I'd spent a lot of time by myself when growing up. My brother and sister were born early in my parent's wedded years. I was a surprise who came poking along near the end of my Dad's life. The better part of a generation separated me from Kate and Will. By the time I was school age my brother was in the Army and my sister was on her own. Left me as pretty much an only child in a household where my Mom was off working to pay the bills. Can't say I minded. Can't say I had much direction in my life either. The hours after school and the days of summer vacation were pretty much mine to do as I pleased. Had a few chores but even more free time. Never was lonely. Had my friends, books to read, ball to play. But most of all I enjoyed my time alone.
Up in the Arrowhead it was just me and Emil. And that was fine. Sometimes we'd talk. Sometimes we wouldn't. But regardless, we were never alone. And I missed my lone time. Once in a while in the evening I'd simply say, "Uncle Emil, I'm going to wander around for a few minutes." Emil'd look up from his book or pause between casts and say something like, "Write if you find work," or simply, "See you later," and I'd be off for twenty minutes, maybe more. I suspected he also enjoyed his quiet time.
Early on I'd learned most of the wildlife of the northwoods found me long before I found them. By July the black flies had gone wherever it is they go when you don't see them anymore. The skeeters came and went with the weather. A week or so after a good rain they were back. By mid-July I was probably supplying blood for the grandchildren of the bloodsuckers that'd worried me and Emil as we were clearing the driveway. Best part was losing the wood ticks. They were still around but few and far between. On the upside I still had a pair of small, itchy swellings beneath the band of my tightie-whities to remind of failed body searches.
What I was hoping to spy was along the line of a fox or deer. Did my best to quiet my footsteps but for all the good it did I may as well have been beating a bass drum. Turned out there was little to be concerned of unless I spooked a grouse and nearly soiled my drawers when it exploded from beneath my feet.
Once away from Aspen Brook the going slowed. Had to continually duck under or spread the brush and fallen branches. I knew where I was heading. More or less. Farther uphill beyond the Sentinels stood a cluster of red pines that'd made their own clearing by shedding decades of needles. Never gave it much thought back then but came to learn over the years that alder and hazel brush have no love for big pines. As pines shed the needles that become duff, brush creeps away in horror. One result was the bare ground beneath the old growth forests made it easier for logging teams to come denude them. As Emil would say, there's a lesson in there somewhere. Maybe, success breeds failure. Even under the best of conditions forests come and go, then come again. We're just another monkey wrench thrown in the process.
The Sentinels I'd already passed were not a matched pair. One stood tall and arrow straight. Nary a branch in the lower thirty feet and not a one above was thicker than a lumberjack's thigh. The other pine was an uneven trident. The first branch, which would have been reachable with an extension ladder, gracefully curved out then shot up like a second trunk. And was huge, maybe two feet in diameter. The second, eight feet higher, was slightly smaller and rose at about ninety degrees from its big sister. Whenever I looked up I imagined a treehouse spanning the three. Then imagined the work involved. Then moved on.
There's a misconception about the northwoods being a thicket of majestic pines. Maybe that's true in places I haven't been but up on Emil's land the pines were outnumbered by cedar, aspen, birch and maple. Could be the reason Emil was so skitterish when it came to felling more than a dozen mature pines for framing lumber. Those his buddy Greg had chosen were usually from clusters. They'd thinned out the biggest of three or four with the idea the remaining trees would benefit from the extra sunlight. In the Arrowhead country sunshine isn't an everyday thing like it is in the deserts of the southwest. Up here every ray is important.
Slowly rising inland I'd pass through a two acre stand of wrist-thick rustling aspen before reaching the base of the ridge. As ridges go it's nothing special. Maybe climbs a little over a hundred feet from its scree pile base. The thought crossed my mind there's a car-sized agate somewhere in the jumble. Should there be - I sure didn't find it - and you have the notion, feel free to come give a look. The ridge lies north of Emil's property line, mine these days, so you won't be trespassing. Or pull up the driveway with the bribe of a homemade apple pie and I'll walk you there myself.
Once on the scree I'd pause to rest, conform my backside to a jagged slab of mossed stone. I knew to the foot where the cabin sat down below but couldn't as yet see it. Wouldn't be long and the roof'd rise into view. Emil chose his land well. The view across the jade leafed valley was just this side of spectacular. Like the small trout in the stream, the valley wasn't overwhelming but had a personal feel to it. Now as the sun lowered and the shadows stretched, the green canopy below added a black tinge of shadow. A good spot to sit and recall parts of my brief history.
Won't bore you with the details. Simply put, my life to that point had struck a balance. Had my triumphs and had just as many failures. But it was the squandered chances that weighed on me. Was asked out of class near the end of eighth grade in a parochial school to speak with a man I didn't know. We were joined by the school principle. The man spoke of the advantages of going to a prestigious Catholic high school. Attending St. Thomas had never entered my head. Also, that he might be recruiting me 'cause I was the best baseball pitcher in the city league and had been a good student to boot also never entered my head. Guess I couldn't fill in the blanks. Simply told the man I had other plans, which I hadn't.
Year and a half later, the last time I wore a baseball uniform. The head scout for the Minnesota Twins was standing behind me as I fired fastball after fastball in the bullpen of Metropolitan Stadium. At fifteen I was too young to be there but Mr. Guiliani hadn't been told my age. All he knew was one of his birddog scouts had seen me strike out twelve in the four innings I'd pitched in relief one evening.
It was a tryout camp for the Twins. I was three or more years younger than the bearded men who'd preceded me on the pair of pitching mounds. The man who was catching took one look at my baby face and picked up a fielder's mitt instead of a catcher's glove. A half dozen pitches later one of my pitches tore the webbing out of his mitt. Yup, I had a lively fastball. And was the only pitcher invited back for a second look. Like I said, that was the last time I was in a baseball uniform. My arm could have taken me to a prestigious high school, maybe even a free ride to college. But I simply walked away for no apparent reason. Just did it. Like water under the bridge, I figured there'd be more coming along sooner or later.
That slab of stone was a good place to sit and have a smoke. Above, back a few yards from the ridge, a truck passed on the McFarland Road. Irksome intrusion of my meditation. Reminded me I wasn't alone in the world and it was time to wander back. Stubbed the smoke out, field stripped it and put the butt in my pocket. A clean camp was a happy camp and I'd come to appreciate not stepping on discarded nails. Also saw no good reason for crapping up the woods beyond the clearing.
About the only thing that'd changed back in camp was the fresh pot of coffee. I was greeted by a "How's tricks? Did you see the bear?" I hadn't. "Well, never mind then." Didn't know if he was pulling my leg but did know any further questioning would get me nowhere.
"By the by Archie, I've been giving some thought to your situation. What keeps coming to mind may or may not make much sense but in an odd way, it seems to fit. As I see it, there's all kinds of strengths in life. When you work with someone for a while, like we've done, their particular strengths stand out. You seem to have at least two. When faced with a problem you most always figure out a solution. You're no blazing ball of fire in that department but more often than not it's one of those third choice kind of things. When it comes to choosing between A and B, once in a while you come up with a C most people wouldn't see. That's good. But like I said, it takes you a while. That's where your real strength shows up, endurance. You never seem to tire. Not that you're a bull-headed, hammer your way though, kind of guy. Just that you'll keep the door open 'til something comes rambling along. So that's where I figure you stand with the draft. Over time, an answer will find you. And you'll recognize it for the truth it is. As for me, I'm gonna brush my teeth and get a good night's sleep so I have the energy to work you like a dog in the morning."
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