The little bank in Mansfield, S.D., suffered through tumultous times in the 1930s, and in our Sept/Oct 1992 issue we wrote about how the banker dealt with the crisis. Mansfield is a pretty little town with an old dance hall that — like most dance halls of its era — once hosted Lawrence Welk and his traveling band.

In the great depression, an alarmist spread the news that the bank was broke; then he and others confronted the bank president who assured them that their money was in an Aberdeen bank for safe-keeping. He agreed to go to Aberdeen the very next day and return with some of the funds.

The locals were waiting when the banker returned. He had several large, heavy sacks with him and he promptly paid the rascal who started the rumor. He also told him he didn't want to do business with him ever again.

Then the banker reached in another sack, withdrew a handful of coins, and asked who else wanted to be paid. Nobody stepped forward. They were convinced that the bank was solid.

Months later, the Mansfield bank customers learned that their banker had visited a hardware store in Aberdeen and filled several money sacks with washers. But by then the banker had his finances under control ... and the townspeople were probably impressed by his ability to play such a good bluff.

However, he kept his bank open — no small feat in a South Dakota farm town in the 1930s. The last time I was in Mansfield, the Forsyth family was still running the bank. It is a modest wood frame building — nothing fancy. And the Forsyths said their customers are hard-working, conservative and honest. In fact, on the day I was there a customer had just brought back a $20 bill because she was quite sure the bank had given her too much when she cashed a check.

My philosophy is that the good Lord deals you five cards during every day and then it's up to you to play them the best you can. Some hands are easier to play than others.

Wednesday wasn't the best hand, for reasons I won't bother you with. So I woke up Thursday morning in a motel in Aberdeen, hoping for something better. And by day's end I realized I'd been given four aces and a king of spades.

It started nicely enough with eggs and really good rye toast at Perkins, but still I had no idea four aces were coming my way.

After that, I drove south to Spink County to photograph and research the wheat harvest for a story we'll probably use next summer in the magazine.

At Mellette I met Glenn Overby. We took some pictures around a pile of a 100,000-bushel pile of wheat, and then drove out to the Overby farm where we were met by 20 mostly-friendly cats and Ruth Overby, Glenn's wife. Three generations of the family were working to harvest the spring wheat, yet they had plenty of time for a curious visitor.

Glenn's grandfather came to Spink County in 1896, and the Overbys have been raising wheat ever since. An old shop building on the farm has many of the family's early tools and equipment, and it's crawling with cats. We went out in the wheat field, and I drove the red Jeep out into the stubble because the big combine was roaring along just fine. But our wheels started to spin and sink into the wet dirt in a hurry. Glenn was a little worried, but we stopped, shifted into FWD, and backed out just fine. One ace already.

The sun and blue sky and gold wheat were all so pretty that a kindergartener with a Polaroid could have taken cover shots. Another ace.

Back at the Overby farmhouse, Glenn showed me pictures and scrapbooks of the family's farming history. Meanwhile, Ruth — a champion chef — was baking homemade bread, apple pie, meatballs, sweet corn and tomatos. More aces right there on my plate.

Over Ruth's objections, Glenn told me about the time she took two pies to the big Pies in the Park contest at Huron. There was a big delay in the judging because the judges couldn't decide between the two top pies. Finally, they came to a decision and it turned out that Ruth Overby had the second place pie in the dozens of entries. And then they announced the first place pie ... and it was also baked by Ruth Overby.

After lunch, Glenn and I went out to the yard and cranked up his 1909 Brush automobile, which he and Ruth drive in parades. They intend to take it to Aberdeen's Hot August Nights car show on August 23, so we thought we should get the cobwebs out. Glenn drove it down the gravel road to Highway 20, and then he suggested that I take the wheel of the two-speed on the way back. It hums along at about 15 mph. He thinks the one-cylinder engine gets about 40 mpg, but he doesn't drive it enough to say for sure.

Soon it was time to head for home, so I took the backroads down Highways 37 and 25 toward 81. I bought a peach pie and a carmel roll from the Hutterites at the De Smet farmer's market, and when I got home to the farm I could see that it had rained while I was gone. The dog was happy to see me and some tomatoes were ripe on the vine.

How many aces are in a deck?

Kent Moeckly of Britton and Curt Hohn
of Aberdeen have concerns about Keystone.

If you very get many miles away from the proposed corridor, many people don't know what to call a TransCananda. Is it a train? A high-caffeine soft-drink? A hockey team?

Actually, it's the name of a company that proposes to lay an oil pipeline called The Keystone from Alberta Canada to near Winnipeg, and then dipping south across both Dakotas and Nebraska. At the Nebraska-Kansas border, it will turn east and cross Missouri into Illinois.

Some 435,000 barrels of crude oil will be pushed daily through a 30" pipe by 23 pumping stations and the natural flow of gravity. The pipe will be just under a half-inch thick.

It will cross the Missouri River on the east side of Yankton, just a few hundred yards from our magazine office.

South Dakotans along the route have lots of questions about TransCanada's use of eminent domain, about the safety of the pipeline, liability issues should something go wrong, and benefits that we should expect from the construction and maintenance.

Curt Hohn of Web Rural Water District based in Aberdeen and Kent Moeckly of Britton recently traveled the S.D. route of the proposed pipeline to express safety concerns. Hohn says TransCanada would cross eight rural water districts in the state, and could present water safety issues for rural residents. Moeckly is a member of Dakotans Concerned, a Britton-based group that is, as named, concerned about TransCanada.

Hohn and Moeckly noted that the TransCanada easements signed by landowners allow multiple pipes to be laid on the property. They also expressed concerns that landowners near the pipeline who suffer damages may not be able to seek legal remedies directly from TransCanada, but would instead have to sue their own neighbors. And they said the closest maintenance crews for TransCanada are located in Omaha, too far to react to an emergency.

We posed those concerns to Denny Duncan, a longtime Parker lawyer and Pierre lobbyist. Duncan hooked us up via telephone with Jeff Rauh, a Wisconsin man who also serves as a project spokesman. Rauh insists that TransCanada is always responsible for any problems. He and Duncan said the closest maintenance crews are in Omaha, but maintain that as the pipeline is laid new teams will be created along the route. Rauh said some landowners are signing "multiple line" easements, and others are adamant about signing for just a single line. Either way, said Rauh, the company would have to start the process all over again with state and federal agencies and landowners before they could build another line.

This is going to be one of those issues (remember Oahe and the Mandan Power Line) that is likely to fill the air with volleys of conflicting information, all from well-intentioned and passionate people who have a job to do. It keeps the news media on their toes. We'll bet that everyone will soon know the difference between a TransCanada and a cruise ship.

Activism isn't a word we hear that often in work-aholic South Dakota because most people are too busy earning a living to rebel. But a little rebellion is always good, and that's why we've admired the organization called Preserve South Dakota. It aggressively seeks to make historic preservation an issue. Preservation isn't always practical, and in today's throw-away society it's especially out-of-style. But this non-profit, grassroots band of preservationists tries to convince communities and policy-makers that architecture and history matters.

The group has even compiled a Places in Peril list since 1996 as a way of spotlighting endangered structures.

Linda Kluthe of Scotland, executive director of the group, recently gave this report on some of the places listed in the year 2000.

GAR Soldier Statue in Aberdeen: In 2003 the mortar and grouting were redone and it seems stable today (pictured above).

Yankton County Courthouse in Yankton: Demolished in 2003.

Coliseum in Sioux Falls: Once slated for demolition, the public supported a 2001 campaign to save it and work is underway.

Hetland Schoolhouse: Built in 1904, it's a rare example of a wood school building. Foundation and wood need repair and the Hetland Historical Society is working to find a new use for it so it can be saved.

Children's Pioneer Cemetery in Gregory: Used as a hilltop cemetery by settlers, erosion and grazing by cattle has exposed some of the graves. Fencing and preservation are needed.

Chapel of the Holy Spirit in Corson County: Built of native sandstone in 1922, this rural Episcopal Indian Mission Church is beautiful. It was featured in South Dakota Magazine several years ago. Timber Lake amateur historians have rallied to restore it.l

While it's hard to think of snow during the week of July 4th, we recently came upon a marker along Highway 20 near Faulkton that stands as a reminder of how high the white stuff can accumulate.

It's at the Arvid and Jenny Holsing farm west of Faulkton (that's Jenny with their granddaughter. See the marker on the high line pole behind them? That's how high the snow reached in 1996-97. Something to appreciate when it hits 90 this week.

Our wide angle lens distorts the dimensions of the photo: the marker is probably 12 feet in the air.

Photo by Connie Sutherland of tornadoes near the marina west of Yankton.

In the aftermath of nature's fury, you begin to wonder why there are any old houses or barns here on the tornado-prone prairie. Heavy winds, beating rains and roiling tornadoes ripped across eastern South Dakota over the weekend.

We were spared the loss of life experienced in Kansas. That's considerable consolation to those who suffered the loss of homes and other property. The other consoling factor is the outpouring of assistance and comraderie expressed by friends, family and even total strangers. State Senator Ed Olson of rural Mitchell lost his family home, and the usually-eloquent politician was nearly speechless when asked by a television reporter about the outpouring of help and concern. Some say that's a Midwestern thing, but for the sake of the world I hope it's just being human.

Here in the Utica-Yankton area, tornadoes approached Lewis and Clark Lake. Tornadoes never cross water, they say. These ones churned right through the lake, jumped onto the land and hopped and swirled their way across Yankton County – deroofing house, flattening garages and barns and grain bins, and even tossing cows into trees, impaling them on the branches and leaving the farmer with the ugly task of ending their misery by firing up into the branches as if the cows were monstrous coons.

The storms continued on across the state, and as the system went northward it dropped increasing amounts of rain. Ten inches fell in a few hours in Brown County. Three days later, boats are the only form of transportation on some Aberdeen streets.

The Hunhoffs have been lucky over the years. Our country church was destroyed by a tornado in 1906, but beyond that our rural neighborhood hasn't suffered much worse than broken limbs, uprooted trees and perhaps a collapsed shed or a few tin sheets blown off a barn. So I'm not sure exactly how you pick up the thousands of pieces of debris, collect your emotions, and carry forward. But the strength of our people and our communities after such a whipping is even more impressive to observe than nature's fury.

I saw some people kayaking on the Jim River near our farm this week. I wonder if that will catch on? It's as rare as seeing a swan on that river.

Native Americans called the river E-ta-zi-po-ka-se Wakpa which basically means “un-navigable river” or “don’t bother to bring your big canoe.” French explorers simplified the name to Riviere aux Jacques, and even that was shortened to the Jim River by early settlers frugal with everything, even words.

Actually, all those names are illegal. The U.S. Congress officially titled it the Dakota River many years ago. Everybody blatantly violates the law, including our state’s own mapmakers. But nobody is likely to press charges because the river also ignores the law of gravity: it hardly drops at all in elevation as it winds and twists for 710 miles (460 as the bird flies) from its mouth in North Dakota to where it empties into the Missouri, just east of Yankton.

The Indians were right. The Jim is officially the world’s longest un-navigable river. Small boats and canoes can travel the picturesque waters – especially in early summer when snowmelt and spring rains often flood its banks. After all, it’s not hard to flood a river so flat it hardly flows. But a vessel of much size is likely to rub the river bottom and disturb the catfish.

Alva Aldrich was probably a good mayor for Aberdeen, but he failed miserably on one campaign promise: he said he would eradicate dandelions by July 1, 1909. He should have stuck with the "lower taxes, less government" mantra that has worked so well for South Dakota politicians. Here's a good story by Sue Gates of Dacotah Prairie Museum from the Aberdeen American News.