by Jerry Apps
“Yup, he did. If I was Stony I think I’d watch out. Bunch of folks in this country are really mad at him and out to get him.”
26
Karl and Emily
The afternoon following his meeting with Marilyn Jones, Karl Adams drove over to the historical society’s museum and parked his car on the street in front of the museum store. He wanted to learn about the historical society and its activities and he wanted to become acquainted with Emily Higgins, who was obviously, in addition to Marilyn Jones, one of the driving forces in the Link Lake community.
A little bell tingled when Karl pushed open the door of the museum shop. Karl was greeted by a slim, older woman standing by a little counter. Her name tag read Emily Higgins.
“Welcome to the Link Lake Historical Museum,” said Emily. “Thanks for stopping by. Would you like a tour? Lots of history in this little village.”
“I would,” said Karl, surprised that this older woman was willing to tour but one person.
“Let me straighten up a few things here in the store, first,” said Emily. Karl watched as she closed and locked the cash register and put up a little sign that said, “Back in a half hour.”
Then she turned to Karl. “You ready?”
“I am,” said Karl. He had not expected a tour, nor did he expect to be on one before he had scarcely a chance to say hello.
“Follow me,” said Emily as she turned and headed toward the museum entryway. She stopped in front of the old bank vault, its door showing a big jagged hole in it.
“This bank was robbed back in 1900,” she began. It was obvious to Karl that she had done this tour many times, as there was no hesitation. She continued, “Our village marshal and a local posse tracked the robbers out of town and had a shootout with them in the woods only a couple miles from here. We do a reenactment of the event each year in our park. Brings in hundreds of people. Our historical society is very active—new activity this year is working with the Link Lake High School Nature Club to sponsor an eagle cam—a chance to watch the big eagle nest we have in our local park.”
“Very interesting,” said Karl.
They continued out the back door of the bank, to a little one-room school that was moved to the museum site a few years ago. “This is the Progressive School that was located between here and Willow River. We moved it here so people, especially young people, could see what these country schools were all about,” said Emily. “I attended this very school when I was a kid. With all eight grades in only one room and with one teacher, these little schools did very well in their day—thousands of one-room school graduates are still around.”
“Sure different from the school I attended,” said Karl.
They next toured the old blacksmith shop, where Emily explained to Karl how the bellows worked and how the blacksmith heated up metal with a forge and then pounded it into a variety of shapes with a hammer and an anvil, making such things as door hinges, kitchen knives, hooks, and an assortment of other iron products.
Then it was on to a shed, where Emily showed Karl a cradle that the early farmers in the area used to cut wheat, and a flail that they used for separating the wheat kernels from the straw. The shed also housed several wagons and buggies, including an enclosed buggy that early mail carriers used to deliver mail to the farmers after Rural Free Delivery became available in the 1890s, before there were automobiles.
“Where did you say you were from?” asked Emily.
“I didn’t, but I’m from Portland, Oregon, and just moved to town. I’m living in the Smith cabin on the lake.”
“I know the place. Know it well. In fact Gen Smith was an active member of our historical society. You’ll like it there. Nice location.”
“Seems to be,” said Karl as they returned to the museum gift shop. “Thanks so much for giving me the tour. Very nice of you.”
“My pleasure,” said Emily. “I’m always pleased to show people around who are interested in history.”
“Yes, I’ve always had an interest in history,” Karl replied. He glanced around the museum shop and saw a variety of items for sale, ranging from T-shirts with an imprint of the lake on them, to reproductions of old photos of the village at different times in its history, to a softcover book, Barns of Link Lake, by Oscar Anderson and Fred Russo.
Karl spotted a large, framed photo hanging on the wall. It appeared to be that of a huge bur oak tree.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“Oh, that’s a photo of one of Link Lake’s most famous historic artifacts. It’s known as the Trail Marker Oak. The Trail Marker Oak guided the Indians who lived in these parts as they traveled to a trading post on the Fox River.”
“Fascinating,” said Karl.
“Got ourselves a problem with this famous tree, though,” she said.
“What would that be?”
“Well, there’s this sand mining company from La Crosse that plans to open a sand mine in our park, which is where this famous tree is located. Because of the rock formations in the park, the company says they’ve got to cut down this old tree to make an access road.”
“Is that right?”
“It’s got a lot of people pretty darn mad. You see we’ve got this Economic Development Council that’s trying to bring more jobs to the area, something we need, I guess. But I don’t think a sand mine is the way to do it. Bunch of folks are pretty upset about it—trying to reverse the decision.”
Karl continued to stare at the photo of the old tree.
“So you’re from Oregon. What’s your name?”
“It’s Karl, Karl Adams.”
“And if I could be so blunt, what brings you to Link Lake?”
“Oh, I’m working on a special project here—so I thought I’d learn a little about the history of the place.”
“Well, good for you,” said Emily. “We need more people interested in our history.”
After leaving the museum, Karl drove back to his cabin. He thought about Emily Higgins, a person obviously committed to Link Lake and its history. And also a person who was interested in putting the little village of Link Lake on the map. The eagle cam was a great idea. He fired up his computer, clicked on the village’s website, and soon was looking at an enormous eagle nest—he saw a couple of little eaglet heads, their mouths open and one of the adult bald eagles feeding them. He watched the eagle cam for nearly half an hour—he could see why people were attracted to it. He thought about the Trail Marker Oak and wondered if the mining company had purposely not told him about it. Or if they just didn’t know how important that old tree was to this community. He was willing to give them the benefit of the doubt—that they probably either hadn’t heard about the tree or, if they had, didn’t think it was important to mention to him. Yet he had a nagging feeling about it, because he knew that symbols, especially ones that you can see and feel, are extremely important to many people.
Karl changed his clothes and did something he hadn’t done in years— went fishing. On his way back from the museum, he had bought an inexpensive fishing rod, a packet of snelled hooks, a big red bobber, a fishing license, and a container of red worms. He climbed into the boat that came with the cabin and rowed toward where several fishermen were fishing.
He dropped the anchor over the side of the boat, baited up a hook, set the bobber, and tossed the line out into the lake. He’d long forgotten how relaxing it was to fish, to sit in a boat on a sunny afternoon and watch a bobber bounce as a westerly breeze riffled the water. He needed time to think, to come up with a strategy that he could use to bring this bucolic little town back together again. He wished he had been here earlier, that Alstage had asked him to work with the people of Link Lake before the citizens had become so polarized.
But the company hadn’t done so and he had to make the most of the situation that he faced. He remembered his conversation with Marilyn Jones. She appeared to have the best interests of Link Lake in mind, except her solution to the problems the village faced were obvious
ly considerably different from those of Emily Higgins and members of the Link Lake Historical Society. He knew he had misled Emily about what he was doing in town, but he really hadn’t lied to her—only hadn’t told her who he worked for and what the special project was. With some effort, Karl thought he could work out some kind of accommodation between these two strong-minded women. The ringer in the entire effort would likely be the environmental writer Stony Field. Who knows what he’ll write about next?
Karl soon found himself dozing in the warm sun and only occasionally glancing at the big red bobber a few yards out from his boat. His eyes flew open when he felt a tug on his fishing rod. He glanced toward where the bobber had been and it was gone, completely submerged. He immediately began cranking on his reel as the tip of his fishing rod bent toward the lake. He continued cranking and then a large fish broke the surface of the lake, its tail bouncing on the water before it once more dropped into the lake and continued tugging on the ten-pound test line that the operator of the bait store suggested he purchase.
After another couple minutes of cranking and tugging, Karl had the fish alongside the boat; it looked to be at least a foot and a half long. As he reached over to lift the fish into the boat, the fish shook loose the hook and disappeared into the depths of the lake.
Karl sat with the fishing rod and the limp line in his hand. I hope this is not how things will work out with what I have planned for this community.
27
Fourth of July
Over the next several days, quietly working with Marilyn Jones and Mayor Jessup, Karl Adams offered suggestions that he hoped would help heal the rift that had developed in the community over the opening of a sand mine in the park. Karl had gotten authorization from the Alstage Sand Mining Company to help finance his ideas “with a reasonable amount of funds,” as Evans had said in a recent e-mail. The mining company had actually provided several thousand dollars for the Link Lake Economic Development Council to use for expenses and prize money to be allotted to organizations wishing to enter floats, old tractors, fire trucks, horses, or a band in the Fourth of July parade, and for any other event the community might plan during the summer. The company did not want to be recognized for their largesse and be accused of trying to buy off the community with good deeds, so they insisted that the fewer people who knew about their monetary contributions the better.
The Village of Link Lake had for many years sponsored a modest Fourth of July celebration with a parade and evening fireworks. This year, with the financial help from the Alstage Sand Mining Company, the community pulled out all the stops, starting with an eleven o’clock parade down Main Street. Better than any year in memory, even for the old-timers, the entries in the parade were outstanding. And there were more of them, in fact twice as many entries as the previous year. Those watching previous years’ Fourth of July celebrations had often commented that if you arrive five minutes late for the parade, you would miss seeing it. That was surely not the case this year.
Neighboring communities Willow River, Plainfield, Pine River, Waupaca, and even little Saxeville entered floats, as did each of the four local 4-H clubs and the Link Lake High School FFA organization. Of course all the fire departments for twenty miles around entered their fire trucks in the parade. Fred Russo and Oscar Anderson, as they had done in previous years, drove their antique tractors. Fred drove a John Deere Model B that he had meticulously restored to like new, and Oscar Anderson, with his restored Farmall H tractor, which also looked as if it had just rolled off the factory floor, followed behind. Other retired farmers drove an assortment of antique tractors, a Ford 8N, a Massey-Harris 44, a Minneapolis-Moline; even an old Fordson tractor that predated all of them was in the parade. The event had been well advertised; an hour before the starting time Link Lake’s Main Street was lined with people four deep. No one remembered such a crowd attending the Link Lake Fourth of July parade for the past forty years.
“Just like it was when I was a kid,” said Emily Higgins, when asked what she thought about this year’s parade.
The announcer for the parade—other years there had been no announcer—was Earl Wade from WWRI. People in previous years had often wondered who was who and what was what. Not this year. This year the parade was well planned, and well organized, thanks to Karl Adams’s behind-the-scenes hard work—and experience organizing parades such as this in other communities.
The parade began promptly at eleven when Officer Jimmy Barnes parked his squad car across Highway 22, its blue lights flashing. Highway 22, which became Main Street when it passed through Link Lake, was closed with a detour around town until the parade had passed.
The Link Lake High School Marching Band, playing a rousing Sousa march, led off the parade as the crowd cheered and clapped.
A panel of judges consisting of Marilyn Jones, Mayor Jessup, and Emily Higgins sat on a raised platform in front of the historical society’s museum taking notes as each float, tractor, and fire truck passed. Monetary awards were available for each category of entry as well as a huge trophy to be awarded to the best overall entry.
Earl Wade, following the script Karl Adams had prepared, commented, described, and otherwise gave new life to this year’s parade. The parade was picture perfect. Almost, anyway.
The Link Lake Fire Department not only had their three best and finest fire trucks in the parade, but they also entered their 1928 fire truck, which had not been driven for twenty years and had been sold for junk but not yet picked up. Volunteer Fire Chief Henry Watkins, himself a better-than-average mechanic, had spent a week of evenings working on the old truck in preparation for the parade. He assured his volunteer firefighter colleagues that the old truck was ready for one more run. He said, “I want to give this old truck that served us well one more chance to shine.”
Chief Watkins also said that he wanted to drive the old truck himself, that it would bring back some old memories for him. The old truck was purring along the parade route, having no trouble at all keeping up with the entry in front of it, the Link Lake Historical Society float. As all entries were asked to do, Chief Watkins stopped the truck in front of the reviewing stand, allowing the engine to idle. As the crowd watched and listened, Earl Wade gushed on about the old truck, about the volunteer fire department and its good work, and about how Volunteer Fire Chief Henry Watkins had spent many hours making this old relic of a truck into the fine working fire truck it is today.
Then people heard a hissing sound, barely perceptible, that turned into a low and then a louder whistle. Some of the parade watchers thought it must be part of the performance, as Chief Watkins was known for doing unexpected things at times, even being a bit of a showman. But the look on the chief ’s face wasn’t quite right; he wasn’t smiling as was his usual demeanor but had a look of puzzlement.
Earl Wade motored on with his many words of praise for Link Lake and the support it provided its volunteer fire department. Along with the whistle, a trickle of steam lifted from the old truck’s engine compartment, and it quickly turned into a gushing cloud that floated across the reviewing stand, making the judges appear as silhouettes in the cloud.
People were perplexed at what they were seeing, wondering if all of this had indeed been planned, that the fire department had come up with a special effects show to win the approval of the judges for the fire truck category. Emily Higgins was making notes. Mayor Jessup looked concerned. Marilyn Jones was trying to wave away the steam.
For an instant the gushing cloud of steam stopped and then, to the surprise of everyone, there was an enormous KABOOM that was so loud the babies in the crowd immediately began wailing and, for an instant, everything shook, including the reviewing stand. And if the explosion wasn’t enough, yellow flames and heavy black smoke began pouring from the old truck’s engine compartment.
Chief Watkins leaped from the machine, carrying a fire extinguisher in his hand, but the little extinguisher did little to quell the flames that were leaping ever higher. One of Link L
ake’s fancy new yellow fire trucks pulled out from its place in line a couple of entries to the rear of the burning truck, its siren wailing and its red lights flashing. Immediately Link Lake firefighters had the fire out. Their modern truck waited to take its former place in the parade and several Link Lake Fire Department volunteers began pushing the old fire truck down the street, but not before Chief Watkins climbed back into the truck and took charge once more, waving at the crowd as the truck slowly passed by. This time the chief had a wide grin on his face as the old truck proceeded along the parade route, now propelled by human power. The former bright red covering for the engine compartment was black and charred.
When the parade was finished, and while announcer Wade waited for the results from the judges, the Link Lake High School Marching Band entertained the audience with a medley of marches. Finally, Mayor Jessup handed a piece of paper to Earl Wade, who began announcing the winners in various categories—farm tractors, marching bands, floats, fire department entries, and so on. The winners came forward to claim their prizes and checks. Everyone eagerly wanted to know who was the grand prize winner. Which of the one hundred or so entries would walk off with the trophy for the all-around best entry in the parade?
The crowd grew silent as Wade unfolded a second sheet of paper. “On a unanimous vote, the grand prize and this beautiful trophy goes to . . .” Wade paused to add some suspense to the moment.
“The grand prize goes to the Link Lake Volunteer Fire Department’s antique fire truck entry and their rather innovative way of demonstrating their abilities as firefighters.”
The crowd applauded loudly and cheered as Chief Watkins and the entire contingent of Link Lake volunteer firefighters came forward to claim their prize. It was later learned that the judges couldn’t decide if the entire smoke, explosion, and fire were planned—or they just happened. They finally decided it didn’t matter; it clearly was the most exciting and entertaining, as well as informative, part of the entire parade. When someone asked Chief Watkins what really had happened, he would only say, “No comment.”