Paul Jeremiah, Katie Laur Bluegrass Band, New Prairie Ramblers. Jean Redpath,
[undocumented]
It's been a quiet week in Lake Wobegon. A lot of the fellows been out deer hunting this last week. Art Halvorson got his deer. I just wanted to mention that. Does so few other things right, but he does that right and I think you ought to get credit for it, I really do.
Not a whole lot of news and Lake Wobegon, at least you wouldn't be able to tell it by reading the Lake Wobegon Herald Star. Of course there's a lot of things happen in that town never makes the newspaper. Not in a town that size, as the editor Harold Star says I got to live with these people the rest of my life. A lot easier just to put the home extension agent on the front page, let the rest of it go unprinted.
The Deaners, for example, had a big fight this last week. Not uncommon in Lake Wobegon for husbands and wives to fight and yell at each other especially now this time of year, now that they have the storm windows up. A little more privacy. You can say a lot of things you'd hesitate to say if you had your windows open with the screens.
But they got carried away on this one, and it spilled outside the house. He went running out, Ernie did, went running out the back door and yelling at the top of his voice. He was yelling “That's it, that's enough. I had enough. That's it. I don't need any more of this, I had enough.” And more of that sort of thing. I tell you you could hear conversations over dinner tables at the neighbors. Just quiet now... people turning off their radios and TV's. There are a lot of things will draw people away from radio or television. Real life is one of them. You could hear the next door neighbors just quietly raising their windows in the frame.
So Louise, she came out on the back step and she yelled at him for a little while... I mean this was an even fight, It was a fair fight. She yelled at him that “yes, it was just like him. Go run, go run away from it. That's sure that's just like you go ahead go.” Well, he was going to go or seemed to be going, but then when she told him to go, why then of course he had to come back a little bit. And they went back and forth. And she said that he didn't love her and she had never loved him. She never loved him and she'd be a lot happier without him. And he said the same back to her. People listening all this time. Including their children- eight of them.
Oh, they settled it all right. They settled it. Father Emil come over and he talked to him and then they cried and they hugged each other but my goodness... children listening to that sort of thing. That's hard when you're a child. Listen to your parents go at each other like that. When you're a child, to hear one parent, say to another that they don't love them. When you're supposed to be the product of their love. What does that make you some kind of hoax? Some kind of joke?
Oh, I tell you those parents, some of them. They're embarrassed to put their arms around each other in front of their kids or to kiss each other in public. But then they fight in public. That's no good. That's no good.
Margaret Haskins Durber wrote a poem- has some bearing on this- I thought I'd read it to you though it's kind of a strange one for her, the poet laureate of Lake Wobegon. This is one that didn't get printed in the Herald Star. This is one of her unpublished. I'll read it to you:
Every fall I take my shears to the cemetery and prune the Evergreen that stands where my father lies. Row six, plot 17. I shaped this tree towards something like a perfect cone, something I've never done for a tree of my own, and which for all I know may be harmful to the tree. And nothing but a nuisance and a bother. I do it because I feel I must stay busy when near my father. He was a good worker, they said after he died. They said when you had James working alongside, you had to go some to keep up. He worked from sunup to sundown. And so I cut away at this poor evergreen until it will die and turn brown. I can't sit peacefully here knowing the piece might shatter from his voice nearby saying, are you sick, done, or what's the matter? I didn't bring up no kid of mine to be a loaf around a lounger. You can see what needs to be done, just look around you. My father never knew how to loaf for how to take a vacation. I doubt that he ever took a walk without knowing his destination. He looked at the world as a job, fields to plant, animals to feed, and milk a family to feed buildings to maintain. I don't think he ever looked at the sky except to see if it would rain. All his life he thought of retirement as his reward and when it arrived he was bored. And sat and despised himself for sitting. And while other old men loafed and traveled and vacationed. My father, who had never been sick a day in his life, became a patient and grew weaker and weaker until three years into retirement in July. He climbed the stairs and got into bed and turned his face to the wall and proceeded to die. I forgave him long ago if there was anything to forgive. But I still wonder why it was so hard for him to live. Why even when he prospered, did he find joy distasteful, warmth unmanly, pleasure wasteful? What does coldness have to do with being strong more than music, poetry, and song? Now his coldness is my own. I trimmed the branch. If I thought he sees me if there was a chance I should go stand by him and dance.
That's the news from Lake Wobegon, Minnesota. Where at least all the women are strong and the men are good looking, I guess, and all the children are above average. Every single one of them you bet you.
1980.11.07 Minneapolis Star / Audio of the News available as a digital download.