In the 80s, then editor of the Herman Review, Owen Heiberg, wrote a series of myths about the life of our founding father, Herman Trott. Here is one of them. Check back for more.
Herman Trott and the blueberry bushes
Perhaps the curious among you been wondering why we here Herman are eating blueberry pie to celebrate Herman Trott's birthday. 0ne answer to your wonder is, "Why not?"
Another answer is to tell a story from the life of Herman Trott. This story has never been told before. It may not even have happened. But, since we have already told you all of the facts that we know of Mr. Trott's life, if we want more, we will have to make some up. We have nowhere to look but into the world of legend if we want to know more of the details.
There is nothing wrong with that. After all, it is the world of legend that made Paul Bunyan a famous man.
We offer this episode from the legend of Herman Trott.
In the early 1870s, as now, the soil of West Central Minnesota was salty soil -- except for a very narrow stretch of land that ran northeast to northwest between two creeks that fed Pullman Lake. That narrow stretch of soil was acid, which any student of soils knows is ideal for blueberry bushes.
And, somehow, in this vast salty waving prairie grass, blueberry seeds had found that thin shoal of acid soil. The thick blueberries on those bushes were the delight of the Indians and the prairie birds.
But then came progress, in the form, first of a puff of white smoke, then of black iron: the railroad.
Herman Trott worked for the St. Paul and Pacific Railroad, the company that built the line west of St. Paul and Minneapolis, through Willmar, Benson, and Morris, on to the Red River at Breckenridge. Herman Trott was treasurer of that company. He was a good treasurer -- scrupulous --, honest, prudent. And that was a good thing. For he was something of an odd bird among the nineteenth century railroad barons. He was a conservationist.
He knew about the thin stretch of blueberry bushes east of Pullman Lake precisely where the directors of the railroad wanted to run their line.
He argued vigorously and passionately -- the other directors said "interminably" -- in the board room of the railroad company against removing those blueberry bushes. He called the berries, "delectable morsels with juice as sweet as ambrosia, food for the ancient gods" -- he paused -- "and modern railroad barons."
The other directors listened politely, humoring Herman. They even seemed to agree to his plan to run the new line on the west side of Pullman Lake, to preserve the blueberry bushes.
But then. after Herman had gone home, to spend the evening with his delightful and charming family, treachery crept in.
The other directors, after a night of carousing in the seedy bars that lined the Mississippi, returned to the board room and said, "Let Herman be damned. Let the blueberries be damned. We're running that railroad straight through the blueberry bushes, directly from Morris to Breckenridge. They telegraphed the foreman at Morris. "Rip up those blueberries tomorrow and run the railroad through."
And that is exactly what happened. But let it not be said that those directors were entirely without heart. In the morning, which, for them. was about noon, of the next day. they were remorseful for what they had done. Herman, after all. was a dedicated and honest employee and director of the railroad. He was the only one in the company, including themselves, who they trusted enough with the funds to make treasurer.
So, to make it up to Herman for what they had done, they decided to name the place on the railroad where Herman Trott had tried to save the blueberries, "Herman," after him.
And that is why, this Friday, we will eat blueberry pie.
