Father Dominic

     Turning into spring outside.  Lots to be done in the garden and all of it sucks up time.  For the last few days I've been coming up empty as to writing material.  Had you read the last few entries in my fishing blog you'd no doubt agree.

     Truth is, story lines are always passing through my head but I don't take the time to make a note.  Yeah, I'm a confident sucker who believes those thoughts won't fail me.  They'll be there whenever I sit down to enter a few sentences.  Ever heard a keyboard laugh?

     We had some friends over the other night.  Old friends in both senses.  They bring stuff out in me.  Random, odd, sometimes weird thoughts rise to the surface like the shrimp we were boiling when they're ready to eat.  Strangely enough one of the ideas from Friday night stuck.  Out on my bike ride this morning I chipped a few of the rough corners away to make it more palatable.  I liked the concept exactly as it arose but one of my best friends found it darn close to offensive.  A little thought this morning also told me the concept wasn't remotely believable as it stood.  That's when the chipping began.  Beyond Emil, the local priest, Father Francis Dominic, their relationship, and where their tale might head, there's not, as yet, much meat on the bone.

     Seeing as how it's been a while since me and my Uncle sat down together in his fifteen foot Lund so he could spin me one of his tales, we decided it might be worthwhile to head out on Big Birch Lake in search of some early season crappies.  Of course he brought along a pack of Luckies and topped off his Zippo.  Sometimes it was necessary that Emil fire up, take a few drags and figure out where his ramble was heading before he painted himself into a corner.

     I was born a Lutheran, raised a Lutheran, went to church most every Sunday while Lena was alive.  Knew all the hymns but sang 'em only loud enough to know I was near the tune but not so loud as to throw the others off when I hit a clinker.  Also seemed like all the hymns were written in a key that never worked for me.  Always too high or too low.  Me and the hymns weren't the only things that didn't mesh in the house of God but Lena liked attending services so we dressed up and went.  Not sure why we dressed up 'cause God knew what we looked like naked and no amount of primping was going to change his view of us.  'Spose we dolled up for each other.
     Could be not fitting in was one of the reasons me and Father Dominic became friends.  Not what you'd call bosom buddies but more than just saying hi when he was out pruning his roses.  I kind of figured he was a lot like me in that he also seemed a little out of place.  Like he'd misheard his calling or felt black to be more fitting than pastels.  Whatever it was, one Sunday evening in the summer, our occasional hello and short conversation about the weather turned into an invitation inside the rectory for a short snort of brandy.  That's the kind of thing a priest has to do the asking about seeing as how he's a man of God and has appearances to keep.  Now, I'm not much of a fan of hard liquor but how many chances would I get to down a shot with a priest?  Mom and Dad would have thought I was going to hell for sure and that was one more reason to say yes.
     Seemed Father Dominic wasn't much of a drinker either but Sunday evening was his moment of celebration for having made it through the weekend.  Two low masses, a high mass, bumbling altar boys, a wedding, a funeral and worst of all, Saturday confession when he spent three hours trapped in a box listening to the woes of people incapable of doing anything worth confessing.  Nothing juicy at all.  Oh, he knew there were sinners out there.  Pretty big sinners at that.  But it's the real sins that are never confessed and after being of the cloth for better than thirty years, Father Dominic wasn't so sure he wanted to deal with such in the first place.  But I figured it might be nice as a change of pace.  Maybe challenge his ability to hand out penance.  Ten Hail Mary's, five Our fathers and ten minutes of quiet reflection just doesn't cut it for high crimes and misdemeanors.

     During that first Sunday evening we discussed the war for a minute.  Frank, seeing as how I wasn't a parishioner and didn't look like I had loose lips, he said I should call him Frank, had been a chaplain in Europe.  Even got wounded in the Battle of the Bulge.  Me, I'd been a medic in the Pacific. We'd both been there at the death of many men.  I tried to keep them on the light side of the door, Frank helped them along once they'd passed through.  In that sense we were a lot alike.  Both of us hoped the hell those men were leaving was the last they'd ever see.

     Got so my Sunday strolls preferred the the evening hours and my feet started wearing a groove in the sidewalk outside the rectory.  Should Father Dominick be in the yard he'd always invite me in.  After a while he grew to shadow my hours.  By the third visit I offered to front him a bottle but was turned down.  Frank said it was the Christian thing to do that he provide the Christian Brothers.

     The months passed.  We grew to know each other well.  Kind of became each other's confessor so to speak.  A few times our single snifter grew to two.  At first I thought it was the funerals that got him down.  I was wrong.  Not one to complain, Frank never let on what the cause was.  Being concerned, I began to pay attention to the happenings at St. Wilhelm's.  Took a few months but eventually I saw the pattern.  You see, the Ladies Guild met every other Saturday morning to get away from their hubbies for a few hours.  Meetings were in the church basement.  Late morning coffee usually turned into a pot luck lunch, confession in the afternoon and a second snifter for Father Dominic come Sunday evening.

     Like I said, if anything, I was a Lutheran.  Never been to Confession.  Didn't think I ever would.  And if I did go, there wasn't much point as my life was pretty humdrum.  Didn't do much of anything that required absolution.  Shot a squirrel out of season 'cause it'd made a home in our attic.  Doubt the Lord was concerned enough with pest control, what with having a universe to run and all, to care about one piddling rodent.  Me and Lena had our spats and I was more concerned about her forgiveness than God's.

     Over the weeks the thought arose that it might not be a bad idea to pay Father Dominic a Saturday visit, perhaps a couple.  Just maybe the same Saturday as the Guild ladies.  'Course I didn't want to be a nuisance and take up the ladies' valuable 'fessing time, so I figured to sneak in near the end of the afternoon, wait till the coast was clear, well after the last lady had exited the box.

     This was a delicate situation and I had to watch my step.  Razor's edge kind of thing.  Frank took his sacraments seriously even if the one I intended to trespass on usually involved matters that weren't all that serious.  Figured I'd give it a try one time to see how matters floated.  Might perk up his day.  Might end a friendship.  Yeah, even though I went with the questionable best of intentions, I was sweatin' bullets.

     First off, I had to have me a sin to confess.  Maybe more than one.  Second, it had to be serious and at the same time obviously pure fiction.  Third, it had to be entertaining.  And last, it shouldn't be my ticket to Hades should it turn out the Catholics were the one, true religion liked they claimed.  So, on the last Saturday in September, through ankle deep scarlet beneath the red maples outside the door, I entered the deafening quiet and decades old reek of frankincense that was St. Wilhelm's.

     Wasn't walking through those doors empty minded.  No siree, I'd been working up a sin of significance.  Multiple sins even.  Entertaining, juicy, just what Frank needed.  Maybe even put a smile on his face that depravity still walked the face of this earth and made life a misery for humanity.  Hardly worth being a man of God if there's no one to save.  And it was up to me to give the man meaning.  Put some starch in his collar.  Drew a few stares from the couple of bitties still in line as I searched out a quiet corner to reflect and hone my sins.

     Didn't turn out like I thought it would.  Not that that's unusual.  The unexpected's to be expected.  Adds spice to the pie.  And sometimes throws the monkey wrench.  Didn't stop me from becoming the sole soul in line when the last of the Guild ladies had passed through the curtain.

     Hadn't expected my reaction to the moment.  Thought I'd be a little on edge, fearing I'd blow my lines, but I'd done hair brained things in the past and they'd worked out just fine.  Catch people off guard and they don't notice the bumps in the road, just smooth 'em out on their own as the two of you ride along.

     Verna gave me quite a look when she came out.  Not sure if she was shocked, mad, or was just overcome by having the weight of her sins lifted by Father Dominic.  Mostly the look said the phone lines in Parkers Prairie were gonna get one serious workout over the next few hours.  Maybe even give the ladies something to confess next month.

     Never been in a confessional before.  Felt like a cross between a Peter Lorre movie and the fog I passed through when I was shot in the Philippines.  Can't say I recommend it.  But I was there and had something to get off my chest.  Went something like this:


     Afternoon Frank.
     That you Emil?
     Yah. It's me.
     Would have expected Judas looking for change for a shekel before you.  So what brings you here on this fine afternoon?
     Well, when I walked through the front door of St. Willie's a half hour ago, it was with the intention that I save your soul from the misery you were going through today.  Seems to me you do more penance than you dispense.  
     Let's just say I see but don't see.  Be careful where you go with this.  You're treading on holy ground that's now and then hard to tell from quicksand.
     Yah, I kinda figured that.  You see, I had this little voice in the back of my head tellin' me I might be goin' too far.  
     So what exactly was this you've come here to confess?
     In twenty five words or less it woulda been me who started the Chicago fire.  Maybe having an affair with both Mrs. O'Leary and her cow (stifled laughter on the other side of the screen).  Spent more than a few minutes on it.  Yah, she was a real humdinger but that all went out the stained glass window, the one with St. Wilhelm wagging his finger at some guy with a crown, when I sat down in one of the pews.
     Go on.
     Well, while sitting there running through my lines, I got the feeling someone was peeking over my shoulder.  Wasn't sure who it was at first.  Couldn't really see him but at the same time could out of the middle eye in the back of my head.  Dream-like you know.  Whoever he was, he was gettin' on in years, thin gray hair, a little rounding to his shoulders, glasses, wrinkled like a prune.  Anyhow, after a few seconds, I came to feel he was Archie, my sister Mary's boy.  Odd, 'cause he's only eleven.  He was trying to tell me something but it wasn't him who was really behind the prodding.
     There, behind Archie, whispering in his ear, was me, only I was really old.  Like one of those guys with the unpronounceable names from the Old Testament.  And both of them whispering, one to the other, I should curb my thoughts.  Play it straight with you.  So that's what I'm doing.  Be honest with you, it's not much fun.  So, what I 'spose I'm here to say is that I probably shouldn't be here.
     I appreciate that Emil.  And would like to hear the story you made up but there's a price, call it a penance.  Come Sunday evening, if you just happen to be strolling by the rectory, I wouldn't complain if you'd discretely smuggle in a bottle of cognac.  Haven't had any since my days in the war.  While we sip, you can tell me about your indiscretions in Chicago.  Or elsewhere for that matter.


     So that's it Archie.  Kind of a non-story if you ask me.  Kind of like St. Wilhelm who didn't do much more than say no to a king.  Must have had an in with the Pope.  But that's way the world goes round.  Earth shaking happens once in a blue moon, if then.  Take it from me, that's a good thing.

Emil's Epilogue II

     Didn't see Archie a lot over the next three years.  He finally got his driver's license and drove up a couple of times to do some fishing but it wasn't the same.  'Spose it was part of him growing up.  Learning to be a man.  If it was, he was sure taking his time.  Maybe that's the way it is these days.  Time was you learned to be a man a lot earlier in life.  Worked the farm with your old man.  Maybe even brought in money to pay the bills.  Did some of the things an adult had to do to survive.  As a result, a kid opened up quicker to what it was like to make his way in the world.  Maybe even understood his parents a little better.  Of course me and Lena never had any kids of our own so maybe I'm not one to talk.
     The way I saw it, Archie was floundering but not letting on.  Said it didn't bother him that his friends were off to one branch of the military or another.  But that's the way it was.  Every man-jack of them, one at a time.  There was a war going on and a draft.  Sooner or later you had to make up your mind as to what to do.
     Had to bother Archie not being registered for the draft.  Knew him well enough to know he couldn't take a stand on the war one way or the other 'til he 'fessed up.  And as he saw it, there was no compelling reason for him to do so.  Total idiot.  Passing through years of misery 'cause he didn't take ten minutes to sign up.  Maybe part of the problem, a small part, was he didn't have anyone there to kick him in the ass when he needed it.  Oh well, when push comes to shove, it'll be time for him to grow up, suck it up and go see the boys at the Draft Board.  Then it won't mater much how he feels about the war.

Emil's Cabin XXXVI - Emil's Epilogue

     Yeah, I didn't get around to laying the floor 'til spring.  Too much else to do and I was bone tired.  Finished the walls and did the moldings with pine poles I'd cut and peeled.  Threw 'em in the pickup and had Roy quarter and dry them down at the mill.  Said he'd never seen the likes of using skinny logs as moldings but said they'd work just fine.  I figured since there was already a tree standing in the middle of the cabin, why not make a forest?  They weren't perfect as far as moldings go but the way they looked more than made up for a little gap here and there.
     Ted and I did get in a canoe trip.  Sure wasn't what I'd expected but I did get a couple of bags of wild rice out of the deal.  Seems the ricing was late last fall and Ted was able to catch the tail end if it.  Helped that he was Ojibwe.  Had relatives over in Bena on the Leech Lake Reservation who knew where we could still find some to harvest.  Most years Ted helps with ricing but things had been hectic up at the mill.  Left him standing in the rear of a canoe with a long pole in his hand and the short end of the stick as to the rice.  Up ahead he had a rookie kneeling in the middle of the canoe batting rice off the golden stalks.  Ted said on a good day we could've had three, maybe four hundred pounds of the stuff by day's end.  This year our day and a half yielded less than half that.  But it was enough.  Parched and winnowed, Ted got plenty to last him and his family the winter.  Now all I had to do was figure out how to cook it.  A moment's thought told me my old buddy butter might come in handy.  Butter's good.
     Our fishing trip wasn't long as far as miles go.  The hard part came on the first day.  Crossing big Lake Saganaga at the end of the Gunflint Trail was a bear.  The wind was near roaring.  Spent most of the first day sitting on our backsides waiting for a let-up.  Mid-afternoon we got our break but lacked enough daylight to complete the crossing.  Didn't even set up the tent that night.  Ted said I was a candy-ass for blowing up my air mattress but it sure beat sleeping on rocks.  Slept under the stars in our bags with a tarp thrown over to keep the dew off.  For the rest of the trip we used the tarp as a lean-to in place of a tent.  Chilly at night but chilly kept the bugs away.  I figured they'd flown south to Okeechobee in Florida to await my arrival.
     The portage from Cache Bay on Saganaga's Canadian shore took us around Silver Falls.  Wasn't a long carry but made up for it with a treacherous, rock strewn path.  Falls was beautiful as was the walleye fishing below.  Saganagons is also a big lake.  Not huge like its sister to the south, but big enough to have big fish.  Ted and I boated our share and then some.
     Was nice to sit in the bow seat for a change.  Got to see fresh water first and caught so many walleyes over five pounds my arms got tired.  Ted, being a man with an eye to the future, never let us keep more than we could eat.  Fine with me.  Most we ate were landed from our campsite.  We'd catch 'em, Ted'd filet 'em and I'd fry 'em up.  Good food and lots of it.  All fresh except for my bannock.  Ted said he'd had better, or at least figured he had as he couldn't remember when that was.  Maybe when he was a kid and it was his grandma's.  Took that as a compliment.  As I did his moaning when he set to a buttered slab.
     We spent a week on the lake.  Ted said he wouldn't leave 'til we spent at least half a day trolling for lake trout along a reef he knew of.  Took it slow and long-lined big red and white spoons.  Would have used silver but didn't have any.  As it was we did fine.  Tired of being out fished on walleyes, Ted hooked up with a laker close to forty inches.  Thought it'd pull the canoe under should his drag stick.  Ten minutes of bent rod cranking would get 'er to the surface.  Then she'd turn tail and dive straight down.  Did that five or six times like a twenty-five pound yoyo before it was fagged out enough to paddle measure it.
     Early in October the boys from the mill paid me a visit to see how the cabin was coming.  They brought along a couple of sacks of donuts, I fired up some fresh coffee and we sat on the floor.  Outside of two camp chairs, planks and saw horses, I was without furniture.  Guess I needed to go shopping.  And I eventually did.  Bought a couple of modern style, Swedish armchairs, four table chairs to go with the table I built and, dear Lord, a real mattress.  Made a bed frame out of lumber scraps.  Ain't pretty but'll do 'til I make something nice.
     Continued to cook on the Coleman, read by kerosene lamps and eventually learned to bake with the Franklin stove.  When cold weather moved in, water became a problem.  Figuring the pump would eventually freeze up I kept five milk cans filled.  When the real cold set in I made runs to town to fill them.  Life in the northland.
     Come spring I need to build a shed, maybe a carport for the truck.  Inside there's shelves to build, a few kitchen cabinets and some kind of closet.  Maybe a bumpout for a bathroom and kitchen sink when the electric comes in.  Also considering building a window seat I can use as a bed up in the Lookout.  Though I like the whole building, life's best up above.  Even saw a moose the other day.  You'd think up here off any kind of civilized road to speak of there'd be animals everywhere.  And there are.  Just that it's rare to see them.  I've found tracks and scat, all over.  Coons, fox, porcupines, bear, bobcat, deer, possibly a wolf.  But see any?  Maybe they're invisible?  Maybe I'm not paying attention or am too easily seen myself.  That's what the Lookout's for.  Up there in the cat bird seat I can see without being seen.
     When I started, the idea was to get everything perfect.  Square, plumb, level and every joint tight.  Came close on all counts though none was dead on.  But she doesn't ship a drop, all the doors and windows work and a marble laid on the floor will stay put.  What more could I want?  Oh yeah, the stove keeps the place toasty cold on evenings so long as I keep it stoked up.
     As you can see there's lots to do.  By next fall I should have most of it tied up.  Or I won't.  Should I have electricity next year, I'll try wintering over.  Or go to Hawaii and learn to eat poi.  Can't be any worse than ludefisk.