Read The Great Sand Fracas of Ames County Online
Authors: Jerry Apps
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Terrace Books, a trade imprint of the University of Wisconsin Press, takes its name from the Memorial Union Terrace, located at the University of WisconsinâMadison. Since its inception in 1907, the Wisconsin Union has provided a venue for students, faculty, staff, and alumni to debate art, music, politics, and the issues of the day. It is a place where theater, music, drama, literature, dance, outdoor activities, and major speakers are made available to the campus and the community. To learn more about the Union, visit
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The Great Sand Fracas of Ames County
A Novel
Jerry Apps
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Terrace Books
A trade imprint of the University of Wisconsin Press
Terrace Books
A trade imprint of the University of Wisconsin Press
1930 Monroe Street, 3rd Floor
Madison, Wisconsin 53711-2059
3 Henrietta Street, Covent Garden
London WC2E 8LU, United Kingdom
Copyright © 2014 by Jerry Apps
All rights reserved. Except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles and reviews, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any format or by any meansâdigital, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwiseâor conveyed via the Internet or a website without written permission of the University of Wisconsin Press. Rights inquiries should be directed to
[email protected]
.
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Printed in the United States of America
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
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Apps, Jerold W., 1934â, author.
The great sand fracas of Ames County: a novel / Jerry Apps.
pages    cm
ISBN 978-0-299-30070-8 (cloth: alk. paper)
ISBN 978-0-299-30073-9 (e-book)
1. Sand and gravel mines and miningâWisconsinâFiction.
2. Conservation of natural resourcesâWisconsinâFiction.
I. Title.
PS3601.P67G74 Â Â Â Â Â Â 2014
813â².6âdc23
2014012643
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To
Steve, Sue, Ruth, and Kateâ
all had a hand in creating this book.
7. Link Lake Historical Society
9. Ambrose, Ranger, and Buster
11. Economic Development Council
13. Historical Society Meeting
14. When Ambrose's Life Changed
37. Oscar, Fred, and the Protestors
The idea for this novel came from a discussion my son, Steve, and I had when we were canoeing and fishing the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness of northern Minnesota three years ago. The fish weren't biting and Steve put up with (and had some great responses) to my “what if ” questions as the foundation for this novel emerged.
Along the way, my wife, Ruth, offered her usual excellent comments. She reads all of my writing, both fiction and nonfiction. If my writing doesn't get past her, it goes nowhere. Once again, my talented daughter, Susan Apps-Bodilly, who also is an author, read and critiqued several drafts of this novel and offered many useful suggestions. Kate Thompson, editor extraordinaire, has an uncanny ability to spot weaknesses that I don't see and a structure that is less than satisfactory. She gave me several pages of suggestions of what to leave out, what to add, and how to arrange things so they made sense. Much thanks to all of those who read, reread, and helped this project through its many revisions and rewrites.
I especially want to thank Sheila Leary, press director; Raphael Kadushin, executive editor; and Andrea Christofferson, marketing and sales manager, all with the University of Wisconsin Press, for their continued support of my work. It is very much appreciated.
T
he whine of a chain saw assaulted the quiet of the new day as the mists rising from the waters of Link Lake slowly drifted west and the sun's first rays broke the horizon, illuminating the brilliant autumn colors of the maples and the aspens, the oaks and the birches that clustered on the hillsides around the lake. Three men walked from their truck. One carried a chain saw; the other two carried axes. The chain saw operator, a burly man in his fifties, his face hidden under an orange safety helmet, revved the machine a couple of times like a teenager with a new driver's license and permission to drive his father's car alone for the first time. The men, all professional loggers, walked the short distance from their truck. The chain saw operator held the saw well in front of him, the saw sending off little spurts of chain oil. As the trio approached the old bur oak tree that they were ordered to cut this October day, they saw something emerging from the mistâsomething that surprised them. The chain saw operator shut off his machine and fished a cell phone out of his pocket to call his supervisor. “Boss, we've got a problem.”
Driving his team of horses on his way home from one of his infrequent visits to his doctor, Ambrose Adler was thinking that old Doc Stevens was right. The doctor had told him, “Ambrose, you keep doing what you're doing and you'll have a heart attack. And that will be it.” He said it without the hint of a smile, so he obviously meant it.
Ambrose Adler was born in 1933 on a hilly, sandy farm located a mile west of the Village of Link Lake. For his entire life, he refused to be caught up in the wave of technology that began to sweep through Ames County in the 1950s and continued to this day. He raised a big garden and sold fresh produce during the summer months at a little stand he operated alongside the country road that trailed by his farm on the way to Link Lake. He had no electricity and no telephone, but he did have a battery-operated radio. He heated his ramshackle house with a wood stove, had no indoor plumbing, and continued to plow his hilly fields with a sturdy team of draft horses. He did not own a car and drove his team to town or most often walked there. Ambrose's long scraggly hair was white, his knees were bad, and he had arthritis that flared up especially on cool damp days, but his gray eyes were clearâand so was his mind.
When Ambrose arrived home from the doctor, Ranger was at the door to greet him. Ever since he was a young boy, Ambrose had kept a pet raccoon. The one he had now he had named Ranger because, with his little mask, the animal reminded him of the Lone Ranger, one of Ambrose's heroes when he was a young lad.