Purgatory Ridge

“The controversy that’s recently disrupted both the normal life of this community and the harvesting of timber for the mill isn’t just unfortunate. It’s personally very painful. I’ve always tried to work within the framework of the law in seeking a resolution, but there are those on the other side of the issue who haven’t. The result has been a terrible tragedy. A senseless death.

“Because I want to end this animosity, I’m offering some concessions to those who are so opposed to our logging in the area of the Superior National Forest the Ojibwe call Our Grandfathers. Should Judge Rabin rule in our favor-and I have to tell you that I believe firmly she will-I promise that when logging resumes, not one of the Lindstrom loggers or any logging company with whom we subcontract will cut a single unnecessary tree from Our Grandfathers. I swear to you we’ll do only what’s necessary to create a logging road through the area that will give us access to the younger trees surrounding and intermixed with those beautiful old white pines. In addition, I absolutely promise that any white pine cut will be replaced with a white pine seedling that, as the years go by, will take its place tall and proud among Our Grandfathers.

“I wanted to make this announcement on the steps of the school because ultimately, what’s important is that we leave our children a world that holds for them the promise of health, wealth, happiness, and harmony.” He looked the crowd over slowly. “That’s all I have to say. I’d be happy to answer any questions you might have.”

Before Lindstrom could grant anyone a chance to speak, a voice boomed against the brick of the building.

“I have a question.”

Cork and a lot of other people looked across the street and saw Joan of Arc of the Redwoods standing atop her dusty Econoline van with a bullhorn in one hand and her cane in the other.

“Why is your head in the sand? For a man who claims to be concerned about the environment, you’re pretty ignorant of the fragile nature of ecological systems. You cut a road through Our Grandfathers and you’ll damage the system that sustains them. You harvest the timber that surrounds them and you do the same thing. The point we’ve been trying to make is that any cutting in that area is a violation of nature. The consequences will be devastating.”

“Our studies tell us differently,” Lindstrom countered.

“Your studies tell you what you want to hear. I’ve seen studies like yours, and I’ve seen firsthand the slaughter they’ve justified.”

“You’re talking, I assume, about your experiences with the redwoods in California. Let me just point out that the decisions there are being made by people thousands of miles from the forests. I’ve chosen to live here. I’ve brought my family here. I make decisions as a member of this community, for the benefit of the men and women who look to the mill for livelihood and who are also members of this community. I respectfully point out that you don’t live here and that when one way or another this is resolved, you’ll leave. Build a house here. Raise a family here. Try making a living here. Then maybe you’ll have the right to be heard here.”

Loud applause met Lindstrom’s remarks.

When things had quieted a bit, the woman put the bullhorn to her mouth again. “I’m a member of a larger community, Mr. Lindstrom, as are you.”

Lindstrom leaned to the mike, but before he could speak, a loud bang interrupted him and made him jump-made everyone jump. Cork hunched down instinctively and glanced to the north side of the building where the sound had come. The crowd also ducked and moved helter-skelter in a shifting wave of brief panic. Wally Schanno had his firearm drawn. Along with two deputies, he quickly moved toward the side of the school. Agent Earl of the BCA had his own weapon in hand and had taken up a protective position next to Lindstrom. For the first time in a long time, Cork wished he were carrying a piece, too.

Evening quiet settled in again almost immediately. All heads were turned where Schanno and his men had gone. It took less than two minutes for the sheriff and his deputies to reappear. Gil Singer was with them. Schanno spoke briefly to Singer, who disappeared again, heading back-Cork supposed-to his post at the rear door.

Schanno approached the microphone. “It’s okay folks. Just a firecracker. Somebody’s idea of a joke. Not a funny one.” He turned to Lindstrom but still spoke into the mike. “Did you want to say anything else, Karl?”

Lindstrom stepped forward and spoke in a shaky voice. “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for coming this evening. I-uh-I guess that’s all I have to say.”

“I haven’t finished.” It was the woman with the cane and the bullhorn.

Lindstrom ignored her, turned abruptly from the microphone, and vanished back inside the building.