Grass of the Earth: The Story of A Norwegian Immigrant Family in Dakota

By Aagot Raaen

This is an engaging, richly detailed biography of a family of Norwegian immigrant homesteaders in eastern North Dakota in the late 1800s. Educator and world traveler Aagot Raaen wrote this reminiscence late in her life. Like Giants in the Earth and Old Jules, Grass of the Earth deals frankly with a darker side of pioneer life on the prairie.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Minnesota Historical Society Press
• Release date: Nov 7, 2015
• ISBN: 9780873519816

Book preview

Childhood Days

CHAPTER I

The Blizzard

Birds! many birds! Look! look! two, four, two, four!

Aagot and Ragnhild fussed, "You can’t count. Get away so we can see. Go sit on the tinae." They pushed four-year-old Kjersti away from the only window in the log cabin.

She looked longingly at the three chairs. Rarely was she lucky enough to be able to climb up on one of them, sit down, and let her feet dangle. She liked to feel the swing of her legs and hear the click of her heavy shoes against the rungs of the chair. Far and Mor and the older sisters seemed to have sole right to those chairs. But when no one was looking, Kjersti suddenly grew up. She stood on a chair, and, above the heads of the other children, she saw the wonderful world outdoors. Suddenly she was pushed rudely down and again told to sit on the tinae. Her sisters didn’t have to sit on the queerly shaped covered box any more. They were big; so of course they liked to keep Kjersti in her place. If there had been something to play with, the tinae would not have seemed so hard, but just to sit still and not be able to see anything wasn’t any fun!

Kjersti was back at the window. She simply had to see what was going on. The outdoors never said Don’t! Kjersti had asked her sister where all the snow came from and had been told, They are emptying feather beds up in the sky. But she knew that wasn’t true. Snowflakes turned to water and feathers were always feathers.

It had been snowing for two days. The sky must be almost empty, she thought. The wind sent a cloud of snow past the window. When it cleared a bit, her big eyes grew bigger as she clapped her fat little hands and repeated, Birds! all birds! two, four, two, four!

When Far came in that night he looked like a snow man. As he shook and stamped the snow off, he said: We are in for a Dakota blizzard worse than any we lived through in Norway or in Iowa. Flocks of snowbirds are fluttering near the haystack and stable; they seem worried and anxious. When birds seek shelter it is a sure sign of a coming storm. I have watered the cows and oxen a second time and given them extra fodder. I untied the calves so they can suck their mothers. I am worried about the ewe; she may get her lamb. The stable door is fastened tight. The storm will carry away anything loose out of doors.

Mor spoke in hurried tones: I have brought in all the wood and put the dry saplings close to the house. The ax and saw are under the bed. I also brought in the barrel and the tub.

The children listened quietly for the coming storm. Far pushed more wood into the stove. Mor prepared the customary supper of bread and milk. Kjersti always enjoyed this part of the day because no one said Don’t!

As Mor gathered the bowls and spoons after the evening meal she warned, This storm may last for days; we must go to bed early to save wood.

Kjersti took off her dress and shoes. Her long chemise was underwear during the day and nightdress at night. She pushed a chair over to the bed and climbed in. She slept with Far and Mor and Tosten, the baby brother. Her sisters pulled out the trundle bed and prepared for the night.

The next morning they were awakened by a tremendous crash. Far explained that the storm had broken the big oak tree. Kjersti thought of the birds and their nests in that tree. She climbed down from the bed and slipped on her dress and shoes; then she stood in line to wash her hands and face. The small basin which served as family washbowl was filled sparingly with water. She had to have help to comb and re-braid her flaxen hair. She did not mind sitting on the tinae when she ate her breakfast of bread, butter, and milk, because her sisters had to stand by the table while they ate. Mor buttered their bread and not a crumb must they spill.

How cold the room was! They had to huddle near the stove. Time and again the cabin shook; through every crack and crevice the wind whistled and screeched! Bang! the door flew open and sent in a wave of snow and cold air, which made them shiver. Far and Mor wrestled with the storm to close the door and put a brace on it.

All day long all hands were busy. No one spoke; they might have been a family of statues who had been granted life but denied the power of speech.

Kjersti was delighted when Mor polished the top of the stove; that meant flatbrød. She was told she might sit on one of the chairs and watch. Mor took coarse whole-wheat flour, a bit of salt, and enough hot water to make a stiff dough. This she made into a number of balls. With a grooved rolling pin she rolled each ball into a thin, circular sheet, the shape of a pie crust but as thin as paper and as wide through the center as two pies. She pushed a long, flat stick under the pie-shaped bread to lift it quickly from the table, and spread it on the clean, warm top of the stove. As soon as tiny bubbles were visible on the bread, she turned it over and baked it on the other side. Then she put it into the oven and baked it a light brown. As each circle was finished, she put it on top of the others to form a circular stack. If a tiny bit broke off, she gave it to Kjersti to munch.

In the fall Far had put a long piece of ash wood up under the rafters to dry. Now he took it down and began measuring, chopping, and chiseling till it took the shape of an ax handle, which he scraped and polished with the edge of a piece of glass until it glided easily through his hand. He arranged a bed of hot coals; then he thrust the ax and a part of the old handle into it so that the blade stuck out. Kjersti thought Far was playing when he kept a wet rag sizzling on the blade. Years later she was to learn that he had done this to keep the heat from destroying the temper of the steel. When the old handle had burned out, he drew the ax quickly from the fire and put the new handle into the eye of the ax. He had ready a small wedge that he drove into the cleft at the lower end of the handle until the eye of the ax was completely filled. Much later Kjersti learned that Far had hurried to put the new handle in while the eye was expanded by the heat.

The older children were crouched on the floor around the tinae, and with charcoal they drew pictures on its cover and its four sides. They dampened a piece of rag and erased their work, then drew again, each taking her turn. They went to bed by daylight, but for a long time they did not go to sleep. Far and Mor turned uneasily and sighed. The children asked no questions.

In the morning they heard Mor remark, There is only an armful of wood left. I put the last dipper of water in the coffeepot. Far, who had been pacing the floor, stopped suddenly and reached for his cap and mittens. He buttoned his coat securely. "I will try to find the saplings you put against the house. If you will hand me the pail, I’ll bring in some snow. Can you manage the