It is for me a matter beyond dispute that William Stafford was the greatest poet ever to grace the land and people of the Great Plains of North America. "Little folded paws, judge me, I came away"–who ever penned words that cut so keen to the heart of a plainsperson leaving behind the old home town (in Stafford’s case, Hutchinson, Kansas)?

And who ever wrote so truly of "The Farm on the Great Plains"?

A telephone line goes cold;
birds tread it wherever it goes.
A farm back of a great plain
tugs an end of the line.

I was transported. The book comprises hundreds of color photographs of abandoned, decaying buildings strewn across the landscape of this South Dakota county. There is nothing new here, or even anything unfamiliar. The virtue of the book is that is compels us as plains folk, as residents and curators of this abandoned landscape, to pause before these ruins that we drive by so heedlessly, to consider the worth of the lives here lived out, to open our senses to the haunting physical presence of their works.

The chapter on farmhouses–balloon frame houses, more spacious than artful–is most telling. Each one tells a story that requires no other documentation–the aspirations of the builders, the additions and corrections, the inevitable obsolescence and rot. In the presence of these objects it is not those who hear ghosts who are strange, it is those who fail to hear them.

Subsequent chapters deal with outbuildings (barns, privies, silos, granaries, and so on) and with churches and schools. It is surprising and gratifying to see these utilitarian structures treated with sensitivity. It’s easy to be impressed by barns, but when you develop an eye for granaries and chicken houses, then you are operating on another level of perception.

Not everyone loves the old buildings. Some told the compilers of this book they hated them. I understand these remarks and feelings. Decaying buildings can seem like symbols of failure. They say, civilization here has died away, leaving skeletons standing here to mock us. I do understand, and harbor the same feelings myself, but I know also that mature, respectful civilizations revere their ruins.

The idea for the book came from Tim Hoheisal, Director of the Codington County Historical Society, which organized the project. The photographer is S. Paul Tuszynski, a freelancer from Des Moines. Text was written by Ried Holien, of Watertown (seat of Codington County). These are all young guys, and as an old guy, I wonder what moves them to canonize these old farm buildings. Their sensitivities are better than their verbal expression. I think it is beyond them, and beyond me, to tell how powerful is the tow of these structures. Such expression requires a William Stafford.

My self will be the plain,
wise as winter is gray,
pure as cold posts go
pacing toward what I know.

(Book available from Codington County Historical Society, 27 First Avenue SE, Watertown SD 57201, or at: www.cchsmuseum.org.)