The Wind Books Website

A report by co-editor Nancy Curtis:

We had a great book launch party for the contributors in Chadron at the new Mari Sandoz Center.

The Sandoz Center atrium turned out to be a beautiful new space with lots of light and a perfect size for us.

I counted 40 contributors to CWC who attended, from as far away as Bainbridge Island, Washington; Gallup, New Mexico; Amana, Iowa; and Centerville, Ohio. Some women were just there Friday and some were just there Saturday. About eight contributors to previous books who weren't in CWC were also there, plus a number of husbands, sisters and traveling companions.

Friday from 4-7 we had a reception where contributors could pick up their free copies and get each other to sign them. It is a wonderful icebreaker and soon everyone knew everyone else. Friday evening we had a buffet and reading at a private dining room at a restaurant.

We talked a little about the process of the book and gave the women a pep talk and information about how to arrange signings in their own communities. Koko Gjermundson talked about her successful signing at a North Dakota bookstore and how much fun it was, and I talked about the one the previous week at the gas station and library, encouraging contributors to try unusual venues if their community didn't have a bookstore. Afterward one woman announced that she'd like to have a signing at her town's laundromat because it was the busiest place in town--you can buy food, beer, quilts, puppies, and drugs there. A group from western Wyoming was going to try to arrange some talks at museums and libraries where there are few bookstores.

Saturday morning we celebrated Mari Sandoz's birthday with more readings, birthday cake, photos. We also had tours of the Sandoz Center's private spaces and the museum itself.

Saturday afternoon we had more readings, a singer who was a contributor to Leaning, and a signing. Not many people came from the community, but the bookstore from nearby Valentine, Nebraska, brought two cases of books for everyone to sign, so that kept the contributors busy.

We closed out the day with a dinner at a Mexican restaurant and a few additional readings.

It was darn near perfect. We may not have sold a great many books, but this was more of an occasion to honor the contributors, to let them meet each other, and to hear the pieces in the voices of the contributors. We think we inspired them to go home and promote the book in the little nooks and crannies of the West.

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An Annotated Schedule of Events

Friday, May 14 -- Reception and Reunion
4 to 7 pm
Atrium, Sandoz Center, Chadron State College

We distributed the free contributor copies of the new book, Crazy Woman Creek, and had time to greet old friends and new and sign each other's books.

Saturday, May 15 -- Morning

9 am to noon
Happy 108th Birthday to the Story Catcher: Mari Sandoz
Mari Sandoz Heritage Center

9:00 -- Registration, book distribution and reunion continued. Tours of the behind-the-scenes sections of the Sandoz Center conducted by staff, plus time to tour the museum itself.

10:00 -- Welcome by the Sandoz Society. Mari remembered.

10:30 -- Love Song to the Plains: Readings honoring Mari presented by the editors and contributors.

11:00 -- Mari Sandoz's 108th Birthday Party. Cake and drinks for all, gifts were presented to the Sandoz Center, door prizes were forgotten in the hustle and bustle.

12:00 -- Group photos were taken in front of the Sandoz Center with the statue of Mari.

Noon -- Lunch in small groups here and there around Chadron. Reunion continues.

Saturday, May 15 -- Afternoon

Program and Reading by Crazy Woman Creek contributors
2 to 5 pm
Student Center, Scottsbluff Room

2:00 -- Introductions, music by Deb Carpenter, readings by the editors. Five-minute readings from Crazy Woman Creek by contributors.

3:00 -- Break and musical interlude. Book signing continued. Not only were contributors signing each others books, but all contributors were asked to sign books for a bookstore from Valentine, Nebraska, which has ever been a good friend and promotor of the Wind Anthologies.

3:15 -- Contributor readings continued.

3:30 -- Disturbance by skateboarders.

5:00 -- Readings finished up. The last of the books were signed. The decorative flower arrangements with balloons were handed out as door prizes. People dispersed for a break before supper.


Saturday, May 15 -- Evening
Dinner at Angela's, a Mexican restaurant. The dinner and conversation began with shoulder massages by Cleo Cantlon and culminated with a group Basque war cry, led by Sophie Dominik Echeverria. This seemed to have cleared out all the other patrons.

After the dinner some contributors continued their celebrations in various ways. Individual reports are welcomed.

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A Note After Chadron

by Emilie Hoppe

Wednesday, 19 May 2004

We got home safely last night late by way of Scott's Bluff, Cheyenne, Boulder (drove 1,980 miles total) with side trips to the fossil beds, several state parks, national monuments thrown in for good measure. We actually got a long hike in on Sunday (at the fossil beds -- the park ranger took one look at Bob and me and went into a 10 minute speech about rattlesnakes and what to do if you see one, amounting to "walk the other direction slowly" which galvanized me and amused Bob). Another shorter walk on Monday up beyond Boulder in the mountains broke up the car/driving thing.

I wanted to say how much fun we had in Chadron –- how wonderful it was to meet the editors and contributors. I have spent the last few days digesting all the things I have learned on this trip and I'm not nearly done. Every so often, right out of the blue, something someone said will pop in my mind and I have to think it over. The women reading their pieces, the poetry, the conversations I had with folks at dinner, before and after sessions, and with you, were inspiring, enlightening, and in some cases, just good fun. Mostly I'm going to remember the warmth and fellowship (galship?). I came home to piles of dirty laundry, a sick dog (eye infection), a wounded son (sprained ankle) and job deadlines. I suspect every single woman came home to that sort of thing, something akin, or much worse. My defense against the mundane has been to recall last weekend and smile.

Thank you so much for all your hard work!!! Thank you for choosing to publish my essay. And I can't tell you how proud I am to have a piece in your book.

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"The Port-A-Potty Polka:
A Night on the Town of Chadron"

by Sue Hartman

Sophie, Sue L. and I had an incredible trip to Chadron for the Crazy Woman Creek book launch. We never stopped talking from the time we picked up Sophie in Fort Collins until we arrived at the Mari Sandoz Center in Nebraska. Arrival didn't stop us. I was wiped out and hoarse for a week after we returned home, and I didn't even participate in the Basque yell at Angela's.

We debated going back to the White House Bed and Breakfast after dinner. Everyone was tired physically and emotionally drained from socializing and readings, but we were still mentally hyped. We hadn't had much opportunity to experience the real Chadron. Luckily, our hostess Dona Fleming had invited us to the VFW Saturday Night May-Birthdays Dance. It only cost three dollars for live music and entertainment and the VFW Hall was less than a block from Angela's. Dona was so surprised that we actually showed up, that she let out a whoop that rivaled Sophie's Basque yell.

When we waltzed in, we were greeted warmly, but with a little reserve. The guys at the bar narrowed their eyes. "Who are they?" one queried. "New college gals?" There weren't that many people in the crowd without white hair. "Do you want to see my AARP card?" I blurted out in defense. At least I am graying.

The regulars dressed up for the dance, not quite Sunday best, but close. It was her birthday month, Dona told us, so she was the smartest dresser that night. She had on a sky blue-flowered dress with a navy sweater trimmed in the same shade of light blue as the blossoms on her dress, which also matched her eyes. She looked beautiful.

It was also her twin sister Dixie's birthday month, of course, but she wasn't expected, after a long day of handing out samples at Super Walmart. No one thought that Super Walmart was a good thing for the community -- it choked out the small businesses downtown. Some boycotted it and drove to Rapid City [a two-hour drive] to shop in protest. Dixie's samples that day had included some curiously-strong cinnamon breath wafers that dissolve on your tongue, if they don't burn it first. A few samples found their way to the VFW Dance, Dixie or no.

The Chadronite women were curious and as soon as we sat at long tables, they came to join us, and to politely inquire about our lives. Dona made sure we were made to feel welcome. "These women are my guests," she announced proudly. "They're Colorado writers." It was probably just me, but I felt sort-of like the object of Show-and-Tell. Then came the men. Some cowboys boasted that they drove sixty miles every Saturday to attend the dance.

The three-man band was lively, and several of the attendees were also musicians who sometimes sat-in. Of course, there were more women than men. As couples arose to dance, two octogenarian women debated who was going to lead for that set, or whether they should trade-off. I thought they were wonderful, but I couldn't help but wonder if we were supposed to follow suit.

A part-time musician/comic asked Sue2 to dance first. He'd been joking about the easy lives of writers, people who "work" from the seats of their pants, unabashedly stealing material from Prairie Home Companion and admitting it. Looking for common ground, he assumed -- rightly so -- that we would be familiar with NPR. His wife, the drummer in his band, was sitting right there with us and acted friendly enough. Not threatened at all. Sue2 got up to dance with him. While they polkaed away, his wife confided that, as artists like us, their musical career had to be part-time, heavily subsidized by the Port-A-Potty franchise they owned. Sophie was next and came back amazed at how the Port-A-Potty-Polka man knew so much about the art of flamenco dancing. As a flamenco teacher and performer, Sophie is an expert. She can dance to anything.

I wish I could report that I loved dancing at the Chadron VFW Saturday May Birthday Celebration, but that old icky junior high awkwardness hit me like a clap of thunder. I can usually dance pretty well, with my husband, but I was seriously out-ranked in Chadron. I both wanted to be asked to dance, and hoped I wouldn't be. Yet who wanted to be the last wallflower standing? So when I was asked by a stringy cowboy with gray hair to his shoulders -- still wearing his silver belly stetson -- I agreed. I remember his name as Wilt, but it might have been Walt. From the yesteryear of my youth, I do vaguely remember the swing, and I waltz okay, and anybody can polka, but the two-step with an expert reduced me to a sweaty-palmed 13-year-old. I felt as clumsy as the six-legged horse on the cover of Woven. I couldn't dance worth spit, but at least I knew all the words to "Me and Bobby McGee." If you can't dance, distract them with your singing.

When we got back to the table, Sophie said, "These cowboys are serious. Real men. Geez, they even insist on leading. They really steer you around."

"Not to mention the dip," Sue2 added.

"Don't I know it." I whined, rattling the car keys. "Is anybody else as tired as I am?"

"I want to stay a little longer," Sue2 affirmed. She was having serious fun, dancing with Wilt or Walt and with the Port-A-Potty Man. And others. This could go on for a while. So I sat at the table, secretly composing a new essay. "Sue2 Polkas With The Port-A-Potty Man." Or "Sophie Cuts The Rug To The Port-A-Potty Polka." Maybe I should start a rumor in our writing group -- or in an on-line report on the Wind Books website.

Then I was asked to dance again, by a slower-moving gentleman who waltzed with a swagger, and who was politely careful not to breathe on me. I'm proud to report that both of us survived with all our toes intact. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, by then Sophie and I were both bone-tired, so we stayed for only a few dances more. We declined the invitation to stick around for "lunch" -- sandwiches and birthday cake -- since we'd just eaten Mexican food. Even out-of-town, enough is enough. We dragged Sue2 out and down the street.

We had a blast. I'll never forget it. The Chadronistas are warm and welcoming people and what better venue is there to affirm that than at the VFW Saturday Dance.

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A Poem Inspired by The Chadron Event

by Laurie Greig

"As a contributor to Crazy Woman Creek, I remain very moved by the celebration in Chadron, Nebraska in mid-May, 2004. I wrote the following poem after spending the weekend with many of these remarkable women. I am proud to live in Crazy Creek!!"
-- Laurie Greig, Seattle, WA June 6, 2004

On the Shores of Crazy Creek

The lives of 153 ordinary women sit between the pages of a book

celadon green cover protects stories of babies lost in the womb

mothers who blow their heads off with shotguns

aging friends gathering for Tuesday Tea

rodeo moms driving children and horses across the state

farm wives putting up 600 quarts of vegetables to feed

offspring and ranch hands during harvest time

quilters and calvers and literary groups

no territory left unexplored.




Living close to the land 153 women keep their feet on the ground,

fingers on the page without pity

they speak miraculous stories of being alive

in the contemporary American West,

the glue that holds the country together,

the fasteners of the families they have born.

For some, religion is their savior,

for others the horses in the barns their avenue to freedom,

for all the words on the page a salvation

that offers a temporary respite from the work of being alive.




153 women of all sizes and shapes, multiple ages with

only time to build understanding and courage

forging the back forty, birthing children alone,

holding up photos of a grandchild or two.

These women dwell, forever now, in Crazy Woman Creek,

bound by threads of being female

the power that draws women together in circle,

in community and allows them to survive

so they can see through their own laughter and tears.


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