WannaskaWriter

     I woke up and made coffee as per my usual routine; it was a nice morning. My wife and daughter were living in Bemidji in those days. Alone in the house, I called some friends at Capella in Roseau, just to see who was around, when Jill answered the phone, her attention somewhere else; about which I jokingly commented something I don't recall and she said, quite impatiently:    "DON'T YOU KNOW?? TWO AIRPLANES HAVE CRASHED INTO THE WORLD TRADES CENTER!! THOUSANDS HAVE BEEN KILLED!! TURN ON YOUR RADIO!!"    Then she hung up.    Radio programming was intermittent; I couldn't make sense of it as I hurriedly dressed for the drive to Roseau, 20 miles away. The car radio was the same way; describing the unbelievable unfolding scene in New York City. I swung into the Riverfront gas station in Wannaska to fill on gasoline; they had a TV... The woman affirmed the worse; two airliners full of people had slammed into the two World Trade Center towers ...

   Reading your post I hear two comments about silence: The first is about a writer’s typical lack of feedback i.e., silence from readers; and the second, to seek silence, as non-Indigenous peoples, in the midst of our typically chaotic lives.    As a nearly life-long writer of 72-years of age, and self-publisher of a northwestern Minnesota magazine for 24 years, I know a lot about what you said that, “‘ ... being a writer is like shouting from inside a glass box:  you can see the people moving out there, but you have no idea if they hear you.’” And is why I kept the little scribbled notes attached to re-subscriptions; feedback that was sent out-of-the-blue after reading something that resonated with them; or emailed us over the course of years as positive comment or criticism -- any feedback is better than no feedback.    And as for experiencing silence about oneself, too much silence is intimidating to my wife and her family who man, woman and child ...

  Date:   Sunday, May 13, 2007 12:09 PM Subject: Pets R fine     Danni and Cubby were really good friends. They went everywhere together. And died within days of one another.          Took the cat and dog to the veterinarian on Thursday last week. They were long overdue. Stuffed the totally uncooperative 13.8 lb. cat into a 10 lb. cat box, bought the dog a new blue collar because her old one got melted on the barbecue grill, grabbed the leash, called the dog and off we went, merrily, I might add.     The cat was in the back of the truck so I couldn't hear her hiss to the dog,  "GET ME OUTA HERE OR I'LL SCRATCH YOUR EYES OUT WHEN YOU ARE SLEEPING. DON'T BE FALLIN' ASLEEP ON ME HERE! WAKE UP. YOU GOTTA GET ME OUTA HERE I'M SUFFOCATING. I'M DYIN' I'M TELLIN" YOU. HE PUT ME IN THIS BOX WHEN I WASN'T LOOKIN'. I WILL SO CLAW YOUR EYES OUT! CLAW YOUR SIX NIPPLES TOO AFTER YOU'RE BLIND AND CAN"T SEE ME! HOOHAH! THAT'LL BE GREAT, ...

  Date:   Wednesday, March 26, 2008 10:11 AM Subject:   Re: Homesteads   THE RAVEN   is full of homestead stories, but one such issue that comes to mind is one of the most popular issues because it contained two homestead stories, one from Marshall County and one from Roseau County.  Volume 8 Issue 1   From Marshall County comes   The   Martin & Anna Olafson Story , by Steven G. Reynolds   The story is about family whose homestead log cabin stands NW of Grygla, one that I had taken photos of years before we published its story. One of our subscribers told me of someone who would know all about it as the gentleman's wife had been born in that cabin and so could provide much information.    Thinking about that era, I could imagine:      " Wolves howl eerily in the distance. Below the star-studded black sky, wide eyes look nervously about in the immediate darkness of the new land. The cattle's huge nostrils in...

  Date: Tuesday, July 10, 2007 11:24 AM Subject:  Re: RAVEN issue location moved    Rolling out of bed at 8:30 this morning, not starting up the computers, not checking email I stood outside in the rain repairing the temporary door on, "The Shed From Hell," I had built last fall. I saw that its cardboard door finally deteriorated into a slump of impregnated wood fibers, glue, and print, fell into itself and hung forlornly from the door frame, when I looked out the kitchen window on my way to the toilet in the basement.    Taking the initiative I jumped into the Honda, whilst I was dressed for the out of doors anyway and drove over to your house where I had been told, upon arrival home last night, that THE RAVEN copy was "… on the screen porch, next to the glass of cold milk and cookies."    Arriving at the McDs residence, the dark clouds of September descending on me in July, rain ricocheting from the basswood leaves blurring my vision, I nimbly s...