Image Lake: A Novel

By James M. Scott

Set in the Glacier Peak Wilderness of the North Cascades, Image Lake is a stirring hymn to Nature's grandeur and its unfailing power to awe, sustain, and heal us. The lure of a high-mountain lake surrounded by rugged heights serendipitously brings together four misfits: a beleaguered Indigenous woman for whom Image Lake is sacred; a former backcountry ranger who has tried writing an eco-fiction novel about the area with little success; a New York City lawyer and fixer for a mining company who has broken almost everything and everyone in his path, including himself; and a professor of religious studies who, after thirty-three years of teaching and being the only Black person at every faculty meeting, feels burned out. Together, this unlikely fellowship laments the physical, mental, and spiritual damage that results when we are separated from Nature and from each other. But this unconventional novel is not just unflinchingly pessimistic; it is also resiliently hopeful as it confronts the clash of worldviews, breaks down rigid barriers--the "us vs. them" dichotomy and the "that's not my backyard" mentality--and refuses to let despair be the final word. Image Lake explores what it means to find deep friendship even when the world is falling apart. The result is a rich and luminous story, told with profound insight, emotional sensitivity, and a delightful touch of humor. It will leave you with the sense of standing before an impossible task with unexpected energy to take the first step.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Resource Publications
• Release date: Nov 21, 2023
• ISBN: 9781666765892

James M. Scott

James M. Scott (DTheol, University of Tübingen) is professor of religious studies at Trinity Western University, British Columbia, Canada. He is the author of Paul and the Nations and Adoption as Sons of God, and is a recognized expert on the topic of exile and restoration in Jewish and Christian perspectives.

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Image Lake

A Novel

James M. Scott

Image Lake

A Novel

Copyright © 2023 James M. Scott. All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in critical publications or reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without prior written permission from the publisher. Write: Permissions, Wipf and Stock Publishers, 199 W. 8th Ave., Suite 3, Eugene, OR 97401.

Resource Publications

An Imprint of Wipf and Stock Publishers

199 W. 8th Ave., Suite 3

Eugene, OR 97401

www.wipfandstock.com

paperback isbn: 978-1-6667-6587-8

hardcover isbn: 978-1-6667-6588-5

ebook isbn: 978-1-6667-6589-2

version number 10/16/23

The following poems are used by permission:

Tony Hoagland, Field Guide from Unincorporated Persons in the Late Honda Dynasty. Copyright © 2010 by Tony Hoagland. Reprinted with the permission of The Permissions Company, LLC on behalf of Graywolf Press, graywolfpress.org.

George Swede, Department Meeting, First Light, First Shadows (Liverpool, UK: Snapshot Press, 2006), 38.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover photo credit: U.S. National Forest Service (public domain): https://www.flickr.com/photos/forestservicenw/22049500741/in/album-72157662089130996/

Table of Contents

Title Page

Part I

Florence Edgars

1

2

3

Carl Caulfield

4

5

6

7

8

Bernie Santos

9

10

11

Julie Allison

12

13

14

Part II

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

For Gail

You of course know that this whole policy has grown out of your three articles printed in The Century, which in turn grew out of our talk by the campfire on the upper Tuolumne. —Robert Underwood Johnson, in a letter to John Muir on preserving Yosemite as a National Park (Feb. 21, 1893)

I gratefully acknowledge that my wife, Gail A. Scott, collaborated with me in writing this novel and contributed several poems.

Part I

Florence Edgars

1

In the beginning, water covered the Earth completely. After the reign of water for time immemorial, the Great Spirit undertook to make land appear. Soon, the tops of the mountains began to poke above the water, and they continued their ascent until their mighty heads reached above the clouds. These eminences in turn gave rise to further creations, including the four-leggeds and the two-leggeds.

And so it was that, a long way from that time, on a mountain pass high above the teeming trees and the flowing Stehekin River, a young woman—really only a girl—sat huddled on the ground under an old wooden shelter, having prepared herself through fasting and ritual bathing in a nearby stream. The moment of truth had finally arrived. The air was full of messages as daybreak rapidly approached. The Great White Mountain Mother spoke things in the language of creation, with words that accomplish what they proclaim.

She said: You are on sacred ground. Be humble before me.

With head bowed, the girl raised her hands in an attitude of prayer and receptivity.

She said: My roots go deep into the earth, deeper than any tree’s. My crown thrusts high into the sky, higher than any bird’s.

The girl did not dare to look up.

She said: You have come from me, and I am the source of your life. Go forth from here and continue my creative work below in the way that I will show you. Raise up a proud people who will live peacefully and harmoniously in this sacred place. My spirit and power will be upon you. You are now Sbadil, Mountain. You shall think like a mountain. You shall act like a mountain. You shall be strong like a mountain. You shall be the source of life like a mountain. Go now, Sbadil, and return to my people.

The girl laid a small pouch of tobacco on the ground under the eaves of the cedar shelter. She thankfully accepted the blessings and her appointed task.

Peaks far and wide chimed in: The vision quest has been answered! Dakobed, the Great White Mother Mountain, has spoken. She has been heard and obeyed.

The ground seemed to quake, and a spire of smoke rose from Dakobed’s summit. The girl paused for a moment. Then she quickly donned her clothes, descended the mountain, and made for home.

2

It is said that after her vision quest, Phyllis Edgars seemed to glow from the experience. There was a spring in her step. A new determination entered her already strong body. She had purpose and direction, together with an indwelling empowerment to achieve her goals. She now knew what needed to be done.

Yet for all that, Phyllis was a person of very humble means. Along with the man whom she eventually married and with whom she had six children, Phyllis barely eked out a living on the land, doing whatever could be done to survive in a rapidly changing environment. For the state and federal governments had turned their gaze upon her people’s land, and government workers had been nosing about in recent weeks.

Momma! Those land surveyors are back, cried Phyllis’s daughter, Florence.

"Oh, what do they want now? They were just here last week. Didn’t they get enough measurements back then?"

Phyllis dropped what she was doing in the house and went out to investigate the situation. She aggressively approached the man who appeared to be in charge.

Morning, ma’am, said the surveyor as he expelled a wad of chewing tobacco that landed a few yards to the left of Phyllis’s feet. Without even acknowledging the woman, the other workers continued with their work, establishing boundaries and hammering in stakes around the Edgars’ property.

And who might you be, sir?, asked Phyllis.

Edmund S. Grady—Pacific Northwest Survey, Incorporated, said the man.

"Well, Mr. Grady, what, may I ask, are you all doing again taking those measurements on my land? It’s not for sale."

Are you kidding? This land belongs to the United States Government. I’m just here to parcel it up.

You can’t just come in here and say that what’s mine is now yours and then proceed to divide it up like that!

You’re behind the times, lady. This land is considered ‘vacant’ and ‘unused’—a big, empty wilderness—and there are Big Plans for it.

‘Vacant’ and ‘Unused’? That’s a load of rubbish. As you can plainly see, I’m living here, my house is right over there. Phyllis pointed in the general direction of the house while keeping a sharp eye on the man wearing a yellow hard hat and chewing a plug.

You mean that shack over there? You callin’ that a ‘house’? Well, you’ll have to do better than that if you want to keep this land. The new law requires ‘improvements’ on the land to maximize ‘proper utilization.’

"What do you mean by ‘improvements’ and ‘utilization’? How can you improve on the use of land as a home where a family lives?"

Well, the U.S. Government looks at things a little differently and much more pragmatically. The Government Land Office thinks of improvements like cutting down the timber in the forests, mining the ore in the mountains, or planting cash crops on the arable land. Stuff like that. It’s all about production and consumption. Hunting and gathering is passé.

Well, in case you hadn’t noticed, I have planted fruit trees and crops on this land. Look over there. Phyllis waved her hand across the whole front of her property.

"Those are real nice, but they won’t make much of an impression on the Feds in Washington, D.C. They have bigger fish to fry, I’m afraid. They plan to confine all the Natives to reservations and then use the empty wilderness in a proper way. You know, make something out of it instead of just letting it sit here untapped. This land needs Resource Development and Extraction. You’re standing in the way of Progress, you see?"

Yes, I think I’m starting to see quite clearly. You want to take control of this land for profit, land that doesn’t even belong to you in the first place. Our Indigenous way of life is not enough for you. You aim to create a world ruled by surveyor’s maps, reports, laws, bureaucrats, and commodities. That’s nothing more than the expropriation of our sacred land.

The surveyor looked surprised at the ferocity of this diminutive creature, so formidable and intelligent. She seemed to be more like a powerful volcano than a mere woman. What was the source of her mettle?

How would you feel if I suddenly showed up on your property and started planting arrows around the land I was planning to steal?

Suddenly, the man snapped to and sought to retake control of the situation.

Look, lady, you can stomp your feet and beat your war drum all you want. Your way of life isn’t going to cut it anymore. Times are a-changin’, and you and your kind are gonna be out of here in short order. In any case, your beef isn’t with me. I’m just the guy who makes the maps. If you have a problem with what’s going on, you need to take it up with the powers that be. And good luck with that, by the way!

The surveyor laughed gruffly and saluted Phyllis mockingly as he turned away from the woman, who stood there with her hands on her hips.

Come on, boys. Plant that sign over there and let’s get on with the show. With that, he beat a hasty retreat and continued up the Stehekin River valley to the next tract of land due for surveying.

Momma, said Florence, did you notice that you couldn’t see that man’s eyes? When you look at someone, you’re supposed to see something—a spark, a glow, a fire. But when I looked at the surveyor, I couldn’t see his eyes.

That’s right, dear. People should be able to look you straight in the eye, and you should be able to see their good heart. When you can’t see their eyes, it’s a sign of evil taking root.

Momma, cried Florence, what did that man mean when he said we’re ‘gonna be outta here’?

Oh, don’t mind him, dear. He’s just a gasbag. They can take all the measurements they want. We’re not leavin’ this land. We gave them an inch; they took three thousand miles. That ends right here and now.

But what power do we have against the whole U.S. Government? Don’t they just grab whatever they want? And if anyone stands in their way, they merely run them over like a herd of wild buffalo. Momma, I’m scared. The girl began to sob.

Let me tell you a story, Phyllis said, as she brushed her daughter’s tears aside. Phyllis always taught her children in stories. These traditional stories normally included a predictable cast of characters, such as Raven, Coyote, and Bear. But the present story was different in that it was about more recent events in human history.

It is said, Phyllis continued, that when the U.S. Government first started negotiating with the Native tribes in the Puget Sound upon the creation of the Washington Territory, the Government sent a little man named Major Isaac Stevens who loved to make long, impressive speeches and talk down to his Indigenous audience. The white man would refer to the assembled tribes as ‘our children’ and address Chief Stehekin, as ‘my son.’ They say that when it came Chief Stehekin’s turn to respond, he drew himself up to his full height (he was about six feet, six inches tall), reached down to pat the little man’s head, and began, ‘My father. . . .’ The Native people burst out laughing at the sight. Flo, do you see the lesson here?

The girl thought for a moment and then responded resolutely, "Momma, I think Chief Stehekin shows us that it is possible to stand up to these bullies, even if they do represent the U.S. Government itself."

"Absolutely right! I’ve been on this land since I was a child. My mother and father, your grandparents, are buried here. I’ve given birth to and raised six children on this land. I’ve buried my husband, your father, in this ground. I’ve planted fruit trees and camas tubers, maintained berry patches, raised a barn, built a smoke house, and made plenty of other so-called ‘improvements.’ When times were tough, I even worked a crew of men in the timber. I’m tellin’ ya, Flo, this land is ours, and I aim to keep it that way. And it’ll be passed on to you and your sisters one day. You will always have access to the camas beds that we cultivate and maintain here and that are marked out by rocks to show they’re owned."

But the man said that all our people are affected by this new governmental policy. We’re all going to be confined to a ‘reservation’ like all the other tribes.

Dakobed, our Great White Mother, will never allow that to happen. I feel it in my bones. We live in the hands of the Great Mother. Your father’s dying words instructed me to plant his bones in this land and never let it pass to the white men. Now tell your sisters to go out and remove all those stakes in the ground and that sign that the surveyor planted in front of our land. The Creator has already surveyed the land by making rivers and mountains, naming them as the landmarks which divided our lands from our neighbors’ lands. We don’t need any more surveyors.

What do you think the sign says, Momma?

We’ll find out when we visit our friend, William Salter, in Tacoma. He will write a letter to the government for us. We may be illiterate, but we’re not ignorant. No way are these people going to succeed in driving us off our land. This is not just a legal matter involving the U.S. Government. The Great White Mother Mountain has decreed our very existence and our right to live on her sacred land. Those intruders are on shaky ground. Living here requires caution and respect for the land, but the white man only wants to blast away mountains and strip away forests. Watch out! Mark my words! They do not know who they’re dealing with.

Little did Phyllis realize at the time that writing to the U.S. Government and seeking justice would become a decades-long quest for her and her children. Her lifelong battle against dispossession would be passed on to her daughters.

Soon, however, her beautiful Stehekin River valley, nestled beneath Dakobed, the Great White Mother Mountain, would be inundated with white settlers. She would be hemmed in on all sides, forcing her to adopt the ways of white civilization or perish. To make matters worse, the Federal Government would designate that the Edgars’ Stehekin River home fell within the newly established Washington Forest Reserve. Suddenly and without warning, the U.S. Forest Service would withdraw the nation’s forests from the Government Land Office, responsible for the transfer of lands from public to private domain, and from the Office of Indian Affairs, responsible for administering Indigenous land rights and federal treaty obligations. The U.S. Forest Service would aim to manage America’s forests for the greatest good for the greatest number for the long run, and the Sooes-Stehekin people like Phyllis and