Last night Ann and I rented the movie, Napoleon Dynamite, a glimpse of rural high school life set in Preston, Idaho. For those who have yet to see it, we recommend it for its offbeat humor. For you Eshelman’s it even has a couple of tetherball scenes, which should bring back some particularly fond memories.

We woke up this morning giggling over some of the scenes and lines. And then we talked about other movies about rural America that depict or capture numerous qualities about our lives and came up with the following list along with a brief synopsis (from imdb.com) and a favorite line:

The Straight Story

"The Straight Story" chronicles a trip made by 73-year-old Alvin Straight from Laurens, Iowa, to Mt. Zion, Wis., in 1994 while riding a lawn mower. The man undertook his strange journey to mend his relationship with his ill, estranged, 75-year-old brother Lyle, a genuine, rather than saccharine movie.

Sig--“What do you need that grabber for, Alvin?”

Alvin--“Grabbin’”

Red Rock West

When a promised job for Texan Michael fails to materialize in Wyoming, Mike is mistaken by Wayne to be the hitman he hired to kill his unfaithful wife, Suzanne. Mike takes full advantage of the situation, collects the money and runs. During his getaway, things go wrong, and soon get worse when he runs into the real hitman, Lyle.

“You must be Lyle.”

Fargo

Jerry Lundegaard's inept crime falls apart due to his and his henchmen's bungling and the persistent police work of pregnant Marge Gunderson.

Tag line—A lot can happen in the middle of nowhere.

Marge Gunderson: Say Lou, didya hear the one about the guy who couldn't afford personalized plate so he went and changed his name to J3L2404?

Lou: Yah, that's a good one.

Medicine River

A successful, big city Native American is told to return to Alberta for his mother’s funeral and while there, rediscovers his home town.

“It’s OK, we’re indigenous.”

Lonesome Dove

Epic story about two former Texas rangers who decide to move cattle from the south to Montana. Augustus McCrae and Woodrow Call run into many problems on the way, and the journey doesn't end without numerous casualties.

[Gus refuses to have his leg amputated knowing he will die if he doesn't]
Woodrow Call: What do you want legs for anyway? You don't like to do nothing but sit on the porch and drink whiskey!
Gus McCrae: I like to kick a pig every once in a while. How would I do that?

Circling back to Napoleon Dynamite, possibly the funniest thing about the movie was that when we rented it, we got the last copy available. And the image of rural Rhinelander laughing at rural Preston, Idaho, sent our minds reeling.

And now we are examining our own linguistic patterns. This, from a moment ago:

Ann: It’s been a while since I’ve seen so many coots.

Scott: Yah.

Mud Duck Derivation

From a subscriber named 'muddy buddy' comes this: an article (reprinted here) from the Minneapolis Star-Tribune describing the etymology of the term 'mud duck'. (I mistakenly called it a mud hen, which is another name for the bird, coot--not to be confused with me.) Here is what Marc, errr, muddy buddy sent:

What's in that name? Nothing ducky
David Peterson, Star Tribune

Lee Wright doesn't remember ever hearing it, growing up in central Wisconsin. But now that he runs a sportsman's lodge near the Minnesota border, he hears it all the time.

Mud duck -- meaning Minnesotan.

It sounds ugly. And at least some of those who use it mean it in an ugly way.

The use of the term in the clash involving Chai Vang, the Minnesota hunter found guilty Friday of killing six Wisconsin hunters, has raised questions for Minnesotans.

Is it a racial term, as one witness in the trial maintained? And if it's not -- if it's strictly a term for a Minnesotan, as others countered -- then what's the story behind that?

Interviews in recent days with lifelong Wisconsinites, together with a plunge into the written record, suggest that the truth is something like this:

The term has been around for decades. It is to be found, though only rarely, in Star Tribune clippings dating to the late 1980s. It does not necessarily carry any racial connotation.

It is better known along the Minnesota border than in the rest of Wisconsin, but it's news even to some people along the border. It seems most common among hunters and anglers, who find themselves competing with Minnesota interlopers for fish and game.

The origin of the term is fuzzy -- it might have something to do with Minnesota lakes, or with the loon, Minnesota's state bird. Or it might just mean a loser.

In popular usage, "a 'mud duck' is a bottom feeder, eating a lot of mucky stuff from the bottom of the lake," said Jim Leary, co-director of the Center for the Study of Upper Midwestern Cultures at the University of Wisconsin-Madison.

That doesn't sound good. But some insist it's all in good fun. "It's not derogatory any more than 'cheesehead,' " said Wright, who owns the Pine Drive Resort in Holcombe, Wis. "Most times I hear it, it's over football."

But all kinds of postings to the Internet reveal it being used by people in a high lather over something or other Minnesotans have done -- often in the woods and lakes. People complain about ATVs from Minnesota chewing up the land, or Minnesota anglers taking over Wisconsin rivers before their own seasons begin.

Even in high school

In an example suggesting that the term crosses at least generational divides, the Octagon, a weekly newspaper produced by students at Northwestern High School in Maple, Wis., an enormous, sparsely settled area east of Duluth-Superior, carried a piece this spring under the headline "Mud ducks invade the Brule."

"It's not that I despise mud ducks fully, but there are some that have given me a bad perspective of themselves," wrote the student-author, who goes on to complain there are far too many of them on the river, acting like they own the place.

"Once you leave a spot on the river," he adds, "they run in like preschoolers fighting over a bag of fruit snacks."

(The full story can be found at www.startribune.com/386.)

But if all this suggests some below-the-radar hatred -- racial or otherwise -- of which Minnesotans have been oblivious, Leary is reassuring.

"The idea that northern Wisconsin is rife with racist rednecks is totally false," said Madison Prof. Leary, who happens to have grown up in Rice Lake and knows some of those involved in the Vang case quite well. "But there is racism among some in the region, as there is anywhere else. Whether it came into play in this instance, I have no idea."

Not affectionate

And compared with Illinois, he said, another major source of visitors to the Badger State, "there's far more affection in the Minnesota/Wisconsin relationship. There's more commonality. Illinois people are much likelier to be big-city Chicagoans, urban and obnoxious, feeling like superior beings in the provinces."

The highest form of proof: "One term for them here is FIBs," an acronym in which only the middle word, Illinois, can be printed in a family newspaper.

Indeed some folks living within a stone's throw of Minnesota say this is the first they've ever heard of the term "mud duck."

"I grew up in Wisconsin and have lived here 50 years," said Janet Krokson, publisher of the Spooner Advocate. "This is the first time I've ever heard it."

David Peterson is at dapeterson@startribune.com.

Mud Duck News

Around Wisconsin the trial of Chai Vang, a hunter from Minnesota accused of killing several Wisconsin hunters last season is big news. In today's testimony, a witness for the prosecution testified that he called Vang a 'mud duck' a term that he said described someone from Minnesota. Thus the title of this entry.

A visit to Minneapolis, actually Crystal, to help Kay, ended in frustration with U-Haul. After dutifully making reservations for a trailer to haul her cherished 1965 Chevy, and after answering the same questions at least twice, and after Carrie's hiring as a temporary employee of U-Haul, we came to the moment of truth when we could pick up the trailer and be on our way (not to mention that Ed could get back to the Vikings game). The computer thwarted us, however, by saying that the trailer in the lot was not certified.

After a second attempt at another rental place followed by detailed measuring of her car. We gave up until we could try again later.

The visit was not without some laughs however.

Carrie has been trying for some time to reinstate her driver's license. She recently went to the DOT, filed the proper paperwork and was approved to receive the long sought after document.

When she asked if she could have a new picture taken, they refused, citing policy. They said her old picture would be on her new license that she would get in the mail.

After waiting even longer, the day finally arrived and with great expectation, she opened the mail to find the following:




In other news, Carries has changed her name to Mrs. Doubtfire.

Kurt Finally Catches Something And Its NOT a Cold

After casting a thousand times, unsnarling his line in half of those; after cursing and whining and pleading and simpering he caught something. Oh, it wasn't the fish of his dreams, that heart-pounding muskie. Nor was it a northern with its evil-looking snout that the game warden told us were beginning to bite. Nor was it that bass, the fighter of the north. Not even a perch sniffed at his line, nor a minnow.

No, this was something that was somewhat more stationary, some low hanging fruit as it were. It was green and long and he was able to catch it after a long and grueling fight.

It was rice.

Yes, he and Ann, ventured out in to the wild and dangerous marsh, armed with few implements and grim determination and returned with upwards of 24 pounds after three hours of sweat soaked pugilism.

When you next talk or write him (Eshelman_K@comcast.net) be sure to offer your heartfelt congratulations on his Herculean effort.

Rice Season

The days are warm and the evenings cool; Canada geese make their noisy appearance and the hummingbirds are fueling up for their journey; acorns have fallen and the leaves begin their colorful decline; and, oh, yes, the rice birds (Virgina rails) are calling. It must be ricing season.

Before Kurt arrives to hone his ricing skills and report on our own folly, allow me to share our friends, the Oehler's, experience. (Dick, for reasons that soon shall become apparent, will become a regular contributor to this blather, whether he knows it or not!)

Harvesting Wild Rice 2005 – Oehler style

Judi panted excitedly, her eyes dewy with anticipation! My brain took in the vision before me, my pulse quickened and I trembled with excitement. The lake was full, the rice was ripe and we were eager to begin this year’s harvesting.

If my description has caught you up in the passion of the harvest, be forewarned, there are some items that can be off-putting to the more delicate gender (No, I don’t necessarily mean female!). There are bugs. Lots and lots of bugs. Lady bugs, Gnats, Caddis flies, little Spiders, BIG spiders and other bugs only a PHD entomologist could identify. In a few hours of ricing, it’s not uncommon for our canoe to contain 30 lbs of harvested rice and 10 lbs of bugs. While Judi and I tape our pants cuffs with duck tape to keep things from crawling upward and underward, we still find strange debris lodged in our underwear at the end of the day. Of the flora and fauna I found in Judi’s underwear recently (No, she wasn’t wearing them at the time!), some were plantlike, some insect like, some dead and some, regrettably, were not-quite-dead. If that makes your body tremble, but not with excitement, remember that harvesting wild rice isn’t a passionate experience for everyone.

Some times we aren’t the only people panting excitedly at the canoe landing of a good ricing lake. It’s not uncommon for us to come upon another couple, complete with canoe, push pole, ricing sticks and duck tape, launching at the same site. We exchange pleasantries, locally referred to as rice lies. A conversation typically begins with my commenting, “Hi, nice day eh?” The response, “Yes, except that….here select from phrases like, “The rice obviously isn’t ready; It’s too windy to rice today; It’s too sunny to rice today; I wouldn’t advise going out now because the - bees, hornets, mosquitoes, are terrible and a ricer died from a bite just last week!” The idea is to try and get the lake all to yourself before the other canoe(s) work through all the best places. Last week, as I used a special Karate’ move to shove an old lady and her elderly husband out of the way so we could launch our canoe, the old bag had the audacity to say, “You should try Pickerel Lake over near Three Lakes sonny because the rice is real good over there!” Nice try old lady but everyone knows that Pickerel Lake has never had rice growing in it.

The harvest was fairly poor this year but we got enough to warrant processing. It’s a two hundred fifty mile round trip to the processor in Hayward. With gas being about as expensive as beer, this year’s finished rice turned out to be pretty pricy. The rice processing team, a woman and man, do this for about six weeks during every fall harvest. It’s neat to watch their home-built machinery roast, hull and winnow our rice. While they are working with our rice we listen to the advice that is passed along by other ricers. Of course everyone who harvest’s wild rice is an expert and we hear comments like: “You should only harvest the north end of a lake when the wind is coming from the southwest, the moon is full and the ducks are flying in an inverted V out of an eastern cloudbank.” “You mean only use a sixteen foot push pole? That’s all wrong! You should use a twenty-three foot pole made from a balsam taken from the south side nof a west leaning oak that has no more than 2,398 leaves.” “You don’t really use the Minnesota method, do you? No wonder you and your wife look so old!” “That’s your rice? Well I guess some people will eat anything.”

Judi and I have been doing this for close to twenty years and figure our method is about as good as any. A short time ago a young man, planning on taking his son out ricing for a father / son bonding experience asked us for advice. I told him, “Just make sure you go out after a full moon when the ducks are flying in an inverted V over Pickerel Lake down near Three Lakes. Oh, and do you think your son would be able to count 2,398 leaves on a south leaning oak?” I think the guy decided to bond with a six pack and a Packer game instead.

Dick