W. Scott Olsen / Special to The Forum
There is a sweetness to anticipation. Something big is coming along, and for some reason we wait, happily, enjoying the potential and the energy. Wednesday afternoon, the observation area at Hector Field is closed for security during the visit by President Trump, but that doesn't stop a line of cars from forming on Dakota Drive just south of the airport. People have come to see perhaps the most famous airplane in the world. It's no surprise most of the audience likes the president. It's also no surprise everyone likes the airplane.
Several high schools in the Fargo-Moorhead area held graduation ceremonies Sunday, June 3. Here's a collection of photos that captured the big day.
RURAL MOORHEAD—There is something inevitable about racing. Give two people a finish line and both of them will want to get there first. Age doesn't matter. Kids and geezers. First one to the tree, the store, the mailbox, the office. Forget ready, set. Just go. Go fast. Go as fast as you can.
Here is a story my family likes to tell. Once upon a Christmastime, in a house where we used to live, my wife was napping on a couch in a room with many windows near the front door. There was a fire in the fireplace, a Christmas movie on television, gentle snow falling on the homes of neighbors. Across the room, Christmas tree lights glowed through ornaments both new and old. Our energetic dog slept by her feet. It was, in many ways, a perfect holiday afternoon.
Very soon there will be monsters at my door. Vaporous ghosts, wart-nosed witches, slime-toned zombies and orange-skinned monsters will walk up my driveway, gleefully, some of them running, some of them gently pushed by elders. They will pause at the disembodied arm that crawls toward them on my porch, the skull that laughs, then they will smile and ring the bell. Trick or treat, they say. Candy or harm.
You would never know it was coming, if everyone didn't already know. The sky was mostly cloudy. At noon Monday on Broadway in Fargo, the traffic was lunch-time normal. Men and women left office buildings and walked toward lunch, though they seemed to walk more slowly. Nearly everyone looked up, taking a peek at the sky. People lingered in doorways — a way to stay outside.
FARGO — Danny Bruckbauer looks excited and nervous. Ten minutes before the 42nd Annual Downtown Fargo Street Fair opens on Thursday, his booth is set up and ready to go. He has two long tables to display his pottery, a small table for transactions and notes, even a stack of paper bags for purchases. Now the only question is will anyone come. Danny is from Fargo and attends St. John's University in Collegeville, Minn. This is his first year with a booth and his art.
MOORHEAD—The parking lot is never empty. Sedans, pickup trucks, minivans, RVs, some pulling trailers or boats, 18-wheel trucks and motorcycles pull into the exit lane, slow, make the turn and then coast into a parking spot. The driver shuts off the engine and invariably sits for a moment in the new silence, collecting thoughts, letting the shake of the road fade away. Then a door is opened. A smile appears. Because it's close and because it's meant for those who are far from home, it's nearly invisible to anyone who lives here.
God love the sweet summer evenings at a baseball field. It's a game of nine against one — the type of odds that make heroes and dreams. And it's a game of beauty and grace. People use words like caress and kiss to describe the way a pitcher finds the outside corner of a strike zone, the imaginary box that changes with each batter and umpire. There is the sudden interruption of a bunt, the thrill of a double-play, an affirmation that all is well when a ball arcs up, out, and over the left-field fence.
Downer, Minn. The traffic always slows. Just to look. Just to wonder. Late at night, 12 miles east of the Dakota border on Interstate 94 as it approaches the shoreline of ancient Lake Agassiz, a line of cars appears on the south side of the highway, headlamps all in a row. This is a gathering, you think. A procession. If it's early evening, you might think it was a dinner party, arriving or heading away. There must be a farmstead you can't see. There must be a small gravel road.