Cranberry Red: A Novel

40. Harvest at Shotgun’s

October in central Wisconsin is the most beautiful time of the year, at least to Ben Wesley’s way of thinking. The trees—maples, aspen, birch, tamarack, and oaks—seem to pulse with color, starting with the maples in late September and ending with a magnificent display of oak color by mid-October. After the first killing frost, usually in mid- to late September , the days are often filled with brilliant sunshine and bright blue skies providing a backdrop to the fall color display. By now the mosquitoes have given up their mission of human torture, so hiking in the woods is once more pleasant, along with most other outdoor activities. Skeins of Canada geese fly over in long-tailed V’s, sometimes stopping briefly on local lakes and ponds before they continue journeys to their winter homes, honking loudly as if to brag that they know better than to winter in the north. The northern ducks arrive on their migration route and spend a few weeks on local waters: big green-headed mallards, little bluewinged teal, and even smaller widgeons, wearing their camouflage brown. Sandhill cranes gather in farmers’ fields, congregating before they wing south to their winter haunts. Their prehistoric trumpeting fills the air on clear October days, their overhead flights impressing people with just how large these long-legged cranes are, standing four feet tall and boasting wingspans exceeding six feet. Crop farmers guide giant combines across acres of field corn, collecting the yellow kernels in the machine’s bin before off-loading the corn to semitrailers that haul the crop to nearby grain elevators for drying and sale. 166 Harvest at Shotgun’s 40 167 Harvest at Shotgun’s Potato growers hurry to lift the last of their harvest from the ground. And the cranberry growers are in the midst of their fall harvest, gathering up the fruit from the bogs and hauling the berries to nearby processing centers. The Willow River Farmers’ Market was a popular place each Saturday all summer for out-of-town as well as local buyers who wanted homegrown vegetables and fruits. The market surrounded the courthouse on the city square with vendors from throughout Ames County and beyond. By early October buyers had picked up the last of the fresh broccoli and turned to rutabagas, onions, carrots, potatoes—red, white, and russet— pumpkins for Halloween and for pies, squash—acorn, buttercup, butternut , old-fashioned Hubbard—apples of many varieties—Honeycrisp, Gala, Red Delicious, Yellow Delicious, McIntosh, Cortland, and oldfashioned Wealthy and Northwestern Greening. Apples for eating. Apples for pies and apple crisp. Of course apple cider, gallons of apple cider. And, not to be forgotten, fresh-harvested, deep red cranberries. Directly from Shotgun Slogum’s bog. Shotgun, as his father before him, raked his cranberries by hand. No fancy equipment for him. Not that he was necessarily against more modern ways, but he felt compelled to do things the old-fashioned way. “Something special about raking cranberries by hand,” Shotgun said to Ben Wesley some years ago. Ben respected Shotgun for his decision not to go modern. But he also knew that Shotgun’s smallish cranberry bog—he only harvested about five acres of cranberry vines—wouldn’t lend itself well to the big equipment that most cranberry growers used today. For many years, Shotgun Slogum sponsored an open house at his cranberry bog the first Saturday in October. He invited everyone who wanted to experience raking cranberries to find some hip boots and join him in the bog. He provided the rakes. For their efforts, everyone who raked would receive ten pounds of fresh cranberries and a story they could share with their kids and grandkids. All comers were welcome, men and women, no matter their experience , but fifteen was the minimum age. “A little too difficult for kids,” Shotgun explained. Ben Wesley never missed the opportunity to participate; in fact he was quite proud of his skills as a cranberry raker. He remembered his first time, when he couldn’t get the hang of swinging the two-handled rake just deep enough in the flooded marsh to capture the cranberries, but not so deep as to snag something else, like the side of one of his boots. Ben asked Beth if she would like to join him raking cranberries. This had been ten years ago or so. Beth had said, “Anybody would...