by Jerry Apps
His stuttering continued, especially when he was in a group and the situation was stressful, such as when the teacher called on him. Ambrose discovered that if he relaxed and was speaking with but one person, he could string several words together in a sentence—the stuttering was still there, and it took a while for him to say the words, but it certainly was an improvement. Ambrose guessed the teacher figured that if he could communicate with one other person, he could communicate with several. Of course she was wrong.
Something else made Ambrose strange in the minds of many people who knew him; they believed he could talk to animals. Ambrose first discovered that he had this gift, and he truly believed it was a gift, when he was seven years old. Felix, the Adler’s collie, would look at Ambrose as if he understood exactly what Ambrose was saying. And Ambrose noticed another strange thing; when he was alone with an animal and talking to it, he didn’t stutter. One day Ambrose found a raccoon by the side of the road. Someone must have hit it with a car. It had a broken leg, but otherwise the animal seemed in reasonable shape. Ambrose named him George and put a little wooden splint on his leg wrapped tight with cloth and tape. Ambrose talked to George all the while he was fixing his leg, expecting any minute that the animal would bite him or try to run away. But George did neither. The injured raccoon seemed to understand what Ambrose was saying. Ambrose was afraid that the raccoon and Felix wouldn’t get along, that they might try to kill each other. But the dog and the raccoon got along with each other just fine. In fact they became good buddies. What a threesome they were: a big collie dog, a limping raccoon, and a stuttering farm kid.
Ambrose was afraid that his father would make him turn George lose once he healed. But his father never said a word, and while the little raccoon could have run off anytime he wanted, he never did.
When Ambrose finished high school in 1951, most folks didn’t think he was smart enough to graduate, except his father and mother, who always believed he was “destined for great things,” as Ma said. After high school Ambrose turned to full-time farming with his father, helping him take care of the twenty milk cows, growing fifteen acres of corn, fifteen acres of oats, ten acres of potatoes, and tending a large vegetable garden that provided much of the food for their table.
George was Ambrose’s pet for almost twenty years, but one morning the raccoon didn’t greet Ambrose when he went out to the barn to help with the morning milking. Ambrose crawled the ladder to the haymow and found George’s body; sometime during the night he must have died. Ambrose figured in human terms George would have been eighty or even ninety years old.
Only a few days after George died, Ambrose heard a neighbor telling his father that he had shot a big female raccoon that had been raiding his sweet corn patch.
“That old coon had little ones; I could tell she was nursing,” the neighbor said. “Probably got rid of a half a dozen of them raiding bastards,” he concluded proudly.
Overhearing this, Ambrose immediately decided to go looking for the raccoon’s den, likely in a hollow tree in a woodlot near the neighbor’s sweet corn patch. Every evening, when the chores were done, he went searching for the raccoon’s den, knowing that if he didn’t find it in a couple days the little ones would all die of starvation.
On his third foray into the neighbor’s woodlot, Ambrose found the den tree. Only one little raccoon in the litter was alive, and just barely. Ambrose fed the weak little fellow with milk that he dripped into his mouth with an eyedropper. After a couple weeks, the baby raccoon was drinking out of a bowl and growing like everything. Ambrose named him George II. And of course he and the little raccoon talked to each other every day. Felix had died several years earlier, and Ambrose’s father had replaced him with another collie named Fanny. Fanny and George had never much liked each other, but Fanny and George II became great buddies, and together with Ambrose they often had a three-way conversation: Ambrose sharing his thoughts, Fanny making a little whining noise, and George II making a purring sound. Ambrose couldn’t understand what Fanny and George II were saying, but from the way they looked at Ambrose, they seemed to know exactly the meaning of what was coming out of his mouth.
Ambrose had grown accustomed to not being able to speak well when he was with people. He enjoyed farm work, appreciated having a chance to work with his father, who never once lost his patience when Ambrose had trouble trying to tell him something. About the only social contact Ambrose had was when he went to Link Lake for supplies, driving their trusty team and tying them up behind the Mercantile in a parking lot that still had a place to tie a team of horses, a hitching post left over from an earlier era. When he finished his brief shopping, using a list his mother provided, he often stopped at the Link Lake Library, where he spent an hour or so reading or deciding on a book or two that he would check out and take home with him. While at the library, he read several newspapers including the New York Times and the Wall Street Journal. He especially enjoyed reading books about nature—Emerson and Thoreau had become favorite authors of his.
He also generally planned his trips to town to coincide with the meetings of the Link Lake Historical Society. He sat in back of the room at the meetings, not saying a word but taking in every nuance of what went on. Some members of the historical society ignored Ambrose because they knew of his strange ways and his difficulty speaking. But not Emily Higgins. She made a point of talking with Ambrose each time he attended a meeting and tried to make him feel welcome.
6
Marilyn and Stony Field
As Marilyn Jones waited for a phone call from La Crosse on this cool April day, she read Stony Field’s newest column, becoming more agitated by the minute.
FIELD NOTES
Fracking for the Future
By Stony Field
Have you heard about fracking? Neither had I until a couple years ago. Those who support the process see it as the answer to the United States’ energy problems. Hydraulic fracturing, fracking, is a relatively new process for reclaiming natural gas. According to these same sources, the United States has more than 2,500 trillion cubic feet of natural gas just waiting to be fracked.
You are wondering how the process works? Well, as I understand it, all this natural gas embedded in gas-bearing shale deposits has just been sitting there waiting for these clever oil drillers to come up with a technology to release it from where it has been resting for thousands of years. For years oil drillers drilled straight down. With the new technology, they drill down and then make a sharp turn and drill horizontally. But there is more to it. All of this natural gas needs a little encouragement before it is released. And that is where hydraulic fracturing comes into play. Drillers inject millions of gallons of water, which is mixed with a special sand (more about this later) and chemicals into these vast underground formations. The pressure of the water, sand, and chemicals cracks the rocks (fractures them), allowing the gas to escape and flow into the wells.
As a result, we get an efficient energy source, a clean-burning fossil fuel, increase our independence from the Middle Eastern and other foreign suppliers of crude oil, enhance the country’s energy security, and create jobs. Sounds like a pretty rosy situation, wouldn’t you say?
But hold on before you begin waving the American flag and jumping up and down with we’ve-solved-our-energy-problem glee. First off, it’s still a fossil fuel, and no matter what anyone says, one day we’ve got to wean ourselves from these older fuel sources. With too much enthusiasm about natural gas production, it will be easy to push wind and solar power and all the other alternative energy sources into the background with an attitude of “who needs this new stuff, we’ve got it figured out.”
We also must be concerned about the dangers of hydraulic fracturing, and there are several. As I mentioned, the process requires millions of gallons of water, which can draw down local surface and groundwater resources. Also, the slurry of chemicals mixed with the water and sand are toxic and if not handled properly can contaminate local water supplies. The ga
s itself, when released, can travel through the ground and enter nearby water wells, which can present a safety hazard, as the gas is highly flammable.
And what about all the sand that is needed for the fracking process? What is its source? Guess what? Wisconsin and Minnesota are prime sources. I’ll be writing more about this later.
Marilyn slammed the paper down on her desk. She thought, The audacity of this jerk, Stony Field. What right does he have to shoot off his mouth about something that shouldn’t concern him? She wondered if he had somehow gotten inside information about what was being proposed for Link Lake—the subject of the phone call that she was patiently waiting for.
The phone on her desk rang loudly. “Link Lake Supper Club, this is Marilyn.” She already knew from the caller ID that this was the call she was waiting for.
“This is Emerson Evans with the Alstage Sand Mining Company. How are you this morning?”
“I’m just fine. I’ve been waiting for your call.”
“I have good news for you, Marilyn, and for the citizens of Link Lake.”
7
Link Lake Historical Society
Thank you all for turning out on this rather chilly April day,” said Emily Higgins as she called the regular monthly meeting of the Link Lake Historical Society to order. “I’m told spring is just around the corner, but I’m wondering what corner it’s hiding behind.” A few groans came from the audience in response to Emily’s rather uncharacteristic attempt at telling a joke.
“Today is our annual planning meeting as you all know, and by popular demand, especially from some of our newer members, Oscar Anderson will make a presentation on the history of the Trail Marker Oak. The old oak is an important symbol for our community from the days when Native Americans lived here and when the village was first founded. And it remains an important symbol for our community today. But first we need you to sign up for one, two, or all three of the major activities we have planned for this summer. As you know the cemetery walk is coming up fast, and I need to see some names on this sign-up sheet.” She began passing the sheet around the room. She was smiling when she asked—everyone liked Emily and even if she could be a bit pushy at times, no one doubted her love for history and fondness for the Village of Link Lake.
The Link Lake Historical Society traced its beginnings to 1860 when the first group of settlers in this part of Ames County met regularly and wrote down what they remembered of the days when they lived in upstate New York. They talked about their trip on a steamship that sailed from Buffalo and eventually reached the port of the Sheboygan, where they disembarked and began their long trip overland. They recalled how they spent their first night in Wisconsin at Wade House on the old plank road, and their second in Fond du Lac, a bustling city on the southern end of Lake Winnebago. Finally, they arrived at Berlin on the Fox River, took the ferry across, and found themselves in newly surveyed Ames County, after the treaty with the Menominee Indians was signed and the area was ready for settlement.
These many stories were written and stored in files in the old Link Lake State Bank building, long ago replaced by a more modern bank on the outskirts of town. The old bank building now served as the main offices for the historical society, which housed a small gift shop as well as the Link Lake Historical Museum. It held many memories, especially for the older citizens of Link Lake. The gift shop and museum, open from April until October, attracted hundreds of visitors during the summer months and busloads of schoolchildren in April and May and again in the fall while the museum was still open. The museum and the historical society were both operated entirely by volunteers—all under the direction and constant encouragement of Emily Higgins, who lived and breathed Link Lake history.
Membership in the historical society had remained constant for more than fifty years, with forty people on the membership list and from twenty-five to thirty who attended the regular monthly meetings, now held in the meeting room at historical society headquarters.
The meetings generally included a business meeting, much of it devoted to discussing and planning historical society events and activities, followed by presentations from those within the organization or speakers associated with other historical societies, the Wisconsin State Historical Society, or historians teaching at one of the University of Wisconsin campuses.
The organization had its own popular speakers. Oscar Anderson and Fred Russo topped the list. Several years back, Oscar and Fred had photographed every old barn within twenty miles of Link Lake, interviewed barn owners, dug into old records, and discovered the stories behind each barn. Their presentation, “The Barns of Link Lake,” had proved to be the most popular presentation in many years. Now, at least once a year they were asked to repeat it—they of course continued to research these old barns and added new information each time they were asked to speak.
The Link Lake Historical Society also worked hard to involve the entire community by sponsoring major events that brought hundreds of people to the area. Each year historical society members designed a float for the Fourth of July parade and were actively involved in the summer’s Trail Marker Oak Days.
They also sponsored three major events each year designed to attract tourists and locals interested in rural history. Each spring the group organized a walking tour of the cemetery with historical society members assuming the roles of past Link Lake notables. In May they reenacted the bank robbery that happened in 1900, and they organized an enormous thresheree each August at Ambrose Adler’s farm. The thresheree attracted thousands of people from throughout Wisconsin and from several other states and was the main moneymaking activity for the historical society. The thresheree also served as an economic boost for the restaurants, taverns, the motel, and the gift shops in Link Lake.
This year, with the assistance of the Link Lake High School Nature Club and the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources, historical society members worked with high school students to erect a video camera pointed toward a bald eagle nest in Increase Joseph Community Park. This “eagle cam” operated twenty-four hours a day, with streaming video of the nest available on the Internet for all to watch. The eagle cam had attracted viewers from all over the country.
Anyone have any new business before I turn the meeting over to Oscar?” asked Emily. She paused for a bit. “Hearing none, Oscar, let’s hear about the Trail Marker Oak.”
Wearing a new pair of bib overalls and a red plaid flannel shirt, Oscar slowly got to his feet and, with his cane, made his way to the front of the room. He was clutching a yellowed newspaper clipping in his hand.
He cleared his throat, looked out over the audience, and began.
“I believe you all know about the Trail Marker Oak, but some of you may not know its history, how it is that it stands today at the entrance to Increase Joseph Community Park. Back in 1952, the Ames County Argus ran a story about that famous old tree. If you’ll bear with me, I’ll read it.” Oscar began reading the article in his deep baritone voice.
Trail Marker Oak
It’s believed that this special bur oak tree saw the first light of day about 1830, when a tiny shoot pushed up through the prairie soil and sent forth its first leaves to capture the sunlight. It would be six more years before Wisconsin became a territory and 18 years before it reached statehood.
In 1830, these central Wisconsin lands that surround the body of water now called Link Lake were Menominee Indian lands and had been so for centuries. The Indians fished the waters of Link Lake, camped on its shores, and marveled at the lake’s beauty. When the first settlers arrived, the land was mostly tall grass prairie with wild grasses—big bluestem, little bluestem, and several other varieties waving in the summer breezes. It was a quiet area with long, hot summers, cool, refreshing autumn days that carried on from September to well into November, snowy, cold winters, resulting in the lake freezing over from December to March, and then warm spring days with wildflowers, returning flocks of migrating birds, and Indians trailing by in search of the ma
ple trees that grew near the lake. They tapped the maples for their sweet sap that they boiled down into maple syrup and maple sugar.
Oscar paused for a moment, turned the page of the newspaper, and continued.
As the bur oak tree grew through its infancy and began peeking above the tall prairie grasses that surrounded it, few people saw it. The occasional Indian passed by on the well-worn trail but a few feet from where the bur oak grew, and even a French fur trader hiked by once, apparently lost as he searched for the Fox River to the southeast. In 1839, a great prairie fire swept across this part of what was to become Ames County, sending up enormous clouds of acrid smoke that filled the air. During the midst of the fire, which finally stopped at the waters of Link Lake, the smoke obscured the sun. Many of the shrubs and trees died in the fire, but not the bur oak. Its corky bark protected it and the tree continued growing, even better than before, now more than a foot a year, as some of its competition for nutrients and water had been destroyed in the fire.
In 1840, a traveling band of Menominee Indians, who had regularly traveled the old trail, stopped in the scant shade of the 10-year-old bur oak, now some 12 feet tall. They walked around the tree, inspecting it from every direction. And they noticed that no other trees grew nearby. So this bur oak tree became a trail marker for them as they traveled from their trapping grounds to the trading post on the Fox River several miles to the south.
