Read Online Nekomah Creek by Linda Crew - Free Book Online

suspenders, and his arms—well, he looked like he could wrestle an elk to the ground by its antlers.
    Of course I’d seen him lots from a distance. I had to pass their place if I rode my bike down into Nekomah Creek. Sometimes on the weekends I’d see him taking a chain saw to a pile of firewood logs in his turnaround.
    Now a chain saw gets the job done all right, but it sounds awful. Elvis Downard liked noise, though. He had a riding lawnmower to use on their town-type yard. Also a motorcycle, an all-terrain vehicle, a dune buggy, and a bunch of snarly dogs. Seems like the Downards didn’t feel they could work
or
play right unless everybody on the road could hear them.
    So there were things I didn’t like about Elvis Downard. On the other hand, I had to envy Orin this: If you had a dad like Elvis Downard and somebody said, “My dad can whip your dad,” you could say, “No, he can’t!” and sure as heck mean it.
    I wasn’t the only one in awe of him, either. The whole class was. And at least for today, Orin was getting a share of this respect too, just for being the son of such an impressive guy. People hadbeen unusually quiet while Orin read his part of the Job Day report.
    “That was wonderful, Elvis,” Mrs. Perkins said when he’d wrapped it up. “Any questions, class?”
    “Mr. Downard,” Ben said, “have you ever had any close calls yourself? I mean with rolling logs and like that?”
    Elvis Downard showed his teeth in a slow smile. “Don’t know anybody who’s been in the woods as many years as I have who hasn’t.”
    Darrel Miskowiec stuck up his arm, fingers spread wide. “My dad’s a logger, too,” he said. “Name’s Ed Miskowiec.”
    “Sure, son.” Elvis Downard winked. “I know your dad. Choker setter, isn’t he? Risky business.”
    Darrel flushed with pride, his eyes making a quick sweep of the room. He wanted it understood that his dad was the same kind of tough guy as Orin’s.
    But I remembered Darrel’s dad as nice more than tough. Last year he took our class on a hike to see where they were planting the new trees. He told how Darrel’s mom worked at the tree farm, packing up seedlings that were sent out to start the new forests. That stuck in my mind. Thousands and thousands of baby trees. Now there was a job to make you feel like part of something big!
    Amber raised her hand. “My dad drives a log truck.”
    “Does not,” Darrel said.
    “Well, he used to,” Amber shot back. “I’ve even ridden in one.”
    Calmly, quietly, Rose put up her hand. “Are many women becoming loggers these days?”
    Some of the boys snickered. Elvis Downard just kind of chuckled and scratched the back of his head.
    “Frankly,” he said, “I don’t think there’s too many women could handle it. Not too many men, either, for that matter.”
    I slumped lower in my seat and started another dreary doodle, picturing
my
dad, standing in front of the class, explaining how to do diapers. I cringed at the thought. And then I felt crummy about being embarrassed. I mean, changing diapers is a pretty important job too, right? Just think what would happen if they
didn’t
get changed!
    Still, when Mrs. Perkins assigned a report on either a job we’d like to do someday or a job our parents did now, it didn’t even occur to me to write about being a dad. And I was the one who’d argued to the counselor that taking care of babies was a real job, right?
    My report was about being an artist, both because of my mom and because that’s what I wanted to do.
    I blinked at my doodling. I’d drawn a ducky diaperpin without even knowing it! I quickly scribbled it out.
    Rose made a warning face at me. I was getting too obvious with my drawing. I sneaked a peek at Mrs. Perkins. No problem there. She was devoting her full attention to Elvis Downard as he went on with more stories.
    “Why, one time we had a guy up there topping a big old fir and it starts to split …”
    I’d never seen Mrs. Perkins like