It is not surprising that few know the story of the Peshtigo, Wisconsin. If you were in the business, maybe, but to most it would be a hazy footnote at best. For although the conflagration claimed the lives of at least 1500 and destroyed more than 1.5 million acres in 2400 square miles, there was another more famous fire that was happening roughly 250 miles to the south. Incredibly, the infamous footwork of Mrs. O’leary’s cow started the historic Chicago blaze on the very same night, October 8th, 1871. The Chicago fire would dominate the nation’s attention and also the pages of the history books. While Chicago burned for three days and killed 250, the 800-person village of Peshtigo alone was leveled in 90 minutes. Yet the news of out-of-the-way Peshtigo was lost in the greater media maelstrom of Chicago.
In 1871 the Great Northern forests of Wisconsin and Minnesota were supplying the explosive growth of Reconstruction. The Port of Peshtigo boasted millions of milled board feet, stacked, drying, waiting for shipment throughout the Great Lakes. This was the home of Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox; a place where children were born wearing flannel and wielding an axe. Beyond the tragic human cost, this lumber / forest fire struck at their very center, that most secure place where hopes and dreams are closely held.
At the time he left Milwaukee, he knew of the story. By the time he had traveled north past Sheboygan, through Green Bay, turned north at Wassua, and found the Tomahawk Motel near Spirit he understood the story. These were forest unlike any he had ever seen; oak, maple, beech, ash, elm, cedar, spruce, pine and birch uninterrupted for miles and miles and the further north he went the more swampy and dense it became. Yet despite this, the 1871 fire tornado had erased a swath 10 miles wide and 40 miles long in 24 hours.
The next morning he arrived at his destination, the summit of Timm’s Mountain. Or more specifically, he took the short hike up to the Forest Service’s fire observation tower on Timm’s Mountain, officially the highest point in the state of Wisconsin. From the top of the tower a lush, green carpet of treetops spread from horizon to horizon, from Peshtigo to Duluth, with gently rolling hills and a single small lake the only variation. Beside the small lake, its rooftops barely seen, appeared to be a small resort.
He found himself impressed by the tower itself. At the top sat a 14×14 foot office with clear windows, which had once provided the lonely forest ranger with shelter as they scanned the forest for the slightest whisp of smoke. He circled the locked office twice as he strolled the surrounding deck while he took his pictures. At some forty feet tall, the tower was built from the forest itself. Thick wooden beams, gusseted together with thumb-sized bolts, were used to assemble the four legs. Similar beams were used for diagonal braces. Wooden steps, warped and worn over the decades, occasionally groaned as he began his descent.
As stout as these structures were, built in the 1920s and 30s by the CCC, they were not impervious to the menace of a young man and his pocket knife. Apparently it was important that everyone see that “Sam was here ‘82” and that “Mark + Cindy = 4ever”. Such declarations covered most of the reachable surfaces for the bottom 20 feet. He was shaking his head in bemusement until he rounded a flight of stairs and saw them and then his bemusement transformed first to skepticism and then to grudging admiration. They were under the floor of the Ranger’s office, carved into the center floor joist, the closest beam over six feet away.
“Cag- Will you marry me?” and underneath was the response written in Sharpie. “I will. C+J” and then the date 10-1-03 was carved. Above the reply was a series of dates carved into the same beam.10-04, 10-05, 10-08, 08-09, 07-10…… and then the dates stopped.
Wanting to prove it to himself, he climbed atop the railing and shimmied along a brace, only to find himself several feet shy of reaching, much less carving, the center beam. He looked down to see an unbroken fall all the way to the ground. The US highpoint geological marker winked up at him and a slight vertigo spun inside his eyelids.
When he slowly inched back to the safety of the stair landing, he paced and squinted and studied, but never did come to understand how the love-bird artists had been able to create their memorial.
After a short walk back to the car, he wound his way down the hillside and found the small resort setting beside the small lake. A handful of cabins probably built in the 50s fanned out behind the entrance hall and dining room. What it lacked in glamour was surely made up for in charm and comfort; the kind of place where middle-class grandparents had been hosting family reunions for generations.
“Can I help you?” she greeted with a warm smile.
“I’ve read that you keep the summit log book for the Highpoint. Do you still have it?” he asked.
The smile broadened- “Yes, we do, but I’ll have to go get it, please have a seat?”
Minutes later they were sitting at the bay window overlooking the lake as they sipped from coffee mugs that was certainly older than either of them. She had taken over the daily workings of the resort when her parents finally retired. Tough enough to be no one’s fool, yet genteel enough to pull off the gracious hostess; she wore her 49 years well.
The log book was actually in a photo album, with hundreds of names scrawled on notebook paper and random photos interspersed. Leafing through the album, he found the last entry and then added his name, home place and a brief note of appreciation. -“If nothing else, Highpointing gives me the excuse to enjoy corners of this country I would otherwise never visit and to enjoy wonderful coffee and company such as yours.” When she read the entry her smile returned.
“That old tower has sold many a cup of coffee, considering the shape it is in.”
“What shape? The views are spectacular!”- he offered.
“Yes, the natural beauty can’t be beat, but the graffiti can be a bit rough.”
They talked back and forth, comfortably and easily, chuckling at the youthful pledges. He then remembered the unreachable carvings on the center beam and reached for his cell phone. When he pulled up the photo, he showed it to her and asked if she knew anything about Cag + J.
Before she could answer, the door chimed and another customer called her away. He walked over to the service and poured another cup of coffee and when he returned he noticed the cover of the log book stated the entries covered the years 2009 to present. Turning to the year 2010 and then to July, he found the entry:
July 5th, 2010 – “After coming here for years its hard to believe this will be my last trip. The forest is as awesome as ever and its peacefulness will remain in my heart forever. But I cannot do this without J. – Cag.”
Shocked and confused, he looked at the picture of the carvings again as he quickly paged backwards.
August 20, 2009- “So glad J could make it to the top this year. It was not easy, but what in life is? Thanks for the view. – Cag.”
“What happened last year?” a voice yelled in his head. He closed the book and looked around for her, needing the next book.
When he found her, back behind the counter, she handed him the next log book without looking up, dated 2000-2008. Without a word, he returned to the table to keep reading.
October 11, 2008. “We are back to celebrate our 5th anniversary and also the return of my wonderful husband and hero, J. We are so blessed to be able to return. Many thanks to our dear friends who helped J get to the top!!- Cag.”
He felt something mentally click into place, as though something now made sense, but he could not have described it. He re-checked his picture and noted a gap; there were no dates on the beam for 06 or 07. Flipping backwards through thick handfuls of pages, he continued:
October 11, 2005 – “Celebrating our 2nd Anniversary!!! Giving my GI J some good memories before he deploys overseas. Semper Fidelis!- Cag”. Another puzzle piece clicked into place, but several other questions flooded to his mind.
October 11, 2004 – “It’s been one year! Returning to the place where J proposed; one of our favorite places in the world. Thanks for the climb. – Cag”.
And then finally: October 1, 2003 – “We’re engaged!!! J proposed on the tower at the most beautiful sunset in the world. Luckiest gal in the world!!!!- Cag.” Taped under this first entry was an old Polaroid Instamatic photo of Cag + J. They were both in their early twenties, tan and fit, sitting in rappelling harnesses, suspended beneath their beam. They were swinging their boots, forty feet above the earth, arms around each other, both grinning through their kiss.
_____________________
She watched for a long time as he stared out the bay window at the now quiet and still lake. She saw him shake his head and turn back to the log books. He scrolled through 2006 and 2007, angrily turning page after page.
“You won’t find them,” she said. “He was in Irag and she didn’t think it was right to come without him”- hard pause- “My kids went to high school with Jay.”
He could only think of one question and it was stupid, so he sat down dumbly and stared at their picture. With a halting voice she continued- “His first year back, Cagney insisted they come back to Timm’s Mountain. It took half of their senior class to get him to the top of that tower.”
She looked out towards the lake- “Jay’s Humvee ran over an IED and he lost both legs and a large part of his skull. He tried, but he never made it back, not all the way.”
“You know, our corner of the world isn’t known for much these days. It doesn’t have many jobs. There aren’t many rich people around here anymore. So, our hopes, our futures that we hold close, are our kids. Losing Jay from a class of eighteen hurts…. It hurts to the core.”
He looked up “I’m sorry. I never thought that…”
“It is not surprising you’ve never heard of him. How could you? Unless you’re in the business, you probably would have never known. The year Jay came home, there were dozens of young men who came back with similar injuries. After a while, they all kinda got lost in the noise.”
_______________________
He drove back around the lake and hiked to the summit. He climbed the tower and stared at the ocean of darkening green, lying beneath the dying embers of a red horizon that stretched toward Peshtigo.
– End –
Wandering Pointedly 
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