What to do now that the stud walls were up? Didn't take more than a few seconds for Emil to decide, "Cover them up with plywood so we can get to the real fun part." I should have figured all those half inch sheets of plywood under the tarp had a use. One at a time I hauled 'em over 'til we had a small stack. Then we'd prop one to the outside of the studs and nail away. Would have jumped right into two or more at a time but Emil said he forgot to order the sky hook. I should have known better but had to ask,
"Sky hook's one step this side of a wing and a prayer. It's what you use when the impossible is needed to do the improbable. After the wheel, the sky hook just may be the man's greatest invention. Did some research and found it's another one of those Masonic things and also one of their earliest. Bet you didn't know those boys claim their heritage all the way back to the pyramids. Some historians pooh-pooh the notion but the sky hook proves the experts dead wrong. How else could those five ton pyramid blocks have been lifted and dropped into place? The beauty of the sky hook is its ability to work under any circumstances. 'Course hanging a chunk of metal to a section of atmosphere while under storm clouds may not be too smart. Just ask Ben Franklin. That business of him flying a kite in a lightning storm's just a bunch of hooey. After all he was a Mason and privy to all those Masonic secrets. A kite with a key attached has to be ready to fly at a moment's notice. Ever try to get a kite airborne in a windstorm? Not easy, maybe even impossible. On the other hand a sky hook can be attached to the atmosphere at your leisure and will be there waiting should a storm rear up. Had I the foresight to have ordered one we could have attached it right above the cabin, level with the tree tops. Hooked up a block and tackle and 'masoned' the plywood into place like modern day Egyptians. While I finished nailing off one sheet you could be swinging the next into place. I tell you Archie me lad, a sky hook's worth its weight in unicorns."
As it was, we were forced to use brute strength. Would have been easier had we a brute to do the lifting (gotta watch myself or I'll turn into my uncle). Friday afternoon we only had time to put three in place but it was a start.
Saturday was laundry and grocery day. I'd been out of clean socks for two days and my pants could stand on their own. Thank God there was no one to see us. Down at the stream the previous evening we were shut out for the first time in a week. Emil figured the trout could smell us coming and no doubt figured us as skunk candidates. Actually I was looking forward to a trip to town. Clean clothes would be nice but an entire menu of food to choose from was exciting. And we wouldn't have to do dishes.
"I've given it serious thought Archie, no matter how good restaurant food sounds we have to hit the laundry first. Then change out of this rank stuff before chowing down. In the afternoon, maybe do some fishing pole shopping at the hardware. Big day on Sunday. We're to meet Ted up in Hovland at sunrise. Don't know about you but I'm sure excited."
Never one to waste a moment unless wasting was on the schedule, Emil had us finish sheathing the east side of the cabin before loading up and heading to town. No doubt you've read of the horse and buggy days when a trip to town was an hour or more. Even in the civilized world of 1965 Emil's was still near an hour. The mill, a little more. We clumped along the driveway a little before ten, the laundry by eleven and food a little after one.
We'd been in The Hub enough times to no longer need menus. Also knew enough to ease the front door shut so as not to startle the regulars by rattling the plate glass picture windows. This was a nice place by northwoods standards. Even had tasteful gray oilcloths on the tables and cloth napkins. The food was both tasty and substantial. Most every day they had a special and most every time we pulled up to the table that's what we had. Meatloaf, roast beef, chicken, turkey, even walleye on Fridays to draw the Catholics. Turned out lunch this Saturday was pork chops, fried potatoes, green beans and applesauce. Emil asked for three orders. The waitress raised a penciled eyebrow but said nothing more than, "You sure three will be enough?"
Emil knew me and my stomach and since his dream he'd found new life in his frisky side. Said, "Frisky comes with a price, that being the food bill. Haven't had this kind of appetite since my basic training days. And haven't been this dirty since the Philippines."
We dug in fast and finished slow, savoring each bite. Emil sipped a last cup of coffee with his pie while I smoked, "We'll hit the mill before they close. Got something up there I want you to see. Also need to order some more planks for the base of the lookout."
Even though I was a city kid a walk through the saw mill was always worth the time. Pyramids of logs here, stacks of rough sawn lumber there, finally stickered, dried and finished lumber by the tens of thousands of board feet. To the back of the lot a bobcat spread and leveled hills of sawdust and chips. A fragrance of percolating pitch and sweet birch drifted on the winds. Almost smelled like cinnamon rolls and no doubt tasted like chicken. Emil's ever dwindling stack was still there but soon to be gone. The next load of lumber to be delivered on Monday would do it in. But that's not what Emil wanted to show me.
"Good to see you again Mr. Schonnemann. 'Spose you're here to see the tree. Took us a few curings in the kiln to shrink her down to size but she should work. Trimmed it a flush eight feet on the ends. If she does shrink a little more, you can always whack in a few shims."
We'd entered the darkness of the big shed as Roy Berglund gave Emil the lowdown. Not sure what he meant by 'the tree' but a single glance toward a stack of tongue and grooved birch flooring said more than words.
"Looks just like I hoped it would Roy. Maybe even better. Peeled and the branch stubs still on. That length of tamarack'll make a fine post. Couldn't have asked for more."
There was no doubt in my mind it'd once been a living thing. Ceiling height, better than a foot in diameter, varying shades of gray, black and brown, a shallow S-curve to its rise, bumps and worm crawls tracking the skin like winding mountain roads. Gave the log a texture no designer could improve on. So ugly it was beautiful. Guess you could call it character, maybe patina. Couple of stubby branches at the top. The base flared enough to hint of roots below. I could almost smell the boggy ground from which it'd once risen.
"Think we can lift it Archie? Sure hope so. That tree's gonna be the support for a whole lot of weight. If we can't, we'll just have to lift harder." Emil followed that with a snort of a laugh.
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