It was the Wal-Mart of its day. A hub of commerce, communication, and frequent, often profound, cultural exchange. Most prominently, there was John Jacob Astor, whose internationally renowned American Fur Company (founded in 1808) came to dominate trade on the Upper Missouri River, quite literally blanketing the region with the latest and greatest in buffalo, beaver, fox, and otter accoutrements. Equally important, though perhaps less celebrated, were the numerous Native American tribes (including Blackfeet, Crow, Assiniboine, and Hidatsa), who supplied many of these valuable furs to white traders and businessmen alike in exchange for cups, knives, guns, pots, beads, and blankets.
Each side got what it wanted. In terms of value, more than enough to go around. Mutually beneficial, damn the odds, especially with so much hard currency at stake. But it was, by all measures, a rousing success. And here, nestled beneath the proud shield of the National Park Service, is a historical fort dedicated not to war and conquest, but rather its implied opposite: the peaceful, profitable exchange of goods and services under a bloodless moon. No savagery, no reservations, no talk of surrender. A brief honeymoon before the bitter divorce.
Fort Union Trading Post National Historic Site, tucked away in a region of North Dakota so absurdly remote that its parking lot couldn’t help but sneak across the border into Montana, is everything you’d want in a fort; that is, if you insist on leaving every trace of civilization behind. Sure, there are cars, cameras, and cell phones about, but given the location, this could just as easily be the mid-nineteenth century, with the obsessive, half-mad historical re-enactors who accompanied us on this day like ghosts from the mists of time. Upon entry, there they are, pulling their own weight, making coffee over an open flame, and mucking up the joint with a distinct smell unique to that period before running water.
I for one was glad to have them aboard, as their filthy attire and natty facial hair were a stark reminder that for a man of 1818, declaring war on physical beauty and cleanliness was as inevitable as leaving behind any and all manner of couth. These were hard men, yes, but fair ones. And Fort Union Trading Post was one of the few spots on the frontier where the guns went silent in favor of the till. But it was about more than money. Love, too, was to be had, with intermarriages and adoption often interrupting the packing of wagons. Moreover, there was respect. At the very least, a captive audience. You want a robe, you’ll have to stay for the show. Not into ceremonies and rituals? You can always try Oregon, white man.
While a nearby train track kept things defiantly modern, Fort Union Trading Post traffics largely in a bygone era, allowing for a contemplative journey interrupted occasionally by what might have been the forging of iron. Or maybe it was just a fistfight. I mean, these re-enactors had been out here for at least a week, prancing and dancing beneath the stars, with little to distract them but the daily ritual of ringing the fort’s bell. And that poor kid. While I admire any lad who can kiss away the video games for hardtack, he had to be ready to explode from boredom, especially given his insistence that we were good company. At least he tore us away from the site’s video(s), a grab bag of so-what and who-cares, though it’s doubtful we’ll ever forget the uniquely creepy ranger sidekick. The fort itself was less wooden.
Designated in 1966, the site is a full-scale reconstruction, but painstakingly accurate, thanks to numerous paintings and sketches from the time (those of Rudolph Friedrich Kurz, most extensively). After walking up the hill, the fort’s Southwest Bastion is there to greet you. Designed for defense, it is the twin of the Northeast Bastion on the fort’s far side. The Main and Inner Gates are an impressive welcome mat for visitors, as is the Buffalo Robe Press featured just outside. After passing beneath a painting by Jean Moncravie (a fort employee in the 1830s and 1840s) that acts as a universal symbol for friendship, visitors encounter the rooms of the Indian Trade House (it was dark and dreary and filled to the brim with roughnecks, so we passed on by). Back in the day, these were not only the “display tables” for frontier goods, but storage for ledgers and other business records.
While walking the short path to the main attraction, the Bourgeois House (also the site’s visitor center), one will eye the outlines of the Ice House, Storage Range, and family/employee housing. These were not rebuilt back in the 1960s, though no explanation is ever provided. It adds rustic charm to be sure, but the NPS likely just ran out of money. A teepee here, a wagon there, the massive flagpole dead center, and then the House, which walks a fine line between majestic and ridiculous, given its wilderness setting. That said, the bourgeois (field agent) had to be set apart from the rabble, as he was the man in charge of the purse. Without him, these were just some hastily built walls keeping out the bison. As it stands, it gives the site some hard-earned beauty, and it no doubt reminded our lonely merchants of a sweeter, less-desolate hearth and home.
At any rate, it was nice to get out of the crisp air for a time, even if the aforementioned video presentation had us begging for a sudden Indian attack. The artifacts and displays were an improvement, as I’m fairly certain I hadn’t stood face-to-face with an authentic beaver hat before. Not since college at least. There were heavy robes and pelts to try on, which is more important than you think, as few us can appreciate how insanely warm a buffalo hide truly is. Give me one of these things, I won’t turn on my heat all winter. Then that kid stopped by – damned if I can remember his name, though he took it from an actual boy who lived at Fort Union – and he reminded us why it’s always a pleasure to meet a smart, inquisitive young man on our travels. More so because we don’t have to take him with us.
More than just a warehouse, Fort Union was also the Studio 54 of its day, attracting celebrities and men of consequence from around the globe. In 1830, Prince Paul, Duke of Wurttemberg, paid a visit. Three years later, Prince Maximilian of Wied shacked up for a fortnight. Missionary Father Pierre DeSmet came in 1840; Jim Bridger in 1844; John Palliser in 1847. Yeah, me neither, but try dropping Ariana Grande’s name in Jacksonian North Dakota. But we’ve all heard of John James Audubon, and he was here in 1843 to study mammals. Not one to spend two months in vain, his journey resulted in The Viviparous Quadrupeds of North America, which may or may not be on your bookshelf right this very second. We kid the stars of Fort Union, but it cannot be overstated how the site impacted American life on the Upper Missouri River.
Sure, forts can often inspire all the passionate indifference of the umpteenth Indian ruin, but at Fort Union Trading Post, there remained a defiant sense of accomplishment. You have to want to come here, and there are no accidental tourists. Hearts won’t skip a beat and no one will be stopped in their tracks, but it’s an essential slice of the American story nonetheless; a symbol from a time gone by that doubles as the very essence of our character. We love to kill, yes, but we like making money more. Perhaps only slightly, but it’s just enough to bring a tear to the eye. A snapshot from the smoke and din of history, when our waterways brought us together, if only temporarily, to talk a little business by the fire.
FINAL RATING
6/10
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