Hank Halama
From the North Beltrami Heritage Center newsletter
September 2014
The first two years of my life went by fairly smooth, I guess. When I was about three years old I can remember flour didn't come in bags but in barrels, 55 gallons or more.
My folks had a full barrel of flour in the kitchen. One day I managed to crawl on top of it. The lid slid to one side and I fell down into the barrel. It must have given me quite a scare. Dad said when he pulled me out, I was as white as a sheet!
When I was about 8 or 9 years old, my biggest thrill was to watch the Dahlberg paddle wheeler pull a boom full of logs from Waskish across the lake to the saw mill at Redby. They mostly picked a calm day, even then their progress was slow and on days when the lake was choppy it looked like the boat was in the same spot - just spinning its wheels. One time in a storm they lost all of the logs out of the boom, which drifted to shore.
When I was about 11 years old, I rode with my father to Waskish with a horse and buggy. When we got to Waskish he stopped for a minute. I thought he would stop for a while so I started to get out of the back of the buggy.
He started the horse up again at a trot. With the sudden start, I fell off the buggy but I still had one leg caught behind the end gate.
If he would have looked back, he could have seen there was more dust behind him than the buggy alone could kick up. But he didn't. He dragged me down the road for two or three hundred feet before I managed to get loose. I was sick. I felt like I had been drugged!
When I was 13 years old, I was skating to school on Red Lake on a cold November morning. The ice was rough close to shore and hard to skate on. I was half a mile from home when I saw a clear stretch of ice farther out in the lake, so I ventured out there but I didn't get very far when I broke thru and went down into the water. The depth of the water was right up to my chin. The height of the skates was all that kept me from drowning.
I had trouble getting back on the ice as it kept breaking off under me until I got closer to shore where it was rough. I managed to crawl back up on the ice. By that time it looked like a bull moose had been wallowing there. I had skates that clamped on my shoes so I kicked them off and ran home like a scared rabbit.
I changed my clothes and ran the mile and half to school and made it 5 minutes to nine. I saved my lunch kit but I lost my arithmetic book in the lake. After that some people said that the fish in the lake did multiply better.
When I was in my early teens, I lived on the north shore of Red lake where there were no maintained roads, there was just a one car track down the sandy ridge. In some places the sand was so loose a car would barely make it through. Then again there were spots where it didn't.
In one spot where cars were getting stuck a settler that lived there threw an old mattress in the road for cars to drive on. I didn't own a car so most of the time I was on foot, except this time, I was on horse back. Here I come, galloping along, not knowing a mattress was in the road. When the horse saw it he came to a sudden stop, put his head down to see what was in the road and I sailed over his head and landed right in the middle of the mattress. It isn't often when you get thrown off a horse there is a mattress to land on.
The horse got away from me and went back home. My destination was Waskish so I went the rest of the way on foot. I came within a half mile of Waskish when I met up with George Conda who was also on foot. Just then a hi-way maintenance truck came so we caught a ride to Waskish.
Those days trucks had running boards so we jumped on each side of the truck. When we came to Waskish George said here is where we get off. The truck was still traveling 15 or 20 miles an hour. George was used to jumping from moving trucks, but it was my first time and I just stepped off. When I did it seemed that the ground ran right out from under my feet and I went kerplunk, on my face in that loose sand. You could see the impression of my hand, face and the rest of my body in the loose sand for a week afterwards. Anyway, that was the best impression I ever made in Waskish.
One year I worked for the forestry camp ground. That year the trend was of big boats and bigger motors. The fishermen launched their boats at the camp ground ramp, then raced up and down the river and raised cane with the river bank. I got stuck with the job or slowing them down, so every time a boat was launched I would tell them to cut down on their speed. In the middle of the afternoon Roger came to see how I was doing. He asked me if they were giving me a rough time. I said sort of. Just then Keith Kisner drove in. He was the driver of the road patrol for the forestry, so he said take Keith with you for a back up. Keith followed me around like a regular body guard. Whenever someone would launch a boat I would tell them to cut down on their speed. Most of them would say "Who says so?". If he was just a small guy I would say that I say so, but if he was a big fellow I'd say "the fellow standing behind me says so". After that we made a little progress in keeping their speed down.
One time I bought a small pig to raise. The first thing he did after I brought him home was to get out of the pen and out on the road. He ran a quarter of a mile into the woods and I lost him. I thought maybe I'd have luck calling him rather than chasing him. So I was calling, oink, oink, oink. But instead of the pig, I got Roger Anderson and Lambert Oink! I had them lay by the shoulder of the road and when the pig ran by they were to try to catch him but he got away. Then Velmer (Halama) and George Fechtner joined the hunt. I gave George a fish landing net so when the pig went by he could land him but the pig had too much momentum and he went right through the net. After we chased the pig up and down the road all forenoon, he went back in the pen and laid down.
I had the fish landing net on exhibit for a long time. I told people that's what a forty pounder did to my net. I didn't tell them that it wasn't a forty pound northern but a forty pound pig we were trying to land.
One time in my younger days, a neighbor of mine asked me if I could haul a colt for him. I had a flatbed Model A Ford and the rack wasn't that good but I had it pictured as a small colt. I said that I could. When I saw the colt, I got the biggest surprise of my life. The 'colt' was three years old and weighted sixteen hundred pounds.
We loaded it on and started for home. The horse would throw her weight from one side to the other pretty near tipping the truck over. Then to make matters worse, I didn't have any guard on the back window of the cab and the horse kicked it out and kept sticking its front hoof thru the window barely missing my neck, so between driving and dodging hoofs I had my hands full. The owner said that the horse was a filly but to me it was a nightmare.
One day I was walking out where I have old machinery. There was the dump rake that my dad used for raking hay. After he retired I got the rake. At one time it was the most useful piece of machinery on the farm. Now it was standing there idle, it's usefulness over. Like everything else thru time, it had lost most of its teeth. If it could talk it could tell a lot of stories. As I stood looking at it a lot of memories came back.
The rake was drawn with a team of horses but the rake outlived the horses, so I cut the reach down to half and pulled it behind a tractor. One time when I was transporting it down the highway with a car, it came loose from the car and passed me up in the other lane, just like it knew the rules of the game, it passed me when there was no on-coming traffic. It didn't go far down the road before it ran off the side. The reach stuck in the dirt about three feet and the rake flipped. It rested on the reach with both wheels up in the air.
Another time when I was haying I was pulling the rake with a ford tractor. At that time my field was long but there were a lot of bends so you couldn't see very far either ahead or behind. It was over a mile for the first few rounds. My wife was working the rake, it had to be dumped by hand, and I was driving the tractor, singing and merrily rolling along. When I came around a bend in the meadow, there sat my wife with the rake. I had made a mile around the field and never realized I lost the rake. I tried to tell her that a good rake operator would have caught up to me with the rake, but she was in no mood for a lecture. There are times when women show a poor sense of humor.
One year at the Wild Rice Festival they were selling t-shirts with a writing on them that made a lot of sense to me because I have a Chevy 510 and I know from experience. It said, "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, if it wasn't for Chevrolet our wrenches would rust"!
From the North Beltrami Heritage Center newsletter
September 2014
The first two years of my life went by fairly smooth, I guess. When I was about three years old I can remember flour didn't come in bags but in barrels, 55 gallons or more.
My folks had a full barrel of flour in the kitchen. One day I managed to crawl on top of it. The lid slid to one side and I fell down into the barrel. It must have given me quite a scare. Dad said when he pulled me out, I was as white as a sheet!
When I was about 8 or 9 years old, my biggest thrill was to watch the Dahlberg paddle wheeler pull a boom full of logs from Waskish across the lake to the saw mill at Redby. They mostly picked a calm day, even then their progress was slow and on days when the lake was choppy it looked like the boat was in the same spot - just spinning its wheels. One time in a storm they lost all of the logs out of the boom, which drifted to shore.
When I was about 11 years old, I rode with my father to Waskish with a horse and buggy. When we got to Waskish he stopped for a minute. I thought he would stop for a while so I started to get out of the back of the buggy.
He started the horse up again at a trot. With the sudden start, I fell off the buggy but I still had one leg caught behind the end gate.
If he would have looked back, he could have seen there was more dust behind him than the buggy alone could kick up. But he didn't. He dragged me down the road for two or three hundred feet before I managed to get loose. I was sick. I felt like I had been drugged!
When I was 13 years old, I was skating to school on Red Lake on a cold November morning. The ice was rough close to shore and hard to skate on. I was half a mile from home when I saw a clear stretch of ice farther out in the lake, so I ventured out there but I didn't get very far when I broke thru and went down into the water. The depth of the water was right up to my chin. The height of the skates was all that kept me from drowning.
I had trouble getting back on the ice as it kept breaking off under me until I got closer to shore where it was rough. I managed to crawl back up on the ice. By that time it looked like a bull moose had been wallowing there. I had skates that clamped on my shoes so I kicked them off and ran home like a scared rabbit.
I changed my clothes and ran the mile and half to school and made it 5 minutes to nine. I saved my lunch kit but I lost my arithmetic book in the lake. After that some people said that the fish in the lake did multiply better.
When I was in my early teens, I lived on the north shore of Red lake where there were no maintained roads, there was just a one car track down the sandy ridge. In some places the sand was so loose a car would barely make it through. Then again there were spots where it didn't.
In one spot where cars were getting stuck a settler that lived there threw an old mattress in the road for cars to drive on. I didn't own a car so most of the time I was on foot, except this time, I was on horse back. Here I come, galloping along, not knowing a mattress was in the road. When the horse saw it he came to a sudden stop, put his head down to see what was in the road and I sailed over his head and landed right in the middle of the mattress. It isn't often when you get thrown off a horse there is a mattress to land on.
The horse got away from me and went back home. My destination was Waskish so I went the rest of the way on foot. I came within a half mile of Waskish when I met up with George Conda who was also on foot. Just then a hi-way maintenance truck came so we caught a ride to Waskish.
Those days trucks had running boards so we jumped on each side of the truck. When we came to Waskish George said here is where we get off. The truck was still traveling 15 or 20 miles an hour. George was used to jumping from moving trucks, but it was my first time and I just stepped off. When I did it seemed that the ground ran right out from under my feet and I went kerplunk, on my face in that loose sand. You could see the impression of my hand, face and the rest of my body in the loose sand for a week afterwards. Anyway, that was the best impression I ever made in Waskish.
One year I worked for the forestry camp ground. That year the trend was of big boats and bigger motors. The fishermen launched their boats at the camp ground ramp, then raced up and down the river and raised cane with the river bank. I got stuck with the job or slowing them down, so every time a boat was launched I would tell them to cut down on their speed. In the middle of the afternoon Roger came to see how I was doing. He asked me if they were giving me a rough time. I said sort of. Just then Keith Kisner drove in. He was the driver of the road patrol for the forestry, so he said take Keith with you for a back up. Keith followed me around like a regular body guard. Whenever someone would launch a boat I would tell them to cut down on their speed. Most of them would say "Who says so?". If he was just a small guy I would say that I say so, but if he was a big fellow I'd say "the fellow standing behind me says so". After that we made a little progress in keeping their speed down.
One time I bought a small pig to raise. The first thing he did after I brought him home was to get out of the pen and out on the road. He ran a quarter of a mile into the woods and I lost him. I thought maybe I'd have luck calling him rather than chasing him. So I was calling, oink, oink, oink. But instead of the pig, I got Roger Anderson and Lambert Oink! I had them lay by the shoulder of the road and when the pig ran by they were to try to catch him but he got away. Then Velmer (Halama) and George Fechtner joined the hunt. I gave George a fish landing net so when the pig went by he could land him but the pig had too much momentum and he went right through the net. After we chased the pig up and down the road all forenoon, he went back in the pen and laid down.
I had the fish landing net on exhibit for a long time. I told people that's what a forty pounder did to my net. I didn't tell them that it wasn't a forty pound northern but a forty pound pig we were trying to land.
One time in my younger days, a neighbor of mine asked me if I could haul a colt for him. I had a flatbed Model A Ford and the rack wasn't that good but I had it pictured as a small colt. I said that I could. When I saw the colt, I got the biggest surprise of my life. The 'colt' was three years old and weighted sixteen hundred pounds.
We loaded it on and started for home. The horse would throw her weight from one side to the other pretty near tipping the truck over. Then to make matters worse, I didn't have any guard on the back window of the cab and the horse kicked it out and kept sticking its front hoof thru the window barely missing my neck, so between driving and dodging hoofs I had my hands full. The owner said that the horse was a filly but to me it was a nightmare.
One day I was walking out where I have old machinery. There was the dump rake that my dad used for raking hay. After he retired I got the rake. At one time it was the most useful piece of machinery on the farm. Now it was standing there idle, it's usefulness over. Like everything else thru time, it had lost most of its teeth. If it could talk it could tell a lot of stories. As I stood looking at it a lot of memories came back.
The rake was drawn with a team of horses but the rake outlived the horses, so I cut the reach down to half and pulled it behind a tractor. One time when I was transporting it down the highway with a car, it came loose from the car and passed me up in the other lane, just like it knew the rules of the game, it passed me when there was no on-coming traffic. It didn't go far down the road before it ran off the side. The reach stuck in the dirt about three feet and the rake flipped. It rested on the reach with both wheels up in the air.
Another time when I was haying I was pulling the rake with a ford tractor. At that time my field was long but there were a lot of bends so you couldn't see very far either ahead or behind. It was over a mile for the first few rounds. My wife was working the rake, it had to be dumped by hand, and I was driving the tractor, singing and merrily rolling along. When I came around a bend in the meadow, there sat my wife with the rake. I had made a mile around the field and never realized I lost the rake. I tried to tell her that a good rake operator would have caught up to me with the rake, but she was in no mood for a lecture. There are times when women show a poor sense of humor.
One year at the Wild Rice Festival they were selling t-shirts with a writing on them that made a lot of sense to me because I have a Chevy 510 and I know from experience. It said, "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, if it wasn't for Chevrolet our wrenches would rust"!
