the woodsman

Golfers on hole number one paid him no attention as he passed into their view and hiked to the railroad tracks.  His pace was brisk and the hot sun spurred him onward, making him anxious to reach the shade of Gabe’s comfortable abode in the woods.  It took him only seven minutes to reach the section where he would leave the tracks and climb down the embankment.  He noticed smoke rising from the area where Gabe hung out.  

Must be cooking something, Jack thought to himself.  

He made his way down the slope and crossed the section of tall grass beyond the number two green of the Ramsey Golf Course and into the patch of woods where he would find his brother.  

As Jack climbed up and then down the other side of the small ridge bordering the patch of woods, the pain from his bad hip began bothering him to the point where he had to stop and rest against a downed tree.  The trickling of the creek as it flowed past him, along with the calling back and forth between a couple of cardinals reminded him of how nature was never, very far away, and he understood, partially, why Gabe loved this place.

After a few minutes rest, his hip seemed better and he decided to sneak down to Gabe’s shelter.  

The old elm they had used as a fort when they were kids had long since rotted away, but fortunately, for Gabe, it’s place had been taken by a large cottonwood tree that had blown over during a tornado that had passed through the area five years before.  

Gabe had utilized the cottonwood in much the same way they had as kids when they transformed the elm into their fort.  The tree had created a natural cave area an adult could stand up in with the branches providing some shelter on the sides.  Gabe had then filled in the open spots with cut branches along those sides, making a sturdy shelter that kept out the rain and wind and afforded him the privacy he craved.

Sneaking along through low brush and smiling like a fool, Jack’s excitement grew.  I can’t believe I’m doing this.  Here I am fifty-seven years old and I’m moving through the woods like a kid playing games with my brother, he thought.

After he had covered the last fifteen feet between him and the shelter, he paused near the makeshift door Gabe had constructed.  As he reached for the handle, the door flew open with Gabe’s hand clamping onto his wrist.  Gabe’s hand had lashed out like a striking cobra and he quickly pulled Jack inside the doorway and into the shelter.  

“Don’t ever try sneaking up on me, bro.  You’ll just never, ever, do it successfully,” Gabe said as he smiled and shook his head, sending his long hair flowing from side to side and both of them burst out laughing.

“I should have known better,” Jack admitted.

“Yeah, well, grab a seat and I’ll pour us some weed.  It’s about five o’clock somewhere.” 

Jack looked at his watch.  It was only one in the afternoon, but he sat in one of the hand carved chairs Gabe had constructed out of logs he’d found in the woods.  The chairs were comfortable with a nice slant to the backs, and Jack had brought out cushions for the seats a couple of years before.  

Jack assumed a seat while Gabe poured a couple of shots into the glasses.  

“I saw the smoke.  What are you cooking?”

“Just finished, actually.  Had a nice plate of beans and franks.  Sorry, there’s nothing left.  If I had known you were coming I’d have saved you some.  Anyway, it helps keep the bugs away, too.”

“Nah, that’s okay.  I just came out to talk for a while so I had some lunch already.  I thought I’d check with you on our trip coming up.  BWCA, here we come!”

a section from the stolen canoe episode

The noise of the drunken cabal of teenagers grew as Gabe and his father silently made their way down the path, hid in the bushes, and  watched the wild action in front of them.  The four teenagers who had stolen the canoe were splashing the paddles in the river, yelling and hooping as they did so with no idea they were being watched.  They had foolishly thought they wouldn’t be followed.  

A crowd of teenagers were gathered around a fire, drinking beer, telling stories, and laughing uproariously.  An inner glow of envy broiled within Gabe as he watched kids who were not much older than he was.  Within a couple of years, I’ll be doing the same thing, he thought to himself, but today, he really wanted to get their canoe back in good shape.  

Bruce elbowed Gabe in the ribs, nodded and motioned for him to stay where he was.  He then stood up and walked into the fire light and loudly cleared his throat.  Most in the crowd of teenagers instantly dropped their bottles and ran in all directions.  The ones in the canoe, dove into the river and swam across to the other side, clamoring up the banks and running as fast as they could toward the county road.

Three tough guys didn’t panic, standing calmly while holding their beers in their hands.  The tallest one tossed a slug of the warm brew down his throat and then looked at Bruce.

Buoyed by the effects of several beers, the tall one said, “Huh, one guy!  Whatcha gonna do, old man.  There’s three of us.”

The other two laughed and tipped their bottles into their mouths and took swigs of beer.

“I don’t think I’ll have to do anything by the looks of you three.  You can barely stand up.”

One of the others snorted, “Let’s take him, Slack!”  

All of them tossed their empty bottles onto the ground and pounded their fists into their palms.  Bruce crossed his arms and sighed.

“If you’re going to do anything, start now, because I’m a little impatient and not willing to wait all night.”  He kept his arms crossed as he checked his watch.  “Besides, it’s past my bedtime.”  He waited for their response.

Their eyes danced from one to the other reflecting the indecision they felt.  Slack began to say something when they noticed a sheriff’s car with flashing red lights tearing down the dirt road leading to the spring.  Instantly, all three bolted and ran south along the river path and away from the spring.  

Gabe emerged from the bushes, wide-eyed.  He felt a surge of pride well up inside of him at the way his father had handled the situation.  He felt confident that his father could have taken all three, regardless of their state of inebriation because he was a well-built six footer who had been in the Navy.  Gabe had been ready to throw himself into the battle if it occurred just because he wanted the action and excitement.  In fact, he craved it and was disappointed when the sheriff’s car had shown up and scared all of them off.

While Gabe and his father spoke to the sheriff, John Klipper and Smiley Wilson were slowly cruising the county road with their eyes peeled for any drunken teenage boys running away.  Their headlights shown upon the railroad crossing and two figures straggling along the tracks.  

Two boys started waving their arms at them as their car approached.  Klipper pulled off the road onto the two-foot wide dirt shoulder.  The breaks screeched a little as they came to a stop and Wilson rolled down his window.  

“Hey mister, can we catch a ride back to town?  We had a little accident down at the river.”

“Sure thing boys, jump in the back, Klipper said.

The boys gratefully opened the back door and piled in.

“You look pretty wet.  What kind of accident did you have?”  Wilson asked.

“We tipped our canoe and just barely made it out of the river alive.  Alan conked his head on the gunnel and almost drowned.”

“My, my, you boys had a bad one, it sounds like.  Tell you what, we’ll pull into my place here and get you some towels, dry you off and let you call your parents to come pick you up.”

“Uh, that’s alright.  We’ll be okay if you could just take us back into town.”  The boys were shivering now.

“Nonsense, we’ll get you boys all warmed up first.”  Mr. Klipper slowed down to pull into his driveway.  The boys recognized the area at once.  With their hands on the door handles they looked at each other and nodded.  They exploded out the doors at once and took off heading east across the golf course.

“Well, I guess they didn’t want to experience our hospitality,” Smiley chuckled.

A rough draft section from, Brothers.

For the past four years, Gabe Hula had spent his summers in the area of the old fort he and his brothers had built as kids north of the golf course.  

It was the summer of 2008 and he was sixty-two years old with long gray hair that flowed past his shoulders.  His beard was long, thick, and bushy with mats of hair conveniently tucked under his chin.  His clothing was what one would expect for someone living in the woods, drab, dirty, only not torn or worn out.  His summers were spent living this way so he never got a chance to wear anything out totally.  

The winters had always bothered him so he grudgingly moved back to his little house in the southwest part of Austin to live as soon as the first, consistent whiff of arctic air blew in from the north. 

Three months before he began retreating to the old childhood haunts, Gabe had begun waking in the middle of the night.   Anxiety ridden, he would rise and prowl the perimeters of the house peeping out the windows, crouching low and then popping his head up, searching for the source of his nervousness.  Sleep would elude him for great multitudes of days, until exhausted, he would collapse onto the floor.  He lost track of time, other people, and himself.  He didn’t understand why this was happening to him now, but flashes of war had spilled back into his head and it frightened him to the point where he knew he had to seek help.  

An old war buddy made the first contact at the Veterans’ Administration for him.  Gabe went and was interviewed.  The things he said to the young woman who interviewed him terrified her, and when she threatened to have him thrown in the looney bin he walked out and quit going to the sessions.  

He had begun to feel like he was losing his mind, until…a fever swept him one day to the country, to the old places he and his brothers had explored as kids.  And here, he found a certain peace, away from people, away from terror.  The constant, gentle trickle of water flowing past the shelter he had built calmed him.  Although his hearing had deteriorated,  he was still able to notice the occasional, loud swearing from frustrated golfers on the nearby course, and the hooping of children when they had hit a particularly excellent golf shot.  Those sounds didn’t bother him, however; he had grown up knowing those sounds.  They were the sounds of home.  

Back from a trip to Oregon and California

Just returned from a wonderful trip to visit friends in Salem, Oregon, where we visited small towns, wineries, and went to a minor league baseball game in Salem.  We had terrific weather and a great time with good friends.  From there we rented a car and drove to Napa Valley where we stayed for three days in the wine country sampling delicious wines, eating out, and just relaxing.

A visit to San Francisco and Sunnyvale where Cindy's brother and wife live topped off our vacation.  We had a great lunch at the Cliff House on the Pacific Ocean.  What a treat that was.  The view of the ocean, waves crashing onto the rocks below, and surfers riding the breakers as they rolled toward the beach was outstanding.

We boarded a flight out of San Jose and flew back to Minneapolis Monday and drove home that evening, stopping only for a quick bite at Wendy's restaurant in Owatonna.

It was a restful, wonderful trip that allowed us to reconnect with friends and experience a beautiful drive through Oregon and northern California.

Now, it's back to work writing this week.  I don't know if I mentioned this in a previous post but I interviewed my older brother before we left on our trip about his Viet Nam War experiences.  We spent six and a half hours conversing and ended up with some great material to include in the new book-Brothers.