Gann Valley, South Dakota
The trip represented everything I had heard about South Dakota, miles and miles of rolling hills, fields of hay and corn, windy, muggy and hot. The words "god forsaken" kept creeping into my head along with the question, "Why would anyone settle down here?" But deep down, I know every place has its charm and people are very seldom in control of where they end up in life. I wondered about my heritage and how I had only seen one picture of my grandfather, and that as an old man, so I had no idea what he looked like or what traits I might have inherited from him. I knew that I had the facial structure of my grandmother, but wondered if some of my siblings or aunts or uncles did not have the facial structure remniniscent of my grandfather. As I started to record these thoughts in my journal the sign for Gann Valley popped up on the road.
As the saying goes if I had blinked I would have missed it. There was a row of half a dozen buildings lining what amounted to a turnout parallel to the highway. Behind the buildings were a dozen or more farm style houses on a hill led up to by gravel roads. There was a post office, a county court house, and a few small businesses. I knew what I had to do, but was not ready to do it. I circled through the turnout and returned to the road sign to get a picture of it. I called my friend from college to no avail. I turned the car around and headed for the courthouse.
There were two cars in the parking lot. One had just arrived while I was mulling things over. I entered the building and blurted out my story to the first person I saw. I am not sure what her job title was but she lead me down the hall to the clerk's office to look through the deed records for the county. She was a very gracious person probably in her mid-50s. I had told her I was looking for a record of where my ancestors lived in the area. I thought they had moved away in the late 1930s or early 1940s.
She searched through one six inch leather bound record book and I another. Suddenly she found it. It was the right name for both grandparents recording the deed of sale to their home in 1945. I was flabbergasted. She said she could find the actual deed for me. As she crossed the room a gentleman entered that looked to be about my father's age. She asked him if he had heard of the family name. He said oh sure. He went to school with the boys and proceeded to name and describe everyone of my nine aunts and uncles. I was a little uncomfortable with the situation, not having any real questions to ask, but he told me some stories and I updated him on what I knew of some of my aunts and uncles. I got a copy of the deed transaction which had my granparents names typed, but not signed. They also gave me directions to the place which I had passed on the way in only 3 miles away.
I drove down the rutted driveway to the house. The tall grass rubbing underneath my car. I hoped I would not start a fire. The building was dilapidated to say the least. I took some pictures. An elk or deer ran out of the nearby woods. A young man rode by on an ATV (modern day farm equipment). I went inside. It was a little creepy. The place still seemed solid after all those years. It was not falling down and the wood did not seem to be rotten. I just left. Not thinking much of anything except that I don't know the whole story there and am not sure I want to know.
As I got back to the Interstate, the Philips 66 station had a Help Wanted sign on their marquee. It was right next to a campground with a vinyl sign saying "Budweiser Welcomes You." I was tempted to apply for the job and live in the campground, but I moved East with steady wind from the south of at least 40 mph beating on my car and a 95 degree temperature in severe humidity.