Plains Folk

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Something in the Earth Sep 26, 2026

Show notes

One thing I noticed was, there are a lot of eagles along the middle reaches of the Missouri River. Bald eagles in the trees, eagles soaring overhead, eagles huddling over carrion on the road.

The Plains I Love Sep 12, 2026

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So I think the main reason my friends in McIntosh County invited me down to speak at their chokecherry festival this year was that a few years ago, I wrote a little ballad called “The Chokecherry Song.”

Chokecherry Adventures Sep 05, 2026

Show notes

I’ve been describing the community culture of berry-picking that emerged during the 1880s, focusing first on juneberries and then on chokecherries. Wagon caravans carried townsfolk, particularly young people, into the countryside to pick. Every community had its known thickets that were transformed into ritual places; press reports referred to them with affectionate familiarity.

Young Folks Are Busy Picking Aug 29, 2026

Show notes

Our unfortunately named native black charry, the chokecherry, has become a festive feature of life on the northern plains. In recent years the Grafton Farmers Market and the McIntosh County Heritage Center have initiated folk festivals focusing on these black pearls; I’m on my way soon to speak at the 2nd Annual Chokecherry Festival in Ashley. Even though my personal crop, generally so dependable, is meager in this parched summer.

America 250 Aug 22, 2026

Show notes

There’s a sense across the country that we have made a dog’s breakfast of the two-hundred-fiftieth anniversary of American independence. I don’t wish to sugar-coat past developments, but I remember 1976 pretty well—perhaps because although my education at a certain land grant university had taught me a thoughtful appreciation for sour mash whiskey, my head was happily not muddled by more destructive indulgences.

The Dakotas Aug 15, 2026

Show notes

Not a native of the Flickertail State, nevertheless, in the course of decades, I have acquired a complex of defensive sensitivities about it. Phrases like “Flyover Country” and “Buffalo Commons” stir the little hairs on the back of my neck. I like to think this is because they are examples of sloppy thinking, and not because I am touchy, but self-delusion is a known part of the complex I am describing.

Our Ability to See Places Jul 11, 2026

Show notes

In my mail appears a thoughtful gift, a book, inscribed to me by one of the authors: The Missouri: America’s Longest River, edited by Jon K. Lauck and published by the Center for Western Studies, Augustana University. The chapters are various, from native forests to Indian-White conflict to big dams and their consequences, so let me focus on some pieces, then try to say something about the whole. If that’s possible, because the more you read, the more you become conscious of our failure to comprehend, historically, the Missouri River as a whole.

Homesteading Virtues Jul 04, 2026

Show notes

It says something about me as a historian that I am preoccupied with the origins of things. I mean, I seldom just launch into an abstract investigation into something in the past from which I am disconnected. I begin with a thing here and now, and then get curious about the question, Where did this come from? How did this thing come to be?

Cowboys and Indians Jun 27, 2026

Show notes

A half-century ago—actually, a little more than that—I charted my course as a professional historian by choosing to specialize in Western Americana. Keep in mind, I was studying at a western land grant university that had not completely shed its skin as a cow college. When my peers and I were asked what field we were working in, we would say, “Cowboys and Indians.”

Tractors on the Wrong Road Jun 20, 2026

Show notes

I know I used to have one, but it’s disappeared, along with the cause it celebrated—one of those old black-mesh American Agriculture ball caps. I thought about it this week as I was working up, for a historical journal, a little piece about the American Agriculture Movement and its Washington tractorcade of 1979. It always makes me feel a little queer when someone calls on me to treat events that I remember personally as history. Oh well, I did it.

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