LIFE IN MIDDLE SPUNK CREEK
(A Place where
life’s a little slower, the sky’s
a little bluer, and tales are a little taller)
“Jake, get yer shoes off the stove for they burn the
durn place down!” Lem watched as the steam rising from
the once soggy deck shoes slowly turning into smoke.
“OK! OK!” Jake grumbled as he shuffled out of the
backroom at the Blue Ribbin Bait Shop. “I was jist unpacken
that new order of ice rods. Furgot I put’em up there.
Shoulda worn my mucklucks today.” Outside, yesterday’s
snow was making the journey from powder to slop to water
under the bright, early January sun.
Jake picked the smoking shoes off the old Franklin fireplace
that sat in the middle of the store. “Ow! Ooo! Ouch!
That’s hot!!,” he screeched as he quickly dropped
them on the floor. He stuck his scorched fingers in his mouth,
waited a moment for the pain to subside and then gingerly reached
for the shoes again. “Well, I won’t be slippin’ n
slidin’ in these again,” he said, as he looked
at the bottom of the still-warm shoes. “ It burnt a
whole new set a treads on the soles.”
Lem shook his head in amusement from behind the cash register. “You
get any more fergetful and they’re goin’ to put
you out to pasture,” he chided his partner.
“I ain’t even drawed on my social security. They
can’t pasture me yet,” Jake retorted.
“That’s cuz you ain’t
never had a real job in yer life,” fired back Lem. “You
been stuck here with me runnin’ this broken down
ole bait shop furever.”
“Ain’t never
made no money, but we’ve sure had a lot of fun,” agreed
Jake. |
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”Wouldn’t trade it fur the world….well…..maybe
fur a hundred bucks a real money on some days.”
The sleigh bells on the front door jingled as the first
customer of the day walked in. “Mighty warm out there for January,” the
big woman said. “Heard it was supposed to get up to
35 today.”
“Hey, Alice,” the boys said, almost in unison. “Want
some coffee?” offered Jake, picking up the old percolator
from the corner of the Franklin stove.
Buffalo Alice was a big woman, taller than both men and
wider than Lem by two. Her 40-seat Roadside Restaurant on
the edge of town catered to truckers, hunters and fishers,
and she ran it with an iron first and a salty vocabulary.
She loved to tell the story of how she had whipped a trash
talking trucker in an arm wrestling challenge, and sent him
out of town with his tail between his legs and his ego in
a similar place. Like all good stories, it got better each
time in the telling, and as it was repeated by “those
who were there” (about
1,400 at last count and growing) it earned Buffalo Alice
a county-wide reputation.
“Sure,” she said, reaching for one of the mugs
hanging on the wall by the door next to the sign that said “ you
can use’m but you gotta wash’m”. She looked
inside the cup, wiped the rim on her shirt tail and held it
out for Jake to pour. “I just got my Christmas letter
from old R.R.,” she said. “Thought you guys would
like to read it. He got a 8-point buck this year. Sent a
picture.”
“How old is he now?” Jake asked.
“He’s 93,” she replied.
“Ain’t he the oldest deer hunter in the state?” Lem
chimed in.
“Naw. He says his neighbor down the road is the oldest.
He’s No. 2,” she said.
“Shoulda had a wife named 'Avis',” retorted
Jake, chuckling at his own humor.
Lem groaned. Buffalo Alice
handed Jake the letter and picture.
RR’s Christmas Letter 2004
“We are having our first snowstorm before Christmas.
It’s wet and melting fast. Probably two inches already.
Voted in Woodbury this year. Hope it counted.
Santa Claus came early today in a delivery truck. He brought
us a new table and chairs so when company comes we can all
sit together.
I’m in charge of spud peeling and other vegetables so
I get to contribute in the kitchen. I showed Shannon how to
make cream puffs. I’m head pickle man. Only made 24
quarts of dills this year. Our pepper crop was great and
we are still eating tomatoes.
We have a policy here. We feed morning doves and don’t
shoot them.
My health is pretty good. Made 93 this year and still have
most of my marbles. I keep them in an old tobacco can. I
do the usual things I’ve been doing for years. Only made
16 wreaths so far. I’m going to make a few more as
time goes on.
I have slowed up on carving but most likely will never quit.
I’ll look in the brush or see an interesting branch on
my apple trees that will make a cane or two. I’ve got
canes in the making most of the time. This summer I made an
old time wheelbarrow from spare parts to hold Dianne’s
potted plants or haul garden supplies around.
I have planted many trees and watched them grow. In the 40s
I replaced some Jack pines in the yard, and now my Spruce tree
is probably two ft. at the stump. That tree is now our hanging
tree and holds our deer during hunting season.
I hunt with two nephews, Art Reuck and Dick Sauer, my son-in-law
Jim, a Cat Skinner Warren Poquette, and Leroy a coworker from
way back. This year I predicted I would get a big buck and
on the first morning of the season I did. Too long a story
for a Christmas letter. Let me just say at 93 I can still get
the job done.
I have a friend, Bob, who took me over to Wisconsin. I always
enjoy that area. We went to three museums. Saw the worlds largest
Musky and lots of old tools like my Dad used. We visited a
carving museum that contained hundreds of pieces carved by
one man. His sister has the collection now. There were carvings
of bugs, fish, birds, etc. and even an elephant. During the
trip we saw two large herds of buffalo. We ate in a place nearby
that served buffalo steaks, sausage, etc. Some steaks were
available for $22 a lb.
I take walks when I can. Don’t use a bike, never had
one. I exercise to keep limber. I still have trouble with
cartwheels.
Merry Christmas and have a great New Year.”
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Check back for more
of the adventures of Lem and Jake as they live “Life
in Middle Spunk Creek” |
