Life Goes On Page 2

  Then someone would walk to the front of the chopper and give the pilot a “thumbs up” and the bird would begin its mission.

  The co-pilot already had the bundle number, and after a forty minute flight to Etlunka Lake it was just a matter of finding the corresponding number painted on the ground of an undeveloped home site.

  Dropping the load was the easiest part.

  The pilot merely hovered over the painted number on the ground and followed the loadmaster’s instructions. The loadmaster directed the descent and the descent rate until the bundle was on the ground and the line had enough slack to release the QRC.

  Once the QRC disconnected, the line from the bundle to the chopper fell free and landed atop the bundle.

  The pilot was given the “all clear” and the mission was complete.

  The pilot lifted the aircraft and spun it around in a 180 degree turn, so he was facing the assembled crowd of on-lookers. He returned their waves and rose straight up to a height of two hundred feet. Then he banked left and flew back to Anchorage.

  Six to eight times a day they witnessed the same drill.

  It was a simple procedure, yet never failed to make some in the crowd tear up.

  The lucky family whose bundle just arrived often cried. There were plenty of hugs and words of congratulations to go around, as well as the realization among the “others” that they were one step closer to getting their own bundle of building supplies.

  A “bundle of joy” was a traditional term for a new baby, but here in the wilderness it was also the term for the bundle of lumber, pipes and odds and ends, wrapped in a blue tarp and outer-wrapped in nylon netting.

  The lucky recipient of the bundle was given strict instructions to leave it alone until the following day, when a FEMA representative would arrive to break into it.

  The FEMA rep and the site owner would do a joint inventory, then the FEMA rep would gather the net and throw it on the back of his pickup, and would transport it back to Anchorage to be used again.

  The homeowner would be a long way from having a log cabin to sleep in. But now he was officially on his way. From this point on, how long it took to build his cabin and move in was largely up to him.

  Chapter 3

  When the chopper came into view Gwen and Hannah put their conversation on hold and did what everybody else did.

  They got up from their lawn chairs and headed in the general direction the helicopter was going.

  They were joined by Wanda Benedict, a new friend they’d met at the processing center.

  Wanda said as they walked, “What are you girls up to today?”

  “We were talking about hosting a cookout for the flight crews, to show our appreciation for all the work they’ve been putting in.”

  “Oh, that’s a grand idea! How can I help?”

  “You can vote.”

  “Vote?”

  “Yes,” Gwen said. “That’s as far as we’ve gotten so far. Hannah wants to have the cookout here, where we have all the grills and picnic tables already set up.

  “I think it would be better to have it there, at the staging area where they pick up their loads.”

  “But why drag all the stuff over there?”

  “My thinking is that we wouldn’t do them any favors by inviting them to a cookout and then telling them they had to drive two hours each way to attend. If it’s for them, we should bring it to them instead of expecting them to come to us.”

  “Well… that is a good point.”

  “Plus, They work ten to twelve hour shifts. I’m sure they’re exhausted by the time they finally get off work each day. They probably just want to go home and relax.”

  “Another good point. Okay, Gwen. I’m with you. You’ve got my vote.”

  Hannah pretended to sulk and stuck her tongue out at both of them.

  Melvyn walked up and joined the conversation.

  “Vote? What are we voting for? Somebody running for office?”

  “No,” Hannah pouted with her lower lip sticking out. “Nothing like that. I just had a dumb idea and they outvoted me. That’s all.”

  Melvyn observed with a smile. “Oh. So it’s just like every other day.”

  “Hey, you better watch it, Bub.”

  “Oh, I’m just teasing and you know it.”

  “I know. But it’s more fun when I pretend I’m offended. When I do it with Tony he spends the rest of the day bending over backwards trying to make it up to me. He brings me flowers and waits on me hand and foot and apologizes ten times an hour. It’s really fun taking advantage of his guilt.”

  “Wow,” Melvyn said. “I’m glad I’m not married to you. I don’t have to do any of that stuff. I can just walk away.”

  Gwen stepped in to voice her own opinion.

  “Don’t think he’s heartless, Hannah. Truth is, every time he upsets me he treats me exactly the way your Tony treats you.

  “It’s a husband thing. They know what side their bread is buttered on. And they know who really runs the family. They know if they don’t want to sleep in the doghouse and eat cold cut sandwiches the rest of their lives they’d better straighten up and apologize for whatever they did.”

  The chopper pilot dropped his load, lifted the aircraft and turned.

  A small crowd gathered at site number 6116 cheered, then lined up to give the owners assigned the plot hugs.

  Gwen and Melvyn, Hannah and Wanda all waved as the pilot flew his chopper past them on his way back to Anchorage.

  The pilot was focused on the horizon, but the co-pilot returned their wave.

  The group made their way up to site 6116 and offered their congratulations, stayed around for a few minutes to chat, then went back to the lake’s edge.

  That’s where their recreational vehicles were parked, in a single file line between the edge of the lake and the roadway which surrounded it.

  Theirs was a mini-city. The line of RVs changed from day to day, as people pulled out to run errands or to drive to Anchorage to go shopping or sightseeing.

  Others would pull in to take their place.

  Newbies would join the line almost daily and would be greeted like old friends.

  Occasionally someone would pull out of the line for the very last time. Their homes would be finished and they’d no longer have a need to hang out at lakeside with their friends who were still in the process.

  They’d still be their friends, of course.

  The whole process of moving to Alaska as Yellowstone refugees, then going through the whole process of settling at Etlunka Lake was something which would bind them together forever.

  It was a very unique shared experience, not unlike soldiers who’d gone into battle together. Sorority sisters who’d gone through college together. Firemen who’d battled epic blazes together and lived to tell the tale.

  It was something that changed all of their lives in so many ways. And they’d gone through it all together.

  The Etlunka Lake settlers were developing new traditions on the fly.

  Gathering each time a chopper came overhead to drop another bundle of building supplies was one such tradition. Hugging the recipients of the bundle and wishing them well was another.

  A third was to help the recipients as much as they could to get their log cabin up as quickly as possible.

  And finally, once a home site was finished, once a family moved into their new permanent home and pulled their RV away from the shore for the final time, it had become customary for that family to throw a party for all the others.

  When Hannah and Tony, Gwen and Melvyn first joined that line several weeks before they started to cook for themselves.

  “No,” someone told them. “You can cook your own breakfast and lunch. But for dinner, we all come outside and enjoy the night together. We take turns cooking the meats for everyone, and the other families bring a covered side dish. It happens to be my night to grill and we’re having salmon steaks.”

  Tony and Melvyn took their turns in li
ne and grilled once every ten days or so.

  Now, though, more often than not the family whose home site was just finished threw a party to celebrate, and the barbeque grills at the lake got a night off.

  Chapter 4

  On this night the honors went to John and Patsy Sousa, and their twelve year old daughter Misty.

  The Sousas introduced themselves the day after Gwen and Hannah joined the line at the lake. The Sousas’ RV was at the head of the line, because they’d been there the longest.

  John came over to welcome them to the lake and to tell them as long as they lived they’d always have friends there.

  He was sincere.

  “Sousa, like the horn,” he tended to say as a way of introduction.

  He could instantly tell whether his new friends were musically inclined.

  Gwen and Melvyn and Hannah all smiled.

  Tony, on the other hand, had a puzzled look upon his face.

  He’d never taken band or orchestra in high school and didn’t have a musical bone in his body.

  He’d never heard of the Sousaphone, or of John Philip Sousa.

  Hannah noticed the look on his face and whispered in his ear, “It’s a musical instrument, honey.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  On the night the Corps of Engineers inspector finally inspected their completed log cabin and declared it habitable, the Sousas went all out on a party to beat all parties.

  John grilled caribou and Patsy made salmon stew. All the other families brought covered dishes and the group sat around talking long into the night.

  Not at lakeside, though.

  They sat on blankets and in lawn chairs in John and Patsy Sousas’ front yard.

  An honest to goodness front yard!

  Remember, this was a family running from a volcano eruption which destroyed everything they owned and killed several of their relatives.

  When they began their journey six months before they had nothing but the clothes on their backs and the car they used to evacuate.

  The car was long gone. They’d done something many refugees didn’t think to do and took their important papers with them. Birth certificates, their mortgage paperwork, the titles to both of their cars.

  Since they had the title to their Subaru they were able to sell it once they took possession of their RV, and to buy supplies for their move to Alaska.

  Most other refugees didn’t think to take their car’s titles with them. They were in a safety deposit box at the local bank. Or in a fireproof security box in their attic.

  And were blown to smithereens along with everything else in their former neighborhood.

  Or buried beneath a foot of gray ash in an area now strictly off-limits due to safety concerns.

  Most refugees were stuck with the vehicles they used to evacuate. They couldn’t sell them for what they were worth. They couldn’t trade them in. They had little choice but to sell them as “untitled” vehicles for pennies on the dollar to parasites who then drove them down to Mexico for resale.

  Or to use them until they gave up the ghost and then abandon them on the side of the highway.

  The Sousas, though, thought ahead of time. And due to their foresight they were able to sell their car to buy food for their journey north to Alaska.

  Now they lived on Patsy’s pension, the IRA money John had socked away, and a little bit they had in savings.

  It wasn’t a lot, but they’d get by.

  Most of the new residents of Etlunka Lake were in similar tights, or were even worse off.

  The government was helping, with monthly stipends of seven hundred dollars per person.

  The government was careful to say the payments weren’t gifts, but rather low-interest loans. At the same time, though, the loans were open-ended with no minimum monthly payments. FEMA understood that these were people left with virtually nothing, and that the vast majority of loans would never be repaid.

  Just to make sure the refugees didn’t intentionally take advantage of the program, though, there was a stipulation on the loans.

  In the event someone dragged their feet on their home build to keep the stipends coming, they’d run out one year after the date the bundle of building materials was delivered.

  Someone at FEMA, when the agency realized they were dangerously close to buying up every available recreational vehicle in the nation, came up with another program.

  When Hannah and Gwen were given the keys to their RVs they were told they could live in them while they were building their new homes.

  After their log cabins were finished and they moved into them, they could keep the RVs with the government’s compliments.

  It sounded like an unbelievable deal.

  Melvyn in particular was extra suspicious.

  “Are you sure?” he asked. “I’ve never heard of the United States government just giving away anything of value.”

  “Oh, yes,” he was told. “It’s just not cost effective for us to recover the vehicle and to reuse it. It’s cheaper for us to just buy a new vehicle and let you keep the old one.”

  By the time FEMA realized the folly of their policy it was too late. They’d already signed contracts with thousands of refugees who were settling in Alaska and the Pacific coast states. And all had it in writing that they got to keep their RVs.

  It’s an old story, really.

  The Congress of the United States typically does a pretty good job of managing the nation’s purse strings.

  But during wartime or national emergency all their rules and common sense go out the window. They give select departments of the government carte blanche to spend like there’s no tomorrow.

  And much of it gets wasted.

  Chapter 5

  It was a relatively low-ranking official at FEMA who came up with the solution.

  “Right now we’re requiring all the refugees to be self-sustainable within a year after their homes are completed, right?”

  “Right. So?”

  “And we still haven’t told them that’s a pipe dream, since there aren’t enough jobs available up there to become self-sustainable, right?”

  “Shhh… don’t say that too loudly, but you’re right. So?”

  “So, let’s give them another option. Another way they can earn money to sustain them a few extra months while our jobs programs are trying to gain a foothold.”

  “Okay, we’ll play your silly game. But you’re gonna have to provide more specifics.”

  “We open up a facility at Anchorage. And similar facilities at the other big refugee states. Spokane, Washington. Klamath Falls, Oregon. Minot, North Dakota. Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Duluth, Minnesota. Ironwood, Wisconsin. Mason City, Iowa. Lansing, Michigan. Los Angeles, California. Did I miss any?”

  “Yeah, a few. And worse yet, you’re boring me. Get to the specifics.”

  “Okay, we have one designated city in each state where we can take in recreational vehicles that aren’t needed anymore.”

  “But… we’ve already signed contracts with all the refugees, saying they can keep their RV once they’re finished with them.”

  “Yes, we did. And I’ve been wondering who made that decision and why.”

  “I don’t know, man. It was made long before I was hired.”

  “Me too.”

  “What I heard was that the powers that be didn’t think they’d be worth reusing. I mean, by the time we got them back they’d be at least two years old and have thousands of miles on them. I mean, if somebody drove from Ohio to Alaska that’s what? Four thousand miles?

  “I’m sure that whoever made the decision thought they’d be all trashed out and not worth reusing.”

  “If that’s the case, they were a certifiable idiot.”

  “How so?”

  “Jamie, those RVs are made to have an effective life of fifteen years. Some of the higher quality units can go for twice that long. And RVs are like over-the-road trucks. Their drive trains can keep going for three hundred thousand miles
or more.”

  “Okay. So I get your point. Whoever made the decision to give away the RVs was very shortsighted. But why worry yourself about it? What’s done cannot be undone.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “Okay. Then explain, because I don’t see it.”

  “Look, the refugees need jobs or they’ll never be able to be independent. And as long as they’re unable to be independent they’ll be on the government’s dole in one form or another. Agreed?”

  “Okay. Agreed. How do we fix it?”

  “Well, they’re working on all kinds of jobs programs up there now. They’re granting oil companies additional exploration and drilling rights, provided that eighty percent of their on-site workers are refugees.

  “They’re offering no-interest loans to companies opening up new fishing canneries, provided they hire only refugees.

  “They’re doing the same thing for a new lumber company, with the agreement they’ll hire four thousand refugees to cut their timber and drive their trucks and work in their sawmills.

  “And they’ve got a hundred other projects coming in to provide jobs. But all that takes time to set up and they’re running way behind their quotas.”

  “Jamie, I know all that. How are you going to solve the problem?”

  “Oh, I’m not.”

  “You’re not? Then why the hell are we wasting time discussing this?”

  “I mean, I’m not going to solve the whole job situation. But I’ll help it a little bit.”

  “Okay, I’m listening. But you’re going to have to stop giving it to me in bits and pieces. Give it to me all at once.”

  “Okay, I’ll speak slowly and use only small words. Let me know if you want me to draw pictures, okay?”

  “You’re starting to piss me off, my friend.”

  “Sorry. So we select a city in each of the states where the refugees are settling. In Alaska it’ll be Anchorage.”

  “Okay. I’m with you so far.”

  “We open up an RV recycling center in Anchorage. We ask around the refugee camps, and we tell everybody we’re looking for experienced construction workers and supervisors. Commercial construction, not residential. Still with me?”