Happy Birthday to Walt Whitman . . . and rest in peace, Utah Phillips (photo).

At the Medora poetry gathering, I sang "The Goodnight-Loving Trail," Utah's ode to an aging cowboy. I didn't know that he had passed away just hours before.

Although I never met Utah, I wrote him a letter once and sent him two of my CDs. I've been a big fan since 1975, when Dad brought home a vinyl record called El Capitan. To hear a sample of Utah's story-telling and song, listen here.

Courtesy of Christy's cell phone:

Grandpa and me at the Dakota Cowboy Poetry Gathering.

The very beginning and end get chopped off, but you'll get the flavor.

Blogger has not allowed me to post anything new to this journal since last week. It has been disconcerting.

The Dakota Cowboy Poetry Gathering in Medora was great. Christy, my peachy girlfriend, was with me all weekend. Good friends "V" from Wyoming and Susan from Montana were there, too. Grandpa joined me on stage for the "Summer of the Government Roundup" poem, which was well received. I got interviewed for North Dakota Public Radio by Merrill Piepkorn.

Today Christy helped paint my kitchen. Tonight we enjoyed a rich juneberry and rhubarb pie that Grandma made. Christy leaves tomorrow morning at 5 a.m.

I'll be trucking for the next three or four days. I am a fish hauler, fish hauler am I.

The weekend went by in a flash. Scraped old lead paint off much of my house. Salvaging a building takes more effort than building new.

I've decided to hire my friend Brandon, from Minnesota, to come here in June to help me with various projects (roofing, sanding the floor, replacing the porch, and so on). He's a 20-year-old tramp, and he plans to arrive the old-fashioned way--via boxcar!

###

For humor, see cowboy/cop video here.

This coming weekend I'll be spinning a couple of rhymes at the Dakota Cowboy Poetry Gathering in Medora. I'll include a poem that my late granduncle Chris Sand wrote, "Summer of the Government Roundup." In a sense, it's a collaboration between him and me, because I altered it a bit to make it flow better aloud.

The poem takes place in 1929, when Uncle Chris was working along Wolf Creek on the Fort Peck Reservation in Montana. He meets two Indian cowboys who teach him a trick for taming a wild horse:

O, they roped 'im, threw 'im, and tied 'im
Put a pinch of black dust in each eye
And when they released him, he'd lost all his starch
And to drive him was easy as pie

Mostly the poem is a poignant reminiscence of Uncle Chris' (and Grandpa's) younger days, as in the final verse:

I'll always remember that summer
I think of it still in my dreams
I'll never get over my days as a drover
Or the flavor of Shorty's baked beans

I'm hoping that Grandpa will join me on stage to share a couple of his government roundup memories. He balks at the idea, but I think Dad and Grandma will talk him into it.

Check out my new slammin' Willie Wisely-produced jam: Go Bama Go! (It's not finished, though. Check back in a couple weeks for the final version.)

The songs on the unreleased CD I recorded earlier this year with Froseph--Rough Notes from Otter Cove--sound nothing like this. "Go Bama Go!" is as much advertisement as it is a pop/rap song. Pop-aganda?

The Froseph songs are more mystic and rustic.

Truck drivers come in every size, color, religion, and gender. There are philosopher truckers, skinhead truckers, grandpa and grandma truckers, fresh-off-the-farm-never-seen-a-city-before truckers, Hindu/Muslim/Buddhist truckers, punk rock truckers, lesbian truckers, and more. Tuesday night I ran into a Willie Nelson look-alike trucker, clip-on braids and all. Claimed to have gone to school in Hibbing, MN, with Bob Dylan.

I've seen a lot in the last six months: sunsets, sunrises, night skies, wildlife, waitresses. I've seen avalanches, aliens, gnarly road-kills, and over 20 wrecked semis. I've made good money, paid off debts, developed an addiction to taurine, listened to satellite radio, and watched over 50 dvds in the sleeper cab. I've run over 16 curbs. I've been blown off the road by 60-mph winds. I've jackknifed. I've survived.

Trucking has been kind to me.

Tonight Bull Goodall and I head to Philip, SD, to fill up with tilapia fingerlings. We'll haul them to Minnesota, then make our usual run to British Columbia. Back Friday.

For Mother's Day I made a huckleberry pie for Mom and Farmor. I wish I could've delivered a piece out to Grandma Vi in Montana, and to my Godmom Bryher, too.

It's gently raining right now. Everyone is grateful, especially me. My lady, Christy, is flying up here for Memorial Day weekend. I want to impress her with the greenery of the scenery.

Last week I received an email from a Kansas bicyclist named April, who was looking for places to stay on her way through North Dakota. She had been given my number by a Fargo friend. Her timing conflicted with my trucking schedule, so I told her how to get into my house.

Yesterday morning, driving home, I saw a bicyclist pedaling west from Dunn Center. It was April, who'd spent the previous night at my place. I let her know that we were expecting 4" of snow, so she hunkered down at my parents' house in Killdeer for a couple days. The snow has melted now, and she heads out tomorrow morning, destination Seattle.

Happy trails, April! You've proven that not every long-distance vehicle requires a bathtub full of dinosaur juice.

Farewell, Eddy Arnold. Your days' work is done and done well.

My 100% Norwegian Grandma Edna turns 88 years old today. She thinks this means she's getting old.

I see it more like: 8 + 8 = 16.

Happy Sweet Sixteen, Farmor*!

(*Norwegian for father's mother.)

Yesterday was a good day. Christy arrived from Denver for the weekend; Froseph sent me my new, completed CD (my favorite one yet . . . more later); it was payday at Goodall Trucking; and I officially moved back into my Dunn Center shack.

I just got asked to open up for the Bellamy Brothers in August. I said no; I have too much on my plate this summer. Also, I don't feel quite qualified. I'm honored, though. Thanks for asking, JZ!

I-94 is icy today
I-90 is rainy and foggy
I-29 is dicey--like Dice Clay
I-5 is congested and smoggy . . .

We returned from Vancouver this morning and head to Calgary this afternoon. Nap time for Sandman.

It's official. Lazlo the Laptop is toast. My computer guru tells me that Lazlo's video chip is irretrievably corrupt.

On the bright side, Lazlo's slow death and brief resurrection (last Friday at 11:21 a.m.) could make for a good children's book someday. Or not really.

Does anybody out there have a decent, used laptop I could buy?

I'm livin' large, y'all. Just returned from an active Colorado weekend with my lady, Christy Renee. She greeted me at the Denver Airport in style, sporting her brown '66 Chevy pickup, "Darlin'."

We boogied 35 minutes north to Erie for a barbecue and campfire hootenanny at Alex and Kelly's. Cousin Jenny was there, too, with her guitar-playing, dulcet-voiced friend, Krista. Uncle Ken & Aunt Christi came over from Longmont. Hannah & Liljiana made colorful drawings of butterflies and frogs and passed them around.

On Saturday Christy and I motored three hours west to Steamboat Springs, CO, where we stayed at the cozy and hospitable Steamboat Guest House. We took advantage of the bright, round moon and drove to Strawberry Hill Hot Springs for an evening soak. For two hours we had our own sandy-bottomed hot pot, with waterfall. Eventually we ventured out into the populated pools that terraced lower and lower alongside and into the rushing Elk River.

Yesterday--Sunday--we meandered back through Denver to Boulder, to visit Christy's friend Kaia, a professional masseuse. At Christy's pre-arranged request, Kaia gave me an intensely relaxing two-hour massage. Christy cooked us a gourmet-riffic meal of asparagus and pork tenderloin.

Life is good. Life is real good.

Thanks for the magical weekend, Christy.

While trucking, Bull Goodall likes to have the radio on. The noise helps drown out all the gear grinding. This works for me, as the rig is equipped with Sirius Satellite Radio, with lots of music/news choices and good fidelity.

The Fox News Channel is his top choice. He also likes the Jimmy Buffett Channel, The Coffee House (singer-songwriters), and The Roadhouse ('60s and '70s country).

My three faves:

1. Outlaw Country. This station has great deejays--Elizabeth Cooke, Steve Earle, Shooter Jennings, Mojo Nixon, and Rig Rocker. Rig Rocker plays mostly trucking songs, and there are thousands.

2. Heart & Soul. Modern R & B. Love it.

3. Planet Jazz. This station is best when deejay David Johannsen is in the booth. His song selection is wicked-sweet.

****************

I fly to Denver today to see Christy. Tonight we'll join my aunt, uncle, and cousins for a campfire supper in Erie.

Quote of Day:

"We are doing this for charity...I consider myself a great philanderer...and I know at the end of the day I can look in the mirror and say, 'Michael, tonight because of you some little kid in the Congo has a belly full of rice this evening.' Plus, it's tax deductible."

- Michael Scott

(Submitted by cousin Jen Sand.)

I'll be performing at the 22nd Annual Dakota Cowboy Poetry Gathering in Medora, ND, next month. The dates: May 24 & 25.

Honestly, I'm not sure I can handle another winter here. I'm just not as sturdy as most North Dakotans. Then again, winters have always been my bane. Montana was too cloudy, Washington too rainy, and North Dakota is too cold (and this was a mild winter).

That said, Dunn County has begun to thaw. There aren't many better places to live in the world than western North Dakota from May-October. I'm glad that spring is finally official.

The best winter I ever had was in 1991/92 when I lived in Guatemala: 90 days of low-rent paradise. My bungalow cost .45 cents per day. I lived on rice, beans, eggs, fruit, tortillas, and vegetables. Somehow, I need to fly closer to the equator each winter from now on. Call me Sandman the Rappin' Snow Bird. I don't care, I like sun.

My friend Fayleen has capitalized on North Dakota's awesome summer offerings with her business: Burnin' Daylight Adventures. She'll line you up with an authentic North Dakota experience and good food. Tell everyone you know, and visit me while you're in the area. I can start a campfire with flint and sing songs.

Mom's knee surgery was successful today.

Dad's neck surgery today was successful.

Dunn County finally received some moisture yesterday. We're still much too dry this year, though; cattle need grass. Calving season is in full swing.

I went to church with Grandpa this morning. Grandma's leg is injured, and she couldn't go. The Killdeer Lutherans voted to hire a new minister. They've been nine months without.

Tonight Gramps made kumla, a traditional Norwegian dish. See http://kumla.us/. Not everyone likes it, but I do. After supper Grandma beat Grandpa and me at pinochle. Again.

Uncle Ken called to say that today my niece Liljana, age 4, climbed up on a fence and hopped bareback onto a gelding. The horse took off across the pasture. Lily got ejected hard and landed in mud. Ken reports that she's fine, except for injured pride.

Regarding yesterday's blog:

Christy's the tall one. The short one is Iris*.

*(Niece).

Lazlo the Laptop has died for a second time, perhaps to rise nevermore.

Which is why I'm on Dad's slow iMac. Dad, meanwhile, is in Montana waiting to get back surgery. Mom is with him, awaiting knee surgery. Grandma Vi, also in Montana, just got a hip-hop--I mean hip operation.

If only Lazlo could find a suitable surgeon, too.

To recap last week:

March 30th. My cousin Alex, on his 33rd birthday, picked me up at the Denver airport and delivered me to my downtown-parked vehicle. I immediately drove to Erie and spent the afternoon with Alex, Kelly, Hannah, and Liljiana. I love my cousins. Around 4 p.m., I attempted to make it to Spearfish, SD, to visit more cousins. Sadly, I became the victim of a dastardly blizzard and had to hunker down at the Raw Hide Hotel in Lusk, WY.

March 31st. Completed the icy drive north. Slept in my Killdeer, ND, bed.

April 1st. Awoke at 4 a.m. Resumed long-haul commercial trucking career. Picked up live fish load in Renville, MN.

April 2nd. Drove 1,200 miles west with Shawn Goodall.

April 3rd. Drove 1,000 miles east with Shawn Goodall.

April 4th. Finally arrived home at 8 a.m. Ambled up to Killdeer Mountain with Grandpa and Uncle Ken. Fixed Jenny's Well. Ate Grandma's venison/carrot soup.

I have a girlfriend now. Her name is Christy Renee, and she turned 34 today. She's not imaginary--I'll introduce you to her sometime. Happy Birthday, Miss Indiana! See you in less than two weeks.

Last night I stayed with friends Marcus and Amanda (and their two ferrets). We attended an intimate supper party at a historic mansion in the Hollywood Hills. The 150-year old house--with fish ponds, swimming pools, and a movie theater--is owned by a family of interesting and welcoming Australian-Americans. I was talked into reciting a few poems.

Roman Coppola was there. Word has it that he called my performance "amazing."

I'm currently at the LAX airport, courtesy of Marcus, getting ready to fly to Denver, where my car awaits me.

I have had a good time in L.A., but I'll be glad to get my feet back on North Dakota soil. The best part of this trip, so far, has been spending time with cousin Jeff and Aunt Jo.