The Great Sand Fracas of Ames County (16 page)

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.

K
arl 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 obviously 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

O
ver 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.