No. 1 Hard

In some ways, Taoh seems as isolated as Myrtle Hawks, living with her family out in Heaton, in the middle of Fargo’s enormous and empty back yard. Like Taoh, Hawks is trying to scrape by, make a go of it, in a landscape that doesn’t forgive. She used to have a store, called Hawks of Heaton Gift Shop, where she sold the homemade quilts and pillows she sews all winter long while the snow piles up, decorated driftwood from Devils Lake, and Indian jewelry. In 2000, Hawks traveled to Fargo for open-heart surgery. Pulling aside her collar to reveal a nasty scar, she said, “When I came back, somebody had kicked in my door.”

Hawks shook her head, wondering what gets into some people. “My dad taught us three things,” she said. “Don’t touch stuff that’s not yours, don’t lie, and don’t steal.” She paused, and then added, “I also know how to ride a horse, and tie all kinds of knots.”

Since the break-in, Hawks has supplemented her Social Security checks by selling crafts at flea markets. She tried to learn to make dream catchers from her grandson, who is Chippewa-Cree, but gave up in frustration. “No self-respecting nightmare would get close to those things,” she said with a wry laugh. “No self-respecting nightmare.” Hawks looked out at her town, at the ramshackle buildings collapsing into nothingness. “When I moved in, there were more people,” she said. “But nobody wants to live out here.” So, as the businesses closed and the people moved away, she began taking over the various structures. With entrepreneurial gusto, she filled them up with crafts and collectibles, and with the aluminum cans she gathers. “Two years ago,” she said, “I sold 1,380 pounds of cans. I got more than four hundred dollars for them.”

In outstate North Dakota, you take what you can get.