On the Great Plains, blood runs deep. My family, both my mother's side and my father's side, been in the Midwest since the conclusion of the Civil War.
My father's family came from Germany and Poland in the 1880's, initially settling along the Minnesota River outside St. Paul. My great grandparents moved into St. Paul to take advantage of the rapidly growing economy in the region and they bought up large tracts of land which eventually became the town of Roseville, a suburb community sandwiched between Minneapolis and St. Paul north of Pig's Eye and the mill district. Back then land was cheap and plentiful, but now it is scarce and expensive. Over the course of three generations, my father's family has played an influencing hand in the Roseville area. Even in present day, one of my Uncle's serves on the City Council. This side of the family undoubtedly needed the railroad to bring in new homeowners and help build the economy of the Twin Cities of Minnesota.
My mother's family had a more direct connection to the railroad. My great grandfather came across the Atlantic from Norway by steamboat in 1876. By 1878 he had settled in Litchville, North Dakota and was one of the founding members of the town. Owning two sections of land bought cheaply from the railroad, my Great Grandfather built himself and his family a thriving farm which lasted until the 1960's when my Grandfather, the youngest of the family, moved to Glenwood, Minnesota.
It's there that my story begins, in a junction town for the Soo Line/Canadian Pacific Railroad in Western Minnesota. It was only 7 years ago that I moved away from that town, but even now I can remember my childhood days watching red SD70's and SD90's run oil and grain trains from the Twin Cities to Winnipeg and west to Vancouver. Local and regional trains were handled by red and white rusting Soo Line units, all that action happening at the end of our driveway. My neighbor, Rosie Boe, had Soo Line reefers for storage units. They're probably still there, slowly rusting away in the tree belt.
After Glenwood I moved to the Black Hills to graduate High School. It was there I was introduced to the mighty Chicago Northwestern and the railroads which ran in the Hills. These railroads are the focus of this blog. Most recently I lived in Bozeman, Montana, another railroad town, though not as dependent on the railroad as nearby Livingston. The Yellowstone Park Route is a sight to behold. Currently, I'm in Missoula, deep in the mountains. One day I will live on the prairie again to further the family tradition.
The point of this post is to remind people that everyone has a similar story, and most of those stories involve the railroad in some way. That first generation of Gaaslands and Willmus' would never have made it as farmers and developers without the railroad connecting them to the rest of the nation and the world. For most people, I wager, railroads played a part in where our family lived and continues to live. To prove the point, let me just say that my family has always lived in a railroad town. Not once did we ever live in a place not founded by a railroad. The West wasn't tamed by the gun, it was tamed by the railroad and the people who came with it.
My father's family came from Germany and Poland in the 1880's, initially settling along the Minnesota River outside St. Paul. My great grandparents moved into St. Paul to take advantage of the rapidly growing economy in the region and they bought up large tracts of land which eventually became the town of Roseville, a suburb community sandwiched between Minneapolis and St. Paul north of Pig's Eye and the mill district. Back then land was cheap and plentiful, but now it is scarce and expensive. Over the course of three generations, my father's family has played an influencing hand in the Roseville area. Even in present day, one of my Uncle's serves on the City Council. This side of the family undoubtedly needed the railroad to bring in new homeowners and help build the economy of the Twin Cities of Minnesota.
My mother's family had a more direct connection to the railroad. My great grandfather came across the Atlantic from Norway by steamboat in 1876. By 1878 he had settled in Litchville, North Dakota and was one of the founding members of the town. Owning two sections of land bought cheaply from the railroad, my Great Grandfather built himself and his family a thriving farm which lasted until the 1960's when my Grandfather, the youngest of the family, moved to Glenwood, Minnesota.
It's there that my story begins, in a junction town for the Soo Line/Canadian Pacific Railroad in Western Minnesota. It was only 7 years ago that I moved away from that town, but even now I can remember my childhood days watching red SD70's and SD90's run oil and grain trains from the Twin Cities to Winnipeg and west to Vancouver. Local and regional trains were handled by red and white rusting Soo Line units, all that action happening at the end of our driveway. My neighbor, Rosie Boe, had Soo Line reefers for storage units. They're probably still there, slowly rusting away in the tree belt.
After Glenwood I moved to the Black Hills to graduate High School. It was there I was introduced to the mighty Chicago Northwestern and the railroads which ran in the Hills. These railroads are the focus of this blog. Most recently I lived in Bozeman, Montana, another railroad town, though not as dependent on the railroad as nearby Livingston. The Yellowstone Park Route is a sight to behold. Currently, I'm in Missoula, deep in the mountains. One day I will live on the prairie again to further the family tradition.
The point of this post is to remind people that everyone has a similar story, and most of those stories involve the railroad in some way. That first generation of Gaaslands and Willmus' would never have made it as farmers and developers without the railroad connecting them to the rest of the nation and the world. For most people, I wager, railroads played a part in where our family lived and continues to live. To prove the point, let me just say that my family has always lived in a railroad town. Not once did we ever live in a place not founded by a railroad. The West wasn't tamed by the gun, it was tamed by the railroad and the people who came with it.
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