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Rural Decay or Handy Tree Shelter?

A bunch of us South Dakota Magaziners were talking about the recent New York Times article”Amid Rural Decay, Trees Take Root in Silos,” which hints at the failure of farm life on the Great Plains by using phrases like”the landscape of rural abandonment” and”a region laden with leaning, crumbling reminders of more vibrant days.”

The article admits that times have changed, and so have farming methods. It’s true. My family still farms, but they no longer store hay or shelter livestock in the barn that my great-great grandfather built shortly after coming to South Dakota in 1869. The old chicken coop is full — not of poultry, but of objects that might come in handy for something someday. Why tear down a structure when you might think of a new use for it? Saving what looks obsolete may be Depression-era thinking, but I come from a long line of jury-riggers, experts at finding a use for a discarded object decades after it first hit the storage shed.

The author of the Times piece, A. G. Sulzberger, cited cost as one reason why abandoned silos still stood. We wondered if he’d ever attempted to knock one down. Bernie Hunhoff told us about his experience at an attempted silo demolition near Gayville. The farmers had read that a few well-aimed blasts from a high-powered rifle could knock out a brick or two and cause the whole structure to tumble. An intense hail of bullets was unleashed and many beers were consumed, but at the end of the day, the silo stood. It’s still standing today.

Rather than view rural ruins as a sign that our prairie civilization is falling apart, I choose to admire nature’s ability to repurpose and reclaim that which we no longer use. There’s a reason why South Dakota photographers love taking shots of ghost towns and old farmsteads. Those abandoned structures have a poignant beauty. They encourage us to think about those who came before us, of the lives they lived and the dreams they had, and perhaps make us a little more aware of the fleetingness of our own time here. But that’s life. It’s nothing to get too worked up about. Here today, gone tomorrow. Unless you’re a silo, that is.

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The Chislic Circle

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

“A lot of people don’t even ask what the specials are; they just want chislic,” said Melissa Svartoein. Svartoein worked at Papa’s Restaurant in Freeman when she was a student at the University of South Dakota.

Open a map of South Dakota, place the point of a protractor on Freeman, on U.S. Highway 81 a couple of inches north of Yankton, and draw a circle with a radius representing about 30 miles. That is the Chislic Circle, the home of a culinary curiosity.

If you live there —- maybe in Marion or Menno, Parker or Parkston —- you probably are acquainted with chislic, a simple dish of bite-sized chunks of sheep meat on wooden skewers, deep-fat fried or grilled. Other parts of the world may have their kebabs of mutton and other meats, but chislic seems distinctive to southeastern South Dakota.

For decades a mainstay at cafes, bars, fairs and celebrations, it historically has been enhanced only by salt or garlic salt and served with saltines and, if you are so inclined, washed down with a cold beer. Recent years have seen the introduction of chislic in various marinades and with various sauces.

However it’s prepared, chislic sells. Papa’s Restaurant in Freeman serves up to 3,000 chislic sticks a week. Rachel Svartoein, whose grandfather sold chislic at a corner store south of Freeman for many years, provided 1,200 sticks for her high school graduation reception. At Marion’s 125th anniversary, the Jaycees sold 4,000 sticks on the first night. The chislic stand at the Turner County Fair in Parker sold 40,000 in 2004.

Chislic is simply an unquestioned thread in certain community fabrics; yet it remains a mystery meal, its origins unsure. Even theories and myths are difficult to find.”I know there are sheep in other places, so why chislic is popular here and not there, I don’t know,” said Papa’s co-owner Susan Letcher.

Even some sheep producers outside the area know little about chislic.”Ask people in Aberdeen, they’ve never heard of it,” said Bill Aeschlimann, a Hurley farmer who is active in national and regional sheep associations.”Ask people in Rapid City, they don’t have a clue.” Attempts to sell chislic have flopped at the Sturgis bike rally because nobody knew what it was.

Scant historical accounts suggest that chislic was introduced in Freeman at least 100 years ago by Russian immigrant businessman John Hoellwarth. But that’s about all anyone knows.”All I can tell you is my dad tells the story how his father, on a day for celebration would buy a couple of young lambs for 50 cents a piece and make chislic,” said grandson Robert Hoellwarth, a retired physician in Vallejo, Calif.

The Hoellwarths arrived in Hutchinson County in the 1870s from the Crimea of southern Russia, a region where”shashlyk,” cubes of skewered beef, lamb or pork, were grilled over an open fire. Chislic probably evolved from shashlyk, according to Darra Goldstein, editor of Gastronomica: The Journal of Food and Culture and food editor of Russian Life magazine. But she and other food experts are not familiar with the South Dakota version.

Whatever its origin, chislic is a distinguishing feature of southeastern South Dakota. Aeschlimann, who has sold it at the Turner County Fair for 20 years, had his first chislic stand at Hurley’s centennial in 1983.”We knew there would be lots of people coming back,” he said.”And what would they think of from their childhood? Chislic.”

Jake Huber ran a chislic stand in Freeman on summer Saturday nights during the 1930s and’40s, days when farm families came to town for shopping and socializing.”There was such a tremendous amount of people in town on Saturday nights, it didn’t take long to sell out,” said his daughter Nita Engbrecht of Marion.

The whole family prepared the chislic and cleaned up late Saturday night. Engbrecht’s job, which the health department might frown upon today, was collecting the used skewers, which her father fashioned from bamboo.”Those sticks had to be boiled, dried out and used again and again,” she said.

Among Huber’s patrons was Bill Gering, then a teenaged farm boy. But chislic was not new to him. Several farmers owned a threshing machine together, and when harvest was done, everybody gathered to celebrate.”The men figured out who owed who,” Gering said. Then everybody ate chislic and homemade ice cream.

In Freeman, residents bring out-of-town guests to Papa’s to introduce them to chislic.”Most people like it,” Letcher said.”If they’re here a second night, they come back and have it again.” Papa’s serves five varieties: original, barbecue, lemon pepper, garlic and even one marinated in olive oil, lemon juice and soy sauce. But the original recipe remains most popular, Letcher said. But regardless of how it’s cooked, mutton on a stick remains popular in the Chislic Circle.

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Art of Healing

Sixteen people begin teaching new fine arts classes in Yankton this month. They’re all volunteers with the Art of Healing program started by Amy Miner, executive director of the Yankton Area Arts Association.

Art of Healing is in partnership with the Avera Sacred Heart Cancer Center and is offered free for cancer survivors or those undergoing treatment. Students may choose from classes like ballroom dancing, drawing, calligraphy, wine making, poetry and sculpture. I’ll be teaching a six-week session on yoga for beginners starting next week. Each class is small and personal. Participants can bring a relative, co-survivor, or caregiver for support. And this is not a time to worry about talent or ability. The classes are for exploration, discovery and having fun.

The initial response to the program has been slow, but Miner is optimistic. She is also a breast cancer survivor and taught guitar lessons for a similar program while living in Hawaii.”The Hawaiians celebrate this wonderful concept called kahi’au, which simply means to give what goodness and talent you have freely with no expectation of any return,” says Miner. It’s a beautiful concept. I look forward to teaching with this program and watching it grow. Besides, Miner says it will be good for my karma. So I guess it’s not entirely without compensation.

If you would like to take part in the Art of Healing Program as a student or volunteer, call or email Amy at 665-9754 and yaa@iw.net. Participants can sign up for as many or few classes as they would like. Please pass this information along if you know of anyone who could benefit!

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Technology: Friend or Foe to Rural South Dakota?

By Bernie Hunhoff

The 35 familes of St. Agnes Catholic Church of Sigel are wondering if this is their last Christmas as a parish community in Yankton County. And down the road a bit, the same families’ post offices in Utica and Lesterville are also on the chopping block. Both towns lost the last of their schools in the 1990s, and they’re probably just hoping that they don’t lose the last beer & burger joint.

Is it any wonder that Susy and Johnny have left for jobs in Sioux Falls and Omaha?

We constantly hear that technology is going to be a friend to rural America, allowing us to run a business no matter how far we live from the consumers of the world. But the hype isn’t matching reality. Not in rural areas. Not even in urban areas, if you believe Peter Thiel. And you should.

Thiel is the visonary founder of PayPal. He’s made billions on dot.coms, and put some of the early money into Facebook. But he told the New Yorker last week that he’s disappointed in the technology revolution because it hasn’t created the jobs or the quality of life advances that he’d hoped.

If the urbane Peter Thiel is disappointed, imagine how the familes of the Sigel community might be feeling this Christmas. Since 1886, they’ve done everything that Rome could have asked. They built a church, watched it blow away in a cyclone in 1907, and then built another. They’ve cared for a growing cemetery, educated their children to the glories of the Church, rasied money for the overseas poor, helped one another in hard times and celebrated together in the good times.

But because cars can easily transport them on good, asphalt roads to the next parish 15 miles away — and because more young men would rather work on Wall Street than attend the seminary, and because young women aren’t yet allowed in seminaries, and a dozen other becauses out of their control — they are unsure whether they’ll have a functioning parish in 2012.

The nearby post offices are also ripe with becauses. Technology made letters obsolete. Businesses gravitated to bigger cities because they couldn’t get broadband in the small towns. Immense equipment and high-tech seeds and pesticides made it possible for one man and his remote-control tractor to tend an entire township, so there are fewer mailboxes per mile. The postmasters in Utica and Lesterville could surely see that little brown trucks and cell phones were running circles around them, but no leadership came from above on how to compete.

So technology — thus far — has not been a great friend to all small towns.

We may see an alternative example, however, as the 2012 South Dakota legislative session unfolds. A big divide has occurred in the state for several years over whether many of the state’s 34 emergency call centers should be consolidated to just a few. Thanks again to technology — especially GPS — a state our size could probably be served by one 911 center and it could probably be located in India or Ireland. We no longer need a local operator to tell the deputy or the fire chief to head down Walshtown Road and turn left where the big cottonwood tree stood before it was struck by lightning 10 years ago.

Urban legislators and top law enforcement officials wanted to put major restrictions on the smallest 911 centers, including a requirement that every center be staffed 24/7 by two operators. Of course, that would be hunky-dory in an ideal world. But it hardly makes sense in small, rural counties where the dispatcher probably gets only a call a day and tends to a dozen other responsibilities while awaiting that call.

When emergency response leaders realized that the legislature was loathe to close rural centers, other ideas began to surface. Maybe, someone suggested, we could use technology to link the small centers together so the calls might roll from one town to another if the local dispatcher is already on a call, or running errands while on a lunch break. That seems to be the compromise that is part of a reform package heading to the legislature in January.

Technology is neither friend nor foe. It’s what we make of it. Could USPS become a player in the broadband revolution that’s badly needed in rural America? Could the Pope beam a Sunday Mass to every Catholic parish on Earth?

South Dakota won’t be the place we love today if it becomes a state of three or four cities, separated by economic hinterlands of unemployed, unchurched and unhappy people. Granted, that’s an extreme scenario. The good news is that we have more solutions and choices available than ever before in history, thanks to technology and the internet. But we need to make it work for rural South Dakota.

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She Shoots Like a Girl

By Bernie Hunhoff

It takes a lot of people to produce and publish South Dakota Magazine, about a dozen to be exact. And we’re proud of every one of them — both for what they do during work hours here at 410 E. Third Street, and also for all they do after hours.

Our staff includes two yoga instructors, a marathon runner, several great chefs, a hockey mom, a Girl Scout leader, etc. They are also dedicated community volunteers, super moms and dads, and all their children are above average. You get the point.

But we have only one deer hunter. That would be Jana Jonas Lane, a mostly-quiet and reserved young lady who runs our circulation department. If you get the magazine by mail (as most of our readers do) then you can thank her, because she manages our 43,000-name mailing list.

Jana and her husband Jim have two young daughters, so you can imagine how busy she is. She occasionally likes to do a little hunting, but Jim teases that she “shoots like a girl.” He hasn’t said that for a week now.

The story goes like this. All the local hunters east of Yankton have been watching and waiting for a big 5-point buck that appeared on game cams in the Jim River valley over the summer. The whitetail was very cagey, and wasn’t often spotted in daylight.

On opening weekend of the East River season, Jana spent a few Saturday hours in the cold and howling wind, wondering why she wasn’t indoors with her two little girls, Rain and Rose. She saw a few does and a big buck with a broken antler, but eventually she went home to warm up.

Sunday dawned with a shining, warm sun. The wind was down and pheasants were cackling. Geese were flying overhead. “It’s amazing what sunshine will do for the soul after a cloudy day,” she said. “I saw a couple of does pass through our CRP and I looked over and saw a really nice buck as he was headed into a tree line.” It was the big Jim River buck!

She says her heart started racing, and she told herself to relax and be ready. Minutes passed but he didn’t reappear. Meanwhile, a second buck walked by. It stopped to watch something. Then a doe appeared and crawled through the fence between a pasture and trees. The second buck chased after her.

Jana heard crashing sounds and saw a blur of motion in the switch grass and big blue stem. Eventually, the big buck appeared. He paused about 150 yards in front of her.

Then a young buck came along. It looked at Jana and slowly walked into the trees. A fourth buck came along, chasing after a doe, and they disappeared into the tree line.

Jana took aim at the 5-pointer, through the scope of her .308 Remington, and fired. Just like a girl. She got the Jim River buck.

She’s not a braggart, but nothing’s stopping the rest of us from telling everyone we can.

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Thanksgiving Day

“It will be just like hiking,” my husband said, promising the beauty of nature all around us. My parents live close to Marindahl Lake near Volin and Jeremy thought walking some of its 634 acres of game production area would be a great activity before Thanksgiving dinner. Of course, he also hoped to shoot a deer.

I don’t usually tag along for this type of thing. I have terrible fall allergies so traipsing through autumn fields can be miserable and I’ve often felt conflicted about hunting. Many of my family members hunt and I support their right to do so. But I am a yoga teacher and an important part of yogic philosophy involves practicing ahimsa. It’s a Sanskrit word meaning nonviolence and loving kindness to all living things. I am fairly certain that hunting — or even meat eating — and ahimsa don’t mix well.

That being said, I’m not a vegetarian. I tried it for a few years in college, much to the dismay and confusion of my family. Grandma was certain vegetarians ate chicken. And when Grandpa grilled steaks he intentionally dripped blood onto my black bean burger. I don’t know if their cajoling changed me back, or if I just missed eating meat. But now I try my best to eat humanely raised animals like grass fed beef or cage-free chicken. I like to think that pheasants or deer procured from the natural fields and brush of South Dakota at least have a pretty good life before they meet their demise. With this rationale in mind, I agreed to bundle up and tag along.

The walk started easily enough. We stomped through tall grass as I whispered commentary about the scenery. Jeremy has often talked fondly about the idea of hosting a husband and wife hunting show. I used this opportunity to practice possible banter as we climbed up and down hills. I got a little quieter when we approached a large patch of sumac and brush. It took some concentration to squeeze through without getting poked in the eyes or slapped in the face with branches — and I didn’t even complain. But I did imagine accepting”Wife of the Year” award while I belly crawled under a large span of evergreen trees.

There were no deer in sight on that crisp morning and no fires were shot. Jeremy was a touch disappointed as we hiked back to the truck but I was relieved. I don’t think we could have maneuvered one out of the bracken if we wanted to and it would have made us late for Thanksgiving dinner.

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Corn Maze Provides Fall Fun

Yankton area folks going to Hebda Family Produce to pick their own pumpkins this month will want to study this photo well, as it depicts this year’s corn maze. Dale and Rena Hebda and family got their start in the world of fresh produce in 2002, when their son Steven started growing vegetables for 4-H. As he expanded into farmers’ market sales and weekly home delivery of produce, his interest grew into a family business. In 2006, the Hebdas purchased Garritys’ Prairie Gardens, located north and west of Mission Hill, where their 55 acre farm produces a variety of fruits and vegetables, jams, jellies, salsa and pies, and fun harvest-related activities for the whole family.

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Gentlemen, Crank Your Engines

Members of the Tri-State Old Iron Association showed their patriotism yesterday at Yankton’s Paddlewheel Park. Photo by Dave Tunge.

Today is the kick-off of the Tri-State Old Iron Association’s annual ride. Yesterday, Yankton aerial photographer Dave Tunge shot this patriotic photo from his Piper Cub.

The annual ride may be the slowest procession on wheels, paling speed-wise to South Dakota’s more famous Harley and Corvette rallies. But antique tractor parades are becoming a summertime tradition in South Dakota, and the granddaddy of them all is the Tri-State Old Iron Associations annual ride on the second weekend of July.

The tractor-lovers gather in Paddlewheel Park near the Missouri River shores in east Yankton. Over the weekend, they embark on two long rides — on in Nebraska and the other in South Dakota. Tractors must be able to cruise at 12 miles per hour to qualify. “Remember, it’s a ride, not a race,” reminds the leader in striped overalls and a seed corn cap.

Many of the tractor owners are current or retired farmers who, as kids, probably grumbled about having to steer the tractor once around the North Forty. Now they ride all day just for fun. Some tractors are equipped with an extra seat for the wife or girlfriend. One enterprising fellow rigged a cushy sofa to his three-point hitch so “the missus” could ride along in style.

A few tractors appear as if they just came from the cornfield, but most look better than the day they left the factory, ablaze with the bright colors used years ago by manufacturers to differentiate their brands. In the evenings everyone is welcome to browse the tractors at Paddlewheel Point, where more than 200 will be parked in neat rows. The public can also see and hear the tractors at 6 o’clock Friday night when they parade through historic downtown Yankton.

To stay abreast of the Tri-State Old Iron Association’s activities, follow the website of WNAX Radio, a pioneering farm radio station that went on the air in Yankton in 1922 after getting a license from President Herbert Hoover. WNAX is a major sponsor of the tractor ride.

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Flood News

We’re not enjoying the flood all that much in Yankton County, but it has made reading the morning newspaper more interesting than ever.

The Yankton Daily Press & Dakotan is one of only two daily newspapers that still have local ownership, and it’s probably no coincidence that it’s also one of the best little dailies in the West. The staff and readers are going to celebrate the paper’s 150th anniversary later this summer (good Lord willing and the Missouri don’t rise any more). Never in my memory has our local newspaper done a better job of guiding the community through a difficult period.

Yankton and other South Dakota communities are not strangers to disasters. We have had our share of fires, floods, tornadoes, blizzards and other such mayhem. But seldom does a disaster linger for weeks, as this flood does. For those most affected, it is a slow-motion disaster. Though the water is broiling through the dams and speeding down the river channel, time is nearly at a standstill for home owners and farmers who wait and wait to see how it will all end.

Through it all, the writers and editors of our paper have kept southeast South Dakota in the know. They’ve dispelled rumors (no, the Corps of Engineers has not inserted dynamite in the cracks in the dam … and no, there are no cracks in the dam). They’ve put out the word for volunteers, and taught us the language of a flood. Everybody now understands that a CFS is a cubic foot per second of water, about the same volume of a basketball. They’ve photographed and editorialized and reported on long, boring meetings and issued alerts …. and it doesn’t stop.

In today’s edition, editor/photographer Kelly Hertz shows a picture of two lads using a park bench as a fishing dock at Lake Yankton. Of course, park benches are normally ashore. Priceless photography.

Also today, the paper reports that the Corps will divert surplus water through four regulating tunnels at Fort Randall from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. so the spillway (40 acres of concrete) can undergo a routine inspection. It is just the second time in history that such a high volume of water will be released through the tunnels.

The paper also notes that a man fell into the James River while fishing. He became stuck in the mud. A deputy fished him out.

And in the classifieds, Bob Monfore notes that he lost his boat dock by Choteau Creek near Avon,. It’s a heavy bridge plank deck on two pontoons. Call 286-3644 if you see it floating by your farm.

The lake temperature today, according to the paper, is 70 degrees. Lake elevation is 1206.16 feet. Tailwater elevation is 1171.81. Oh, and the CFS is still at 160,000.

If you must endure a summer-long flood, it’s nice to have a local newspaper as a guide.