The Day I Saw Wyndmere, North Dakota
Viking, Minnesota

Rural Reflections Radio

Lisa and I recently celebrated our third wedding anniversary. I got her some flowers and jewelry but something was missing, there was an elusive gift that was just out of my grasp. It was then that I realized that while the first anniversary is paper and the traditional second anniversary gift is cotton, the third wedding anniversary is supposed to be celebrated with the purchase of a hay stack mover.

My exploits with a Hesston stakmaker have been well-publicized in this column. I really like this method of making hay but after you complete a field there are still three ton stacks of hay left hither and yon. I needed a unit to move these stacks and I found one for sale in Wyndmere, ND.
I left Wednesday morning full of anticipation of the purchase and a trip to North Dakota. I enjoy seeing how the farms look as the miles pass. Wyndmere is about fifty five miles south of Fargo, North Dakota and they have seen their share of rain. I love small towns and there were plenty to see during my trip. Most of the towns I saw had an elevator along the main road with the name of the town on a sign that pointed to anything from an empty field to some rather upscale homes next to a golf course.
I arrived at my destination and purchased the stack mover. I enjoyed the relaxed conversation you always have after you make a deal. I was flush with the warmth of a new purchase and the seller was happy to have traded this former lawnmower obstacle for some of my money.

It was still mid-morning when I left for home so I decided to take a slower, alternate route. I crossed over the state border to highway seventy five and headed for Moorhead, Mn. When you consider the looks I received from the city folk I could just as well have been leading an ox and cart. Pulling this little relic from the seventies past Concordia College probably made the students glad they were not only Lutheran but smart enough not to pull aging iron through an upscale business district. At least I’m a Lutheran; I guess that will have to be enough.

I like to inject irony into my stories. The irony of this column is that I never quite made it to Wyndmere. I thought about a quick trip into Wyndmere from the former home of my stack mover but it was time to leave. I had been gone since five that morning and had a bad case of get-home-itis. I’ve heard lots of good things about Wyndmere but for now am unable to speak with any authority about this little town. I did go through Kindred, North Dakota-really got a pretty good look at it. Perhaps my choice of title for this week’s column was a little misleading. "The Day I Saw Kindred," perhaps?