Hopkins

The tide is out. Jim Hopkins cruises the tidal pools on his four wheeled ATV looking for perfect bull kelp to use as fertilizer in his garden. A whale breaches the bay and lands with a big splash. Further down, a salmon is jumping crazy and making a ruckus. He turns right down a trail next to a cliff. It’s a cool day with a light breeze. An eagle perches in a dead tree. The trail opens up in a low area with coves on both sides and 200 feet later, Hopkins turns down a shaded trail through a spruce forest.

I hear Hopkins four wheeler coming to where I’m working. I run over, grab the posthole digger and stand there. He rolls up to the job site and I shove the digger into the dirt as he shuts off his four wheeler.

What are you doing, he asks?

I got tired of waiting on you and decided to start digging by hand.

He’s laughing too hard to respond, but he steps back to the cooler strapped to the back of his ATV. Hopkins opens it and shows me the bull kelp he scavenged off the beach like it was a king salmon. He also grabs a plastic bag and pulls a jar of pickled beets out of it and hands it to me. He’s in no hurry to jump in the backhoe and start digging.

I ate the whole jar you gave me yesterday in one sitting last night.

Why don’t you make some coffee and I’ll watch how far you get with that shovel while I drink it.

I’m always up for drinking coffee with Hopkins. Nyman’s lucky that I got him out here to work and the only reason he took the job was because he loves it out here at the end. Plus, Nyman has a sweet deck on Kasitsna Bay.

People have told me that Jim is a quiet working man. I can see how they would have that impression, but he wasn’t quiet with me. We talk the whole time we’re working and I know way more about Seldovia than anyone from outside Seldovia should know. We both grew up in Northern California, about eighty miles apart. We agree on many subjects, especially politics, which is amazing because there are not many liberal heavy equipment operators in Alaska.

Nyman’s dock points south. Kasitsna Bay is about a mile across. Beyond that, Broken Knife, a big long ridge of a mountain, guards the southern horizon. Hopkin’s asked Nyman, if he’d sell him, half of his property. He dreams about putting a greenhouse out here.

I end up making veggie burritos for lunch and it’s forty five minutes before we are on the job. Hopkins is a real pro and easy to work with. We bang out three sets of these posts in two hours and we switch to clearing a pad so Nyman has a spot for me to put his wall tent. He clears and flattens a twenty by twenty foot area in a little more than an hour and I put down a twelve foot joist for the platform, slap a level on it and the bubble sits right between the lines. We carry on a good conversation the whole time. He’s against drugs and booze and has a young guy working for him and worries for him. I can feel Hopkins love and compassion as he tells his story.

Jim went crabbing once and it wasn’t a good experience. He made it through the season but it wasn’t pretty and it sounds like his ex-wife’s brother in law kept him afloat. Jim’s a puker and he never fishes again after his crabbing experience. He speaks often of his wife, Linda and his garden. Linda came into his life after a poor first marriage and made his life better.

We’re taking another coffee break. Sera Baxter comes driving down the beach with her husband John in tow. They pull up right below where we’re sitting, Sarah says, now here is a leisurely crew. What are you gentlemen up to?

It’s obvious Hopkins is as big a fan of Sera’s as I am and Jim treats her with respect as she does him even though have radically opposing political views. I’ve been told that Jim runs the town of Seldovia. He operates the dump and is involved with the city water system. I understand that because up in Hope where I live, Willie Davidson was that guy. He plowed the roads, pulled cars and trucks out of the ditch and was involved in many of the town’s decisions. Jim Hopkins is who you call in Seldovia, if you have a problem.

Jim tells Sera, I didn’t come out here to work. I came out here to see you and take in the view.

Susie Paine comes around and wants Jim to do some work on her place. Same with Christy who lives down on martini row. Susie sees us taking coffee breaks from her property and later asks me how we get anything done.

I ask Hopkins about Chunk as a worker. Chunk is a good hand, he says. I’ve never met Chunk, but he’s a climber/skier and buddies with many of my friends. I’m interested in hiring him next summer when I build Nyman’s house.

Jim helps me roll out the framing for the twelve foot by twelve foot pad. He doesn’t leave me until he sees that I’m well on my way to getting it framed and sheeted. He putts off down the path back to Seldovia. Jim and I work six or seven part days together. Nyman’s property is looking good. We’re running low on coffee. I head for Anchorage and then back to California to take care of my mother.

Seven years later, last week, Chunk texts me that Jim Hopkins passed away Saturday. He was walking the dog with his wife, Linda. He died of a heart attack or stroke. He was 73. The Seldovia EMT’s worked on him for a long time.

I feel bad that I only visited with Jim once in the seven years since we worked together, but I was taking care of my mother in California. I truly enjoyed everything about Jim. I’ve worked with a lot of different people in my 70 years and it’s hard to think of someone more fun to work with than Jim Hopkins. It might’ve been that he was such a good guy.

Jim told me that he gave Nyman a good deal because he had so much fun working with me and I made him coffee and lunch each day.

I’ve been texting and calling Chunk for information about Jim and his memorial which was one week after he died. Hopkins was pivotal in Chunk development as a person and a young man.

In Chunk’s words: Jim showed me how to work like a man. He is the only person I’ll answer the phone for.

There’s big shoes to fill…but this town has him in us now. In a way, he had that style until the end.

I text Chunk during Jim Hopkins memorial at Outside Beach. I’m feeling lonely and like I’m missing something important. He texts, huge turnout as expected. Gas station closed. Dump closed. Store closed

He sends me a picture and one more quote from Jim on the day he died. The quote came from Evan, the young man he was turning into a heavy equipment operator. Right before Jim took his dog for his last walk he told Evan,

I had a really good day.