The Great Sand Fracas of Ames County (37 page)

BOOK: The Great Sand Fracas of Ames County

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Earlier in the week, when Emily Higgins saw Noah Drake riding his bike past the historical society headquarters on his way home from school, she had told him about the memorial service and asked him if he would read the last column that Stony Field was working on, the one he had not completed before he died. Gloria and Karl had found the draft copy on his desk, next to his old Remington typewriter that was so worn that several of the keys were bare.

“Pa said I should never see Ambrose Adler again,” said Noah Drake when Emily Higgins asked him to speak. “But now that he's dead . . .” Noah hesitated, choking back tears. “I'll do it,” he said.

After Earl Wade's brief introduction, Noah, but twelve years old, walked up to the podium. Wade adjusted the microphone for him and whispered, “Talk right into the mike.”

Noah looked out over the vast audience. He had never seen this many people in one place before and for a moment he felt like turning around and running. He felt his hands shaking and his mouth go dry. In a quiet voice he said, “My name is Noah Drake. Ambrose Adler was my neighbor and my friend. He listened to me when I told him my troubles. He let me play with his pet raccoon. He didn't speak real good. But that didn't matter. He was like a second father to me. He . . .” Noah couldn't finish the sentence. He paused for a moment, trying to gain his composure.

“I've got the last column Ambrose Adler wrote. It's not finished. Miss Higgins asked me to read it, and I will.” Noah's voice now got stronger. He read:

FIELD NOTES

Trail Marker Oak a Symbol

By Stony Field

The little village of Link Lake in central Wisconsin has torn itself apart these past few months as it debated and then protested a decision made by its village officials to allow a sand mine to open in its cherished village park. It's a debate that has occurred often in this country: what is more important? Economic development, or history and the environment? And why not all three of equal importance?

The debate in Link Lake has centered on an old bur oak tree. The mining company insists that it be cut down for it stands in the way of the only clear and easy access to the mine site. For some it is hard to imagine that a tree could be the center of a controversy. Why would it matter if this old tree is cut down? Why let one lone tree stand in the way of jobs and supposedly a better life for many people?

But that old tree, the Trail Marker Oak, once pointed the way for the Indians and the early settlers in the Link Lake community toward the Fox River and the trading post located there. Today it reminds the people of Link Lake of their past and it is a visible connecting link of the community to its history.

Symbols like the Trail Marker Oak are important to communities, for they allow people to see their history in something tangible, not merely in what someone remembers and perhaps has written downâalthough that is of great worth as well. We must as a nation protect our historic symbols, for if we don't, we will lose touch with an essential part of our histories. And when we forget our histories, we forget who we are.

“That's as far as Ambrose got,” said Noah as he folded the paper, stuffed it into his pocket, and stepped away from the podium. The applause would have continued even longer had not Earl Wade interrupted to say, “This concludes our memorial service for our friend and neighbor who has done so much for this community and for this great country. Thank you all for coming.”

Noah Drake hopped on his bike and rode home, feeling more sad and lonely than he ever felt in his young life. When he stepped onto the porch at his farmhouse, a little animal appeared from the shadows. It was Ranger, Ambrose Adler's pet raccoon. The little animal trotted up to Noah and rubbed its back on Noah's leg. Noah reached down and petted it.

65
Trail Marker Oak

T
he whine of a chain saw assaulted the quiet of the new day as the mists rising from the waters of Link Lake slowly drifted west and the sun's first rays broke the horizon, illuminating the brilliant autumn colors of the maples and aspens, the oaks and the birches that clustered on the hillsides around the lake. Three men walked from their truck. One carried a chain saw; the other two carried axes. The chain saw operator, a burly man in his fifties, his face hidden under an orange safety helmet, revved the machine a couple of times like a teenager with a new driver's license and permission to drive his father's car alone for the first time. The men, all professional loggers, walked the short distance from their truck. The chain saw operator held the saw well in front of him, the saw sending off little spurts of chain oil. As the trio approached the old bur oak tree that they were ordered to cut this October day, they saw something emerging from the mistâsomething that surprised them. The chain saw operator shut off his machine and fished a cell phone out of his pocket to call his supervisor. “Boss, we've got a problem.”

Out of the mists walked a line of people, holding hands, approaching the Trail Marker Oak, and then surrounding it, continuing to hold hands. And singing. Everyone was singing.

“We shall overcome,” they sang. They sang in loud, melodious voices that carried from the park to the lake, singing that people heard in the Village of Link Lake. Singing that replaced the sound of heavy equipment the villagers expected to hear on this, the day construction of the Alstage Sand Mine was supposed to begin.

Armed guards, carrying rifles and looking menacing, were supposed to prevent this sort of thing. But where were they? Not a one in sight. Only loggers, one with a chain saw, and enough people to encircle the Trail Marker Oak with a few left over. And a newspaper reporter. Billy Baxter, with camera and notepad, as surprised as the loggers, as he had come expecting to record the cutting down of this historic tree. In his notepad he wrote down the people he recognized, the people who were holding hands and circling and protecting the Trail Marker Oak and singing. And he was both shocked and amazed at who he saw holding hands and singing together that old Civil Rights song that tugged at the hearts and minds of so many.

“We shall overcome. We shall overcome. We shall overcome someday.”

Upon returning to his Willow River office, Billy Baxter immediately began typing the story that he knew would make its way across the country. He wrote:

Old Oak Tree Brings People Together

By Billy Baxter, editor

Sometimes something as simple as an oak tree can bring people together, even longtime bitter enemies. As many people know, the little Village of Link Lake in central Wisconsin has been the center of attention since the revealing of the identity of the nationally known environmental writer Stony Field as a simple-living vegetable farmer by the name of Ambrose Adler. Persons unknown, but obviously someone who disliked Stony Field and his writing, burned Adler's barn and contributed to his death.

All of this took away from the issue that has torn little Link Lake apart since the day the village board signed a lease with the Alstage Sand Mining Company of La Crosse to open a sand mine in Increase Joseph Community Park.

On an early October morning, loggers hired to remove the historic Trail Marker Oak, and thus officially begin the mine's operation, faced something they had not anticipated, nor had this writer, who was there to record the event. From out of the early morning mist came a group of people who held hands and surrounded the tree and sang “We shall overcome” in voices that rolled across the waters of Link Lake on that still morning and hung in the air like the morning fog.

There Emily Higgins, outspoken foe of the sand mine and especially the mining company's plan to cut the Trail Marker Oak, held hands with Marilyn Jones, the original advocate for the mine. Marilyn Jones held hands with her sister, Gloria, who left the community many years ago in a family dispute. Gloria held hands with her son, Karl, who works for the Alstage Sand Mining Company as a consulting engineer. Also holding hands at the tree were well-known farmers from the area, Fred Russo and Oscar Anderson, plus several other historical society members.

In his many years as a newspaper reporter and editor, this writer has never witnessed anything quite like this. Obviously the Alstage Sand Mining Company did not begin operations on the planned date. Now the question appears to be, will the mine open? And can this collection of onetime adversaries continue to protect the Trail Marker Oak and prevent a sand mine from opening in their beloved park? Can they save an old oak standing on sacred sand, as Emily Higgins once asked?

Books by Jerry Apps

Novels in the Ames County Series

The Travels of Increase Joseph

In a Pickle

Blue Shadows Farm

Cranberry Red

Tamarack River Ghost

The Great Sand Fracas of Ames County

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The Land Still Lives

Cabin in the Country

Barns of Wisconsin