Lakeside Imagination

By Unemployed Idealist

Lakeside Imagination is a collection of short stories with an interesting history. Long before they were written down, the stories were told to the inmates at a jail in a small northern Minnesotan county. The ideas in the stor

• Language: English
• Publisher: BlueInk Media Solutions
• Release date: May 1, 2024
• ISBN: 9781641338042

Unemployed Idealist

Twenty-five years ago, having just left the military, Unemployed Idealist embarked on an experiment. Instead of trading the hours of his life for money in hopes that at the end of the day (or week, or year, or career) a comfortable surplus would remain, he wanted to see if it was possible to do first what he believed was most important. In addition to a host of unexpected destinations, this experiment led him weekly to the county jail where, as a volunteer, he has honed his skills as a storyteller, enlivening lessons of life and faith in the imaginations of his friends behind bars.He and his sons built a home in the woods of Northern Minnesota up the hill, from his father's cabin, where he and his wife are ready to welcome home any of their seven children, eight grandchildren, or dozens of auxiliary family members, who could make in time for dinner.

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Lakeside Imagination: Volume 2

Copyright © 2024 by Jeremy Davies. All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

The contents of this work, including, but not limited to, the accuracy of events, people, and places depicted; opinions expressed; permission to use previously published materials included; and any advice given or actions advocated are solely the responsibility of the author, who assumes all liability for said work and indemnifies the publisher against any claims stemming from publication of the work.

ISBN 978-1-64133-804-2 (e)

2024.04.05

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XL

XL got his nickname in third grade. It wasn’t particularly imaginative, just his initials, but it stuck. His mother had given him the name Xavier to balance the rather plain last name, Larson. But, unique or not, it was much easier for the boy to say Call me XL than to try to teach American linguistic sensibilities the hard X s ound.

As Xavier grew up, he seemed to grow into the nickname XL—extra-large. XL was taller and heavier than any of his classmates and continued to pull ahead of them. By his sophomore year in high school, he was 6’4" and a solid 250. For all the bulk, he was still quick. He was already one of the starting running backs on the football team, a defense lineman for the hockey team, and a catcher for the baseball squad.

It wasn’t just his size that made him indispensable to the athletic program. The other intimation of his nickname was just as descriptive. XL. Excel. XL had a fierce competitive spirit directed much more toward himself than towards others. He was constantly driven to improve himself. He would seek the greatest challenge he could find, and when he had mastered it, he would find another. This impulse to seize the day gave him a dynamism, often propelling him to positions of informal leadership. People wanted to follow him. As a result, his classmates energetically recruited him to ensure the success of any endeavor they were undertaking. And not all the endeavors were parentally approved. XL frequently participated in the best parties where he could be counted on to find a way to liven up any gathering. As one of his friends commented, It was just a bunch of kids hanging out until he got here. That’s when the party started.

Fortunately, XL avoided any serious trouble through graduation. Immediately, he began taking classes at the local technical school. His grades had everyone suggesting a successful college future, and several schools recruited him to play football, but XL was anxious to do something real. He studied welding at the tech school and soon found himself leading the class. His personal drive to challenge himself pushed the instructor to the limit. Any time the instructor mentioned a particular skill that was difficult to learn, XL immediately began attempting it, whether it was part of the course of study or not. He graduated with more certifications than any previous student and more job offers. But XL wasn’t drawn toward working in fabrication; he wanted adventure. And for a welder, there is perhaps no greater opportunity for adventure than on Alaska’s North Slope.

If you travel north in Alaska, you will find that civilization, as we know it, holds its last outpost just north of Fairbanks. If you continue north, traversing many miles of wilderness, you will cross the Arctic Circle and still not close to the road’s end. The end of the road is an area called the North Slope, a region sparsely inhabited but rich in oil. The people who draw the oil from the frozen earth and direct it on its way south via the Trans-Alaskan pipeline work in some of the most trying conditions in the world. Because their job is so strenuous, many are on a schedule that leaves them on site for two weeks of long hours, allowing them to leave for an alternate two weeks back at their homes, wherever their homes may be.

Working in extremes of darkness and light and almost incomprehensible cold drew XL to apply. His certifications and the glowing references from his instructors gave him the ticket to a job on the Slope. He loved the abundance of challenges in that environment and quickly became known and respected as the one who would take the most demanding jobs and do them better each time he was assigned to them.

Even more than the challenges of work, XL loved the two weeks he had to play. And, for the first time, he was making enough money to buy the toys he loved to use. Within a few years, his driveway looked like a genuine Alaskan driveway. On one side was the snow machine trailer with four places: one for his work machine, a long track sled with snow shoes, reverse gear, and a winch mounted to the back rack; one for his fast sled, a boisterous mountain package with three-inch paddle tracks and enough power to take him up the steepest slopes; and two spaces for the sleds of any friends who went along for the adventure.

Behind the trailer (or in front as the season dictated) was a boat trailer with an Alaskan-style river boat. Unlike most civilized lakes, in Alaskan waters, you may not see another person on your fishing trip. As a result, little care is given to the appearance of a boat. However, great care is given to its reliability. The bottom is flat in the style of a jon boat, and the motors do not have the traditional propellers. The propeller is replaced by an attachment that looks like an old-fashioned hair dryer. The water is drawn into the impeller and forced out with sufficient speed to push the boat up onto step. Once the boat is planing, it can skim quickly over places where the water is little more than three or four inches deep. To give added reliability, boaters opt for two smaller engines rather than one large outboard. The boat’s interior contains two large saddle tanks and sufficient floor space to hold a moose.

XL’s boat had taken him on many adventures up and down the Tanana, the Chena, the Delta, and the Yukon Rivers and had never left him stranded. He was proud of the boat and kept it in the best shape that care and maintenance could keep a craft that spent its time out playing, not sitting pampered in a garage.

Parked beside the boat was the Truck, a thoroughly Alaskan vehicle. It was a one-ton, four-wheel drive Ford with a full back seat and four doors. A lift kit raised the Truck high enough to fit an aggressive set of all-terrain tires with tread so deep that on the highways, the high-pitched hum of the tires on the road almost drowned out the throaty rumble from the dual glass-pack exhaust. But the highway was only the reluctant home of the Truck. It thrived on the roads and trails branching off the main thoroughfares where not only its four-wheel drive became a necessity but also, occasionally, the winch and once the roll bars.

The Truck was sufficient to get XL almost anywhere he wanted to go. But when the road ran out, and there were still adventures to seek, there was one more toy to turn to. It was XL’s pride and joy and the only toy that got a permanent space inside the garage. When it was purchased, it was a Polaris six-wheel drive ATV. But since its arrival, it had undergone many changes. After adding all the typical accessories (i.e., a gun rack, a winch, a searchlight, etc.), the two sets of rear wheels had been removed and replaced with caterpillar tracks.

At this point in the ATV improvement project, XL was assigned to a unique project at work. He was on a team fabricating a new testing rig from an ultra-light alloy. The alloy was difficult to weld properly and presented just the challenge that XL loved. With his supervisor’s permission, he began collecting scraps of the material to practice welding on them. While welding the odd-shaped pieces together, he conceived another improvement for his ATV. He fabricated watertight pontoons which he could attach to his ATV. From the seat level down, any space that was not occupied was filled with a precisely-shaped pontoon. Tanks were mounted along the frame, inside the rims, surrounding the back axle, and in dozens of other places. The first test drive was a moment of some concern for XL, but just as he had planned, the ATV only sank about fourteen inches into the lake where he had driven it before the buoyancy of the many pontoons took effect.

With phase one of the amphibious ATV validated, XL began phase two. He added a transfer case to the drive shaft that allowed him to shift power from the rear tracks to a set of propellers mounted just behind the rear axle. The results were not stunning if you compared it to a boat. The ATV wallowed through the water with the grace of a yearling moose, but it was a serviceable amphibious vehicle. Rivers were no longer an obstacle to the summer explorer.

Early in the process, XL had named the vehicle Alice, which didn’t sound particularly rugged but stretched nicely to an Alaskan-sounding name. It was a utilitarian vehicle, but with a slight condescension to his vanity, XL spent the money to make official-looking decals for his one-of-a-kind Polaris Borealis XL.

Although Alice was most at home in the outer reaches of civilization, XL could not resist occasionally taking it out along the Tanana River just south of Fairbanks, where there tended to be more people. He loved watching their faces as he drove his ATV up and out of the river. The many admirers invariably asked the same question, Where did you get it? When he told them he made it, XL was gratified by the doubts expressed. The consensus was that it looked factory.

Dan White owned The Outpost, one of Fairbanks’ biggest ATV dealers. After getting more than twenty calls asking about the new Borealis, his curiosity was piqued, and he finally tracked down XL’s name and number and called him at home. After fielding a few questions, XL invited Dan to look at Alice. Dan was impressed just looking at it, but XL insisted he see it in action. As Dan put it through its paces and saw its performance was as good as it looked, he slowly became more thoughtful.

Finally, he spoke, XL, I think they could put this into production. I’ve got to make a call, but if you are willing to sell, I think we could make a deal.

Sorry, it’s not for sale.

Just wait until you hear what we have to offer, Dan countered.

It doesn’t matter, I could never replace it.

I’ll take your ‘no’ as a ‘maybe’ until I tell you the best we can do.

Before XL left for the Slope the next week, he had an offer. Polaris was prepared to pay $50,000 for his Borealis XL. Dan was right; XL was considering a ‘maybe’ as he left for two weeks of work.

Nothing clears your mind as good as hard work. By Tuesday, the question had evolved into something quite philosophical. XL was wondering, How much is enough? The fifty grand sounded nice, and he could think of ways of spending it. Then he realized he would spend the money buying what he already had. Only the new ATV wouldn’t be Alice, would it? Not because he was that sentimental but because part of what made it fulfilling was the personal effort it took to make it unique. He would be putting a price on an intangible asset, his satisfaction. Admittedly, the amount would compensate for the satisfaction, but it didn’t change any fundamentals, did it? The money would disappear, but the satisfaction was his to keep.

By Thursday, he realized that most of modern human economics was caught up with trying to put a price on intangibles. Society moved beyond buying goods and services to trying to purchase emotions and feelings… or, worse, trying to sell them. He could sell his satisfaction for a price, but it was a price that still would get used up. Maybe it would be worth it, but not unless the amount was enough to fundamentally change his relationship to money. If he could get enough to pay off all of his debts, enough to spend his days doing whatever he chose to do, enough so that he never again would have to worry, then it might be worth it. But not for fifty grand.

During his second week, he revisited his decision many times but always returned to his original position: he would keep the ATV. On Sunday evening, after returning from the Slope, he took it out for a ride and knew he had made the right choice. It was a triumph of his creativity and diligence—a triumph of satisfaction. Monday morning, XL got up early and left a message for Dan. He was sure of his choice but preferred not to have the offer raised. To avoid a callback, XL headed downtown to get breakfast.

Now, Alaskan society is very much driven by seasons. Not just the seasons of the year but the seasons of activity; hunting season, blueberry season, and salmon season each have their place in the collective Alaskan consciousness. But there is a short period in early autumn when your freezers are packed to the top with salmon (even though a few might be running late in the Clearwater), you have picked your fill of blueberries, softball is done for the summer, and moose hunting is only in the dreaming stage. XL’s two weeks off fell right in the middle of this season-less season, and after the heavy thinking he had been doing, he was ready for some fresh air. He was going out to breakfast, hoping to find inspiration for an adventure.

At its heart, Fairbanks is a small town, and in any small-town restaurant, there is the American incarnation of the stammtisch, an informally reserved table occupied by a particular group. In addition to all its other seating, the café XL chose had three such tables. The first was patronized by the Main Street business people. In the summer, when they are too busy to eat a leisurely breakfast, the table feeds the tourists, which keep them busy. But now, at the close of the summer season, they began to return to their winter habits of a slow cup of coffee accompanied by their neighbor’s rendition of the local news.

The second table was the realm of the dog mushers, a paradoxical group of dreamers grounded in the reality of too many mouths to feed. But they were committed. Fairbanks is the only town where a neurosurgeon with a dog kennel would list his occupation as a dog musher.

The third table was the gold miners’. Until it was popularized on a TV show, most people thought of gold miners as something out of the past, but they are still alive and well, even if they are not particularly wealthy or grizzled. Their equipment consists more of backhoes and bulldozers than shovels and gold pans. Their natural tendency to secretiveness works against the camaraderie of the stammtisch, but it is part of the human condition to enjoy the company of others who share your passions. And so they would gather to speak in guarded terms of their mines.

As XL walked into the café, he was joined by a coworker. The two had only a passing acquaintance, but the cheerful disposition of men with two weeks of rest and relaxation before them was motive enough for him to invite XL to join him for breakfast. XL accepted and was surprised to be led to the gold miners’ table. He was even more surprised that his coworker was well-known to the group for whom he had done some welding. XL was received cordially but as an outsider, and he did as much as possible to make his bulk inconspicuous. As the talk continued, however, XL found himself very curious. He was ignorant of the whole gold mining sub-culture but found himself feeling a kinship to many of these men.

He found that there were two classes within this society. One group was the miners who, while they were not afraid to take risks, expected their profits to come with a great deal of labor. On the other hand, the prospectors weren’t afraid of work but did not expect to find riches without extreme risk, even to themselves. As the group diminished and each headed out on their daily endeavors, XL, who had no reason to hurry, found himself finishing a last cup of coffee with one of the prospector types. He talked in a conspiratorial tone, but it was apparent that he had a secret he wanted to reveal to someone safe. After a few more minutes, he pulled a little pouch out of his pocket and said, Hey, let me show you something I found while I was walking around this weekend.

Reverently, he dumped five little gold nuggets onto the table. The largest was scarcely bigger than a raisin, but XL knew from this stranger’s action that he was expected to admire it. Little prompting was needed for the story to be told in full. XL was drawn into the excitement and, as always, began imagining himself in a participatory role. When he had a chance, he asked, Where can you prospect for gold? Anywhere?

Well… not exactly anywhere. But almost. You see, no one much minds if you look for gold on their land, but they start minding once you find it. He went on to explain how the state had several categories of land: 1) private land with private mineral rights, 2) public land with public mineral rights, 3) public land with private mineral rights, 4) private land with public mineral rights, and 5) private land with separately owned mineral rights. Nobody can remember it all, so feel free to go looking, but if you find something, you better check it out.

Just as it is in the human psyche to desire to talk with others who understand your passions, it is part of the male psyche to be unable to resist being an expert when the situation arises. XL’s apparent interest prompted this stranger to explain to him in detail the art of gold prospecting and the tools of the trade. By ten o’clock, when XL paid the tab for himself and his new friend, he had plans for a prospecting adventure in his head. At his garage, XL had the tools to build one major component, a sluice box.

A sluice box is one step up from a gold pan and lets the water do the work usually done by swirling the pan. The sluice box consists of a large funnel with a gravel screen emptying onto a ladder attached to a board of AstroTurf. You set your sluice box up in the middle of a small stream and build a dam with rock so that water flows vigorously over your ladder. The sand shoveled into the funnel sifts into the current. Larger pieces of rock can be removed from the screen and examined manually. The sifted gravel falls into the ladder and is washed over each rung by the current, leaving behind the denser gold.

XL made his sluice box in less than two hours with scraps of metal from his shop. Four hours later, Alice was packed with the sluice box and his camping gear and loaded in the back of the Truck. Another three hours and XL was at the end of the road somewhere in the White Mountains. He parked the Truck, downloaded Alice, and set up camp for the night.

The following two weeks were some of the best XL had enjoyed in all his Alaskan years. The weather was cold enough to enjoy the sleeping bag at night but warm enough not to pose any threat. The mosquitoes had already frozen out for the year, and the weather cooperated fully. At times, XL almost forgot his intention to prospect. But the roots of playing in the water went way back with him. He could remember the many dams he would make in their driveway or the gutter along the street on rainy days. Now he had an excuse to dam up the rivers (not that there was anyone within miles to give the excuse to).

When he did set up the sluice box, he spent more time re-routing the water to set it up than actually running gravel through the box. In some places, he would check with the gold pan, not with much confidence that he wouldn’t miss some gold, but because it felt almost like you might be squatting next to an old bearded hermit with his burro munching on the scrub grass next to the stream.