The field. The fire. The fight.

A massive police raid, dozens of arrests, and a fleet of bulldozers later, the call to stop Highway 55 turns into the longest-running urban occupation in state history

A A A Comments By Mike Mosedale Wednesday, Sep 22 1999

...continued from page 4

When Antonio carries in the coffee tin, Swanee stops him. "What's that?" he asks. Antonio explains how it occurred to him that donations from the Holiday might help defray camp expenses. Swanee smiles sweetly, but instructs Antonio to be certain that he is accompanied by a fellow camper whenever he retrieves the money. "You don't want to have any questions about money. You've got to protect yourself," he instructs.

It's a little after 11:00, with a yellow moon hanging over the river bluff, when a white Chevy Blazer appears in the driveway at the far end of camp. Its headlights shine across the fields. "It's them again," Antonio cautions. "They were here before, four-wheeling." Days earlier the vehicle had been spotted cruising over the lumpy, wood-chipped field marked by a hand-painted sign that reads "Prairie restoration area. Keep off." Antonio is up in a flash, set to repel the intruders. His friend James--a middle-aged Indian man from south Minneapolis--hustles over to his pickup truck and flicks on his headlights. The Blazer retreats, and for a few minutes camp is calm.

Michael Dvorak

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Then the truck reappears. James jumps back in his vehicle, slams down the accelerator. The tires squeal and a chase is on. Antonio dashes over the hill, looking for rocks. The two trucks disappear down a long dirt drive. Megan shakes her head. "What are they going to do if they catch them, anyway?" she asks, of no one in particular.

After a spell James returns to camp. He says he caught up to the intruders and boxed them in, but there were cops around. So he didn't do anything but glower. Antonio, meanwhile, thinks they might come back to play again. He gathers up a few pieces of scrap lumber and a handful of nails and commences the construction of a MacGyver-like trap, pounding the nails through the wood. "I hope they come back--see how they like four flat tires," he says as he heads off, sticks in hand, ready to lay the trap.

Megan looks on. She sighs. "Testosterone." Antonio returns to the kitchen, and squats to fix a pan of fried potatoes. The grease catches fire. He gets it under control, eats the burnt mess, and trots off to the old school bus to sleep. Terry stays up, keeping watch. James dozes off in his truck. Megan retires to her pup tent in the woods. The white Blazer never comes back. The threat is gone, and there is quiet at camp, for now.

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