Nebraska Weather

 

I’ve always thought Nebraska doesn’t have much scenery. I mean, what can you do with flat emptiness? When Oscar Wilde came through here in 1888, he described it as looking “like a piece of blotting paper.”

But what Nebraska does have in place of scenery is — WEATHER! We get every extreme, from drought to flooding, from scorching temps 100+ to bone-chilling below 0. All four seasons in all their glory. Since we live in the center of the continent, there are no oceans to moderate the weather, so it comes upon us in extremes. Instead of looking up to see skyscrapers or mountains, we see a constantly-changing sky show of clouds.

Climatologist Ken Dewey has been putting photos of Nebraska weather on the web, and his site drew nearly 30 million viewers last year. Here’s a small sampling:

                                                                                    

If you would like to see more weather photos of Nebraska, just go to his site at:

www.hprcc.unl.edu/nebraska/photos.html

Enjoy!

Mahoney Melodramas

  Nebraska Romance Writers–what a great group! Tonight, some of us went to the Melodramas at Mahoney State Park.

First, we ate supper at the Lodge Buffet. 

  Then it was off to the theatre.

In Wings of Fire!, Crash McCarthy, dashing ace stunt pilot, (Yay! applause!) met lovely female wing walker, Wendy Wingnut, (aaahhh) at the annual fly-in at Scribner and love was in bloom. Crash had a famous barnstorming airplane act while Wendy was part of a rival wing-walking act with her partner, daffy Poppy Rivetts. But his jealous rival, Delbert D. Dorkmeister, (boooo! throwing popcorn) with the aid of his partner Ursula Undercarriage, planned to sabotage their planes so he could win the grand prize at the fly-in. Poppy discovered their evil plot but was kidnapped by Dorkmeister and Ursula. Could she escape their evil clutches in time to warn the others and save the day? 

What do you think?

The scenery was beautiful at the park, including the views of the Platte River. Laughter, quality time, and a good old fashioned sing-a-long, away from meetings, was a good way to strengthen our friendships. What an enjoyable evening! 

Wild Idea Buffalo

  Have you ever eaten buffalo meat? It’s a treat — lean, tasty, and sweet. Today, I got my newsletter from one of my favorite web sites, reminding me of the Wild Idea Buffalo Company.

I’ve always been fascinated by these cute, but ornery, creatures. They look cuddly, but they’re actually mean and wild, not to be messed with. The history of their destruction, and the resulting destruction of the Indian culture, is a sad and epic story.

Dan O’Brien formed his company in 1997 to restore the eco-systems of the Great Plains. Instead of growing the inevitable beef cattle, he raises grass-fed buffalo, restoring them back to their homeland, the prairie. By doing this, he works to improve the bio-diversity of wild plants and animals. He also sells ”the finest tasting and healthiest red meat money can buy.” I think this is a wonderful idea.

If you’d like to read more, you can visit the web site, http://www.wildideabuffalo.com/.  The company puts out a literary newsletter. Dan O’Brien also writes books, among them, BUFFALO FOR THE BROKEN HEART. (The Broken Heart is the name of his ranch.) I’ve read this book twice and also heard him speak at UNL. He’s a soft-spoken, earnest, and humble man with a wild idea.

Hail to the buffalo!

Hotel Wilber

  Nebraska Romance Writers is an active group. This weekend, we held a writing retreat at the Hotel Wilber in Wilber, Nebraska. Some stayed three nights; I stayed last night.

For those of you who don’t know, Wilber is the “Czech Capital of the U.S.” It’s a little town of 1,500 mostly Czech people with a rich heritage. They host the Czech Festival every summer, complete with kolaches, a parade, beer gardens, and the crowning of a Czech Queen. During the Festival, Wilber’s population surges to over 50,000. The Hotel Wilber was built in 1895; it’s very well-kept, with something interesting and charming to explore in every nook and cranny.

Six of us stayed up late, gorging on home-made food like sausage, sauerkraut, and potato dumplings, brainstorming our writing projects, making 2007 plans for the group, chatting, and laughing. Then we slept in quaint little bedrooms filled with antiques.

This afternoon, we visited the Czech Museum, where a woman sat at a loom, weaving rag rugs. I’m not Czech, but I did feel like I was traveling back in time, to small-town Americana. 

I had never been to Wilber before, and this was a great weekend get-away. It’s our 2nd Annual Retreat at the Hotel Wilber, hopefully to be continued every February. Just another perk of belonging to NRW, the local chapter of Romance Writers of America.

Where the West Begins

I was talking to a friend “back East” about where the West truly begins. At one time, Nebraska was the frontier, and a famed Nebraskan created a show, “Buffalo Bill’s Wild West,” celebrating it. Now, it’s hard to be exact about where the Midwest ends and the West begins. The true cut-off line (if there is one) is debatable. The amount of rainfall each year plays a big part. Official lines that have been cited are the 98th or 100th meridians in the middle of Nebraska – everything beyond them is “The West.” 

For me personally, all I can say is the feeling I get about it. Lincoln seems  midwestern with the sounds of lawn mowers cutting green grass in front of suburban split foyers. I really don’t get much of a ”western” feel here.

As you head west down Interstate 80, by the time you reach Grand Island, you begin to see road signs about western stuff. I have a G.I. friend who was a rodeo queen (you know who you are, Sherry!) The land seems to get a little drier. By the time you reach Gothenburg, you’re seeing a sod house by the side of the road and hearing about the Pony Express. At North Platte, the river divides, running south into Colorado or north into Wyoming. I normally end up going south to Denver. As soon as I cross the state line, I’m suddenly into the dry plains of Colorado, feeling like a “rider of the purple sage.”

So where, exactly does the West begin? It’s just a feeling. When my daughter moved back here from out west (Albuquerque), she said the first thing that made her feel like she’d come home was the sound of lawnmowers whirring on the grass. 

Crazy Horse

The new “One Book One Nebraska” selection has been picked for 2007. For those of you who don’t know, this is a program where a year is devoted to a single book, and hopefully everybody in Nebraska reads it. There will be discussions, presentations, celebrations, and conferences about it throughout the year. This year, the chosen book is Crazy Horse by Mari Sandoz.

I’ve never jumped on the One Book bandwagon. But this year, I think I’ll run right out and get this book. I’ve always loved Mari Sandoz. In fact, I prefer her to Willa Cather.

According to the Lincoln Journal Star, this book, published in 1942, is a description of one man’s life. He defeated Custer at the Battle of Little Big Horn. “Crazy Horse was also known for his appearance (lighter skin and curly hair) and his demeanor (calm and sometimes introspective). The book is also an in-depth look at the culture and spirituality of the Oglala Sioux.”

I’m looking forward to reading this book and attending at least one event about it this year. Want to join me? I’ll be posting about it here.

If you’d like more info, you can go to the Mari Sandoz High Plains Heritage Center:  www.csc.edu/sandoz. 

Nebraska Scenery – Not!

No matter how often people assure me that “Nebraska is beautiful,” I fail to see it. We’re supposed to be loyal to “Nebraska — the Good Life,” so I smile and nod politely. But inside, I’m thinking, “Bullshit.”

I read something sad in December 24’s Lincoln Journal Star that seems to confirm my feelings. Tom Lynch wrote, “Scholars tell us that residents of the Great Plains have the least developed environmental imaginations of any people in the U.S. The reasons for it are fairly obvious. The Great Plains has the smallest allotment of public land of any region in the U.S.; and the tall-grass biome is the most degraded biome in North America. So opportunities to experience extensive tracts of real nature in anything like a wild state are hard to come by. The consequence, unfortunately, is that our environmental imaginations are almost as impoverished as the environment itself.”

I would agree with that. Sometimes I feel starved to be out in nature, so I’ll take a ride into the country. What do I see? Parceled-off farms, all neatly measured into squares of cornfields with some scattered trees planted as a windbreak near farmhouses. There’s really no place here to be “in the wild.”

When I lived in Williamsburg, Virginia, I was refreshed by a cornucopia of nature. I could easily drive west to the Smoky Mountains. An hour to the east lay the Atlantic Ocean. The nearby James and York Rivers ran deep, wild, and beautiful. I loved the green trees and lush forests. You could even drive up to Washington, D.C. and New York for a different kind of ”nature” — the big city.

Here’s a verse from Twyla Hansen that seems to sum up Nebraska’s scenery:

             “Time was: a great plain

          plumed with grass

             now all gone by way of the

          steel plow.”

Sometimes, it just makes me want to cry.

The Midnight Ride

     “There was something sinister in the air. Therefore, ‘fun’ was expected.” That’s how historian Charles H. Gere described the fight over the location of Nebraska’s capital.

     Early Nebraskans were a contentious lot! Fist fights in the legislature were a common occurrence. The biggest bone of contention was the location of the Nebraska State Capital. When Nebraska was named a Territory in 1854, the capital was located in Omaha, north of the Platte River, where Republicans ruled. But when Nebraska became a state in 1867, Democrats from south of the Platte elected one of their own as governor and they held a majority in both houses. Their day had finally come. They wanted the capital located south of the Platte; and, by damn, they weren’t above indulging in some subterfuge and danger to get it there.

     At midnight on a Sunday night in December, 1868, J.T. Beach of Lincoln sneaked into Omaha with a covered wagon and a two-horse team. Mr. Carr with a four-horse team accompanied him. They’d been secretly hired by John Gillespie, the State Auditor, to steal the Nebraska State Law Library, with its furniture, desks, and books, and take it all south of the Platte. For where the Law Library was located, there the capital was. The two men loaded their wagons in the dead of night. By 4:00 a.m., they were on the road, and snow began to fall. ”Miles of ground had been covered before the people of Omaha awoke.”

    That Monday morning, they had to cross the river on the Kimble Brothers Ferry just above Plattsmouth, but the pulley was broken! Beach later swore that the Kimball brothers were in sympathy with the northern faction – that they broke the pulley on purpose to delay the movers and hike the fare. But help arrived! A local “desperado,” Tom Keller, chanced on the scene. He may have been a ne’er-do-well, but he was sympathetic to the South Platters and helped repair the pulley.

      The intrepid travelers crossed the river in a blinding snowstorm “with much inconvenience and considerable danger.” The river was two feet deep and filled with ice. A huge chunk of ice drove the ferry onto a sandbar, but somehow, it struggled across.

     Once on land again, the thieves continued until nightfall, when they approached Stove Creek near Greenwood. The only shelter they could see was a settler’s dugout on the open prairie.  When they knocked on the door, the ornery settler wouldn’t let them in, so they decided to pass the freezing night in his haystack. This, of course, didn’t work; so they later knocked again and begged to come inside. They were finally allowed to sleep on the floor of the dugout.

     The next day, the duo carried on. By Wednesday night, they finally reached Lincoln. However, it was three days before the Omahans discovered that the library had been removed. The Lincoln Journal Star tells how John R. Meredith, a prominent Omaha churchman, wandered into Gillespie’s office in Omaha and asked innocently, “Hmmm, where has the library gone?”

     “To Lincoln,” replied Gillespie.

     “Who sent it?” demanded Meredith.

     “I sent it,” Gillespie calmly replied.

     Meredith stormed out and returned with Gen. S.A. Strickland, who shouted, “By the eternals, that library is coming back here and it’s coming right away!”

     The blustering didn’t work. The deed was done. The Nebraska State Library had been effectively removed, and Nebraska’s capital was now located in Lincoln. 

    

This Old House

I grew up in this house in Hooper, Nebraska. The town is what we used to call “the metroplex” – 860 people. Now we call it “Poopyville North.” Dh’s town is Chester, Nebraska — “Poopyville South.” The house is what is we used to call a “bungalow.” When I was growing up, it seemed so BIG!

Dh had to pass by Hooper on a business trip a few weeks ago. He knew I wanted to go and take a picture of my old house, but I had other commitments. When he got home, he had me download his photos, and there it was! I thought that was very sweet of him.

It’s odd — the house in the picture doesn’t seem as real as the house in my memories. I can’t say I was happy there, and I left as soon as I could get away to college, but the history is mine. That old house was filled with vivid color, people who were bona-fide characters, loud chatter, holidays, music, drunken fights, overwrought  emotions, food. Flashbacks of scenes, both heart-warming and horrendous, come and go in my mind like lightning, when I think of that old house.

 The house in this photo seems cold, colorless, lived in by strangers. Is that why they say “you can’t go home again”? I wouldn’t want to. Let the old house of my memories live on.

Buffalo Bill

Last night, I dreamed I was part of Buffalo Bill’s Wild West. When she hit a bulls-eye, I yelled out in triumph, “Annie Oakley”!

Laughing — I know, I know — I have very strange and vivid dreams. That guy in the TV commercial who dreams about Abe Lincoln and a beaver has nothing on me. (And isn’t that play on the word “beaver” delicious?)

But it’s not so unusual that I would dream of Bill’s Wild West. I’ve read several books about him and think he’s a fun local hero — truly a larger-than-life man. With his imagination, he was Nebraska’s answer to Walt Disney. And the Wild West show? To show you some of the excitement it raised — when he took it to London, Queen Victoria came out of years of mourning to make a rare public appearance, just because she wanted to see it.

When people say there’s nothing in Nebraska, I have to counter, “Hey, we have Buffalo Bill Cody!”