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The first trees came from the Sheyenne River bottom,
dug up and replanted here in this holy site by Jacob Wieland. Now row
upon row encloses the stucco St. Mary’s Catholic Church, between
Sibley and Dazey, and shades its annual Corpus Christi procession. It
is a striking effect to drive in from the sunflower fields of golden autumn,
enter the sheltered church grounds, and then descend to the church basement.
Which is what I did on a late August Saturday, coming to share, by the
kind invitation of Peggy Wieland, in the annual cabbage cutting day at
St. Mary’s. It is a ritual that precedes by about one month the St.
Mary’s Fall Supper, which features turkey and kraut. I attended the
supper the previous year, and it was great. You never tasted better kraut.
It begins here and now with 350 pounds of cabbage and an experienced crew
of church volunteers. It used to be just about all women, I hear, but
now it’s men and women and girls and boys.
Five sit at the serving counter and begin the processing of cabbage heads—removing
outer leaves (saving some of them for a purpose to come) and quartering.
The quarters pass to the kitchen island counter and thence into the hands
of four individuals operating old-fashioned wooden kraut cutters, generally
bought at farm sales.
The big bowls of shredded cabbage go next to Peggy, who does the salting.
Again and again she fills a two-quart measure with cabbage, then adds
a spoonful of salt. Alternate measures go into each of two large rubber
trash containers. Bent over each are two persons punching away at the
cabbage to get the juice flowing. Now and then they dip the excess juice,
looking like pale sea-foam, into a bucket, so that the cabbage will compact
properly.
This goes on for a couple of hours, until the cabbage is all in the cans.
Then, while some visit and have coffee and rolls, others finish the process
by sealing the containers. The juice is poured back in. The clean outer
leaves are laid on top; there is going to be some spoilage, and these
leaves will be no loss.
Then comes the stroke of folk genius. Double garbage bags are placed atop
the cabbage leaves and filled, slowly, with a water hose. They expand
to cover the tops of the cans and seal them completely.
The kraut cans are left undisturbed in the church basement until the day
before the fall supper, about a month later. The method never fails—perfect
kraut every time. The fall supper comes on the first Sunday in October.
Saturday is the day the volunteers show up to cook the kraut. They fry
onions in lard, add the kraut to the big pots, and thicken with flour
and water. Finally, they add chucks of pork, roasted separately.
This is impressive. And yet it is only one current manifestation of a
rich cultural life in this parish, formed by Schwabian German immigrants
in the 1890s. They built their frame church in 1904 and this marvelous
stucco church in 1929. They have celebrated Corpus Christi since 1906.
Early celebrations featured a male choir and a brass band performing such
original compositions as John Wieland’s “St. Mary’s Parade
March.” Here in the basement, Joe Berger tells me, “We used
to put on three-act plays.” John Amann organized these and directed.
So often we think of pioneer life as a matter of deprivation and loneliness.
This just doesn’t match up with the record of such places as St.
Mary’s. Pioneer life here had a complex calendar and a vital culture.
Cabbage day and the fall supper echo that vitality.
Just imagine the day when Bishop Shanley came to dedicate the church.
As told in the county history, “All the men of the parish went to
meet the Bishop at the train at Dazey, some on horseback, some with buggies.”
Can we recapture even a remnant of their exhilaration and camaraderie?
Come on in, let’s try.
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