White Pine
Page 1
White Pine
My Year as a Lumberjack and a River Rat
by Caroline Akervik
Published by
Fire and Ice
A Yount Adult Imprint of Melange Books, LLC
White Bear Lake, MN 55110
www.fireandiceya.com
White Pine, Copyright 2014 Caroline Akervik
ISBN: 978-1-61235-827-7
Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published in the United States of America.
Illustrations by Julie Schaller
Cover Design by Caroline Andrus
Table of Contents
"White Pine"
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Final Thoughts
Glossary
About the Author
Previews
WHITE PINE
My Year as a Lumberjack and a River Rat
by Caroline Akervik
After Sevy Anderson's father breaks his leg in a sawmill accident, the fourteen-year-old must take his place with the rough and tumble lumberjacks and river rats who harvest the white pine forests of Wisconsin. The men of the Northwoods live hard and on the edge, and Sevy must prove his courage and his worth in the company of legends.
Will he become the man he so longs to be?
Will the other men ever accept him?
And will he even survive his first winter in the Northwoods?
Dedication
For Andy, Aslan, Charlotte, and Johan.
This story was inspired by our adventures geocaching one summer not so long ago when you kids were much smaller. On that particular day, we’d learned that old brick building we passed so many times on the way to the hockey rink had actually once been a lumber company office. We talked about the history of the area and what you’d learned at the Chippewa Valley Museum during your third grade field trip there. One of you told me that I should I write a lumberjack story. I wish I‘d managed to get it done sooner, but children grow more quickly than books (as C.S. Lewis pointed out). One day, I hope you’ll pick up this little book and remember our adventures on that long ago, sunshiny day.
Johan, you said there weren’t any books with your name in it. White Pine aims at correcting that little oversight.
Andy, without your love and your patience with my reading, writing and day dreaming, this story and all of the others wouldn't be possible.
This book is meant for girls and boys, but especially for those boys who don’t care for fantasy but who want action and adventure in what they read.
Please excuse any errors or historical inaccuracies in this book. This is a work of fiction and my goal was to capture the spirit and the heart of the lumberjack era in Wisconsin.
Chapter One
~ A Visitor ~
I never planned on working in the pineries. Ma and Pa agreed that the best thing for all of us Andersen kids was to go to school, where we could learn to be good Americans. That was real important to Pa, being the son of immigrants.
Pa said that’s why he’d come here to the United States from Norway, to make things better for his family. Like all the other lumberjacks, he worked the pineries in the winter, ‘cause the logs needed to be cut and ready for the snowmelt. In the spring, the rivers ran high and could carry the logs down to the mills in the sawdust cities like Eau Claire, where we lived. In the summer, Pa worked at the mill just down the road from the house we rented. He worked real hard so that one day we could have a farm of our own. Ma and Pa had been talking about it for so long that it didn’t seem like it would ever happen. And then, Pa got hurt.
On the morning that I told my teacher, Mr. Watters, that I was leaving school, I waltzed in there like I was the president of the United States of America. I didn't even sit at my desk. I just went right up to the front of the schoolhouse, to Mr. Watters.
“Today’s my last day, sir.”
He didn’t pay me no mind. He was too busy looking at what the Nelson twins were doing in the front row—pounding each other, as usual.
"Boys," he said. "That's quite enough of that."
They didn't listen. They never did.
I cleared my throat. "Mr. Watters—”
"Take your seat, Sevy,” he cut me off. “Bob and Will, if I have to come over there.”
"Mr. Watters.” This time, I touched his arm to get his attention. That stopped him. "I'm leaving school for good. I'm going to the pineries, taking my Pa’s place.”
He eyeballed me. Mr. Watters was young, blond, skinny, and kind of a nervous type, but he was a decent fella. He'd come from out East and he dressed sort of fancy for out here in Wisconsin, but he wasn't snooty or anything like that.
"You're leaving school?" He said it like I was planning on killin’ somebody.
“I have to. My Pa can’t work. He broke his leg.”
Mr. Watters’ brow knit—like he was thinking hard about this. He pursed his lips. "Now's not the time for this discussion. Please take your seat, Sevy. Bob, Will, that is quite enough.”
I’d told him. He just wasn’t listening real well. So, I walked out. What else could I do? On my way, I winked at Hugh MacLean, my best friend. His eyes were huge, like he couldn’t believe what I was doing. Most of the other kids watched me jealously, no doubt wishing they were the ones doing the walking out.
Mr. Watters came to our house that night. Us Andersens were just setting down for supper. Mrs. Engelstad, one of my ma’s lady friends from church, had made kroppkakor for us. Folks had been bringing us grub all week, since Pa got hurt. Kroppkakor was one of my favorite suppers. I always put the butter thick on the dumplings. And nothing tasted better than when you bit through them to the salt pork.
Ma had already brought Pa his dinner in the bedroom and the rest of us had just sat down at the table when someone knocked at the door. We looked around at each other. No one generally came by at supper time.
"Are you going to make me get up on my broken leg?" Pa growled from the other room.
I glanced at my ma, who just shook her head. She looked tired, worried, too. She sighed, wiped her hands on her apron and went to the door. The rest of us, me, Peter, my brother, and my little sister, Marta, just stayed where we were, sitting on the benches at the table.
When she opened the door, we saw Mr. Watters standing there. He held his hat in his hands. "Mrs. Andersen?"
"Yes."
He glanced in at us. “I apologize for interrupting your supper, but could I get a word? There's a matter I need to discuss with you."
"Sevy," Ma turned a sharp eye on me. "Have you been causing trouble at school?"
"No, Ma."
"No, he hasn’t,” Mr. Watters agreed. He looked nervous and I didn’t blame him none for that. Ma was a tall woman, a good head and shoulders taller than Mr. Watters, and she had a way about her that didn't brook no nonsense. "But there is a matter of some concern that arose today."
"Come in, Mr. Watters." Ma stepped to the side.
"School teacher, Gus. There ain't no trouble. Or there better not be," Ma spoke the last part direct to me.
I just shook my head. What could I say? Ma usually smiled and laughed a lot, but since Pa had broke his leg just a few days before, she'd been troubled. She’d been growling at us kids near as much as Pa.
"Please take a seat, Mr. Watters," she directed him to the wooden bench by nine-year-old Marta. "Have you had your supper yet?"
Us kids listened close at that. We all wanted as much kroppkakor as possible. We didn’t much like the idea of sharing.
"Thank you. I haven't, but—"
"Peter, get another a plate."
Watters waved a hand. "That won't be necessary. I’ll be here for just a few minutes. It’s about Sevy. Today, he informed me that he will not be returning to school."
I saw the muscle clench in the corner of Ma’s jaw. She picked up her fork real careful, put a piece of dumpling in her mouth and chewed it slow. Still, she didn't look up at Mr. Watters.
I knew she didn’t like me leaving school one bit. I’d heard her arguing with Pa over it every night, and he didn’t like it none, either. But there didn’t seem to be any way around it.
“Pa broke his leg at the mill. A big log rolled on him. Now Sevy has to go to the pineries instead.” Peter spit it all out in a rush. He always talked too much without thinking.
“Peter,” I scolded. Mr. Watters had no right knowing our family business.
"Is this true?" Watter questioned with a disapproving frown.
Ma looked him right in the eye. "Mr. Watters, we always tell our children that schooling is real important, so that they can do something with their lives. But then this accident happened." She paused, leaned forward and spoke softly. "We're hopin that Gus, my husband Gustav, will be on his feet by summer."
"But why does the boy have to sit out the vast majority of the school year? Sevy has a fine mind and he’s a talented writer. He could go far with his education.”
I blushed at the praise. Mr. Watters had never said anything nice about me like that before.
Ma answered, "Gus works in the mill in the summer and fall and in the pineries in the winter."
"I still don't understand. How does this impact your son’s education?"
Figured he wouldn’t. We’d all heard that Watters came from a wealthy family somewhere out east.
"Sevy has to work, so we don't have to move to the poor house," Marta piped up.
“Children, that’s enough,” Ma corrected.
"Yeah, hush," I said, giving my little sister the evil eye. "You shouldn’t talk like that in front of folk who ain't family."
Mr. Watters wasn't a fool, and he looked at all of us seated around the table. He nodded slowly. "Hmm, yes." He cleared his throat. “Well then, Sevy, I’ll look forward to seeing you next fall. This has been a pleasant visit, but I must be on my way. Marta and Peter, I'll see you in school tomorrow. Mrs. Andersen, thank you for your hospitality.”
Ma set her napkin on the table and moved to stand up.
“No please, don't get up,” Watters declared as he placed his hat back on his head. “I'll see myself out. My greetings and good wishes to your husband." He stood there for a minute, eyeing me as if he wanted to say something else but couldn't think of how to put it.
I don’t know what took hold of me, but then I smarted off, "You won't see me back in that schoolhouse. I may like workin’ up north."
"Sevy," Ma snapped and I knew that I'd get it later. As for Watters, he just looked like I'd slapped him one.
“Have a good evening.” He sorta bowed his head to Ma, then left.
Funny, I’d always thought that smartin' off to him would feel good. But it didn't. I felt kind of guilty, that school teacher had looked right sad when I told him I wouldn't be back.
Chapter Two
~ Preparations ~
I wasn't supposed to head north until the weather began to cool. So, for two more weeks, I stayed at home and helped my ma. Pa was like a bear with a thorn in his paw. But when I wasn't working hard, I was dreamin' about what it was going to be like up in the Northwoods, so I didn't mind much. On a Saturday just before I was set to leave, Ma gave me some money to buy some necessaries for myself for the winter.
I made a point of going by the MacLean Tavern on Barstow. The tavern, a narrow store front, was owned by Hugh’s uncle, but Hugh worked there a lot. Sure enough, as the door opened, letting in fresh air, I glimpsed him inside sweeping the floor. Hugh was a tall skinny kid with light reddish hair and green eyes. His folks were from Ireland, and the Irish and the Norwegian folk in Eau Claire didn't tend to mix much. But Hugh was my best friend and had been since we were eight years old when we'd met at school.
“Hey Hugh, want to do some shopping with me?” I called out, feeling real important.
His eyes got big and he almost dropped his broom. “Dia duit. Let me check with my uncle.”
Mr. MacLean said Hugh had to finish up his cleaning chores. With me helping him, though, we were done in no time.
“You think that we’ll have enough left over for some penny candy?” Hugh asked as we headed down the street. We stayed off the wooden boards of the sidewalk, leaving it for the ladies and the rich gents who cared about getting their boots dirty. It had rained the night before, and the sawdust which was always all over everything had soaked the water up and now stuck to our shoes and pants. Eau Claire had a well-earned reputation as a sawdust city. You could even taste the pine in the air.
“Guess who’s been asking after you at school,” Hugh teased.
I didn’t want to seem too interested, that would be just what Hugh wanted and it ain’t the Norwegian way. I might have been only half Norwegian—my Ma was born in the United States and her folks were from Sweden to start—but we were not like the Irish folks. They’d tell anyone just about anything.
“Dunno,” I lied.
“A girl,” he said, “and a pretty one.”
“Your sister Margaret?”
He punched me in the arm hard for that. “Meg’s eighteen and engaged to the baker’s assistant. You know that. This particular girl has been asking how come you ain’t at school no more.”
That got my attention. There was one particular girl who’d caught my eye. Adelaide was her name and she had thick, shiny blond hair and the bluest eyes you ever saw. I don’t think we’d ever said more to each other than “Hello.” But sometimes when I was answering one of Mr. Watters’ questions or reciting in class, I’d look over at her and then she’d blush and look down at her book. I thought maybe she liked me, a little, too.
“Carrie Winters. Why she stopped me just the other day and asked what you were up to.”
I turned to glare at my friend. “Carrie Winters,” I repeated incredulously. “She’s as mean and cantankerous as a mule.”
“She has a twinkle in her eye for you.”
“No, she doesn’t. You’re just making fun.” Hugh wanted me to beg him, but I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. He wouldn’t be able to keep it from me – he was just bustin’ to tell me. We strolled down Menomonie Street until we arrived at Whiteside’s General Store. I swung the door wide and gestured him in.
Whiteside’s was one of those stores that had just about anything a fella could think of wanting. Whenever Ma or Pa came in, they were always looking for something specific, a tool or utensil, maybe some cloth. Then, us kids would wander through the aisles, taking it all in, our eyes wide with wonder. There were smells in there, too: nutmeg and ginger, tobacco, and the ever present pine. Whiteside’s had so many things that I wanted, like store-bought fishing rods. Hugh and I used ones we’d made for fishing the Chippewa River. For the longest time, my sister had had h
er eye on a china doll and my brother, on a rifle he wanted to use for turkey hunting.
But this time, going in was different – I was an actual customer with money to buy things. I sauntered right up to the counter where they stocked the penny candy and said, “Where do you keep the gear for the lumberjacks?”
“Back up against the wall, son,” Augie Whiteside, a big man with a huge black handlebar mustache directed me. “You’re looking for the Nor and Blum goods. What size is your father?”
From behind me, I heard Hugh snort.
“We’re shopping for me, not for my Pa. I’m going to be a lumberjack with the Daniel Shaw Lumber Company.” I stood up straight then so that he could see how tall I was. I was taller than most men, had been since I was twelve, and now at fourteen I wasn’t scrawny like Hugh. I’d always been thicker set and strong, but Ma said I had a “baby-face” that made me look young. I took after my Ma with her blond hair and brown eyes. I wished I took more after Pa, though. He was big, strong as an ox and his face was tough looking.
Mr. Whiteside eyed me up and down skeptically. “Most boys your age at the lumber camps work as cookees. They need different gear than the jacks. You sure you’re not signed up to be a cookee?”
“No, I’m gonna be a sawyer.” I didn’t dare to voice my real ambition which was to be a top loader. Everyone in a sawdust city like Eau Claire knew that the top loaders were the royalty of the logging camp, and there was no chance that any self-respecting Push would let a wet-behind-the-ears fourteen year old do that job.