Communicating through a third party was the hardest part of doing business in Japan.

      When I was going back and forth between our home in Springfield, Oregon and Nagasaki Japan between 1979 and 1982 fulfilling custom orders of stained glass for customers in Nagasaki, I only had one order that was not through a third party. And in that case the customer rejected the order when I delivered it. Here is an example of the communication problem.
Jesuit priest Father Aguilar had negotiated a commission with a Catholic Church to replace the imitation station glass with the real thing. The designs were by a famous artist in Nagasaki. What I understood the priest to want was as exact a reproduction of the original designs as possible. We met the ailing artist when the priest ordered the windows. The artist was in the hospital at that time, I understood enough Japanese at that time follow the priest's promise that the replacement windows would follow the original design as faithfully as possible. All I had to go on were photos of the failing imitation windows.
      About six months later I delivered the windows. Father Aguilar was anxious to see them and immediately insisted that I show him what they looked like.
     
      He was anxious to see the windows for Motohara Catholic Church. I was anxious to see if they had traveled safely.
      I lifted the first window out of the box far enough to see it. It was not broken. Father Aguilar blanched. “May we take it all the way out of the box please?” he asked quietly. His entire demeanor suddenly changed.
      I stood the window along the wall in the table tennis room next to the basement garage. I removed window after window, all sixteen of them. The designs were very simple, as if taken directly from a Bible coloring book. I had photographed them in place at the church and had projected them to the correct size so they were as close to the original drawings as physically possible to make them. Facial features were simple. Lines for the nose, mouth and eyes were simple. The faces and hands were done in flesh tones. Robes and backgrounds were earthy reds, bright blues and yellows.
      “I told him that you could make the faces very realistic with many small pieces,” he said almost angrily. “This is not what I described to him.”
      “You neglected to translate exactly what you did promise him then. It was my understanding that he wanted them to be as exactly like the originals as possible.”
      “But the originals are not great art. They are just like a child’s book. It is a waste of the glass!” He said emphatically.
      “Are you saying that you think he will reject them? That he won’t like them?”
      “That is exactly what I am saying. This is not what I promised to him.”
      “But, I thought we had promised Mr. Nagato, the artist, that we would not change his drawings.”
      “But, the imitation glass company did not do a good job of translating his designs,” he said.
      “I never saw the original designs,” I countered.
      “But, I thought that you could improve on what you saw.”
      “When can we show them to him? Can we ask him to come here now?”
      I had a premonition that if Aguilar had a chance to talk with him and set the seed of doubt on the designs, and if he pulled his support from them, I was in real trouble. The sooner the priest saw them and with the fewer pre-conceived doubts, the better.
      “Unfortunately he is not here at this time. He is in retreat and will not be back at the church until Monday. You must wait until that time.”
      “So what are you going to recommend to him, if he asks for your recommendation?” I asked.
      “I must live in Nagasaki. I have a responsibility to my church and my colleagues. I also have an obligation to you as you are my friend. It will be very difficult, but I must recommend that he not install those windows in his church. They are not what I promised.”

      It was a long weekend. On Monday when the priest at Motohara returned we took the sixteen windows to the his church. Father Aguilar insisted I show him at least one window in the parking lot to save us the time of carrying them inside.
     
       If only he had told me all that he had told the priest so that I could have known what to do. This was the real danger in using the go-between because most of the conversations were never translated.
At Motohara Church, after a few minutes of Japanese banter and polite exchanges between the two priests, I got the signal to open one of the boxes. We were still outside in the parking lot. I held my breath and waited. I realized that Aguilar suggested we open the boxes there in the parking lot because he sincerely believed we’d just be loading the boxes back into the car and taking them away after the priest saw them.
      I unscrewed the lid, held my breath, lifted a window out of the box and stood it against the crate. The priest looked at the window and his face broke out into a big smile of relief.
      “Sugoi (great)!” He said. He bowed deeply, “Domo Arigato, gaijin san!” He turned to Aguilar, bowed very deeply and began chattering enthusiastically.
      “Please bring the boxes inside the church where we can take them all out so we can look at them,” he said in Japanese.
      After all sixteen windows stood in a row along the wall he walked down the line, looking at the stained glass and then back at the imitation with the plastic overlay peeling off.
      He beamed at the stained glass. “It is exactly what we wanted in the first place. We were afraid you might change them. As you may know Mr. Nagata died this summer. We had promised him his designs would not be changed,” he said in Japanese.
      “I am surprised,” Aguilar said. “I thought surely he was expecting something completely different.”
      The priest sat down in a pew and stared at the windows until time to put them back into the boxes. Even with no outside light coming through them as they stood against the wall, there was no comparison between the brilliance and color of the glass and the plastic, even though the sun was shining directly through the plastic at that time of day.

Sunteindo Garasu: Stained Glass by Kenneth Fenter Second Edition will be available on Amazon.com by Dec. 1, and at http://www.createspace.com/3869898 on Nov. 25, 2014. The Second edition is in Full Color.

The atmosphere Stained Glass created in the chapel of the Nagai Center, Suteindo Garasu: Stained Glass by Kenneth Fenter

      The reason I learned the art and craft of stained glass was what light passing through colored glass does to the atmosphere of a room. It was in a small chapel at Kispiox, British Colombia, that I first experiences this on a drizzly afternoon.

6' x 6' window designed by Barboa.
Stained glass by Ken Fenter

      The following excerpt from my non-fiction book Suteindo Garasu: Stained Glass is one of those moments after a grey, concrete walled room is turned into a warm tranquil space.    

      Aguilar’s prayers apparently carried some weight though, as finally about nine p.m. the last panel was in place and miraculously none of the panels or the people handling them had been dropped, broken or crippled. While the glassman applied the final putty on the lily window, the rest of us picked a pew and sat down to let the tension drain.
      Pancho turned off the lights and the windows glowed from the city lights outside. Aguilar turned and looked at the twelve Stations of the Cross that had been installed earlier. He crossed himself and silently prayed. Before the stained glass was installed the grey concrete walls and overhead florescent lights were harsh and cold. Now the large amount of opalescent glass caught the incidental light from the city and reflected amber light into the room, bathing it in a soft warm glow. No more would the chapel be grey and cold feeling. 

6' x 8' window designed by Barboa
Stained glass by Ken Fenter

      A solitary recessed spotlight shone on the crucifix and a replica of a fumie behind the altar. Relief sculpture on the concrete columns in the center of the chapel and along the walls showed clearly in the dim amber light. No one spoke. We sat, each with our own thoughts.
      After a while, we filed silently down the stairs to the kitchen off the sitting room. Pancho fixed real perked coffee in an old automatic coffeemaker someone had donated to the Center. The garasu ya san, who spoke no English, excused himself and returned to his home. We pulled chairs around the kitchen table, and the four women, Aguilar, Pancho and I relaxed. The windows were in place and in time for Easter and the rash of spring weddings that were scheduled. A gust of wind rattled the kitchen windows and it began to rain as the storm front hit.

5' x 10 window designed by Barboa
Stained glass by Ken Fenter

      “I have waited for this moment for many years,” Aguilar said happily as we sipped our coffee. “I think this calls for a toast. And, by happy coincidence I have here some fine wine presented to the Center by one of our visitors this past month. Unfortunately I cannot join you as this is still, my period of abstinence, but I can join the rest of you in a toast. He went to one of his cabinets and took out two bottles of French wine. Pancho produced six glasses.
      We clicked our glasses together in “Kampai!” The four women were missionary teachers who were teaching at private schools in the Osaka and Kyoto area. As with most of the missionary teachers I’d met at the Center, they were pleasant, soft spoken, open, and sincere.

Suteindo Garasu: Stained Glass Second Edition

by Kenneth Fenter will be available soon with full color photos on Amazon.com

Available now: Gaijin! Gaijin! and MoIchido: Once More by Kenneth Fenter

Suteindo Garasu: Stained Glass by Ken Fenter Review by Ronalee Ramsay Kincaid

          At long last the second edition of Suteindo Garasu: Stained Glass is nearing release. Over the last year I've scanned and run the original text through optical character recognition (OCR) cleaned the file, and re-scanned all the photos in color to produce a second edition copy. This edition will be printed in full color fitting the stained glass windows. Some of the color photos have lost their original brilliance, unfortunately, but most are still close to the original. Unfortunately the full color book is more expensive but that is the nature of color printing. I held the price down by printing the volume in a larger 8.5 x 11 format. Text is in two columns for readability. The e-book will also be in full color. This will make it viewable in color on the Kindle Fire and I believe it will be viewed in color if read on tablets such as the IPad. I haven't tested it that way yet. 
      I'm proud of this book although it did not have nearly the circulation that Gaijin and MoIchido had. When I released it in 1990, I was back in the classroom full time and had little time to market it. Even now, 29 years after the release of the first edition of Gaijin, it is the best selling of all my books. I encourage readers of it and MoIchido to read Stained Glass to see how the saga concluded for me.
Ken Fenter.

          Stained Glass the third of Ken Fenter’s books about Japan, continues the stories begun In the first two, (Gaijn! Gaijin! and Mo Ichido: Once More) but adds a new dimension. The Fenter family re-enters life in the United States, but life has changed. Although their readjustment seems smooth, Fenter himself has some unfinished business in Japan, both practical and emotional. During the next three years he attempts to set up a business, making stained glass windows and lamps, which would allow him to move back and forth between two cultures. The book is an examination of the differences in those cultures, particularly in their business dealings, an insight into the working of an artistic mind, and a frank, personal view of a man in transition.
          Fenter’s returning to Japan as a businessman instead of a teacher is a bit like Dorothy returning to Oz as an entrepreneur. Some of the magic and wonder is gone: reality is more apparent, but there is the possibility for really understanding the culture in more of its subtleties as he works his way through the system.
          Stained Glass adds a new dimension to the other books in its emphasis on the actual process of producing fine works of art. Beginning with the interviews with the customers to discover what they have in mind, mulling over design possibilities, settling on a final plan, making drawing, presenting them for approval, putting together glass and lead, and finally installing windows or lamps in less than ideal circumstances, Fenter lets us see the complexity of each step. It is a rare analysis of the creative mind at work presented humbly and introspectively. His book is worth reading for that alone.
We learn more about Japan and Japanese customs in this book, but we also learn more about our own culture. For awhile Fenter is “gaijin” foreigner in both cultures and he applies his observation skills to both cultures, trying to find his place in one or both of them. The search is often frustrating and leads the reader to think how each of us receives value in our culture and what we might be willing to risk in another.
          Like the other two books, this is an adventure, a search, an initiation. It moves from the light-hearted to the poignant, from elation to frustration, to despondency and back with a sure voice. Wide-eyed absorption is gone; realistic evaluation takes its place. Any reader’s understanding will be broadened as Fenter takes us through the maze of culture, artistic endeavor, and personal growth.
         Ronalee Ramsay Kincaid

Snowshoe the Lynx, May he rest in peace

      For a short time from 2006 to 2008, I had the pleasure of volunteering as a photographer at the High Desert Museum south of Bend, Oregon. In the beginning I had access to the animals and their trainers. Several of the animals were trained to meet the public other than just behind wire and glass.
One beautiful predator was still new to the museum but was being trained and I had access. He was in an enclosure where I could photograph him without shooting through wire.
      He posed like a seasoned model. Some of those photos are still on display at the museum.
After a few years Snowshoe was moved to the atrium behind glass for patrons to observe and there he lived out his life. In today's Bend Bulletin that life is chronicled. It was a hard bitter life that of a wild creature raised in captivity and released to die with inadequate tools to survive.
      The full story can be downloaded on the Nov. 13, Bend Bulletin website. They estimate Snowshoe lived to 20 years old.
      Here are two of my favorite photos of Shoeshoe. One in the enclosure in 2006, the other during winter with his full winter coat, in the atrium.
      Rest in peace.
      Kenneth Fenter

 

In Incessant Expectations, by Kenneth Fenter, Jim has two women interested in him, and he has no idea what to do about it.

      Jim continued deepening his friendship with Hattie and Mary. Each morning, he ate breakfast at the Sportsman, and each evening, he ate dinner at the Fisherman Hideaway. 
      As the summer wore on, Hattie at the Sportsman Café grew fonder of the young man from Colorado. She sensed the loneliness Jim felt at being so far from home for the first time, and she was pleased at what he was doing for Charlie. She loved the old man, and worried about him. When Charlie came in alone, she heard him telling her dad, and the other fishermen about Jim. He praised the boy’s progress and his natural fishing abilities. 
      Charlie was obviously very impressed. 
      As Hattie became more interested in Jim, she had mixed emotions about it. On the one hand, she wished he wasn’t becoming quite so involved in fishing. She was afraid that he would become obsessed with buying a boat, and give up on returning to college. She had seen it happen too many times. In their conversations, Jim never wavered from his goal of starting back to school in the fall, however.


      On the other hand, she wished he would show more interest in her than he did. She was afraid to express that to him, because she had vowed not to get involved with someone involved in the very career and interests she was trying so hard to break free of. 
      Nevertheless, she watched for things she could do to please him, such as packing an extra free apple or a Hershey bar in his lunch. She began putting notes in his lunch box each day, wishing him well, or wishing him luck in his fishing. 
      Unfortunately, through gossip in the close-knit community of Winchester Bay, she learned that Jim usually ate dinner at the Fisherman Hideaway flirting with the bartender Mary, a shapely, gorgeous, blond woman. Rumor had it, Jim was sweet on her, and from the amount of time that Mary spent visiting with him, the feelings were reciprocal. There was even a rumor that she had invited him up to her apartment, something that she had never done with any other patron to the tavern. Jim had never asked Hattie out, or even for her phone number. How could she compete with that? 

      On those few occasions when the weather forced the Madilin and its crew to return to the shelter of Salmon Harbor, Charlie and Jim would drop by the Fisherman Hideaway for dinner and a beer for Charlie and iced-tea for Jim. Jim also introduced Charlie to Mary’s cream-pies. There they could relax, have a good meal before Charlie retired to the boat, and Jim found a place to park the pickup camper for the night. On his own, he had started going to the Hideaway to eat dinner and visit with Mary, rather than buy groceries and cook for himself. It was more expensive, but since he slept in the pickup, the only other expense he had, was an occasional tank of gas, and feeding coin in the washer and dryer at Windy Cove Campground. 

      It was on one such late Friday afternoon at the end of July that Charlie and Jim dropped by the Hideaway before splitting up for the weekend.
      Mary, the bartender, looked forward to greeting them with a smile. Charlie’s had been a familiar face for the past three years she had worked there, and she had been fond him from the start. But, now, she looked forward to him coming in because of his partner, Jim. It was an awareness in her that she had never felt for any of the men close to her own age before. Jim likes my pie and my laugh. He doesn’t try to grab me, or undress me with his eyes. I can almost believe he likes me for myself, not my body. He comes in to eat, visits, makes me laugh, and does all that sober.
      She put Pabst Blue Ribbon in front of Charlie and iced-tea in front of Jim. By now she could place Jim’s dinner order without asking. He seemed to enjoy her surprising him. She hadn’t picked anything he didn’t like yet. She always picked something simple, inexpensive and nutritious. 
      She went to the kitchen and came back with a large bowl of clam chowder and fresh baked bread for Charlie. It would take longer for Jim’s dinner.
      She leaned against the bar to eagerly hear how their day had gone while Charlie ate. “You taking care of yourself Charlie? Is Jim working you too hard?” she asked. She smiled at Jim.
      “I’m beginning to catch up on my rest,” Charlie said between spoonfuls of chowder. “Chuck is running the boat by himself these days and making money for me while I doze and enjoy the ride.”
      “I’m glad to hear that, Charlie,” Mary said. “I warned him to take care of you, or he would have to answer to me.”
      Mary realized that Charlie had called him Chuck and looked at Jim. Jim winked at her and nodded slightly. Mary automatically picked up one of Jim’s hands and checked his callouses while Charlie finished his chowder. Her soft hands cupped around his cracked and chapped right hand. Her hands felt warm. Jim looked up into her face. The only time she ever touched him was to apply salve to his hands. They had many conversations since he had been at Winchester Bay and the evening he had dined with her. As she had done before, she put his hand down, went to the other end of the bar, got her little jar of salve and returned to Charlie and Jim. She gently began to knead salve into the chapped knuckles of his right hand, then his left and worked it into the cuts and callouses of his palms. 
      Charlie had finished his chowder and sat back. “Okay, Charlie, give me your hand,” Mary said. She scooped a little of the waxy substance and rubbed it into his palm, just as she had Jim’s. 
      Is this her version of holding hands? Maybe she feels safe in here, but not out when we are alone, Jim wondered. 
      She picked up Jim’s hand again when she finished with Charlie’s, and held it for a moment tightly in hers. A floor waitress tapped on the bar with an order. Mary laid his hand down and moved down the bar to fill the order.

Autographed copies of Incessant Expectations by Kenneth Fenter available at Arborwood Press or order from Amazon.com

Photos from Dreamstime.com

The slow process of learning how to relate to women,
Jim Howard and Mary Brooks in Incessant Expectations by Kenneth Fenter

     After a leisurely drive up to Florence, and a walk along the harbor front stores, Jim returned to Winchester Bay late in the afternoon. He went to the Fisherman Hideaway Tavern-Café for dinner.
    The bartender, Mary Brooks, saw him come in and moved down the bar as he took his seat. “Welcome back, Jim,” she said. “The usual?” 
     “You remembered me,” he said somewhat surprised. She placed a glass of iced-tea on the bar in front of him as if to prove it.
     “Never forget a face or what you ordered,” she said. “That’s my strong suit.”
     “Is it possible to order a burger from the café and eat it over here?” he asked.
     “I can take your order for that,” she said. “Do it all the time.”
     “Then, I’d like a burger with a slice of real cheese on it, lettuce, onion, and pickle. They can leave off the spread though. And, if they serve pie over there, a slice of any kind of pie.”
     Mary had not written down any of what he had said. “They use Bandon cheddar. Sharp or mild?”
     “I’ll try sharp.”
     “I’ll tell the cook. I think you’ll especially like the pie.” She went through the kitchen door to place the order. 
     “Why will I especially like the pie?” he asked a few minutes later when she returned.
     “Because, I made it. I make the pies here in the afternoons for a little extra money on the side. I’ll bring you my peanut butter cream.”
    “Where did you come from, Mary? I didn’t know anyone could bake a peanut butter cream-pie other than my mother!” Jim said.
     She laughed. It was low, and Jim thought the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. “Your mother bakes pies too, I gather,” she said. Her smile lit up her face.
     “The main thing that kept me on the farm was my mom’s pies, fruit cobbler with sweet cream. Umm. Good.”
    “So I’ve got some pretty hefty competition, I see,” Mary said teasing him.
     “Well, I consider her the best pie baker there is. But until I try a slice of yours, I’ll withhold judgment.”
     After Jim had finished his burger and pie, he sat back contentedly and washed it down with a second glass of ice-cold tea. Mary came back by to see how he was doing. Not a crumb remained on his plate.
    “So? How do I measure up in the pie making contest?” she asked.
     “I’d say it’s at least a tie. At the moment, I’d say you have an edge. While I’m staying at Winchester Bay, I may become your best customer, subject to availability of funds, of course.”
   Mary laughed again in her rich, melodious laugh that matched her pretty face, and Jim wanted a tape recording of it, so he could enjoy listening to it, over and over again. It was like icing on the meal that he had just finished. It had been a perfect day, and he felt content. For just a little while, he had forgotten his shyness around a beautiful woman. 
     “I suppose you are just starting your shift,” he said impulsively.
     “Why, Jim, are you suggesting that if I were getting off soon, you would be asking me out?” she asked.
     “I guess you get asked out by every man who comes in here,” Jim said his face suddenly beginning to turn red.
     “Not really. Bartenders are usually safe from being hit on. It’s the waitresses that have to put up with every lonely guy who comes in,” she said amused because of his rapidly spreading blush. 
    “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I’ve had such a perfect day and a perfect piece of pie. And your laugh is music to my ears,” he continued. His blush deepened. 
     “You like my pie and my laugh?” Mary asked in surprise. She had never heard that pickup line before.
    “Well, yeah,” he said. “Those, are the top of the things I’ve enjoyed today. I drove up the coast enjoying some of the most beautiful country I’ve ever seen, and then came in here to your beautiful, perfect face, musical laugh, and pie to die for. I’ve found paradise,” he said sincerely.
    Mary studied his face for a moment. She had become good at reading men in the five years she had worked as a bartender. She was positive this young stranger was being completely sincere. He wasn’t flattering her to get something from her. What a change from what she was used to. She took a second look at him. He was good looking in an exotic way – high cheek bones, long, raven black hair. He was either part Native American, or had a little Asian blood. He had a little darker complexion than most of the men who came in. He was soft spoken with a slight accent, maybe southern, was polite. And, he was a friend of Charlie’s. 
    “And all you’ve had to drink is ice-tea,” Mary laughed. “You are a breath of fresh air in this tavern, Jim Howard. If I were at the end of my shift, I might just go for a walk with you. Take that as a compliment, because I don’t go for walks with my customers.”
    “Do you ever have a day off?” Jim asked shyly.
    “Wednesdays. That’s when I do most of my housework, shopping, and relaxing.”

Autographed copies of Incessant Expectations by Kenneth Fenter available at arborwoodpress.com also available at Amazon.com

Models photos from Dreamstime.com

Jim Howard sees the girl of his dreams at the Fisherman Hideaway in Incessant Expectations by Kenneth Fenter

        They walked outside and into the tavern entrance to the Fisherman Hideaway.
        Charlie and Jim sat at the bar. One of the most beautiful women Jim had ever seen came down the long polished bar to greet them. Jim suddenly felt grubby with his unshaven face. He was d

azzled by her smile. She is the real flesh and blood woman from my fishing boat daydream, or as close as it’s going to get, Jim thought.
        “Hi Charlie, the usual Pabst Blue Ribbon?” the strawberry blond bartender asked.
        “You know me too well, Mary. What’s your poison, Jim?” Charlie asked.
        “Is it possible in a tavern that you’d have unsweetened iced-tea?” Jim stuttered. “If not, I’ll have a coffee.”
        “We have anything you want in here,” she said. She moved down the bar to an under the bar cooler and pulled out a bottle of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer, brought it back, popped the lid, poured most of it into a frosted glass and placed both in front of Charlie. Then she went through a swinging door into what Jim assumed was a kitchen. 

        “She your girlfriend, Charlie?” Jim asked in awe.
        “That’s Mary Brooks. She’s a sweetheart. You order from her once, she always remembers.”
        “She’ll think I’m a wimp or something ordering iced-tea,” Jim said. “And a tramp, the way I look.”
        “Not Mary. She won’t judge you. It will set you apart. She will definitely remember you,” Charlie chuckled.
        “Here you go,” Mary said putting a frosty glass of tea in front of Jim. “Who’s your friend?” she asked Charlie while she studied Jim.
        “Mary, meet my new fishing partner, Jim Howard. He fished with me today. Jim, Mary Brooks.”
Mary reached across the bar and took just the tips of Jim’s fingers in hers. I’m pleased to meet any friend of Charlie’s, although I’ve never heard of him taking anyone on before,” she said. “He must think you’re special. You from around here?”
        “Just came in from Colorado,” Jim said.
        “I’d take you fishing anytime, Mary,” Charlie said winking at her.
        “I’m sure you tell all the girls that, you handsome Devil,” Mary laughed.
Jim smiled at the easy repartee between Mary and Charlie. I’d give anything to have that with her, he thought.
       The tavern was busy and Mary moved efficiently back and forth along the bar, pouring beer and mixing drinks for the two other waitresses covering the floor. Most of the beer was into mugs from several taps. Jim noticed a marked contrast in the provocative dress of the floor waitresses and the conservative dress of the bartender, Mary, whose blouse fastened to the top button. She also wore loose slacks.
        Regardless of Mary’s attire, he couldn’t help but admire her grace, beautiful face, long, rich blond hair that hung down past her shoulders, and definitely feminine figure that she kept hidden from the rest of the room from behind the bar. He was suddenly glad that she didn’t flaunt herself to the men in the tavern. She has too much class for that, he thought.

Autographed copies of Incessant Expectations by Kenneth Fenter available at arborwoodpress.com Also available at Amazon.com 

A first experience with women at age 22

Incessant Expectations by Kenneth Fenter

In the novel Incessant Expectations Jim Howard has given up trying to interact with girls and then women after constant rejection in high school. He is now in a Oregon, far from his Southwestern childhood home. On his second day on the coast he takes a charter, gets seasick, catches a salmon, and is back safely at shore. He goes back to the Sportsman Cafe run by the Charter Company and sees the waitress who helped him get his ticket. 

     A tired, but happy, Jim stepped into the Sportsman Café at ten that morning. He sat down in a booth where he could look out at the dock where the McPherson I was getting ready for its next trip. 

     A line of people, who all wanted to get on a boat, was lined up at the ticket counter at the charter office, where the secretary patiently explained they might work in another trip, because the first trip had come back early. Otherwise, there was no way they could get on. One man bitterly complained that the only time you could get on a “puker” was when there were no fish biting. 

     Hattie stopped at Jim’s table. She winked and said, “You didn’t take the pills did you?”

     Jim shook his head sheepishly.

     She brought him a bowl of clam chowder, an extra cup of coffee and joined him for her break. “Was it worth it?” she asked.

     “Certainly was,” he said and smiled at the memory. 

     “You still look a little peaked around the gills. I would suggest you take those the next time you go out.” She reached across the booth and poked his shirt pocket where she had seen him put the Dramamine.

     “Believe me, I will. Does it ever go away?” he asked. 

     “For most people it does. There are a few tricks to keep it from coming on. You probably won’t have trouble with it again, especially if you take the pills,” she said. “It’s worse on a charter boat. Boats like Dad’s are built wider to take passengers and to give them room to keep their gear from tangling. They are flat bottomed, so they respond to the sea more. They are lighter and faster, so they can get out and back, and spend their time fishing. The deep sea trawlers are heavier, have a low center of gravity and have stabilizers to keep the hooks from rising and falling so much with rougher seas. The commercials have big diesel engines that plug along, but are efficient.” 

Jim listening while he sipped the steaming hot clam chowder. “This is amazing,” he commented. “You make this?” 

     “It’s the only thing, I do cook in here. I guess you could say, it’s my specialty,” she blushed. 

“You could patent it, if there is such a thing as patenting food.”

     She smiled at his compliment. 

     “You know a lot about boats,” Jim said. 

     “I’ve lived around them all my life,” she said.

     When he finished the chowder, he asked, “Do you know if a man by the name of Charlie Reed has a boat here?”

     “Charlie? Yes, he has a boat here. The Madilin. He keeps her over on ‘C’ dock. How do you know Charlie?” Hattie asked.

     “It’s a long story,” Jim said.

     “My break is over for now, but I want to hear it. My shift is over, and I have lunch at 1:30. If you haven’t had lunch by then, come on back, join me and tell me the story,” she invited.

Incessant Expectations by Kenneth Fenter autographed copies available at arborwoodpress.com print and kindle copies available at amazon.com  print copies available at online books stores worldwide.

His first salmon on the charter boat

Modern charter out of Depoe Bay, OR

in Incessant Expectations

by Kenneth Fenter

     Jim Howard lands on the Oregon coast at Wincester Bay, 4 miles south of Reedsport, Oregon. He is eager to catch a salmon. To date he has caught only trout in the clear streams of the Rocky Mountains of Colorado. Until a month before they had averaged less than 10 inches long. During the two weeks before leaving Colorado he had managed to learn to catch larger trout in the Dolores River, trout up to 18 and 20 inches on dry flies and light weight tackle.

     He signs onto the McPherson Charters the next day after his arrival, the early morning run. It is for four hours or the boat's limit of 3 fish per passenger or 18 fish for the 6 passengers. Fish have been biting.

     Except for Grandma’s first chinook, the rest of the catches were much smaller silvers. Jim was encouraged by the rest of the crew, especially from the grandma who had caught five fish by now. “You must not be holding your mouth right,” she suggested.

Jim grinned at this. It was his Uncle Ed’s favorite excuse for anything that didn’t work out right.

     Another hour passed. 

The boat bobbed on the ocean, lifting with the swells and dipping with the troughs. The sun was out now, and it was much warmer than when they had left the shore. Jim removed the poncho and waited. The fish had quit biting. Everyone had fallen silent. They placed their rods in the pipe holders in front of their chairs and relaxed. 

     Johnny poured coffee for anyone who wanted it. The boat plowed back and forth searching.

     Jim watched the constant motion of the ocean as it rose and fell in long easy rounded hills and valleys. He began to notice garbage floating by: Styrofoam fragments from floats and coffee cups, plastic bottles, and beer cans. The surface was cut occasionally with a path of floating seaweed that Johnny called a rip tide. Jelly fish floated by and hundreds of birds either floated on the waves or sped by in flocks. Other charter boats and fishing boats had joined them and ploughed along a short distance away. Occasionally, one, taking a cue from the birds perhaps, pulled in lines and sped off in another direction. 

     The sea was calm, except for the wake from a departing boat that caused the McPherson I to rock repeatedly for a while. 

     Jim was hypnotized by the constant motion. 

     On the sea. 

     On the boat. 

     In front of him.

     His head felt dizzy. 

     He felt panicky and a little queasy. 

     He looked around, helplessly. He would have traded all the salmon in the ocean for a bathroom. Johnny handed him a plastic pail. His gut erupted into the bucket. Everyone else looked away sympathetically. He had shamefully branded himself. 

     The two pills Hattie had given him that morning were still in his pocket.

     Jim retched several more times, and he felt better. Johnny handed him  a cloth so he could wipe his mouth, and then handed him a cup of coffee. Jim took a drink and started to thank the First Mate, but his rod suddenly straightened and the line began to zing out of his reel. 

     “Fish on!” Grandma yipped. 

     The captain cut the throttle and Johnny stepped forward to assist. 

     His seasickness was forgotten. He handed Johnny the coffee cup, grabbed the rod out of the holder and began to reel and haul. 

Incessant Expectations by Kenneth Fenter autographed copies available at arborwoodpress.comhttp://arborwoodpress.com  print and kindle books available at amazon.com and books online everywhere worldwide.

Working on the green-chain
From Incessant Expectations,
New Novel by Kenneth Fenter
     In Incessant Expectations, Jim Howard's first job in Oregon is working on the green-chain at the Elk Creek Mill. It is Jim's first job working for wages and working with a crew. 
     On the farm he is used to being his own boss working alone and at his own pace. He is not a big man, but he is strong, used to working long grueling hours under brutal conditions in the high altitude in Colorado.
     He is also used to being around people he can trust.
     The first day on the job he learns that he is in a new world where he needs to trust only himself. The next morning with hands that are nearly ruined by ill fitting gloves furnished by his crew foreman, and an aching back, he sits down to breakfast at the Lumberman's Cafe.

He went next door to the Lumberjack Café, which advertised that it fixed lunches for hungry lumbermen. He had breakfast, bought sandwiches and had his thermos filled. His blistered hands brought a look of sympathy from the waitress, a pretty young girl either still in, or fresh out, of high school.

“Just start working at the mill?” she asked looking at his hands.

“Yesterday,” he said blushing when she saw him wince when he picked up his coffee cup.

“Don’t tell me you used the gloves they furnished,” she said.

“They didn’t fit very well. I stopped at the feed store last night and bought my own pair.”

“Wish you had stopped here before you started working there. I could have warned you,” she said.

“I wish I had, too. But, I should have known better,” Jim said quietly. “When I was little, my mother would have called it natural consequences.”

“Watch those guys, they can be pretty ornery on the new guys,” she said seriously. “That pile of gloves has been pulled on more than one unsuspecting newcomer to mill work.”

“My mistake, but I’ll live,” Jim said and grinned at her.

“I’ve lived around these guys all my life. They can make your life miserable, if they choose to. Or, if you choose to become one of the good ole boys, you can have a lot of fun with them, assuming you enjoy their definition of fun.”

She held his eyes a moment longer, “You planning to stand up to them?”

“Will I need to?”

“You may have to. They shouldn’t have pulled the gloves shit on you. They knew what it would do to your hands. That’s crap. Look at them. The foreman sized you up as soon as he laid eyes on you and decided you couldn’t pull your own weight. He had gloves that would fit you. Your hands wouldn’t look like that this morning!” she said.

Jim looked up at her, surprised at her anger.

“As I said, I can take care of myself.”

She lowered her eyes, “I’ll bet you can. But, just be careful.”

“I won’t fight them,” Jim said.

“If you try, they will make mash out of you,” she said sadly.

“You have a history with these guys?” he asked. “This really makes you mad.”

“My dad tangled with them a long time ago. Long story.”

“I’m sorry,” Jim said.

“Just be careful. Promise me.”

Incessant Expectations by Kenneth Fenter available at Amazon.com or autographed copies direct from arborwoodpress.com

Incessant Expectations 
by Kenneth Fenter, 
a classic tale of 
When one door closes, 
look for the one that's open
Jim Howard, second year student in fine arts at Mesa State College, and full time farmer on the family farm, suddenly has the door closed in his face one day in early June 1976.
One day he is tending the corn, beans, grain and alfalfa. Two weeks later he is leaving the only place and life he knows to venture to an unknown land. Behind him are the tractor he spends hours on most days, and the mountains he fishes in and looks out at each morning. 

After two days on the road in his Chevy pickup he is in the Pacific Northwest, land of Douglas firs, and crashing surf. 

and huge logging trucks feeding numerous saw mills in the Willamette Valley and the coastal towns. 
He almost immediately gets a job working the green chain at a small lumber company. 
It is the first time in his 22 years that he earns a paycheck. He has worked on a crew on the farm, but he finds working on the crew at the mill is a little different. He has a lot to learn working for someone else for a paycheck, and how to get along with his fellow workers. 



Cornfield, surf, logging truck, and fir tree royalty free images from Dreamstime.com

Incessant Expectations available from Amazon.com in print and kindle e-books. For information on all books by Kenneth Fenter-fiction and non-fiction, visit arborwoodpress

Incessant Expectations by Kenneth Fenter: One inexperienced young man 
and two women.
       Jim Howard works on the family farm until he is 22 years old. He attends the small one room grade school. In high school he withdraws when he is taunted by the other students for his lack of social skills. He shows a aptitude for art and during the winter months attends a state college where he excels but because of his high school experience of rejection when he attempts to date, he does not try to date any of the girls he meets in his fine arts classes.
    On the farm he works for his room and board. There is never enough money left over for a wage. At his age he reasons that if he did find some one to date he wouldn't have a means to court her or to support her if they got serious. At the beginning of the novel, Jim is contemplating his future as he tends his new crop. All is growing well on an early June day. He takes a break and takes a nap. He dreams. In the dream he is fishing on the ocean. His wife is a beautiful blond woman. When he awakes he knows she is the woman from an advertisement from a magazine. By that night his life as he knows it is shattered. The farm must be sold or the bank will take it.
    A month later he is working with a partner at Winchester Bay, Oregon as a fisherman. Each morning he is waited on at the Sportsman Cafe by Hattie. Most evenings when he comes in he visits The Fisherman's Hideaway where he is served Iced tea by Mary. She brings him his supper from the adjoining cafe, is concerned about the condition of his hands, and rubs salve into his cuts and callouses from that's day's fishing. They both visit with him and for the first time in his life, he is not tongue tied with a woman. 
    Hattie begins to put notes in the lunch box the Sportsman Cafe prepares for Jim and his partner Charlie. She slips in a an extra treat, an apple, or a candy bar. 
    Mary tells Jim that if he ever gets his boat and begins living off the river, carefree and his own boss, she just might go with him. 
    The first date in his life is with Mary.
    The second is with Hattie.
    Hattie is affectionate but has restrictions on what is future can be.
    Mary won't hold his hand, but she applauds his free choice in what he does and encourages it.
    Jim Howard must learn about the vagaries of the Pacific Ocean to earn his living, he also must learn in a short time about the fair gender the things that most young men have learned throughout their teen years. 
    He and the two women he is attracted to aren't sure he is up for the challenge.

Royalty Free Photos licensed through Dreamstime.com

More on Incessant Expectations and other novels by Kenneth Fenter on arborwoodpress.com
Incessant Expectations by Kenneth Fenter available in print and e-book on Amazon.com

Painting by Mark Fenter of the fictional
commercial boat, Madilin.

Incessant Expectations 
by Kenneth Fenter
Salmon fishing at Winchester Bay, Oregon
in the mid 70s. 
  
       When Jim Howard in the novel arrives in Winchester Bay and becomes partners with the owner of "the Madilin", he is entering an industry on the way out. Once a thriving industry, Commercial fishing in the late 1970s faced a dwindling resource and ever oppressive government regulation. 
       Foreign factory ships hoovering off shore took bottom fish as well as prize game fish. 
       Jim hears the arguments from fishermen as well as the young woman, Hattie, that he falls in love with who wants to escape the prospect of marrying a fisherman who must face danger on the ocean and poverty from the upkeep of a boat. 
       Jim's partner, Charlie is an old time fisherman who  teaches Jim well. The Madilin is well cared for under Charlie's care. By the end of the summer Jim must decide whether he must give up the dream of a boat like the Madilin before he will have a chance with Hattie.  

       

Photo of an actual Colombia River double-ender
similar to what the Madilin is based on. 

Arborwood Press online

Arborwood Press: New from Arborwood Press, Seeing Red: A Memoir by Jim Henson and Incessant Expectations by Kenneth Fenter

New from Arborwood Press, Seeing Red: A Memoir by Jim Henson and Incessant Expectations by Kenneth Fenter

 New from Arborwood Press

Seeing Red: A Memoir by Jim Henson

Arborwood Press is proud to announce the release of two new books for the fall season and holidays ahead. Seeing Red: A Memoir was released in August. Seeing Red covers the four year period from 1973 to 1977 as Director of Deschutes County Mental Health. The tales in this book come from those years. He was seduced into taking the Directorship by its previous director, Charles Whitchurch, who was also known as "The Red Baron. 
Jane Kirkpatrick, NY Times Bestselling author, describes Seeing Red as "Poignant, funny and authentically Jim. Seeing Red is a Doc Martin-esque return to an earlier Bend community with quirky and enduring characters, exceptional landscapes, a young family's settlement in a supportive community and an insider's look at community mental health and the tangles of state bureaucracy."   

Incessant Expectations by Kenneth Fenter

Incessant Expectations by Kenneth Fenter was released at the Florence Festival of Books at Florence, Oregon on Sept. 27. The original manuscript was written in 1976 the summer after author Fenter spent the summer of 1975 riding along with brother Mark Fenter, a commercial salmon fisherman out of Winchester Bay, Oregon. Although the novel is not based on Mark, it does follow closely the fishing techniques and customs used during that time as commercial salmon fishing was on the cusp of its existence as an industry on the Oregon coast. 
The novel explores more than fishing with the main character Jim Howard as for the first time he is in a position to search for a mate. Because of his circumstance as a youth growing up in isolation on the farm, he must start from the beginning in learning how to form relationships.

The Arborwood Press website has been upgraded. Give either of these books autographed for Christmas. arborwoodpress.com