Coulee Down: Part Two

We're back! Here's part two of Coulee Down!
 

I swallowed and stammered, “You-you are Woody Guthrie?”

            He nodded and broke out into a grin. “The one and only.”

            “Woody who?” Marin looked from me to the famous folk singer, her brow furrowed as she tried to figure it out.

            “Marin, this man wrote your favorite song!” I exclaimed. “Remember, This Land is your Land?”

            My young friend’s eyes widened and she stared at the man in the sailor hat. “Oh, that Woody Guthrie! I love your music, sir!”

            Now it was Mr. Guthrie’s turn to be confused. “I’m sorry, what song?”

            I could have done a face-palm as I realized my slip-up. This Land is Your Land hadn't been written yet. “Uhh, well, you know your one song, Ramblin’ Round, we kinda renamed it This Land is Your Land because we feel the same way, even though we’re foreigners.”

            The singer nodded and adjusted his cap. “Hmm, I kinda like that title. I’ll have to keep that in the back of my mind.”

            “What brings you here, Mr. Guthrie?” Marin asked.

            “Well, I’m here to write a song about the Grand Coulee Dam.” He gestured at the large cement structure being built on the Columbia river. “The government commissioned me for the project to boost up morale for the workers.” He glanced at me. “What about you? You don’t look like a worker to me.”

            I glanced down at my lab coat, hiking boots, denim jeans and green shirt. Then let out a sheepish chuckle. “Well, yeah…”

            “He was commissioned by the government to check on the project.” Marin butted in. I sure did love that kid sometimes, she could make up the best excuses. “He’s a capital guy, y’know.”

            Guthrie cocked his head a little and studied me. “Strangest government man I’ve ever seen.”

            “It’s all the rave in D.C.”

            He shrugged. “Who am I to know a thing about style.”

            “So how’s the song going, Mr. Guthrie? Is it finished?” I switched the subject.

            My question was innocent enough, but it brought a grimace to Mr. Guthrie’s face. “Not goin’ so well.” He muttered. “I can’t seem to get the right lyrics down.”

            Marin shook her head. “Aww, I’m sorry sir.”

            “Well maybe we can help!” I suggested.

            “Not sure if you can, I just lack inspiration.”

            I wasn’t about to let a chance to help the famous folk singer of the thirties and forties slip through my fingers. “Give us a chance, we might have a way to help you out. We’re brimmin’ with good ideas!”

            At this Mr. Guthrie broke out in a grin. “Yeah, like climbing on the cement foundation when it hadn’t settled in. That was a great idea.”

            “Oh, so that’s what you did!” Marin shot a glare my way and I returned it with a so I made a mistake look.

            “Tell you what,” Mr. Guthrie continued, “Why don’t you fix up the men their grub and then meet me on the hill at, oh, let’s say three. Then I’ll let you see a sample of my song.”

            “Oh, yes!” Marin and I said in unison. “We’re looking forward to it!”

~oOo~

            I lay flat on my back and stared at the sky. My arms ached and my head hurt even more, and I let out a groan.

            “Have fun?” Marin giggled as she plopped next to me.

            “You are a monster.”

            A grin crossed her face and she flicked a blond braid over her shoulder. "A teď jdu k přepnutí do češtiny, takže nevím, co říkám vám, že velký sýr míč."

            I rolled onto my side and gave her a look. “You know I don’t like it when you switch to Czech on me. I can’t tell what you’re saying.”

            She giggled again, her blue eyes twinkling as she repeated the sentence. “And I’m not going to tell you what I said.”

            “Whatever.” I waved it off.

            Cooking for three hundred hungry workers had not been easy. I was exhausted. Twenty gallons of chili was the only reason I was still alive and not in pieces from the workers mob. I wasn’t sure if it was worth it.

            “Oh, here comes Mr. Guthrie!” Marin pointed out.

            She was right, the man trudged up the hill with his guitar in hand and a notebook in the other. We met with him in the middle and helped him carry his supplies to the top, anxious to hear his work.

            “Much obliged,” he said once we sat down. He strummed his guitar a little and then tuned it. “Now, are you sure you’re ready to hear the song?” He asked. “It’s not very good yet.”

            “Oh, yes, do play it!” Marin exclaimed as she clasped her hands together.

            For a couple of seconds Mr. Guthrie strummed his fingers against the guitar cords, humming. Then he began to sing.

“Now in Washington and Oregon, you can hear the factories hum,

making chrome and making manganese and light aluminum,

and there roars the flying fortress now to fight for Uncle Sam,

 Spawned upon the King Columbia by the big Grand Coulee Dam.”

He paused and frowned, then shook his head. “That’s all I got right now. I just can’t seem to follow up on the rest of the song.”

“That sounds great, though!” I told him. “It’s perfect.”

“See, I’m supposed to write this song to talk about the work the men are doing here to support their families and what a great job they’re doing on the dam.” He stared off at the massive structure in production. In one more year, 1941, the dam would be finished and become the biggest dam in all of the USA. But right now it was still in production.

“Well, what do you want to write?” Marin asked.

At this Mr. Guthrie’s face broke out into a grin. “I want to write about the land.” He stated. “I love this countryside, I want to describe the water and the land and the massive lake and river. That’s what I want to write.”

It was my turn to ask a question. “Then why don’t you?”

“I’m supposed to write about the workers.”

“I find that if I write what inspires me I can usually work it into whatever I was supposed to write.” Marin offered.

Guthrie bit his lower lip thoughtfully. “I dunno.”

He needed help and I knew it. I remembered how the song ended up, and it was not how he’d started it. “Just try it.” I encouraged.

His face lit up and he pulled out a pencil. “Well, now that you mention it, I do have an idea.”

It was all we could do to keep back our massive grins as we stood over his shoulder while he scribbled down some notes. Now that’s more like it. I thought. He was well on his way to creating another big hit.

~oOo~

            Thanks to 4T, I was able to go back in time and tell myself not to mess with the support post I’d toppled over. Because of that no one remembered I’d messed with the dam and everything went back to normal. Except I was still sore from cooking all of that chili, even if I didn’t technically cook it now that I'd changed the event.

            We’d already stayed an extra day in the sagebrush land of Roosevelt Lake, Washington. Though we both regretted having to leave, we knew it was time. Before we transported ourselves back to Hawaii and our animals, we sought out Mr. Guthrie to say goodbye.
            “Finished your survey already?” He asked as he raised an eyebrow.

            “What survey-” I began before Marin cut in.

            “Yeah, we’ve been here a while.” She shot me a look that said it all; you’re going to blow our cover.

            “Uhuh, yeah, what she said.” I plastered a sheepish grin on my face.

            “Well, it was a pleasure meeting you both, Mr. Trekker and Marin.” He shook our hands and tipped his hat to Marin. “Thank you so much for helping me out with my song.” He then proceeded to pull some papers out of his pocket and hand them to me. “To show my gratitude I wanted to give you the original copy of my song, Grand Coulee Dam.”

            “Oh, Mr. Guthrie!” Marin gasped.

            “But, but how will you remember all the words?” I stammered.

            “I copied it already, but I wanted to make sure you got the original since you helped me make it up.”

            “We will treasure it always.” I told him.

            We said one final goodbye and trudged out of sight of the dam and the construction workers as well as our new friend. Once we were sure no one could see us, I turned the dial of the watch and grabbed Marin’s hand as we teleported back in time to 12 A.D.

            I never forgot our trip to the dam, or our meeting with Mr. Guthrie. And whenever I hear one of his songs, I always remember I have the original copy of the song Grand Coulee Dam. Now there’s a treasure from time travel!

The End

Grand Coulee Dam

Well, the world has seven wonders that the trav'lers always tell,
Some gardens and some towers, I guess you know them well,
But now the greatest wonder is in Uncle Sam's fair lang,
It's the big Columbia River and the big Grand Coulee Dam.

She heads up the Canadian Rockies where the rippling waters glide,
Comes a-roaring down the canyon to meet the salty tide,
Of the wide Pacific Ocean where the sun sets in the West
And the big Grand Coulee country in the land I love the best.

In the misty crystal glitter of that wild and wind ward spray,
Men have fought the pounding waters and met a watery grave,
Well, she tore their boats to splinters but she gave men dreams to dream
Of the day the Coulee Dam would cross that wild and wasted stream.

Uncle Sam took up the challenge in the year of 'thrity-three,
For the farmer and the factory and all of you and me,
He said, "Roll along, Columbia, you can ramble to the sea,
But river, while you're rambling, you can do some work for me."

Now in Washington and Oregon you can hear the factories hum,
Making chrome and making manganese and light aluminum,
And there roars the flying fortress now to fight for Uncle Sam,
Spawned upon the King Columbia by the big Grand Coulee Dam.