The Great Sand Fracas of Ames County

by Jerry Apps

  “Marilyn and I have been talking,” Karl Adams began. “She told me about the annual Trail Marker Oak Days celebration held each summer in Link Lake. The Alstage Mining Company would like to help you folks expand this event—to make it the biggest and best Trail Marker Oak Days the community has ever seen.”

  “What are you suggesting?” asked Mayor Jessup, who was well aware of the irony of celebrating the Trail Marker Oak when the company planned to cut it down.

  Karl went on in considerable detail outlining the several activities he had in mind to enhance the celebration, with all additional expenses covered by Alstage Mining. He suggested they hold the event on an early August weekend when the area would be filled with vacationing tourists, which would surely enhance the crowd.

  In the past, Trail Marker Oak Days was held at the Increase Joseph Community Park, and although the sand mine was due to open there in a few months, the group decided it would be appropriate to center the event’s activities there once more. They would not mention that this would likely be the last time for the event to be held in the park—especially since the Trail Marker Oak would no longer be there after the mine opened. They were well aware of the half dozen or so protestors who so far marched back and forth in front of the park entrance Monday through Friday, but not on the weekends. Of course the celebration would be held on a weekend.

  In addition to the arts and crafts fair, with booths located in the park, Karl suggested two additional activities “to spice up the event.” He suggested a cardboard boat race on Saturday and a bass fishing contest on Sunday morning. Both of these events would begin at the Link Lake Supper Club’s pier, only a short distance from the park.

  Although he was well aware of Emily Higgins’s opposition to opening the sand mine in the park, and her vehement objection to cutting down the Trail Marker Oak, Mayor Jessup suggested they ask Emily to once more recite her “Ode to the Old Oak,” as she had done for every Trail Marker Oak Days from the first time it was held.

  Marilyn Jones was not too sure about this decision, for it would give Emily one more opportunity to engender opposition to the mine, but she held her tongue. Marilyn also realized that if Emily did not do the ode, a fair number of people would wonder why, especially members of the Link Lake Historical Society.

  Publicity in the Ames County Argus, on WWRI, as well as in newspapers in the Fox River Valley, Madison, and Milwaukee announced Link Lake’s annual Trail Marker Oak Days celebration scheduled for the first weekend in August. The news reports mentioned the annual arts and crafts fair but also emphasized that additional special features this year would include a cardboard boat race across the big lake’s inlet in front of the Link Lake Supper Club on Saturday and a bass fishing tournament on Sunday.

  By six thirty on Friday afternoon prior to the big celebration, several artists, some of them coming from as far away as Chicago and the Twin Cities, had set up their booths in the park, showing off everything from paintings of horses and mountains to woodcarvings, block prints, and metal and leather crafts—a vast array of artistic creations for people to see and buy.

  The parking lot at the Link Lake Motel was jammed with fishing boats in preparation for Sunday’s bass fishing contest—and the Link Lake Supper Club was filled with customers, some waiting up to an hour for dinner.

  By ten on Saturday morning, Increase Joseph Community Park was elbow to elbow with people visiting the art fair, chatting with each other and with the assortment of artists who had their work on display. Although not arts and crafts, Emily Higgins had encouraged her friend Ambrose Adler to set up a booth, where he sold fresh vegetables from his farm. His booth was quickly one of the busiest as people lined up to buy fresh vegetables: cucumbers, new potatoes, sweet corn, broccoli, beets, carrots, leaf lettuce, and green beans.

  At eleven o’ clock, the scheduled time for the brief program, Emily Higgins took her place on the little stage that had been erected in front of the famous Trail Marker Oak tree. The old tree looked as vigorous as ever with its rather massive trunk leaning in the direction of the Fox River to the southeast.

  Emily welcomed the substantial crowd that had gathered to hear her annual recitation of the “Ode to the Old Oak.” She was well aware that this might be the last year for the Trail Marker Oak—but she vowed to do the best possible job she could, with the hope that something as simple as her recitation might help save the old tree.

  With a loud, clear voice she began.

  Ode to the Old Oak

  Long before the first white people set foot in this county called Ames and this place that became Link Lake, this tree, this old oak, this old bur oak tree, stood as it stands today. A reminder of who we are and where we’ve been, a reminder of those who traveled these parts before us and sought direction. Sought direction from this old oak. This old oak called the Trail Marker Oak.

  It is believed this bur oak tree first saw the light of day in the year 1830, eighteen years before Wisconsin became a state, and twenty-two years before Ames County was settled. This was Indian country then, and this old bur oak served as a road sign that helped the Indians find their way to the Fox River and the trading post there. The French traders who followed them also knew this tree, as did the first white settlers who came to Link Lake in 1852. All used this tree as a direction finder.

  The founder of our village, Increase Joseph Link, and a tall Menominee Indian named Kee-chee-new met one day, and it was Kee-chee-new who took Increase Joseph to see this old tree, at this very spot where we are standing now. It was Kee-chee-new who said, “This is a sacred tree standing on sacred ground.” And it was Increase Joseph Link who responded, “I will do everything in my power to make certain that no one ever cuts down this tree or in any way harms it.”

  As the years passed, this old oak, this Trail Marker Oak, has been a symbol for this community and our people—a link to our past, but also a symbol for our future. We as individuals need direction in our lives. And so do communities. This old tree stands as a reminder of this and more. This old tree represents the history of our community; it represents our present, and it symbolically points our way to the future.

  As many of you know, this old tree, this sacred tree standing on sacred ground, is destined to be destroyed so that the sacred sand beneath us can be mined and carted away to feed the ever-thirsty demand for our country’s energy supply. What a tragic loss it will be.

  Oh, sacred tree, how much we have adored you and benefited by your presence. Oh, sacred tree on this sacred ground. Oh, sacred tree.

  Emily bowed as the audience clapped. Mayor Jessup whispered to Marilyn, “We should not have let her speak. Her words will only fuel more dissent and give these crazy protesters more ideas for their misguided actions.”

  By 1:00 p.m. people began gathering on the lawn of the Link Lake Supper Club for the cardboard boat race scheduled to begin promptly at 2:00 p.m. Most people had never seen a cardboard boat race, so many stopped by merely to see what it was all about.

  People saw an enormous stack of cardboard boxes that had been broken down, and several huge rolls of gray duct tape standing on a nearby table. The idea of the race was for a team of three to construct a “boat” from the available cardboard, fastening the pieces together with the duct tape. The rules said the boat must be just large enough for one member of the team, usually the smallest person, to sit in it and paddle with the canoe paddle provided.

  The event was in two stages: the construction of the boat, which was timed, and the race itself, which was not. The first cardboard boat to successfully paddle across the inlet in front of the Link Lake Supper Club would win and go home with a trophy and a crisp, one-hundred-dollar bill.

  At 2:00 p.m., five teams of three waited for the starting pistol shot that announced the official beginning. Young people made up most teams; one team included Noah Drake, Ambrose Adler’s young friend, and two of his school buddies. Another team appeared to be made up of college-aged women, each dressed in a rather skimpy bi
kini, at least not swimwear often seen in Link Lake. One team included three middle-aged men that appeared to have spent a little too much time in the Link Lake Tap.

  The pistol shot echoed across the lake and the contest was on. Noah Drake’s team immediately trotted to the enormous pile of flattened cardboard boxes. Two boys selected cardboard, the third grabbed a roll of duct tape, and they quickly began assembling a boat. They had obviously planned ahead of time what they would do. The college girls began sorting through the pile of cardboard, apparently searching for color-coordinated pieces. The slightly tipsy third group stood studying the pile of cardboard, clearly not knowing how to begin or even what to do. The remaining two teams, both made up of young people, boys and girls, hurriedly cobbled together structures that vaguely resembled boats.

  The second pistol shot announced the ending of the time for boat building and the time to launch the structures into the water. A volunteer in a boat was located just offshore, watching to make sure that everyone was safe, that everyone in the boats was wearing a life jacket, that the rules had been followed, and that any loose debris was picked up. The three tipsy men dragged a mass of tape and cardboard toward the water. They pushed their “boat” into the lake; the man selected to do the paddling tripped and fell over the fragile structure, which promptly sank to the bottom of the lake. Everyone laughed and clapped. The two men remaining on shore fished their partner out of the lake, dragged out the wet cardboard, and bowed deeply to the crowd, which cheered and clapped even louder. The smallest of the three college girls left shore in the bright, multicolored boat with a gentle push from her partners. The young woman, with a big smile on her face, began paddling as slowly the boat beneath her disappeared and she was left holding only the paddle. She swam ashore, while the observer in the boat with a long pole with a hook on the end captured the cardboard. She garnered a round of applause when she walked up the beach.

  The remaining three boats, considerably more seaworthy than the two that had preceded them, moved slowly across the inlet, which was about one hundred yards. Noah Drake’s team’s boat sank just before reaching shore. The man in the boat had trailed along behind them and picked up the young man, who had already started swimming toward shore. The remaining two boats arrived on shore at exactly the same time—the observer in the boat had carefully watched their progress. He picked up both of them and brought all three of them back to the starting place, where the dual winners were announced and a new hundred-dollar bill was handed to each of the winning teams. One of the winning teams had come from Willow River, the other one from Waupaca.

  Sunday, the second day of Trail Marker Oak Days, dawned sunny and cool. The weather report said the high would be in the mid-seventies, ideal weather for almost anything one wanted to do outside. There was little or no wind, so the fishermen didn’t have to fight rough water in their quest for a winning catch.

  Contestants for the Big Bass Fishing Contest roared off in their fishing boats at dawn, to the far corners of Link Lake where they thought a big bass might be lurking. By noon, when the fishing contest was officially over, fishermen, who had to keep their catches alive and release them after they were measured and weighed, lined up to see who was the winner of the event that offered a prize of $500 for the biggest catch. Posted near the landing was a note that said Wisconsin’s record largemouth bass was caught in 1940 and weighed in at eleven pounds. Bass fishermen always hoped they had an outside chance of beating the record as well as winning the cash prize for the largest catch of the day. As it turned out, a fisherman from Princeton caught a five-pound, ten-ounce bass, which proved to be the winner for the event.

  The crowds visiting the booths in the park were the largest ever, according to Emily Higgins. Ambrose Adler’s fresh vegetables sold out by noon each day. He told Emily that he sold more vegetables in these two days than he had the entire month so far.

  A large screen had been erected in one of the booths sponsored by the Link Lake Historical Society that projected moment-by-moment activities of the new eagle family located some distance back in the park and thus not disturbed by the crowds. People stood watching the eagles from early morning until late afternoon on each of the two days of the celebration—it was clearly one of the most interesting of all the exhibits.

  With the quiet backing of the Alstage Sand Mining Company, this second community event was an obvious success no matter who one asked. Karl Adams drove back to his cabin, snapped open a beer, and sat on his patio overlooking the lake. I think all of my hard work is paying off. It was too bad that Emily Higgins had to mention the sand mine, but this one negative feature was surely outdone by all of the fun people were having. Besides, I doubt most people at the event cared one way or the other about that old crooked bur oak tree.

  Karl recalled the old grizzled man who sat at a little vegetable stand at the park. He remembered seeing him at the Fourth of July celebration. He talked with him for a bit at his vegetable stand—at least tried to talk with him, but he was difficult to understand because of his speech impediment. He learned his name was Ambrose Adler and that he had a small vegetable farm just outside of Link Lake.

  Now, as he sat on his patio sipping a bottle of Leinenkugel’s, his thoughts returned to Ambrose. There’s something familiar about that old man. But I can’t put my finger on it. Something about his eyes, those clear gray eyes that seem to look right through you.

  32

  Lake Coffee Bar

  The weeks following the highly successful Trail Marker Oak Days were quiet in Link Lake. These August days were mostly clear and warm, with the daytime temperatures reaching the mid-eighties and sometimes low-nineties. An occasional thunderstorm in the evening freshened things up and kept the farmers happy but did not dampen the spirits of the summer tourists, who reached record numbers in recent weeks.

  By mid-August, workmen completed the remodeling of the Link Lake Supper Club, and the new Lake Coffee Bar opened. Bicyclists traveling the nearby railway bike trail began to find the place and passed the word along to their friends, who were also stopping by. Marilyn Jones had succeeded in hiring a new chef, Pierre Le Page. She hired him away from a top-shelf restaurant—mostly because he had once vacationed in Link Lake and liked the community. He spoke with a heavy French accent, which added a bit of mystique to the supper club. She promoted Shirley Noble, one of her longtime waitstaff, to be in charge of the Lake Coffee Bar.

  Marilyn’s life had once more become easier. Crowds at the coffee bar, though not yet outstanding, were respectable and growing. Customer numbers for dinner had increased considerably, even more than before the Great Recession. Pierre Le Page had added several new French items to the standard menu of steaks and fish. A favorite was boeuf bourguignon, a special recipe of Le Page’s that included beef, dry red wine, Cognac, and several secret ingredients. It was fast becoming a favorite, especially among tourists.

  Marilyn mused about how well Karl Adams’s tactics of creating a series of events to take people’s minds off the sand mine had worked. She had been highly skeptical, but she had to admit, he knew what he was doing. Of course it didn’t hurt that the Alstage Sand Mining Company had poured several thousand dollars into backing the events, from paying for advertising and covering expenses to offering generous amounts of prize money for the various competitions.

  She also had to admit that the eagle cam idea turned out far better than she had anticipated. She had a computer screen set up in the new coffee bar, which continued to attract considerable attention as the two eaglets continued to grow and could often be seen peering over the edge of the big nest.

  She was also pleased that she had not heard anyone talking recently about the plight of the Trail Marker Oak. People had either forgotten about it, or they had accepted the fact that in the name of progress and bringing new jobs to the community, some minor sacrifices had to be made. She was becoming more certain that when she retired from operating the Link Lake Supper Club, she would be remembered for how she had
turned the community around. The new sand mine would clearly put little Link Lake on the map, and she would be viewed as the person who made it happen, the person who brought economic security to a little backwater town that feared facing the future and resisted change at every turn.

  Karl Adams was feeling good too about what he had achieved in the few short weeks since he moved to the Link Lake community. He continued to eat breakfast each morning at the Eat Well and listened to the banter. Trail Marker Oak Days were all the talk for several days, especially because of the large crowd the event brought to Link Lake. Karl overheard Henrietta say to one of Eat Well’s regular customers, “Our little Link Lake is really doing well this summer. Never saw so many people in town since my years of living here. Lots of community spirit. Lots of good times.”

  Karl smiled to himself. His plan to take people’s minds off the new sand mine was working beyond anything he had hoped for. He even noticed people stopping by to look at the big map outside of the village hall, where they could see exactly where the mine would be located. Sometimes two or three people stood in front of the map, talking to each other about it and pointing to various places on the map.

  Karl read the Stony Field columns each week and observed that lately Stony Field had made no mention of sand mining or hydraulic fracturing. He was writing about climate change and how it was affecting the polar bears in the Artic; another column was about water problems in southern California. Karl thought, At least we’ve got Stony Field off our backs. Guys like that can be a real pain.