s Note: Forestburg is our Watermelon Capital, as we discovered when we visited Levo Larson, the self-proclaimed”Watermelon King,” in the summer of 1997. Levo has since passed away, but Forestburg melons are a South Dakota tradition that will long endure. This story is revised from the July/August 1997 issue of South Dakota Magazine. To order a copy or to subscribe, call (800) 456-5117.

Salesmanship and showmanship are rare commodities in agriculture these days. Farmers send their crops to market and seldom get an encouraging or discouraging word from the final consumer.

That, perhaps, is part of the attraction to the watermelon industry that has sprung up in Sanborn County. Several dozen farm families devote their summers to the back breaking, sweaty tasks of planting, hoeing and harvesting several thousand acres of watermelon. They say it’s all worthwhile when the customers flock to their roadside stands in late summer as predictably as the waterfowl who soon follow in the fall.

The tiny town of Forestburg has laid claim to the title of South Dakota’s watermelon capital. Nobody has challenged for the title. Nobody is competing. There aren’t many other places where an entire rural neighborhood wants to work that hard to make a few thousand extra dollars.

“Everything with melons is pretty much hand done. It is a lot of work,” agrees Dorrie Tollefson, who married into the business 19 years ago. “But I like meeting people. We’re our own boss. It’s all I do for a job.”

For Tollefson and her neighbors, the melon trade has been successful because of geographic good fortune, namely the James River and State Highway 34. Sandy soil in the river valley gives the melons their sweetness and the highway provides a steady stream of buyers, especially during the last week of August when thousands of cars drive by daily en route to the South Dakota State Fair at Huron.

“We measure our melon crop by how much we sell during fair week,” says Tollefson.

That’s where showmanship enters into the business. Farmers who might not normally paint their barn go to great lengths to create a folksy, country look to their roadside watermelon stand.

Melon decor ranges from gaudy colored lights to wagon wheels and scarecrows. But over time, the produce itself has proven to be the best car-stopper. Melons are piled high in mounds. Splashy orange pumpkins, earth-tone gourds and enough colored corn to decorate a palace wall in Mitchell are common to most of the roadway markets.

“Appearances are very important,” says Charlotte Nelson, who runs Nelson’s Melon Stand along with her husband, Bud. “I decorate with banners. We use corn and hay bales, pumpkins and gourds and whatever else looks good.”

Levo Larson and his son, Skip, stop motorists with red, white and blue wagon wheels, an old red pump, flashing lights and an American flag waving in the breeze.

Levo has learned the art of salesman-ship better than most. He is the self-proclaimed Watermelon King and his stand is named accordingly. You’ll find him in the Forestburg phone book under that title.

Levo has been raising melons for 45 years. For several decades, he entered his produce in the state fair and won many honors. But he says the best test of any melon farmer is repeat customers.

“There is a hell of a lot of work and hand labor that goes into growing these. They don’t just spring up on the shelf,” says Levo. “But a lot of the people thank you for doing it; and that’s something you don’t hear as a farmer too often.”

For thousands of Midwesterners, the traditional end-of-summer excursion to the state fair wouldn’t be complete without a stop at a Forestburg watermelon stand. Mark Twain called watermelons “the fruit of the angels” and obviously their reputation hasn’t soured since his time.

Some customers will buy the first melon they see atop the pile. “Others will thump a dozen or more before they find one they like,” laughs Mrs. Nelson.

Thumping is a layman’s test of whether the melon is ripe. A hollow sound means “get the knife.” However, professional melon growers are divided over the best way to judge ripeness. “Once you’ve raised them for awhile, you can tell by the color,” says Mrs. Nelson.

Forestburg farmers say customers don’t need to test their melons for ripeness because they won’t bring them in from the field until they are ready for eating. “It hurts our pride to pick a green watermelon,” says Levo. “We guarantee ours to be ripe and we guarantee them to have Vitamin P if you eat enough.”

The thumping no doubt comes from customers’ experience with store-bought melons. Imported melons from southern states are often picked “pink” rather than vine ripened.

In Poor Richard’s Almanac, one of the sayings suggests, “Men and melons are hard to know.” Melons aren’t that difficult, however, according to Skip Larson. “I look for the little curl beside the stem. If it is dry the melon is ripe.”

His dad says ripe melons also have a chalky look. A melon that needs more time on the vine will have a shiny appearance.

Another trick of the trade at Forestburg is crop rotation. “Watermelon shouldn’t be planted on the same ground more than once every five years,” says Skip. “The melon takes the sugar out of the ground and if you don’t rotate you won’t have the high sugar content.”

Customers often think the Forestburg melons’ sweetness comes from the seed so they save seeds for replanting. Bad idea. “If you save the seed you’ll have a watermelon that tastes like a cucumber from cross pollination,” says Levo.

Experienced growers buy nothing but the best hybrid seeds at $180 a pound and more. Favorite varieties for Forestburg include the round, dark Black Diamond and the striped Crimson Sweet, Sangria and All Sweet.

The Larsons grow the smaller King and Queen melons for area Hutterite colonies, who pickle them whole in 55-gallon barrels along with garlic, dill, salt, vinegar and water.

The real secret to good melons is the same as real estate – location, location and location. “You can get out of this area and raise big watermelons but they don’t have the sweetness or flavor,” says Skip Larson. “It’s something about the sandy soil.”

Melon growing presents challenges different from corn and bean farming. Striped, yellow beetles will eat small watermelon sprouts if they aren’t controlled. A hailstorm wreaks havoc when the melons are formed. The hailstones cut holes in the rind and cause the fruit to go sour.

Rabbits, deer and raccoons are also a threat. They love to dine on ripe melons. To keep them at bay, the state Game, Fish and Parks Department loans propane-powered boom guns that are designed to “pop” every three minutes and scare wildlife away from the fields. Sometimes on a still day in late summer, Sanborn County sounds like a battlefield.

About 2,000 acres are planted to melons in a 12-mile square between Forestburg and Woonsocket. Most of the small melon fields drain into Sand Creek, which runs into the Jim River at Forestburg.

Of course, the coincidence of having State Highway 34 running right through melon country has encouraged the profession. Motorists during State Fair week in late August haul away half the annual harvest. That’s followed by the annual Corn Palace Festival in Mitchell, which is almost as busy.

In the 1930s, when Ernie Schwemle and Harold Smith first started raising melons commercially, it wasn’t nearly as easy to find local buyers. They hauled them by wagons to the railroad at Cuthbert or Woonsocket for shipment to grocery stores in bigger cities.

Ray Baysinger constructed one of the oldest stands during the early 1950s in the shade of the big cottonwood trees a few miles west of Forestburg. Now known as Ron’s Melon Stand, the Peterson family operates it.

Some of the melons are still sold wholesale to area stores. Most growers also sell at a discounted price to people who resell them out of the back of their pickup in their hometown. “People in their 50s or 60s, retired from their regular job, will do it for entertainment and a few extra dollars,” says Skip.

Most stands remain open throughout October to catch pumpkin buyers. Prices for melons drop as the days grow shorter and colder.

Some customers drive long distances just for the sweet melons. The Larsons once had a customer from Tyndall, two hours to the south, during fair week.

“Going to the fair?” Skip asked.

“No, we just came for melons,” was the reply.

That’s music to the ears of Forestburg farmers.


Though experts say watermelon tastes best right from the vine, cooks have been turning the juicy, summertime treat into everything from pickles and preserves to pastries.

Here’s a few new ways to enjoy watermelon, courtesy of the National Watermelon Promotion Board.

Watermelon Smoothie

2 cups seeded watermelon chunks

1 cup cracked ice

1/2 cup plain yogurt

1 to 2 Tbsp. sugar

1/2 tsp. ground ginger

1/8 tsp. almond extract

Combine all ingredients in blender; mix until smooth. Makes 2 to 3 smoothies.

Fresh Watermelon Salsa

2 cups watermelon, seeded and chopped

2 Tbsp. chopped onion

2 Tbsp. water chestnuts

2 to 4 Tbsp. chopped Anaheim chilies

1 Tbsp. balsamic vinegar

1/4 tsp. garlic salt

Combine all ingredients; mix well. Refrigerate for 2 hours; add more balsamic vinegar to taste. Serve with grilled chicken or nachos.

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Callihan’s Infernal Machine

Editor’s Note: This story is revised from the May/June 1990 issue of South Dakota Magazine, and also appeared in South Dakota’s Best Stories. To subscribe, call 800-456-5117.

Mr. Callihan’s homemade horseless carriage would be any museum’s pride and joy today. Unfortunately, he had a better sense for mechanics than for history. He dismantled it when he needed parts for another piece of machinery.

Edward Scott Callihan was a herald of the Machine Age, and like the prophets of old, he was not always the most welcome of men in his hometown of Woonsocket. He was constantly tinkering with all things mechanical, an eccentric, overflowing font of ideas — a man who didn’t have time to get along with his neighbors. His more outlandish ideas were an ongoing source of amusement around town, but even the locals were surprised when Callihan clattered into Woonsocket aboard a steam-powered, kerosene-fueled horseless carriage.

The year was 1884, 12 years before Henry Ford built his first automobile. With the exception of a few tinkering types here and there, few had ever seen such a thing. Callihan’s vehicle was a tricycle design, with a single, spoked wheel in front and two in the rear; he sat behind the steam boiler on a seat borrowed from a reaper with the steering levers firmly in hand. His two-cylinder contraption had a top speed of 15 miles per hour. The run from Callihan’s home near Artesian to Woonsocket, a distance of about 20 miles, took two hours. With a whistle and water gauge mounted on the dashboard, Callihan can even be credited with inventing options.

Callihan never went past fifth grade. His mechanical aptitudes were inborn, his inventions created through trial and error and gifted insight. He considered himself primarily a farmer, and most of his tinkering was devoted to finding ways to lessen the toil of farming. Callihan produced well-drilling rigs and threshing machines, even a wind-powered turning lathe, but nothing stirred the imagination like his horseless carriage. Horses reared and children charged about, enjoying the racket as Callihan pulled up to the general store. Among those who could do very well, thank you, without a revolution in transportation was the local constable, who ordered Callihan and his infernal machine off Main Street.

Callihan at the controls of his invention.

Shortly after the turn of the century Callihan produced his first gasoline-powered automobile. A group of neighbors, by that time accustomed to seeing him astride all manner of strange contraptions, gathered to watch his first test run. Callihan set off down the road, and upon his return the crowd began waving and clamoring for a ride. He waved back and yelled something, pointing at the machine, but he couldn’t be heard over the roar of the engine. For almost two hours he continued to circle the mystified group Finally the machine sputtered to a stop. As he dismounted, Callihan sheepishly explained that he had mounted the shut-off switch out of reach from his position in the driver’s seat.

Callihan’s original steam vehicle didn’t survive to take its rightful place in a museum as the first horseless vehicle in South Dakota. He took the wheels off and used them for a drag cart — which was very much in character, though it was a loss to history. Edward Scott Callihan lived to see ideas he pioneered become commonplace, the seeds of great fortunes by men in the automotive industry. He died on March 6, 1937 in Woonsocket.

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Asparagus Stalking

Food foragers unite! It’s time to start scoping out wild asparagus. For spring hunting, you can start by looking for last year’s dead asparagus bush. The new green stalks should be hiding underneath. Hunting usually starts in April or May, but things are sprouting a little earlier with the unseasonably warm weather.

Debey Senska of Forestburg sent me a photo of her first find of the year. It’s not ready to pick, but she’s excited for when it is.”In my area, it seems like when the lilacs bloom it’s time to start looking,” says Senska.”In the James River Valley the growing season will be earlier than Forestburg, and up by Aberdeen it will be later.” I’m going to keep an eye out this weekend in Yankton while hunting for morels. I saw a few lilac blooms out by the lake this week.

Senska’s hunting begins by scouting in the fall. It can be hard to spot while still in edible form, but in the fall you can look for overgrown wild asparagus. It will be about four feet tall, bushy and fernlike. Its foliage is wispy with tiny green needles. It’s too late to eat, but make note of the location and come back in the spring. Senska looks in well-drained soils near rivers, lakes, and along fence lines.”When we lived on the farm, my kids and I spent many hours hunting asparagus within a two mile range of home,” says Senska.”It even grew in the fence line of the little country cemetery where my son is now buried.”

Asparagus crop varies by the amount of snow or rain.”The water content in asparagus is almost 95%, so in a wet spring the harvest is amazing,” Senska says. It hasn’t been especially rainy so far this year, so we’ll see how it goes. If you decide to venture out this season, have fun and enjoy your free food!

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Visions of the Past

Abandoned farmhouses and barns intrigue me. I realize that a lot of folks see them as eyesores or maybe even negative signs of the times. I see them as pieces of history. I imagine stories of the joys of living the country life as well as stories of hard times on the prairie all wrapped into those weathered walls. When I look at an old, abandoned house I can almost see gathering friends and family chatting on the front step or sitting around the dining room table for a high holiday. I guess part of it is reliving my childhood on the farm. My boyhood home is still being lived in, but my grandparents’ house that stood just a mile away is now gone. I stopped there this summer and walked the old yard I used to mow. I marked the old foundation and where the garage was. It was a bittersweet thing to remember the good times there with my grandparents and family.

The old barns, on the other hand, have much different stories to tell. Stories of daily chores, stories of somehow both loving and hating the farm animals that used the barns. I know our barn would have a lot of stories to tell. I can think of many incriminating instances concerning my brothers and I that demonstrate the old saying;”boys will be boys.” Some of the tamer shenanigans would be goofing off with the newborn kittens in the hayloft while our oldest brother milked the last of the cows, hollering at us every couple minutes to get down and help. There were also epic fights in that barn. Mostly between my older brothers, but I was in my share as well. In fact, the only time I ever remember bloodying anybody’s nose in a fight was in that barn — it was a blind swing over my shoulder in a fit of lost temper. It quickly ended the skirmish, but I think my brother was more surprised than hurt.

I cleaned that barn floor more times than I can count. The worst was in the winter. The western side of barn got so cold that the hot water would freeze on the cement almost as soon as we poured it out of the bucket. I had to be quick in order to sweep it down the drain or it would create an ice rink, which was fun to play on, but created havoc for 40 milk cows to cross over. One winter our drain froze solid and we had to sump pump out the water until June.

It is funny how living those memories didn’t seem like all that much fun at the time. I realize now how important it was to learn how to work and work hard. My brothers and I can now laugh at the old barn stories. Which is a good thing.

All that to say, that when I have time and the light is right, I can’t help but stop and take some photos of old, abandoned buildings found along South Dakota’s country roads and wonder about the stories they could tell.

Christian Begeman grew up in Isabel and now lives in Sioux Falls. When he’s not working at Midcontinent Communications he is often on the road photographing our prettiest spots around the state. Follow Begeman on his blog.

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Traveling S.D.: 75 Years Ago

While researching a story for our upcoming issue, I’ve spent considerable time looking through the South Dakota guidebook compiled in the 1930s. The authors were writers struggling to find work during the Great Depression, so they joined the Federal Writers Project under the Works Progress Administration. They got to travel the state and write about what you could find. Sounds like a pretty good gig.

The pages are filled with interesting nuggets of South Dakota history. Here are a few examples:

  • When a writer passed through Corson County he found Sitting Bull Park on the site where the great Hunkpapa chief was killed in 1890. He noted that an Indian guide was available during the summer. Today, however, Sitting Bull’s great-grandson Ernie LaPointe reports that the only marker at the death site is one place by the state historical society, and that it can only be reached by four wheel drive.
  • The city of Woonsocket was in the running to be world headquarters for Post cereals. C.W. Post liked Woonsocket’s location in the heart of the grain belt, but city leaders were skeptical of the young man’s plan. Plus he wanted them to simply give him a piece of land for his factory. They passed, and Post took his idea to Battle Creek, Michigan.
  • The largest tree in the state was discovered on the Sutton Ranch in Sully County. The huge cottonwood measured 40 feet around at its base. A fierce windstorm later blew it down.