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Spring Thaw

Chapter 6

 

The River Wakes up

Well, the mighty Mississippi, like a bear coming out of hibernation, awoke with a start, broke its icy cover into millions of cakes, and shoved them all at one time downstream. This event then was its invitation to all the birds to return and now populate its surface, and they accepted by flying in huge noisy, busy flocks of all manner of waterfowl.

On land the meadow larks were among the first to return. Lying in our bunks at daybreak we could hear them bringing in the new day with their crystal clear, joyous song—so full of vitality, so happy. Soon robins appeared to yank wiggling angle worms, begin building nests and singing as they labored. Pheasants, crows and blackbirds were everywhere.

Our house was now floating proudly, as was its destiny, and the warm weather caused us to remove the bed spreads from the rear side windows. The room now became light and airy.

An Inkling of Disaster

With only a few hours’ warning, a heavy blizzard and snowfall came down from the north and put about eighteen inches of new snow over most of northern Minnesota. Then a day or so later, not to be outdone, a warm wind came up from the south and met monsoon winds from the northwest, and this set the skies to pouring down heavy rain for twenty-four hours or more. The result was, everything that was frozen now melted, the old ice, the new snow, the old snow, and added its water to that coming from the sky. Now ditches, pipes, waterfalls, creeks, small rivers all dumped their load finally into the Mississippi.

Our first inkling of disaster ahead came when we found Jack asleep on our porch one morning and our gangplank too short because of rising water. We had just filled our wood box but had left a sizable amount of wood in the woodshed near the water. We decided to stay put. In an hour or so we pulled the gangplank aboard and figured we had gone up at least four feet. By three o’clock we had gone up another four feet and were now even with the bank. After supper, water was in our privy and soaking our dry wood in the woodshed. By nightfall the water had risen to the first step of the cabin and would soon enter the door. There was no turbulence where we were and all seemed quiet and peaceful. We filled our lamps and lanterns with kerosene and were happy that we now had good flashlights and extra batteries.

Water up to the Top Windows!

We decided we could nap until ten p.m. so lay down in our clothes, but it was one a.m. when we awoke and heard things swishing past the house. A beam from our flashlights showed the water now up to the top of the windows of the cabin. Debris of all kinds hurried by us in a quick rush, which told us the water was coming over the wing dam. Thank gosh our anchor cable to the tree on the top of the bank was holding stoutly, except that it now slanted downward instead of upward. Debris had collected behind our house and was putting so much pressure on the cable that it was pulling the rear of our house down into the water. Now we put our pike poles again into action, pushing the debris to the side and then preventing further accumulation. Once cleared and a lot of the pressure removed, it took only one of us to keep it so.

When good visibility returned in the morning and we had looked to the north, there was no wing dam, not even a ripple. Looking to the east, Minnesota Island was not visible. Water covered all to the Wisconsin bluffs. To the south, our wood island and a few tree tops were visible. The house of Gus, with smoke from the chimney, could still be seen with safety elevation to go.

To the west, the access road and railroad tracks were flooded, plus the lower parts of the highway.

And the water was still rising, but slowly now.

Standing at the back of the house and pushing off the debris was an education in itself, for we saw many things. Brush, trees, logs, boards, and plants were the main bulk. Many dead animals, hogs, chickens, cows, sheep, and even dead fish came and went. A team of two horses, still side by side, fully harnessed and with bits in their mouths slid past. A football floated on, a dead Holstein dairy cow, legs sticking out and her huge belly distended with putrefaction came up behind us, and when my pike pole came to push her aside, it penetrated her skin, and gas erupted with an evil smell. Small individual hog houses, most intact, came by as well as parts of buildings, such as a roof or a wall, still intact. What looked like a new coffin, about two hundred feet away, went south. We wondered at the time if it was occupied and if so, whether or not he could swim.

A new lock and dam at Dresback, five miles north of us, was planned for construction and toward that end there had been accumulated a huge stack of piling with which to construct a coffer dam. The high water had inundated this stack, and all at once it came tumbling down and pitched itself into the stream. Hundreds of those expensive, pressure treated black sticks now charged downstream in total disarray but were far out and were no threat to us. It was a sight, though.

Standing Firm

The water had now reached the eaves of the cabin, yet it stood firm. Our cable was now slanting at a higher degree and was pulling the rear end of our house down a bit into the water. Our real worry though was that the cable that held us would break and leave us completely at the mercy of the river. Then when the river dropped, we might find ourselves in a farmer’s cornfield two miles from the water, or on top of an island in a grove of trees, or maybe on the railroad tracks. All of these were unpleasant thoughts.

In our area the water reached its highest level at the cabin’s eaves and then slowly began to recede. Less debris was coming down, but the cable was holding us directly south of the tree, and therefore we would come down on top of the embankment. We must be there to push off when the time came, and we did not know when that might be. Finally the top of the wing dam appeared, the river with its strong current was shunted aside and we were able to push off the bank and float over the approximate spot where our winter days had been spent. In time we were lowered to our original level, and our cable again slanted upward. The flood was over.

On scouting our river bank and its buildings, we discovered the cabin was completely intact, not even any windows broken. The woodshed was there, but all our wood had simply floated away. Our modern, state-of-the-art privy was gone, leaving only a water-filled hole, and with no relief in sight for us. We might just as well move on.

During the winter we had prospected and walked a waterway which would rejoin the main river just past the La Crosse bridge on Pettibone Island, where we had located a spot to tie up for the summer. We therefore unwired our hook on the cable, unloosened it, pulled it aboard, and poled toward our waterway a short distance away. We picked up a sluggish current there and waved to Gus and his wife as they stood above us and watched.

Onto our new spot: Pettibone Island

Custom Search

 

We had about four miles to reach our destination and the current was so slow we barely moved. Using our pike poles, each on a side, we placed them in the water then walked the length of the boat, pushing, then carried them forward, and walked a total of eight miles to gain four. About two feet under the water’s surface, we found a rock fence or dam crossing over from side to side. Then about a mile further, there was another one, this one only about eighteen inches under. Ye Gods, the river level was falling, and we might be trapped if there were any more dams. Sure enough there was, and we barely scraped over it. The goal was barely in sight when we came to a dead stop with no clearance to pass over this final obstacle. But we jumped into the water onto the fence and rolled rocks off the top until we could make it over. Once more poling, we reached our spot and anchored, again finding a stout tree for our cable to tie up to.

This was truly a beautiful spot. The rear of our house was pulled into a growth of cattails, while the gangplank went over the side onto a grassy, gentle slope. About a block to the south the main channel flowed past, while to the east a narrow finger of heavily wooded land jutted out. We could barely hear the traffic of the bridge above and behind us, or the noise of the busy city. We were isolated and remote, yet so close to everything. It was ideal for a summer.

Shipshape for summer

We cut a short winding path into heavy brush close by and there dug our hole, built our box, and nailed on our polished factory-made seat. No state-of-the-art this time, just plain utility. Later, we would build walls, roof, maybe a door, depending on what we could find for free.

Having no further need for the wood heater, we dismantled the pipe, carried the stove ashore, and removed the sandbox. After a good scrub down our house looked and felt just like it did when we first lived in it on Lake Johanna, complete with redwing blackbirds singing from the swaying cattails. A bevy of ducks was always around, and tree birds of all descriptions.

In two days we had everything shipshape and were again ready to pursue our individual lives. On counting up our pot, we were pleasantly surprised to find more than sixty dollars there. We decided to split this pot in half, then each put in two dollars every week, which would be used for food, kerosene, strictly household expenses, etc. Our personal items, shoes, socks, toothpaste, etc. we would take care of on our own. In retrospect this simple, natural act, which made sense in a subtle way, was the fork in the road where we began our adventure into our own destiny. I would never again share a money pot without reserve until I became married.

Bonanza

Traffic seemed to be moving over the bridge, which indicated that the roads were now open, so I hiked up through La Crescent and on to Daley’s, who had noted our departure but knew where we now were. We had much to talk about. The railroad had started sending trains over its tracks that day, so he would go back on that job at four p.m. Could I take over? Yes, I could. It was Thursday; business would be slow.

The contractor on the dam had offered thirty dollars for each piling that was received from the flood and which was delivered back to them. To the river people, this was a bonanza, a ripe plum for the picking, and soon boats of all kinds were slowly churning upstream towing one, two, or whatever log pilings. This process continued for a long time, and it was said that some were towed as much as two hundred miles upstream.

Daley had a car and an old Chevrolet pickup truck. He now suggested that I use the pickup to go pick up a keg of cold beer from the Miller High Life Brewing Company in LaCrosse, as needed. What a guy. I now had wheels, and he had someone readily available to fill in, hit and miss.

A Scuffle at Daley's

Construction had now begun on the Dresbach Dam, and I had an application in there for work. A rather frail man with a crippled leg became a timekeeper there and came in after work and had a beer or two. He knew of my need and said he would look out for my interests as best he could. He was always quiet and reserved, never one to become excited. One night he had to stay overtime because of a night crew, and came in about eleven o’clock, and was sitting at the bar near the door having his usual beer. Daley had left for LaCrosse to pick up another keg, for we were running low. Two men and two women had been sitting at the bar having a few beers, and they now left in their car, but in doing so, they ran into my timekeeper friend’s car and dented a rear fender. While they drove off, he calmly stepped out and jotted their license number down. They apparently saw him do this because they turned around, returned, and facing him, demanded the paper back.

The two women were doing this along with much vile language, and finally one of them hauled off and slapped him hard cross the face. This set off a terrible anger in me, and I snatched a pistol from under the counter, cocked it in a thrice, and came around the bar with my finger on the trigger, and was now just a hair breadth away from committing a terrible tragedy. The two men gathered their women and left. I left by the back door and walked down the steps toward the railroad but halfway there became violently sick. It seemed that I would never stop retching, and when it was over I was shaking like a leaf and actually hating myself. Was I after all nothing but a coward, one who had to hide behind a gun?

After a time I heard Daley return and wheel a keg of beer in. Soon a car drove up, and I heard loud voices and a scuffle going on. When I weakly gained the porch and went in, there was Daley standing in the middle of the floor, one sleeve had been ripped from his shirt, and one cheek was bleeding. One of the women was laying on the floor, out cold, and the other sitting in a chair, retching and moaning while her husband was holding her head. All the fight was gone out of them, and Daley told the men to pick up their trash and get out. He then told me they had come in looking for me. One of them had slapped him, and he popped her on the chin. The other had come in like a wildcat, pulled his sleeve off, and when she scratched his face, he had kneed her in the belly. Days later, I asked how he could possibly hit a woman. He said whether it’s a dog, bear, man, or woman, when they attack you, you have the right to resist.

"Grab your hat, we're going to a pow-wow."

I, however, could not shake off the dark thoughts that were mine. The music had left my life, and the smile fled my lips. I could or I would not play for Saturday’s dance, nor would I be there. In my own mind I was worthless, and this mood continued for almost two weeks. Our house in all its solitude, serenity and peacefulness did its best to heal, but the wound was deep.

Then Daley came by and said, ”Grab your hat. We’re going up into Wisconsin to a Chippewa Indian pow-wow at their tribal grounds.” Soon we were en route to Winona, over the bridge into Wisconsin, and north a total distance of some one hundred seventy-five miles. It had started raining lightly and was still coming down when we drove onto the grounds, where Daley’s friend came out of a real bearskin wigwam and conducted us to a small cabin, where his parents lived. It was almost dark, so we moved right in and ate a light supper already prepared for us. It was now quite late, and we were tired. They indicated that we were to sleep in their bed. Daley now presented them with a very small bottle of moonshine. During the night, I woke up many times, and those two were slowly rocking back and forth before a flickering fire in an isinglass stove and crooning softly in a monotone.

Dawn brought happy voices, and looking out the window, we saw about a dozen men decked out in feathers, breechcloth and moccasins, carrying quivers of arrows on their backs, knives at their belts, and carrying bows. They set themselves into a trot and soon disappeared into the trees.

A nice breakfast of corn bread, honey, wild berries, and meat we thought to be venison was brought to we four. It proved to be very tasty, and we ate it with gusto.

Broadening my knowledge of the nature of man

The village consisted of twelve one-room cabins, a fairly large meeting hall and about a dozen wigwams. The people now living in the wigwams were from all over the state. They were doctors, lawyers, clerks, laborers, etc., coming to relive, for a few days, their heritage and act out parts of it. They were good looking, tall, straight, and with strong bony head features. The women were dressed out in beaded doeskin and moccasins, while children chased each other in many kinds of clothes and feathered headbands.

They had a fire going under a huge iron pot (maybe sixty gallons). Along about noon a great cry went up, and out of the woods came the hunters with a small black bear slung on poles and carried by four braves. The women now fell upon the bear with their knives and brought pieces of meat to the pot, and tossed them in. Finally there was enough.

Daley, with his fine sensitivity to the mood of the people, now somehow sensed that these good people would be able to get into their act better if we were not there as observers. What they were doing had a certain religious meaning to them. He therefore looked up his friend and extended many thanks. Our elderly host and hostess were fast asleep on the bed, so after leaving a small gift for each, we returned home a day early. This experience broadened my knowledge of the nature of man, but on that subject there is so much to learn, and learn, and learn. It also helped me part way out of my depression.

 

One morning I just knew I had to walk the river bluffs above the La Crescent Valley. I therefore took our trusty single shot twenty-two rifle to Daley’s, told him where I was going, then climbed from the road to above the waterfalls, where I picked up a game trail and followed it south about one hundred feet below the rim. I wasn’t hunting, just enjoying the beauty of everything.

Eventually I came to a rock slide maybe two hundred feet down and about three hundred feet across. The game trail led across in a zig-zag manner, up and down over rocks, etc. I was past halfway where the morning sun now was warming the rocks, when I spied a large rattlesnake on a flat stone. He was probably still sluggish from the cold, but I didn’t wait to find out. Every nerve I had was now at full power, and I moved along the trail not fast but wary, seeing a bit of movement here or hearing a slithering sound there. Believe me, I wanted more than anything else in the world to be out of that rock slide. Nearing its end, I did hear a hollow rattle behind me, but it sounded far enough away, and I emerged again into cool woodland which was too cold for my slippery friends.

Hiking and Fishing

The wooded area was small, and when I pushed through to the other side, there were two tall, skinny young men standing there, each holding a forked stick and a gunny sack. “Did you see any rattlesnakes coming through that rock pile?” one asked. “Yes,” said I, “and you can have every single one of them.” They had caught snakes before and were delivering them to a place where they milked the venom from their fangs.

Well, I kept looking at them and finally said, “Say, aren’t you Beanstalk Johnson?” “Yes,” he said. “Well, then, you must be Hoehandle Hogan,” I said. “Then you must be Bash Franson,” he said. We had been students together during our sixth grade elementary school and had given each other nicknames, theirs because they were so tall and skinny, and I because I was so bashful. Well, they were anxious to get at their rattlesnakes, and I to get as far away as possible. And so we parted, never to meet again. I took off down a farmer’s wood cutting trail, onto a country road into the city of La Crescent, and then back to Daley’s. Somehow I felt better about myself.

One day a worker from the dam was at the bar and talking about some large catfish he had noticed in a cove about a mile above the dam. Next morning on leaving our house, I put our break-down fish spear in the pickup and covered it with a Bemis bag, like those used to ship one hundred pounds of seed corn. Late that afternoon, I went to this spot. Walking carefully along shore and peering into the clear water, I thought I saw water being switched slowly around by a tail and made out the outline of a huge fish. I jammed the spear hard and the action exploded, but I had him fast and he was soon on shore, where I polished him off with a chunk of wood. We had caught many catfish on trot lines but absolutely nothing like this. When Daley checked it out, he said it was at least twice as big as anything he had ever seen come out of the Mississippi. We wrapped it in a blanket, then drove up to the waterfalls and sloshed it down real good with cold water. At four o’clock the next morning, I drove up to the back door of a butcher shop in LaCrosse and he, after checking the gills, gave me eleven dollars or fourteen dollars, I don’t remember which, for it. I sure wish I had a picture of that one.

Custom Search

A job at the dam with my name on it

Soon after, my lame timekeeper friend came in and said a job was waiting for me at the dam. Next morning at eight o’clock, I was put to work cleaning up after carpenters and taking a bucket of water around to the workers occasionally. The third day at eight o’clock, the foreman asked if I had ever fired a boiler. “Here, I’ll show you what to do,” he said. “Notice how much steam the pile driver is using. Watch the pressure gauge. Shovel in coal to keep the pressure up, and keep track of the water level.” It wasn’t hard to do, and I caught on really quickly. This boiler was on the bank, and the steam was transported to the pile driver by insulated pipes and high pressure hoses. After about ten days of this, I came to work one morning and the boiler was gone. It and the bank it was on were both in the river. They explained that in driving the piling, the river’s current had been directed against the bank, and it had cut away the footing.

I was next to be a truck driver. There was cement to be poured, and a lot of it. A large cement mixer was beside the railroad track, where waiting cars loaded with gravel would be unloaded by large drag lines directly into the hopper of the mixer. Another track held cars loaded with cement, and a conveyer carried their loads to another hopper. Underneath the discharge chute, there was a set of railroad tracks, half size, which led out over the dam on a high trestle that looked mighty skimpy and in fact was a bit shaky.

The truck I was to operate was specially built. It had railroad wheels which fit on the tracks, and had only one speed forward, and the same speed reverse. It had mechanical brakes (air and hydraulic had not yet been invented), and on its back it carried a fifteen yard capacity body with a side dump gate. In operation, we would place the truck under the mixer’s discharge chute and receive fifteen yards of mixed concrete, then go out on top of the trestle to a metal chute and stop at exactly the right spot. A man there would open the gate, and I would clamber up to the side of the body with a spade to push down any clinging concrete. The done and the load delivered, we would reverse to be switched to a side track while the second truck loaded and went up the trestle. Now we pulled forward off the switch track and reversed on the main line to a position under the loading chute. Round and round we went, day after day, while the dam grew. I never did feel exactly safe on this job, because I could feel the trestle trembling under its heavy load, and then the brakes were hard to apply. The brake problem I helped by slipping a pipe over the parking brake handle, which multiplied the pressure. However, I was drawing top wages and was content.

"I wonder if we all have a need within us to become involved in some great and noble deed."

As work progressed, I developed a certain pride and satisfaction in my work, and in a sense the dam became mine. After all, it could not be built without a truck driver, or a carpenter, an engineer, a straw boss or a general manager, could it? We were all of equal value according to our abilities. Today in writing this, I wonder if we all have a need within us to become involved in some great and noble deed and be part of a group effort. It had to be some individual pride that would build the Stonehenge arches in Northern Europe, or the pyramids in Egypt, or the huge stone faces of Easter Island. I was glad that I had the opportunity to satisfy my need.

As the summer passed, I was still at Daley’s maybe half the time. I still played on Saturday nights, still swamped out Sunday mornings to find more money on the floor, and tended bar a bit by filling in when needed. On Fridays after work, I usually went home. It was really very nice, sitting there in the tules, very calm, very peaceful—a time for reflection.

Discovering the River

One Saturday, I decided to row down river about three miles to find a small inlet to a black water pond. A man had told us that we would feel like we were in Dante’s hell when we got there. Well, I found the inlet and rowed into the pond. It sure enough had black water on which green and yellowish scum floated in patches. White tree skeletons stood among grayish cattails and a slight sulfur smell was in the air. Sure enough I felt a certain unease and turned the boat to row out. It was then that a large water snake came swimming toward me. I was still jumpy from my rattlesnake encounter so rested the oars, picked up the twenty-two and shot him. He was of the harmless variety but he surely was a big one. There were several more swimming around, so I rowed back to the river and home.

Jack had been with us when we tied up and then had left. There was no sign of him anywhere, and as time went on we decided he was not coming back. After all, why should he, he had waited all winter to continue his trip with us and now we were tying up for the summer. “I’ll just find myself another pair of know-nothing foolish boys and take care of them,” he said.

Clarence was doing well with his writing but had sacrificed a part of his hours to a part time job. He had also acquired a half blind dairy cow with a calf, and they fed on the lush meadow grass by the river. His small garden was eaten up by all manner of vermin.

We had come upon a very large snapping turtle, and when he fastened his teeth into a stick, we flipped him over on his back and skidded him home. Butchering him was an arduous task, but we gathered a large pan full of white meat which we soaked in salt water. The muscles kept twitching and making the water plink, and this kept my mother awake all night; she had come down on the bus for a two day visit.

Perfect Treasure

The turtle shell and the underplate we dried and then I cleaned and cleaned and polished it. We found directions at the library how best to finish and preserve it, and now had two beautiful shells having the color and appearance of giant clam shells, but infinitely more intricate and detailed. I now set the large shell upside down on the four legs of the plate and secured it with screws, then located a filigreed gold handle from a piece of good crockery, and fitted it to the top shell with tiny screws. Sitting on our bureau, filled with fresh fruit, it was very elegant indeed. Then it was gone, stolen by somebody, and we saw it no more.

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