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[Sound of an ax chopping wood. Quirky music fades in…]
Christopher Gronlund:
I want to make one thing perfectly clear: this show is not about lumberjacks…
My name is Christopher Gronlund, and this is where I share my stories. Sometimes the stories contain truths, but most of the time, they’re made up. Sometimes the stories are funny—other times they’re serious. But you have my word about one thing: I will never—EVER—share a story about lumberjacks.
It’s one of my favorite times of the year…time for the November anniversary episode of Not About Lumberjacks. And this year is extra special as the show enters its 10th year! This time, it’s a tall tale about a girl raised on the frontier and coming of age in a time of lumberjacks. There might even be a legendary cameo in this one.
A couple things to get to before the story. First up: the usual content advisory…
Were “The Legend of Mighty Missy Stewart” a movie, it would be rated PG. There’s some good-natured teasing and a non-descriptive death. What might put it into the PG realm instead of General Audiences is the mention of some woodland monsters. But this one’s a really light-hearted and fun tale.
The other thing before we begin is a bit about our narrator this time around.
Dave Pettitt not only has a ridiculously wonderful voice, but he has a voice you’ve likely heard. He’s done a wide range of commercial work, including the National Hockey League and the National Football League. Cartoons and video games? Yep, Dave’s done both. But he’s best known for the unscripted reality series, Discovery’s Highway Thru Hell—and somewhere near the other end of the spectrum – GPS audio tours for an app called Guide Along.
Dave splits his time between his home on Vancouver Island and Puerto Vallarta, Mexico – where he and his wife, Mindi, not only enjoy warmer weather, but also dedicate time to rescuing dogs.
They’re dang-good people!
You can check out this episode’s show notes to learn more about Dave and what he’s up to.
All right, let’s get to work!
* * *
The Legend of Mighty Missy Stewart
No one knows how Mighty Missy Stewart came to exist in the world, only that one day she was there. Some say she sprung fully formed from a magical acorn, while others claimed she was found in the center of the greatest tree in the Northwoods, freed from a long slumber in its heart on the day it was felled. Others say she was brought down by the glaciers forming the Great Lakes, deposited like a seed that grew strong and tall when they retreated. And one other tale insisted she crawled out of a bear den stretching all the way to the center of the earth, where she was forged in its metal core. The only thing for certain is somewhere in her infancy, she ended up in the company of Emma and Benjamin Stewart.
* * *
When the Stewarts headed west in search of a better life, they found what they were looking for in the Northwoods of Wisconsin: a wild, quiet place where they could build a cabin and raise a family. The cabin went up in a green grove beside a bright brook, but starting a family proved to be a greater challenge than settling the land. When home remedies didn’t work, Emma and Benjamin turned to prayer. When prayer didn’t work, they accepted a large family was simply not meant to be. Their love for each other would have to be enough, even though both knew it would never fill the hole in their hearts.
Then came the day that changed everything…
* * *
On his final hunting trip before winter’s full arrival—hoping to top off reserves in his smokehouse—Benjamin Stewart heard a sound that piqued his curiosity, but also chilled him to his bones: the giggling of an infant.
It was deeper in tone than it should have been—and what was a newborn doing out this deep in the timber anyway? Their nearest neighbor was a five-mile trek through dense woods and over frigid streams, and their children were long past infancy. He crept over the frosty bed of crisp leaves on the forest floor for a better look, eventually finding a spot behind the cover of a juniper bush. There, in a small grove, was a newborn babe the size of a toddler, dancing and cooing to an equally content badger the size of a black bear.
Benjamin wondered if it was a trick of the light or a matter of strange perspective. No infant could be so large, let alone already walking and hopping about as though they’d been ambulatory for years. She wore not a stitch of fabric or a bit of fur; nothing on her feet or atop her head. All morning, Benjamin had struggled to warm up, despite his many layers, and here was a baby jumping about as though it were summer. He stepped out from behind the juniper bush and said, “Hello…”
The giant infant and badger stopped their merry waltz and faced him. The sun broke through the canopy, illuminating the girl’s face. Something about her eyes told Benjamin she’d been there longer than him.
She giggled and approached.
The badger followed.
“Where are your parents?” he said.
The giant baby cooed again.
“Hello?!” Benjamin called, but no one answered. “Is anybody here?”
He took off his coat and draped it over the child’s wide shoulders.
“We need to get you somewhere warm. Do you want to come home with me?”
She nodded.
“Okay, then…”
Benjamin Stewart turned toward home, hoping the food he had in storage would be enough for Emma, him, and a new, hungry mouth. As he walked along with the child and her badger buddy, she reached up, took his hand in hers, and said, “Papa…”
* * *
Emma Stewart welcomed the child into their home with an open heart but was not as keen on the badger that arrived with her.
“Benjamin, we can’t allow a wild animal live in the cabin with us!”
“It’s not hurting anything,” he said, “and she seems attached to it.”
To Emma’s delight, the badger didn’t seem thrilled about sharing the tiny space with three humans. It dug a den beneath a tamarack tree at the side of the cabin in what seemed like a fair compromise to both the furry creature and the cabin’s main keeper.
* * *
Before long, the child’s curiosity and mobility became a curse. Her ability to climb was remarkable. She was often found perched on the ridge of the rooftop, or even higher up in the tallest of trees, where she would sway in the breeze, much to her parents’ horror.
When she wasn’t running about, swimming in rivers, or wrestling with Tamarack the badger, everything in the Stewart’s home was a source of interest.
“Me see! Me see!” she’d say any time Benjamin or Emma picked something up. “Me see! Me see!” and they would call out what it was that attracted her attention: “Spoon…Plate…Candle.”
“Me see! Me see!” all day long’ so frequently that they finally decided on a name for her: Missy.
It didn’t take long for Missy to leap from a constant barrage of “Me sees!” to speaking in full sentences. By the time she was five, she was already taller than her adoptive parents.
And oh, what an appetite she had, eating stacks of flapjacks and dozens of eggs for breakfast, and never slowing throughout the day.
“Benjamin,” Emma said, “I can’t keep up with her!”
“Nor I,” he said. “My days are spent just making sure she’s fed.”
* * *
As more people settled in the area, it was not uncommon for someone to appear at the door, stating they knew Missy meant no harm, but hurt their children while playing. Those who didn’t know her often mistook her for an adult—and Tamarack for a grizzly bear!
Between the efforts to keep her fed and the damage she seemed to cause to people and home, the 12-year-old left a letter for her parents one morning before they woke up.
Dear Mama and Papa,
I know I am a problem, and I am sorry for the harm I have caused. Just as you came to the Northwoods to find your own way, I must leave to find mine.
Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I love you both.
Missy
P.S. This is not goodbye.
* * *
Not even Missy knew how long she’d been around, no matter how hard she tried remembering. She believed it was the Stewart’s love that helped her grow and give her awareness, like a dandelion seed floating until finding a place to settle and sprout.
She and Tamarack traveled far and wide, hoping to find something triggering a memory of, “This is it! This is where I began!”
But years of wandering left her with more questions than answers.
Some evenings, she and Tamarack spent the night on the edges of new settlements, where Missy eavesdropped on elders sharing ancient stories around fires. In time, a new story found its footing: a tale about a wild woman of the woods and her pet bear. It was not until hearing another settlement share the story—with a giant badger instead of a bear as the woman’s companion—that she realized the stories were about her and Tamarack.
None of the things shared in the tales had happened: they never fought off monsters or had even seen one. Heck, Missy didn’t even know what a monster was until hearing about them in stories. It took several evenings for Tamarack to ease her nerves about that. And she definitely wielded no magic. Tamarack couldn’t shape-shift into other creatures like he did in stories. Why would they share such lies?
Missy came to understand that was how people warned each other to be cautious. “Do be careful, young ones,” would not suffice. “Go where you do not belong, or you are likely to be eaten by a luferlang,” carried more weight.
It tickled Missy to think that she and Tamarack were legends in their own time, more mysterious than genuinely threatening in the eyes of settlers.
* * *
As Missy neared adulthood, the biggest change yet came to the Northwoods: lumberjacks! Hearty men risking life and limb to stake a claim in the forests. Where they roamed, timbers fell; where they slept, trouble often followed. Brutish and brash, Missy’s encounters with them often left her stomach soured.
“I was taught to see the best in people, Tamarack, but these men thrive on fighting and harassment. I do wish there was something I could do to set them straight.”
She found what she was looking for one summer afternoon outside a new settlement. The sign read:
LUMBERJACK CONTEST
“WHO WILL WIN THE GOLDEN AXE?”
MIRROR LAKE CAMP
SATURDAY
SUN UP TO SUN DOWN
* * *
Missy and Tamarack followed the scent of campfire coffee to the lumber camp before sunrise on the day of the event. Competitors and spectators huddled around the cook tent, finishing towering plates of flapjacks, sausages, and eggs—and washing it all down with swigs of the bitter bean. As she made her way toward the group, the previous year’s Golden Axe winner—Big Bill Bagley—said, “What can we help you with, miss?”
“I’m here to sign up for the competition.”
“I’m sorry, but we don’t have a woman’s contest,” the big man said.
“I’m not looking to compete against other women,” Missy said. “I’m here to win the Golden Axe.”
The other competitors laughed, and Big Bill said, “How about that, fellas. She thinks she can keep up with us! Should we let her have a go?”
“Aww, what’s the harm?” a lithe, but sinewy jack said. “She’ll give up before finishing the first event!”
They all stopped laughing after Missy defeated them in the underhand cut.
Next, the seasoned lumbermen paired up for the sawing event. Missy’s only ally was Tamarack, and he would be no help on the other side of a crosscut saw.
“Looks like you’re out, miss,” Big Bill Bagley said.
“No, I’ll just have to do it on my own.”
The goal was simple: be the fastest team to cut two rounds out of a 4-foot white pine.
Big Bill sawed so rapidly that his partner, Emmett Sanders, could barely keep up. Down fell the first round, and when the Golden Axe legend looked up after racing through the second, he reveled in the applause. His excitement deflated when he realized the crowd was actually cheering for Missy, who’d cut four rounds on her own in the time it took the best team in the Northwoods to cut two.
Next up was the most dangerous contest: tree climbing. Surely, she stood no chance of topping a tree, but up she went—without as much as a rope or spurs. When she reached the 100-foot mark, she undid her belt, threw it around the trunk, and held onto both ends with her left hand. Her right hand was a blur as she cut loose the top of the tree and slid back down just as the others began chopping.
Finally came the settlers’ favorite event: the log-rolling competition. Missy and Big Bill Bagley breezed through the ranks with only the soles of their boots getting wet. Bill’s sure-footed skills were known all the way to Maine on one end of the country and out to the Pacific Northwest on the other. Even Canadians knew his name.
After Missy and Big Bill conquered all challengers, it was time to face off. They stepped onto the log and slowly walked it out.
“ONE…TWO…THREE, ROLL!” cried the camp foreman—and they were off.
Big Bill Bagley rolled this way and that, hoping to get a jump on Missy, who was as sure-footed as a mountain goat. He kicked water in her face and rocked her end up and down, but her balance was unshaken. Big Bill worked himself into a frenzy, doing every trick he knew…even coming up with some in the moment. He looked ready to cry foul when Missy began hopping on one foot and smiling. No matter what he tried, he could not break her.
When Big Bill neared exhaustion, Missy said, “How do you want to end this? Keep going until you can stand no more, or shall I show you mercy and put you in the drink?”
His anger became a second wind. He tried everything he’d already tried, but faster. When his face grew redder than his flannel and he could barely hold a breath, Big Bill Bagley stood on the far end of the log and smiled. He spread his arms wide and fell back into the cool waters of Mirror Lake, admitting defeat.
Missy did a backflip off the log, shook Big Bill Bagley’s hand, and helped the exhausted lumberjack to the shore.
“This ain’t easy for me,” he said before the amazed crowd. “Nobody’s ever bested me at one task, let alone them all. You have my respect, ma’am.”
He stepped to the stump holding the Golden Axe, pulled it free, and handed it to Missy.
“You take care of that, now, ‘cause I plan to reclaim it next year…”
* * *
In the years that followed, the Northwoods remained a wild and mysterious place—but as more settlements sprang up, nature and man frequently clashed. As more timber was cut, animals that once fled deeper into the timber could hide no more. Where paths crossed, injuries—and even deaths—occurred. And when men took more, they unearthed creatures of legend.
Lumberjacks went missing, the victims of hidebehinds and river serpents. Some said woodland spirits drove a lumber camp so mad that when the spring thaw came and trade resumed, there was nothing left but bones. Something needed to be done, and Missy and Tamarack took it upon themselves to help the region find common ground.
She went to the heads of lumber companies and mills, explaining the problems would worsen if they didn’t cut and harvest with care. If Missy was waved off, she knew how to play to those in charge.
“You have more than enough already,” she’d say. “Can you not set aside some of your land to remain protected? Do that, and your name will live on forever. But cut it all down, and you will be forgotten—or hated. Think about your name associated with parks people will come from coasts to see…”
Tamarack did his part, too, speaking the common language all forest creatures share. Letting his furry, feathered, and even scaled brethren know Missy was doing all she could to convince the intruders to care more for their homes.
Their efforts paid off, and where they did not, they let nature have her final say through violent storms, extreme temperatures, and raging fires.
* * *
On what Missy estimated to be her eighteenth birthday, she finally returned home. While she still frolicked and wrestled with Tamarack to keep her strength up, she had shed the clumsiness of her youth as she grew into her full eight feet of height. She could be poised and proper when the need arose, but always preferred a more rough and tumble way of living.
She barely recognized the area she left six years prior—the tiny grove had become a full settlement. She smiled when she saw the sign where the Big Bates River split off into the Little Bates River:
STEWARTSVILLE
POPULATION: 378
(AND GROWING)
Emma Stewart saw her daughter first. Her mouth opened wide in surprise. Without looking away, she reached back and tugged on her husband’s shirt.
“Missy…” he whispered.
The Stewarts crossed the distance between them faster than Missy, who scooped them both up in a grand hug.
“I told you it wasn’t goodbye…”
* * *
Missy shared six years of adventures with Emma and Benjamin, and they shared how the settlement grew until needing a name. Stewartsville was the unanimous winner, with Benjamin their reluctant leader.
In the years that followed, Missy and Tamarack continued being ambassadors of the Northwoods—and helping the township grow responsibly. It was nice being a fixture in one place again, with a loving family and plenty of friends.
All was well in the Northwoods, until that fateful day…
* * *
The residents of Stewartsville gathered on the north side of the village with picnic lunches to watch the spring log run. It was quite the spectacle, watching men racing down the Big Bates River on cut and cleaned timber, making their way south to the mills below the Northwoods. Such a grand time, until a run of logs broke free from the control of the seasoned lumbermen, toppling the temporary dam on the Little Bates River used to divert additional flow its bigger brother’s way.
When the Little Bates River couldn’t carry the load of timber rushing down, a log jam formed south of Stewartsville and quickly backed up. Despite the best efforts of the skilled river pigs running the logs, the area where the rivers split was overrun. As water diverted to the sides of the jam, more logs came rushing down. By early evening, Stewartsville was surrounded by a growing pile of logs—and ever-deepening waters too dangerous to cross.
Missy’s best efforts with the old heave-ho bore no results—there were just too many logs. Not even dynamite could break things free. As the jam grew wider, Benjamin predicted they had a week before the snow melt up north brought even more and they’d all be taken by flood waters or crushed among the shifting logs.
That’s when Missy had an idea…
* * *
The legend of Paul Bunyan was known coast to coast—a man so colossal that his reputation spanned oceans. Some said he was seven feet tall with a seven-foot stride, while others claimed he was a bona fide giant, with a chest rising high above the canopy of the tallest trees in the Northwoods. Missy speculated the truth lied somewhere in between. She also believed, if anyone could help clear the log jam, it was Mr. Bunyan and his mighty blue ox, Babe.
She told her parents the plan.
“Do be careful,” Emma Stewart said. “I worry about you.”
Missy bent down and hugged her mother. Benjamin was more practical.
“You should find him if you go straight on to Duluth and hang a right.”
“I will, Papa,” she said while kissing him on his forehead. “This is not goodbye.”
She hopped onto Tamarack’s back and held tight. The badger’s claws found purchase on the teetering timbers, and they raced off into the dark.
* * *
Between running alongside Tamarack—and sometimes riding on his back when she needed rest—they made it to Duluth in two days. It took another day to reach Paul Bunyan.
She saw him from a distance, standing on a bluff overlooking Lake Superior where the Big Onion River emptied into a body of water that may as well have been an ocean. Standing at his side, his massive blue ox, Babe. Missy tried guessing his height as she and Tamarack approached, eventually catching his attention as they climbed a hill on the backside of the bluff.
“Good eve to thee, friend! And…badger.”
“Hello!” Missy said. By the time she reached him, she guessed Paul Bunyan was 20-feet tall, with Babe standing at his shoulders.
“What can I do for you, ma’am?” the giant man said.
Missy shared the tale of Stewartsville’s troubles.
“I see.” Paul Bunyan looked across the lake below them and said, “Sounds like some got greedy and have cut more than they should. So, yes: I will help you. We’ll leave at first light.”
* * *
Cheers went up in Stewartsville when Bunyan’s head rose above the pile of logs and rising waters threatening to consume the settlement in a day’s time. Bunyan’s and Babe’s thundering footsteps echoed through the Northwoods. When he reached the log jam, Bunyan crossed as though it were level terrain. Tamarack skittered across timbers behind him, carrying Missy home. Not as sure-footed as the legendary giant or the massive badger, Babe waited on solid ground.
“You’re right—this is a fine mess,” Paul Bunyan said to Missy when they reached the settlement.
He filled his lungs and stretched to his full height.
“Good people of Stewartsville, your friend traveled far and put herself at great risk to find me. First, I must apologize for the eagerness of my fellow loggers. We should never cut more than we can manage. What’s been done cannot be changed, but I believe in my big heart that we can make things right again. Missy told me what happened, and we had plenty of time on our journey to come up with a plan.
“I’ll need the strongest among you to help Missy build a wedge of timbers north of town. When this all breaks, it’s going to be a monumental force you’ll remember for all your days. The wedge will keep Stewartsville safe. I’ll need a crew to dig a slope along the eastern edge of this island to make sure the water flows down the Big Bates River. And I’ll need the bravest among you to loosen the jam where the Big Bates splits. There will be plenty of time to manually remove what’s backed up on the little side, but to save the town, we need to drive the flow south. Babe will pull on the jam downstream and I will push from the north.”
Crews jumped to work, and by late afternoon, it was time to see how the plan worked out.
Bunyan’s mighty voice echoed through the Northwoods as he gave a hearty, “Push…pull! Push…pull!”
It sounded like a forest being dropped from the heavens when the log jam budged and finally broke loose from its own tangle. Water rushed south like a raging waterfall. Over the roar and cheering, Bunyan’s calls and Babe’s bellows echoed in Missy’s chest. The plan had worked!
Too well…
The entire jam broke free all at once, rather than in stages as planned. It ricocheted off the wedge Missy and others built on the north end of Stewartsville with such ferocity that it began to give.
“Hurry!” Missy shouted. The strongest of the lumbermen raced to the wall to help her hold the river’s fury back, but it was too much. They sought shelter with others on the south end of town.
With each surge of water and wood, Missy pushed back with equal force…until she could no longer hold back the barrage. Her legs trembled and her arms and shoulders burned. With her final effort, she gave all she had left, saving Stewartsville in the process. But the wedge—and Missy—tumbled into the Big Bates River. She tried leaping timber to timber but lost her footing. It didn’t matter how strong a swimmer she was against such an onslaught—it was a losing battle.
Just before being pulled under by the tail-end of the log jam, she looked to her parents on the shore and shouted, “This is not goodbye!”
She was never seen again…
* * *
No one knows for certain what happened to Mighty Missy Stewart following that fateful afternoon. Some say she was placed here by divine hands to save the people she loved and then called home. Others say her spirit roams the Northwoods, protecting all beasts, plants, and people. And still, others say she crawled back into the bear den from which she arrived, returning to the earth’s core to slumber until needed again.
The timbers from the Little Bates River still heat homes a century later—and will likely continue for centuries more. And late at night, on the coldest nights of winter, the old ones share stories about Mighty Missy Stewart, Tamarack, and their adventures by the glow of those fires.
One thing is for certain: as long as there are storytellers and willing ears, this is not goodbye…
[Quirky music fades in…]
Christopher Gronlund:
Thank you for listening to Not About Lumberjacks.
Theme music, as always, is by Ergo Phizmiz. Story music this time was by Sandra Marteleur, Horna Spelmän, and traditional tunes, all licensed through Epidemic Sound.
Sound effects are made in-house or from Epidemic Sound and freesound.org. And this time around, I even used some woody sounds from Bluezone Corporation, who make some great noises when I don’t have time to do so myself. Visit nolumberjacks.com for information about the show, the voice talent, and the music. Also, for as little as a dollar a month (or even free), you can support the show at patreon.com/cgronlund.
In December, it’s the annual Christmas episode. Santa’s bringing you four stories this year:
The first takes us back to summer school in the 1980s. After that, we go to Mars and attend a very strange funeral. And it’s all anchored by a Christmas tale featuring three famous ghosts who have grown tougher—and meaner—over the years.
[Quirky music fades out…]
[The sound of an axe chopping.]
Until next time: be mighty, and keep your axes sharp!
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