Time passed. It does that you know. Three years gone in a flash. Me and Emil were driving home from another Manitoba fishing trip. Wasn't as exciting as the first. We'd had a good time but outside of some bugs, mother nature treated us too kindly. Emil said it hardly seemed like wilderness without a decent dose of misery. In the years between the Canada trips, we'd paddled the Boundary Waters. Caught my first smallmouth bass on those trips. Though the Minnesota trips were fun, neither was longer than a week. Barely enough time to give me the feeling of timelessness like that first year. Still, I wouldn't have traded either for the world. It was our habit to make plans for the next year's expedition while driving home. Softened the disappointment of another trip being over.
Looking forward to the next spring helped get me through the winters of high school. Not that I disliked getting an education. Or liked it for that matter. Call me neutral. Problem was my time in high school offered plenty of opportunity to screw up. And be caught with my pants down time and again. I was a master of putting assignments off to the last minute and my work showed it. Most who knew me figured I should have been near the top of the class. Could they have seen how I operated on the inside, they'd have pegged me a lot lower down the list. As it was I managed to scrape by surprisingly well. Covered my butt with the best of them.
Can't say I was ambitious in an employment sense either. Oh, I made my share of pocket money thanks to a neighborhood of elderly ladies who needed lawns mowed, leaves raked and sidewalks shoveled. At a dollars per hour rate, those jobs sure beat bagging groceries and didn't take up much more than a day of my week. Wasn't wealthy by any means but as a teenager, I wanted less for money than I did for time. Back in those days I recall reading of a lack of ambition over in the Third World, "Should you double their pay, they'd only want to work half as much." Or some such nonsense. My seventeen year old mind could find little fault with that logic. Besides, working outdoors in a neighbor's yard wasn't much different to me than not working at all. My mind was free to roam and a manicured yard or sculpted sidewalk gave me pleasure. Still does.
If it wasn't for Uncle Emil, my idea of fishing would have consisted of a few hours each summer at one of the walking distance, local lakes. Bullheads and sunnies with an occasional bass. Had no access to a car unless one of my friends was driving. And when one of them had the use of their old man's four door, family-mobile, there were much better things to burn gas doing than fishing. Doubt a fishing trip ever entered any of our little pea brains. Thank God for Uncle Emil.
When I was with Emil everything was different. All my defenses and pretenses were dropped. Something about the man brought out the honesty in me. Even better, he took me as I was, warts and all. Besides, from Emil's point of view, as one summer turned into the next, I grew stronger, could carry more and was no longer a slouch in the front of the canoe. In short, as I got better, Emil grew older and I grew to be of more use. A balance of sorts.
Not that Uncle Emil was no longer a force to be reckoned with in the woods or on the water. In fact, our yearly canoe trips weren't his only excursions. Every year in September, Emil returned to Manitoba for a couple of week long pilgrimages to explore new water. Even did a few spur of the moment solo trips into the Arrowhead or across the border in Ontario during the summer. Over the years, I came to realize he didn't need me on the spring trips. Could have done them by himself had he the notion. With me along he was sharing something wonderful with someone who enjoyed it all to pieces. That we also shared blood didn't hurt either. Being his nephew added a level of comfort and during our days together, we grew to be friends.
Like I said, we were on our return drive from Manitoba before my senior year in high school when he asked me what I had in mind for a job in the summer before I started college.
"At the moment I'm considering volunteering for the draft. One way or the other I'll end up going in the service, so maybe I'll just get it out of the way first." That was my usual line. Deep down I didn't really believe what I was saying. But it sounded good, real mature and thoughtful. And it made sense to the adults I tried those lines on. Yeah, it was a load of crap.
Emil raised an eyebrow, was quiet for a moment, "Should you change your mind or be willing to wait a few months before fulfilling your civic responsibility, I've got a proposition. There's sixty-some acres that's come available in the Arrowhead off the McFarland Road about ten miles up from Hovland. Haven't as yet seen the parcel but from what the realtor says, it's just what I'm looking for. Should I buy the sixty acres, my plan is to clear a driveway and a tent site this summer and fall. Camp there for a month to get a feel for the territory. Take my time. Build in a spot that's just right for both me and the land."
"So what I'm asking is, would you be willing to be my partner in crime? Help me move lumber and drive nails for a few months next year. 'Course I'd pay you for your sweat. Not so's you'd be rich but sure better than what you'd make down in the city. We'd work like dogs but have a good time. For fun we'd get out on the area lakes or work the trout stream bordering the acreage. Don't need your answer now but give it some thought."
I knew the answer immediately but figured it best to say I'd think it over and have an answer by the end of summer. Yeah, I was trying to act like an adult. Trying hard to be something I wasn't.
Somewhere south of Fargo I added, "Working with you for an entire summer sounds good to me. If I don't say yes it'll end up being something I'd kick myself in the pants for not having done. But let me clear it with my mom first. Okay?"
"Okay."
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