Wisconsin in Story and Song;: Selections from the Prose and Poetry of Badger State Writers

In Short

This volume is an anthology of prose and poetry dedicated to the writers and the history of Wisconsin. It gathers pieces ranging from the early days of agricultural labor to the intellectual pursuits of university life. By interweaving personal narratives, historical essays, and lyrical verse, it serves as a mosaic of the Badger State’s cultural identity. The collection has endured because it preserves the authentic, day-to-day experiences of nineteenth and early twentieth-century Midwestern life, documenting a specific time when the transition from wild frontier to settled society was fresh in the collective memory.

The Story

The narrative arc of the book begins with the hard-won life of the prairie farmer. It starts in the fields, where the rhythmic cycle of the seasons dictates the pace of existence. Authors like Hamlin Garland describe the sensory details of haying and the "ceaseless ringing hum" of the threshing machine, which served as the dramatic climax of the autumnal labor cycle. This early section emphasizes the isolation of the rural settler, where loneliness was only broken by the necessity of "changing works" with neighbors or the rare excitement of social gatherings.

As the collection moves forward, the scale shifts from the individual farm to the broader landscape of frontier struggle. The reader encounters the military tensions of the era through the eyes of scouts and soldiers, such as the desperate, quiet courage of those who risked everything to secure safety for their comrades. This section highlights the duality of the pioneer experience: the physical demand of survival paired with the moral weight of duty. The story then transitions into the life of the village and the city, where the focus turns to the human heart—its joys, its moral dilemmas, and its artistic expressions. Writers like Ella Wheeler Wilcox and Eben Eugene Rexford explore these themes through poetry, reflecting on everything from the simple, soulful music of a village choir to the grander, often elusive, search for a "Kingdom of Love."

The arc eventually reaches the threshold of the modern era, represented by the University group. The tone shifts from the visceral descriptions of plowing and threshing to the refined discourse of historians and naturalists. Figures like John Muir bridge the gap, moving from the rigors of farm labor to the scientific exploration of glaciers and valleys. The final movement of the book is one of synthesis; it examines how the early, raw experiences of the state were distilled into institutional knowledge and formal literature. It concludes not with a finality, but with a reflection on how the past informs the present. The concluding sections address the "new education," the influence of global cultures, and the preservation of local history. The reader is left with the sense that the state’s identity is a living, growing entity, nourished by the soil of the past and the intellectual cultivation of the future, ultimately aiming to "pluck a thistle and plant a flower wherever a flower would grow."

How It Unfolds

The rural foundation The collection opens with the harsh, tactile realities of agricultural life, where the sun and the soil determine the worth of a day. The prose captures the sensory experience of the farm, from the dusty work of the threshing floor to the long, lonely hours spent in the corn rows.

The frontier crucible The narrative moves into the dangers of the early settlement, where the threat of conflict tests the character of those on the edge of the wilderness. This section highlights the quiet, internal struggle of individuals faced with life-or-death decisions while protecting their own.

The social heart The focus shifts to the communal life of the village, where church, school, and local literary societies provide structure and comfort. These pieces explore the emotional lives of families, the gentle humor of local characters, and the importance of simple, honest labor.

The intellectual ascent The final movement introduces the scholars, naturalists, and educators who seek to understand the history and potential of the state. This transition reflects the growth of the community into an intellectual hub, where the lessons of the frontier are analyzed through a lens of history, science, and philosophy.

The People

The book is populated by characters who embody the ethos of their time. Lincoln, a boy on the prairie, represents the generation that grew up watching the threshing machines and waiting for the world to open up. He is the observer, absorbing the rhythms of the land. Ray, the daring scout, stands in for the men of action; he is defined by his coolness under pressure and his deep, unspoken loyalty to his wounded comrades. His quiet bravery serves as a moral compass for those around him.

John Muir is a central figure of transformation, moving from a child forced to carve a well through solid granite to a world-renowned naturalist. He represents the restless energy of the immigrant who finds both his education and his calling in the natural world. Then there is the "grandmother" figure in the childhood anecdotes, a source of wisdom who teaches the children that life is a "great flower" waiting to blossom, shifting their perspective from mere obedience to a sense of purpose. Finally, the "grand dame of fashion" and the "gay cavalier" serve as cautionary archetypes in the poems, representing the hollow pursuits of gold and sense that the narrator must eventually bypass in order to find the true kingdom of love. Each person, whether a fictional farmer or a real-life scientist, is shaped by their environment, and each is shown grappling with the tension between individual desire and the demands of their community.

In Its Own Voice

"I have leaped through the valley, and dashed down the mountain, / Slept in the sunshine and dripped from the fountain."

This personification of water by a glass of wine's "paler brother" emphasizes the simple, life-giving power of nature over the complexities of luxury.

"He must weigh nearly a hundred pounds!"

A stranger’s observation of a Great Dane puppy reflects the dog's fierce, protective loyalty to his master, even in the face of death.

"Suppose that everything made a difference to it—every little thing—from telling a lie, on down to going to get a drink for somebody and drinking first yourself out in the kitchen."

A grandmother uses the metaphor of a flower to explain to children that the smallest acts of kindness or selfishness have meaningful consequences for the world.

What It's Really About

At its heart, the book explores the transfiguration of labor into a moral imperative. It argues that there is no meaningful separation between the physical act of working the land and the intellectual act of building a society. The collection poses a recurring question: how does one cultivate a "good" life in a place that demands constant, grueling exertion? The answer it offers is that the growth of the individual and the growth of the state are parallel processes—one of "plucking thistles and planting flowers." It is a meditation on the value of being an "occupant" of one’s own life, suggesting that whether one is plowing a field, leading a choir, or mapping a glacier, the work itself is the primary source of human dignity and social progress.

Why Read It Today

Readers who appreciate a slow, deliberate pace and have an interest in the Americana of the Midwest will find this collection deeply rewarding. It feels like stepping into a well-worn library, where the dust of the fields and the ink of the lecture hall mingle. You will encounter the earnest, sometimes didactic tone of the early twentieth century, which may feel unfamiliar to modern ears, but this is balanced by the genuine, often poignant observations of authors who clearly love their subject matter.

The book does not shy away from the harshness of the era, nor does it attempt to smooth over the rough dialects and period attitudes that defined the frontier. Some readers might find the lengthy, detailed descriptions of agricultural labor or the formal, rhythmic poetry to be a barrier, yet these very elements are what provide the book with its authentic weight. It stays with you not because of a gripping plot, but because of its quiet, steady commitment to preserving the memory of a place. If you are curious about how a region crafts its own mythology—turning local hardships into literature and common labor into a philosophy of life—this collection offers a sincere and richly layered perspective that remains remarkably grounded in the humanity of its subjects.