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July 31, 2003

Mysterious, madness and intrigue of the Manitou Passage

By Christina Campbell
Sun contributor

One late afternoon in prehistoric northern Lower Michigan, a Native American war party lay siege to an enemy group and left only seven survivors. These survivors surreptitiously followed their attackers to South Manitou Island and silently slaughtered most of them in their sleep. Those not killed awoke the next morning to believe that murderously evil spirits inhabited the island and her northern sister. This legend is just one of many mysterious South and North Manitou tales, stories that scream like gulls but shift like the sands of the Manitou Passage.

The Manitou Islands are part of an archipelago dribbled from a retreating glacier 10,000 years ago. This same busy glacier raked out the bold blue Manitou Passage between the islands and the mainland. Hikers, campers, and summer boaters may not realize that the area’s pristine beaches and bluffs are burdened with legacies of the long dead: ghost towns, ghost farms, ghost forests, ghost ships, and even ghosts themselves.

The Manitou Passage is seven miles wide from South Manitou Island to the mainland’s Sleeping Bear Point. But the navigable deepwater channel is only a mile across. It is the most dangerous passage on the Great Lakes.

In the mid 19th century, the Manitou Passage was incongruously both a mariner’s nightmare and a tempting shortcut for steamships traveling between Straits of Mackinac and Chicago. The ships sheltered at South Manitou and loaded up with cordwood fuel before continuing to their destinations.

Well, some of them continued to their destinations. Many others succumbed to shoals, sudden storms or ship collisions. Littering the lake bottom near South and North Manitous are at least 50 known ship carcasses. Probably hundreds more wrecks are still undocumented. The cold water and sandy bottom preserve hulls, masts, anchors, and even sailors’ personal effects. One ship went down at the mouth of South Manitou’s harbor with 15 Native Americans locked in its hold. Their bodies remain entombed in the bay to this day. Island residents say that on stormy nights, they’ve heard wailing out on the lake, uncannily like the cries of panicked people drowning and freezing on foundering ships.

Many of these shipwreck victims are buried in South Manitou’s Crescent Bay Cemetery. Their bodies were washed ashore or found frozen to grounded wrecks. Also in the cemetery is a human skeleton of unknown origin. The skeleton was discovered on a South Manitou dune in 1933. Was he a wrecked sailor who washed or crawled ashore and then melted into the sand? Was he a murder victim? Or was he vomiting and seizing from cholera in his last minutes?

Cholera thrived in the holds of the ships shortcutting through the Manitou Passage. Many holds were stuffed past hygienic capacity with European immigrants going west to Chicago. Often by the time the vessels reached the Manitou Passage, more passengers were dead than alive. Local lore says that the captains of such ships would pull ashore at South Manitou to bury their dead. And their almost dead. Passengers still fighting the cholera were thrown into mass graves alongside genuine corpses. Ships’ crews shoveled dirt and sand to the rhythm of the living victims’ groans. It is said that those buried alive still moan at midnight. And on the anniversaries of their untoward burials, their spirits rise up and walk the island.

On their walks, do they cross paths with the woodcutter’s wife? Her story may be a classic ghost fable adapted to South Manitou, fueled by the imaginations of skittish campers. Maybe. Years ago, a poor woodcutter wanted some extra money with which to buy his wife a Christmas present. So he went fishing, even though it was far too late in the season for safety. A storm rolled in and the woodcutter never made it back to shore. His wife and the villagers paced the beaches for three days and nights looking for his body. When they didn’t find him, his wife was convinced he’d left her for some more beautiful mainland girl. She continued walking around the island, lantern held high, searching and going insane from cold, fatigue, and disappointment. She convinced herself that if she could become as beautiful as those girls on the mainland, her husband would come back to her. So on each sandy trek past her house, she popped inside to put on some makeup, or jewelry, or a Victorian dress. Again and again she rounded the island, scanning the shore with her lantern. She smeared on rouge. She walked some more. She layered on extra necklaces. She tottered along. She wore her best scarves, all of them. She tried not to stain the cloth with lantern oil as she slogged through the sand. Still her husband did not come home. A couple weeks later, the villagers found her lying dead on the beach, wearing an evening gown and high heels. Nighttime beachcombers still see her walking South Manitou’s shores, swinging a lantern and trying to be beautiful.

A better documented beach-walking story is the tragedy of Aaron and Julia Sheridan, keepers at the South Manitou light. They and their small baby were thrown from a small sailboat that capsized in sudden squall. None of the three resurfaced. The Sheridan’s two older children saw the entire accident from the shore. They wandered up and down the coast for days, in tears, searching for their parent’s bodies.

The islands’ inland waters are not free of dark dramas. Not many years ago, a plane was flying over North Manitou. The pilot may have mistaken snow-covered inland Lake Manitou for a field. He landed on the lake and crashed through the ice. The pilot and copilot swam from the sinking plane. They crawled over ice and through snow to land. But they had no way to warm up. Although a search had begun after their plane disappeared off radar, the rescuers came too late. The two aviators were found frozen to the shore of Lake Manitou.

The Manitou Passage’s most bizarre wreck is not underwater at all. In the woods of South Manitou sits a big old wooden rowboat. This boat is heaped high with bones. Probably cow bones, however no one has ever checked the entire pile? Was this boat a dumping ground? A worship site? A massive prank? Its logic is lost to history.

Throughout the islands’ forests, visitors report shocking cold spots on warm days and sudden views of specters standing in the windows of thoroughly locked and empty houses. One South Manitou home was said to be particularly uninhabitable.

A poor woodcutter lived in a dingy shack on the South Manitou. (If you wonder why it’s always a woodcutter, remember that someone had to prepare all that cordwood to fuel the ships.) A rich Chicagoan hired this woodcutter to do some carpentry work around his summer cabin. After some time, the woodcutter asked to marry his boss’ daughter. His boss laughed and asked how the woodcutter could imagine he’d send his daughter to live in that dingy shack. The devastated woodcutter decided to prove himself by building a house for his desired bride. He planned every detail with the daughter in mind. After a year he’d created a solid, attractive little white house in what is now called the “farm loop”. The rich Chicagoan was so impressed that he allowed the woodcutter to marry his daughter, who was also infatuated with her new home. The couple lived blissfully for a couple months, until the wife suddenly sickened and died. Her husband continued living in the house, but he always saw and felt his wife’s presence. She watched him, lay her hands on his shoulders, and moved things around. Unable to bear these heartbreaking reminders of his loss, he moved back to his dingy shack. Other families tried to live in the house, but the woodcutter’s wife was a territorial and intolerant spirit. No living humans had the energy to maintain a house so jealously guarded by the spirit world. On an island with many historical buildings tenderly kept in good condition, only the foundation of this home remains.

Perhaps the spookiest buildings on the Manitou Islands are the ones most heavily inhabited today: the South Manitou lighthouse and both islands’ former lifesaving stations. The South Manitou light had many incarnations between its first glow in 1839 and its 1958 closure, when the National Park moved its rangers onto the islands. Voices and footsteps of long-dead keepers echo up and down the lighthouse tower. In the lifesaving stations, phantom crews still practice their lifesaving drills, ever ready for the next steamship tragedy. Rangers and visitors have clearly heard the men’s crisp shouts and dialogs. A female ranger was in the shower when she heard sounds of a sudden bustle and strange male voices yelling “Hurry up! Hurry up!” Yet she knew she was the only person in the building. Another resident of the old lifesaving building had a recliner that she closed up religiously every night. But often in the mornings, the chair would be open again.

Some people believe that new Park employees have an easier time of it if they politely introduce themselves and their purpose to the island’s indigenous spirits. Take, for example, the large, robust ranger who wouldn’t seem like the type to be plagued by supernatural visions. Yet he had a history of seeing ghosts around the island and insisted the house he stayed in was haunted. Did he ever introduce himself to the apparitions? Maybe not. Over time he slept little and grew distraught over the constant ghostly companionship. The last straw was when he woke up to find phantom children jumping on his bed and laughing.

As guardians and suppliers of passing ships, the island people held hundreds, if not thousands, of lives in their hands, lives that could slip through their fingers with a moment’s carelessness. Perhaps yesterday’s lighthouse keepers and rescue crews still walk today. Are they unable to relinquish their ingrained sense of responsibility for the vessels on the Manitou Passage?

Even when still alive, there was nothing the Coast Guard crews could do against Pirate Joe Perry. According to an Empire legend, Joe Perry placed a lantern across the Passage at Sleeping Bear Point. Ships mistook Perry’s lantern for the South Manitou Light and ran aground practically at Perry’s feet. He then robbed and pillaged the ships’ abandoned remains. When Lake Michigan is low, at least parts of one of Perry’s wrecks sometimes poke through the surface, visible from shore.

People blamed Perry’s success on the relative dimness of the South Manitou light. Few were sorry when new radar technology made the light obsolete. But only two years after the lighthouse was decommissioned, the Francisco Morazan hit the island’s southwest shoal. Could a light have warned her away in time? All crew escaped from the Morazan’s awkward perch in 15 feet of water. Less lucky were the souls aboard the steamer Walter L. Frost, almost 60 years earlier. The Frost also sunk off South Manitou’s southwest shore. When the Morazan ground to her final stop, she was nearly on top of the remains of the Frost.

It’s an unlucky spot. Although the Morazan is decaying into an intriguing snorkel spot for vacationers, caution is warranted: decades ago an island farm boy drowned while exploring the Morazan. The ranger station receives regular calls for help from panicked campers saying a boy with orange swim trunks is drowning out by the ship. When the park authorities send out a boat to investigate, they see nothing.

Gulls congregate and nest on the Morazan by the hundreds. Superstitious sailors say seagulls are the souls of the drowned. They are reborn in tune with Michigan’s mercurial waters, instead of at their mercy.

Legends told in this story should not be interpreted as area history, as they may have changed over time while being passed down from one ear to the next. Some, like that of Pirate Joe Perry, may be legends that are rampant in many maritime areas, and transplanted here only to spice up one’s visit to the Manitou Islands. – Ed.

The Manitou Island Transit makes one run, daily, during the summer months to North Manitou Island, leaving the Leland harbor at 10 a.m. and picking up overnight campers on the island at 11:15 a.m. to transport them back to the mainland. The Transit shuttles passengers to South Manitou at 10 a.m., daily, and picks up campers on the island at 4:30 p.m. Passage on either ferry costs $25 per adult/$14 per child plus a $7 National Park entrance fee. Call (231) 256-9061 for reservations.

Posted by editor at 11:47 PM | Comments (0)

Dunegrass Festival doubles up

- from staff reports

Endurance is the unofficial theme for this year’s Dunegrass Festival, to be held this weekend, August 1 and 2, in the open field behind the St. Philip Neri Church in downtown Empire. Revelers have enjoyed this day of music and dance so much over the years that festival organizers Mike Vanderberg and his daughter Amelia decided to stretch it out over two days.

Gates will open to the “pre-festival” at 5 p.m. on Friday – a laid-back prelude to Saturday’s musical lineup. Goers can enjoy a fire pit, drum circle, pot luck and Open Mic until 11 p.m., after which they are encouraged to pitch a tent and camp on festival grounds.

Get some sleep, for Saturday is time to dance. Various local and downstate bands will alternately rock and woo the crowd from the early afternoon until late at night. Saturday’s festivities will also include various arts & crafts and food booths, a kids’ tent, and the opportunity to paint a school bus. It is yet to be determined whether the Bay Area Transportation Authority will provide a shuttle bus to ferry tired, sweaty partiers to the Empire beach for a life-saving dip in Lake Michigan.

Dunegrass Festival schedule of events:

Friday
Gates open, 5 p.m.
Open Mic until 11 p.m.

Saturday
Open Mic in early afternoon
New Third Coast, 3 p.m.
Break for Church service, 4:15 p.m.
Horn Dogs, 5:30
Green Sky Bluegrass, 7 p.m.
Soldiers Reggae, 9 p.m.

Beach Bards as masters of ceremonies

Times are subject to change as musical vibes fluctuate

Posted by editor at 10:57 PM | Comments (0)

Taking off the sandles and Steppin’ In It

By Jacob R. Wheeler
Sun editor

You don’t want to be caught napping in your lawn chair when Joe Wilson starts going mad on his fiddle or when lyricist Joshua Davis morphs into a young Woody Guthrie. The Glen Arbor Art Association encourages you to bring chairs and prepare to picnic at the Steppin’ In It concert on August 3 at the Thoreson Farm, on Thoreson Road between Glen Arbor and Port Oneida Road. But don’t catch yourself sitting when you should be steppin’, or stompin’, or groovin’. This roots-folk-country-bluegrass-calypso-cajun-swing band from Lansing will make you glad you have two hips and know how to use them.

Steppin’ In It just opened at Interlochen for folk music tycoon Greg Brown, who thought highly enough of them to bring the four guys on stage for a jamboree encore. They recently rocked the U.P. from dusk ‘til dawn on the dancin’ stage and then around their campfire at the Hiawatha Music Festival. Ask anyone who’s witnessed Steppin’ In It for an assessment and you won’t get much more than a grin out of them because they’re probably still out of breath.

Between Joe and Andy Wilson, and Davis and Dominic Suchyta, you’ll hear the upright bass, triangle, dobro, steel guitar, fiddle, acoustic guitar, mandolin, banjo, and amazing harmonica – basically a cornucopia of sounds. And there’s no better setting for this jam than outside in the National Park. Thoreson Farm belongs to the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore but is managed and used by the Association as a non-profit creative partnership. For years the Association’s Manitou Music Festival has held concerts at the Dune Climb, but this will be the first at one of Leelanau County’s numerous old farmsteads. In case of rain, this concert will be moved to The Leelanau School just north of Glen Arbor.

The Festival concludes four days later, on August 7, with a Claudia Schmidt performance outside on The Leelanau School’s Graduation Green. Schmidt’s concert in Glen Arbor has become an annual event, and her local fan base has soared since she moved to the area from Beaver Island several years ago. “Claudia’s style is a mix of her own unique compositions coupled with jazz standards,” says Festival Director Crispin Campbell. “Claudia is a hugely talented, improvising singer, who uses her voice as if it were a musical instrument. She also has a gift of language, so her original songs make for a witty and moving performance.”

Schmidt’s roots are as a folk musician, but her repertoire is a kaleidoscope of sounds, from blues to ballads to classical. She will be accompanied by the Aurora Quintet – five household names at the Manitou Music Festival who will play Mozart and Brahms. They are violinists John Lindsey and Marla Rathbun, viola players David Holland and George Myers and Campbell on cello. Campbell is the festival’s founding director and a pioneer in bringing live music to Glen Arbor. He will step down after this concert, having fathered the festival throughout its 13-year existence.

Posted by editor at 09:06 PM | Comments (0)

Living with the gypsy moth

By Wayne and Mary Ellen Koser

Following are excerpts of an article that first appeared in the Summer 1974 edition of The Explorer, a scientific magazine published by The Cleveland Museum of Natural History. Thirty years later it is still relevant as gypsy moths continue to plunder our forests.

Man has become increasingly aware of and concerned with the worldwide spread of disease, pest outbreaks, and disturbance of basic food chains through the introduction of foreign organisms into a relatively stable environment. Separation by continents and other physical boundaries previously helped to isolate species, but man’s mobility now provides a means for spreading non-endemic organisms to new areas. Some of these introduced species can adapt to their new environments, causing little notice or damage, but many examples can be listed where non-endemic species have caused intense dislocation of plant and animal communities. No one really knows how many different species have been spread beyond their natural boundaries, though some ecologists have estimated the number to be in the many thousands. The control of introduced species is often necessary in order to preserve living resources, to prevent diseases, and to ward off economic dislocation, all of which ultimately affect human life.

They gypsy moth is an example of a pest that has spread through Europe and Asia regardless of efforts to control it. Like previously introduced epidemics of the Dutch elm disease, the American chestnut blight, and the Japanese beetle, the gypsy moth (Porthetria dispar) is considered by many entomologists to be potentially one of the most devastating influences on North American hardwood forests. In 1973 alone over 1.5 million acres of forest were defoliated. It is feared that if the moth spreads in epidemic numbers to the Allegheny, Appalachian, and Ozark Mountain regions, where much of the nation’s hardwood timber is located (over 112 million acres), the damage and control expense would be astronomical. Data obtained by the New Jersey Department of Agriculture showed that oaks are most vulnerable to mortality after repeated defoliation by the gypsy moth. Most oak trees, as well as other hardwoods, can withstand one season of partial to complete defoliation, but tree mortality after the second year of severe defoliation will increase considerably, with oak losses ranging from 25 to 64 percent. Conifers, however, will suffer approximately the same mortality after only the first season of defoliation. Some of the immediately surviving trees are weakened; so that some long-range deaths can also be attributed to the defoliation that left the trees more vulnerable to other insect pests, disease infection, and adverse weather conditions.

Life cycle and Ecological Effects

As do all insects having a complete metamorphosis, the gypsy moth develops in four stages: egg, larva (caterpillar or feeding stage), pupa (resting stage), and adult (breeding stage). In early August the adult female lays a one to one-and-a-half inch, buff-colored egg mass containing from 400 to 1,000 eggs. The buff color comes from the female’s body hairs becoming attached to the overwintering mass as she deposits the eggs on any hard, sheltered surface. With the advent of spring (late April), the caterpillars hatch and begin satisfying their voracious appetites. From late April until early July, or approximately ten weeks, each caterpillar can consume as much as one square foot of leafage per day, and they have been known to denude a tree in a matter of minutes. After having devoured all the leaves on a tree, they move to new foliage. The gypsy moth is a serious threat to our forests because its list of preferred food species is extensive. The larvae (caterpillars) will greedily devour the leaves of oak, apple, aspen (poplar), maple, basswood, alder, willow, hawthorn, linden, shrubs, and even shade and ornamental trees. Although not as readily, the insect will also attack cherry, elm, hemlock, hickory, pine, spruce, sassafras and birch. It has even been observed to try green Astroturf and plastic flowers! Trees not favored by the gypsy moth include red cedar, holly, locust, sycamore, catalpa, balsam fir, dogwood and black locust.

The gypsy moth larva, which may remain a maximum size of two or three inches, is dark gray with many long hairs along the sides of its body. On top of each segment (except the first) is a par of warts called tubercles. The first pairs are blue: the last six red. The body hairs have been known to cause skin irritation on susceptible people. In once case a child’s eyes were affected by contact with the body hairs. The long hairs covering the young larva are hollow, giving it buoyancy to balloon into the air. Thus the larvae have the ability to spread into new areas by wind currents or by their own mobility. It is for this reason that the peripatetic insect was given the name “gypsy” moth. The normal direction of spread is toward the southeast, related to prevailing northwestern winds during summer months.

Another stage of metamorphosis begins as the larva pupates in early July. After 10 to 14 days it emerges as an adult moth. The moth does not feed; therefore it is not a direct threat to the forest. Reproduction is the only function of the adult. The brownish one-and-one-half-inch male emerges first and is mobile during the day. It is not unusual to see hundreds of thousands of males flying aimlessly through an infested area. Males have black irregular bands on the first pair of wings, and have feathery antennae. In contrast, the larger, two-inch, white-bodied female is generally immobile due to her size and weight. She has faint black markings along the margin of her wings. In order to attract a male, the immobile female secretes gyptol, a chemical sex attractant. In August the cycle is repeated when the female again lays the overwintering eggs for succeeding generations.

Infestation and Control Methods in the United States

The gypsy moth was introduced from Europe in 1869 at Medford, Massachusetts, by a French naturalist and astronomer, Henri Trouvelot. Trouvelot, employed by the Harvard Observatory, tried to crossbreed several silk-producing moths with the aim of developing a strain resistant to a disease threatening the French silk industry. Inadvertently a storm damaged his outdoor laboratory, thus scattering some of the eggs and caterpillars. Little notice was taken until approximately 20 years later when the area was inundated by epidemic numbers of the gypsy moth caterpillars. “The numbers were so enormous that the trees were completely stripped of their leaves, the crawling caterpillars covered the sidewalks, the trunks of shade trees, the fences, and the sides of houses, entering the houses, getting into the food and into the beds … The numbers were so great that in the still, summer nights the sounds of their feeding could plainly be heard, while the pattering of their excremental pellets on the ground sounded like rain.” (Howard, 1930). The result of this invasion was the destruction of shade and fruit trees, recreational land and wildlife habitats, and in reduced real estate values. The moths’ activities changed forest composition, caused soil erosion, and increased fire hazards.

After such an extreme outbreak, the Massachusetts government became concerned and began experimenting with direct control methods. By the summers of 1898-1899, more effective treatments, such as spraying with lead arsenate and the physical removal of the insect, had been developed. The new treatments, coupled with three years of adverse weather conditions, aided in reducing gypsy moth populations.

Another factor which may have eased Massachusetts’ plight was the observable three-year gypsy moth population cycle. During the first year of infestation there is a gradual build-up in numbers. The second year notes a high gypsy moth density, resulting in severe defoliation of trees, as was experienced in Massachusetts in 1899. The third year shows a sudden collapse in population, apparently due to a viral infection similar to the one that causes cold sores in humans. The insect carries the virus at all times but manifests it only in over-population conditions, which result in high competition stress. Succeeding generations are weakened and subject to viruses and parasites because their favorite foods have been stripped by their ancestors, thus leaving hard-hit areas relatively free of heavy infestations for seven to 10 years.

Observations by the New Jersey Department of Agriculture have shown that forest stand structure and the composition of vegetation change because of gypsy moth feeding patterns. Tree stands which were susceptible to the gypsy moth have been killed and replaced by species more resistant to, or not favored by, the insect pest. In February of 1900 the Massachusetts legislature, viewing no further damage, withdrew support for controls. This action was taken in spite of experts’ warnings that the pest had not been totally eradicated. During the next five years the insect population increased enormously. The situation became so critical that in 1905 Massachusetts resumed its control program. At this time Massachusetts tried releasing parasites as a means of biological control.

In 1906 an appropriation was made to Congress, and the Secretary of Agriculture was authorized to cooperate with concerned states in developing control programs. The major objective of the federal government was to prevent the spread of the pest to new areas. Local inspection and quarantine of transported produce and products led in 1912 to the enactment by Congress of the Plant Quarantine Law.

For many years the Hudson River provided a natural barrier to the spread of the gypsy moth, but due to a series of hurricanes around 1938 the moth was dispersed along the river southwestward into adjacent states. Within five years new isolated outbreaks were discovered in New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and Ohio. Most of these outbreaks were contained by local control programs.

In Michigan, there were many undocumented gypsy moth sightings in the late 1940s. However, the first officially recorded outbreak was near Lansing in May of 1954. From then until 1962 a total of 282,015 acres of infested woodland in Calhoun, Clinton, Eaton, Ingham, Ionia, and Shiawassee counties were treated with DDT as an immediate control measure. No new infestations were recorded in the state from 1962 until the insect was once again found in Calhoun County in 1966. By that time DDT had become generally outlawed.

In 1967 a total of 24,182 acres were treated with the newly developed insecticide sevin (carbaryl), a less ecologically destructive insecticide which breaks down more quickly than DDT and which leaves no residue in milk, pasture land, and crops. In general, it has a low toxicity to fish, birds, and warm-blooded animals. It is harmful to honey bees and kills certain aquatic insects and organisms which provide essential food for fish. This aerial application of sevin supposedly eradicated that invasion. Michigan was once again though to be gypsy moth free, until an infestation was discovered near Mt. Pleasant (Isabella County) in 1972. It is believed that the egg masses that started this outbreak might have been dropped from a house trailer used by vacationers on a trip from one of the eastern states. Another example of the unwitting spread of the gypsy moth was caused by trailer and recreational vehicle owners who stopped at infested campgrounds in Connecticut. From these vacationers new outbreaks were traced in 1970 to California, Florida, Minnesota, Texas, Virginia and Wisconsin. In addition, male gypsy moths were trapped in Iowa, North Carolina, Ohio, South Carolina, Tennessee, and West Virginia during a 1972 trapping program carried out by the federal government.

Michigan, in an effort to determine the spread and numbers of gypsy moths throughout the state, and not as a control measure, distributed approximately 4,000 traps, resembling a paper cup and baited with the synthetic sex attractant disparlure. The male moth reacts to disparlure as he would to gyptol, a substance secreted by the female moth. Once inside the trap, the male is entangled in a sticky substance. These traps were placed in infested or possibly infested areas.

Update on gypsy moths

According to Michigan State professor Deb McCullough, the Department of Agriculture ceased spraying sevin from airplanes during the 1970s after farmers filed numerous lawsuits. Sevin is a poison that interferes with the nervous system of insects as well as other animals, having adverse effects on all. Michigan gave gypsy moths up for dead in the 70s, then began treating them again in reaction to new outbreaks in the 1980s with BT (Bacillus Thuringiensis). BT is a bacterial disease that only affects caterpillars which have eaten the foliage that has been sprayed, and is subsequently much safer on the environment. Michigan no longer sprays all forests, but only highly-populated areas like campgrounds. A method used to eradicate gypsy moths in areas where they are not yet rampant is pheromone flakes, which have been applied in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, as well as Wisconsin, Indiana and Ohio. Pheromone flakes confuse the males because it causes everything to smell like females, preventing them from fertilizing their eggs, thus preventing them from breeding. “We are in a much better position to deal with this than we were in the 1970s,” said McCullough.

Even so, the gypsy moth began defoliating major forest areas like never before in the 1980s, first defoliating the Clare-Midland area before moving up to the center of the Lower Peninsula. They moved east and west in the early 1990s and were responsible for the largest area of defoliation in Michigan history in 1992. Gypsy Moths defoliated 700,00 acres of Michigan forest in 1992 and just under 400,000 the following year. Those figures spiraled downward until 1996, and in both 1998 and 1999 they defoliated between 100,000 and 300,00 acres per year. But once again, the numbers have declined ever since.

Posted by editor at 08:08 PM | Comments (0)

Biking the Crystal River, no seriously!

By Lance Legstrong
Sun extreme sport Correspondent

(Editor’s note: the following tongue-and-cheek article is a jaunt into the ridiculous and should not be interpreted as having any bearing on the real-life controversy over low waver levels in both the Glen Lakes and the Crystal River).

In the perennial visage of Northwest Lower Michigan occasions abound for newfound excitement. The challenge comes in acquiring sufficient time to appreciate all there is to do in this cornucopia of outdoor opportunity. For maximum efficiency, one can find activities that combine several summer exploits.

An annual favorite is the melding of quality family time with the game of hide and seek, into “find Dad in a crowd of 79,000 people at the cherry festival” day.

There is also the weekend long version of this game. 

Plainly put, there is a lot to do and not a lot of time to do it. It is with the awareness of stiff competition from ageless favorites such as swimming, canoeing, and being rescued off the sand dunes that I offer yet another activity to occupy your summer days: riverbiking. Do you like biking but not riding in traffic? Do you like exercise but not the sweat? Are you so much on the forefront of new trends that you are already preparing for next year’s handlebar moustache revival? If my experience in retail shoe sales has uncovered one truth, it would be that the chance to enjoy our area’s rivers while obtaining the benefits of bike riding is too tantalizing to let pass.

Almost everyone knows what a river is, and nearly an equal number are familiar with bicycles, so the concept behind riverbiking is simple. Most area residents and seasonal locals have also partaken in a leisurely float down one of our area’s rivers in a canoe or kayak. This is a wonderful activity, but so overdone that the traffic along the Platte or Crystal Rivers often rivals a Friday afternoon commute in Chicago. Riverbiking solves these problems and creates new ones. 

What you will need: a bike, get one with nice wide tires and it is preferable if this wheeled watercraft belongs to someone else. Water shoes are also essential as you may get wet. Wear comfortable, yet stylish clothing, because you are a representative for the entire riverbiking community.  The most essential element is a helmet. This is not to discourage the average touring cyclist or overprotective mother, but just to show others that riverbiking is an extreme sport, requiring extreme headgear. I feel comfortable saying it is an extreme sport, because I recently found this same adjective on a bottle of milk, our country’s most unpresumptuous drink.

So after strapping your neighbor’s bicycle to the back of your car, head off to your favorite river. The theory of riverbiking is simple: ride your bike down the river. The actual act is more involved. Before entering the river you must set aside all you know to be true of biking and physics. These antiquated notions will only keep you and the bike dull and dry.

You must approach the act as if you have been riverbiking for years. This is required to impress the throng of people who will gather, watch, and assume you were a bit soggy before you got wet.

Of course, if time permits, you could practice in your bathtub or a hotel swimming pool, but the only true way to get the feel for riverbiking is to plunge into the moving water and commence riding. Though it will be slow and you may try to recall who proposed this as fun, you will find it quite possible.

Of the few sanctioned attempts personally undertaken, only limited success was attained. This was not due to the water though, but more so to the frequent logs and generally “unsound” bottom of the river. In fact, river bottom was found to be the number one cause of catastrophic failure. The water will resist you, but keep peddling and you will move forward, at least until you meet Mr. Submerged Cedar. This will end the limited momentum you had built by churning water for 50 feet and send you to the shallow bottom, where you will discover one of the distinct advantages of riverbiking: no nasty scrapes and bruises from falls.

Only a wet helmet and additional chortling from the canoeing onlookers.

After a few failed frolics in unbecoming areas of the river though, you will find a nice spot to show off your skills, regain your pride, and look for your soggy left shoe. You may want to practice entrances and exits as well, which can be devastating if unmastered. I have found myself quickly underwater from a poorly planned plop into an unknown section of seemingly stable riverbed.

I have been petitioned by several intimidating fish and accompanying aquatic things to remind folks that river bottoms are extremely fragile ecosystems which can be easily damaged by things much less invasive than a 2 1⁄2 inch wide rotating tire and the occasional agitated person tearing through the bottom. It is best to find spots that are either void of all biological activity (unlikely), or that have a lot of foot traffic anyway -- such as the entrances and exits used by those annoying kayakers and canoers who passively enjoy the river. Please write your congresspersons and obtain use easements from local fish before attempting any of this subterfuge. Tread with care.

Depth. Although originally thought of as a sport limited to shallow water, the challenge various water depths bring to the extreme sport lead to interesting combinations, such as shallow rocky, deep sand, underwater muddy, and crouching-through-the-culvert.

Contrary to pre-river conjecture, deep water actually provides interesting benefits. Balance is optional in 4-foot water, a great help as you move slower than the river. Another advantage arrives from being fully submerged; it is almost like having a body air conditioning system, only wetter.

Stemming from this phenomenal activity is a series of similar other biking hybrids, such as lakebiking and treebiking. While the latter is only in its prototype phase (still trying to decide if the tree should be horizontal or the bike vertical), lakebiking can be as productive as riverbiking. The few failed attempts in Lake Michigan have almost eliminated it as a possibility, but many inland lakes have sufficiently rocky bottoms, allowing easy peddling between docks.

Once the next dock is reached, you will have to decide if it is better to forage around the end or to portage, which incidentally finds the bicycle at an enormous advantage to more traditional watercraft. The portage, that cumbersome lurch from water to water that taxes the weekend kayaker is your place to triumph as a riverbiker. Your borrowed bike will quickly regain its landlubber memory and take you quickly over the dry ground, right back to your raucous river ride. Let’s see another rivergoer portage without leaving their canoe. This is only one instance in a litany of riverbiking’s superiority over outdated waterway travel, making this extreme sport a perfect Northern Michigan addition; if only my neighbor quit complaining about a little water in his bike frame.

Posted by editor at 07:10 PM | Comments (0)

Creating a common vision of the future for Glen Arbor Township

Press release

Three town meetings will be conducted over the next 12 months in Glen Arbor Township. They offer unique and exciting opportunities for area citizens to chart a common future for the Township. The town meetings are a part of a project to update the Future Land Use Plan of the Township and offer everyone the opportunity to visualize a better community and take the first steps toward achieving that vision. The first town meeting will identify the aspirations and desires of Township residents (seasonal and year-around) regarding the future character of the Township, and serve to dramatically shape the preparation of a new Future Land Use Plan for Glen Arbor Township.

All citizens of Glen Arbor Township are invited to attend. The first meeting is scheduled for Thursday, August 14 at 7 p.m., and will take place at the Glen Arbor Township Hall, 6394 Western Avenue.

The first town meeting will include a “futuring” session where participants will explore the future potential of the area. The meeting begins with a journey into the past, helping everyone to understand the changes that have resulted in present conditions. Participants are then broken into small groups and asked to identify what makes them proud about the community and what makes them sorry. Each group selects two or three of its proudest “prouds” and sorriest “sorries” for presentation to other groups. Next, project consultants will present local trends and conditions facing the community. Finally, participants will again break into groups and be asked to visualize how they would like to see Glen Arbor Township evolve in the next 20 years.

A second town meeting to be held in November will focus on the results of citizen opinion surveys and on draft goals and objectives for the Township’s Future Land Use Plan project. The final town meeting will address the draft Future Land Use Plan and will likely take place in August 2004.

The town meeting on August 14 is your opportunity to help shape the plans and policies which will affect the development of your community for years to come. Don’t miss this opportunity to translate your ideas into action. Come to the town meeting, bring your friends and help chart the future direction of Glen Arbor Township. If you have any questions about the meeting, contact the Glen Arbor Township Planning Commission: Terry Gretzema at 334-6140 or Lance Roman at 334-4590.

Posted by editor at 06:12 PM | Comments (0)

Old Settlers Park becomes officially historic

By Torin Yeager
Sun staff writer

Leelanau County is home to a rich history, and soon Old Settlers park of Burdickville will join the list of historic sites in Michigan.

The park was founded with the purchase of two properties in 1912 and 1917, as a result of a picnic held on August 3, 1893 in honor of two of the area’s original homesteaders: Kasson Freeman Jr. and John Fisher. The date happened to be the birthday of Kasson Freeman as well as the anniversary of John Fisher’s landing in what is now Glen Arbor. The picnic, known at first as the Pioneer Picnic, and then later called the Old Settlers Picnic, was held in Burdickville, but not on the grounds where the park now sits. Not until 1904 was the picnic held in the present-day park, and the event has been held at the Old Settlers Park ever since. The old Methodist chapel on the park property, which was built in 1893 and has housed numerous denominations, is just one of many historic parts of Old Settlers. Other structures with stories to tell include the gazebo, which began as a speaker’s stand around 1911, and the “Grub Shack”, from which food is served during the picnic.

The driving force behind Old Settlers’ new historic status is Dottie M. Lanham, a member of the Old Settlers Picnic Association and the Leelanau County Parks and Recreation Commission. “My great grandparents came to Burdickville from Ireland in 1888 and I have lived here all my life,” says Dottie. “I was baptized and went to Sunday school at the chapel on the park grounds. I have also attended nearly every Old Settlers Picnic since I was three or four, so the park has been a large part of my life. It is a unique piece of history, and I felt strongly that it should be recognized as an historical site.”

In 1999, Mrs. Lanham contacted the Michigan Historical Society at the state capitol, and was sent an application form for nominating the park to be a Michigan Historic Site. The requirements stated that the park had to be at least 50 years of age, which Old Settlers was easily able to fulfill. The criteria that came next, however, required far more work. Old Settlers had to show historical significance and integrity -- easily evident by the tradition of Old Settlers Picnics as well as by the presence of the old chapel -- but proving all this to the bureaucracy in Lansing was another matter. “I had to provide information regarding the history of the park, as well as photos of the present day property,” says Dottie. “But the photos had to be in black and white, no color allowed.” After Dottie had gathered all of the required items, including a roll or two of black and white film, she sent them to the Michigan Historical Society, and… “They lost the film,” laughs Dottie. “Then more information was required, and the pictures were found on somebody’s desk under a pile of papers!” After all that, the long waiting began for the application to go through the process of examination. Finally, after nearly four years of fulfilling the demands of the examiners in Lansing, and sometimes pestering them to stay on task, Dottie’s hard work and dedication paid off. The Historical Commission gave its approval for Old Settlers to become an historic site. As a result, the park will soon be marked by a large, double-posted metal sign that tells the story of Old Settlers and its picnic, keeping history alive for future generations of picnickers.

In order to preserve the history of Old Settlers, restoration has been necessary, while keeping the character of the park in mind. After its previous foundation began to crumble, the walls of the old Methodist chapel began to sink while the floor rose in the center of the church. Fortunately, the foundation was successfully replaced with materials that closely resembled the original structure, and the chapel was reset. The gazebo has also seen its share of change. After being completely destroyed by a tornado in 1987, it was rebuilt with a better roof, although the first gazebo in 1911 didn’t have any covering. The large maple trees that shade the landscape won’t last forever, but plenty of young saplings have been planted and will assume their role in the future. Through all this, the park has been remarkably well preserved, and it stands as a testament to all of the bold homesteaders who came to a wild Leelanau County during the Nineteenth century in search of a pleasant peninsula.

All are welcome to attend this year’s Old Settlers Picnic in historic Old Settlers Park on Sunday, August 3 and continue this grand tradition.

Posted by editor at 05:14 PM | Comments (0)

Art Demos A Big Hit at Synchronicity Gallery

By Jane Greiner
Sun contributor

They had no idea when they started it how popular the weekly Gallery Talk series would become, but Marion and Dick DeVinney are glad they followed their hunch and began the new program at their gallery in Glen Arbor. Almost immediately the “talks” morphed into art demonstrations with featured artists presenting a hands-on experience to area residents and summer people. The free programs welcome artists and non-artists alike.

“You should have seen it the first night,” Dick said. Lynne O’Rourke gave a talk on torn paper collage, drawing 19 participants.

“I looked at my watch and they were still going strong, Marion said. I asked, “Does everyone know it’s 9 o’clock?”

There have been three demos to date: the torn paper collage, one on pastels, and one on colored pencil. Oil painting will be covered in the final program of the series.

“We really haven’t done much publicity for the demos,” Marion said, but the classes fill up quickly. People sign up for the classes when they are in the gallery or they call in. Dick has posted notices around the gallery next to the next visiting artist’s work. That way people in the gallery see what kind of art they will be learning about.

“I don’t exactly know why we are doing it,” Marion said. She and Dick seemed a little in awe of the popularity of the classes, which include about 15 students per class.

The DeVinneys are modifying the format as they go along. The first night they furnished quite a few refreshments but found that no one took time to eat. Now they provide light refreshments and concern themselves more with setting up workspaces and equipment. They have found space for five tables in several connected spaces in the gallery for maximum seating.

The interesting thing about the mini-classes, according to Dick, is that they change the feel of the gallery. “Somehow being forced to sit in their among all that art for an hour-and-a-half or two hours, seems to change the way they see the art,” Dick said.

Then he added an interesting observation. “You can’t make someone fall in love,” Dick said. “We can’t sell someone a piece of art, for example. They have to see it and fall in love with it on their own and then we are available to help them.” His point was that by providing the space for people to be around real art and artists, they had a chance to make their own personal connection to art. And that changes the way they feel about art in general, and Synchronicity Gallery.

“I think it makes them feel like they have an interest in the gallery,” Marion mused. The classes make the art, the artists, and the gallery more approachable.

Local artist Carolyn Hudson was the guest artist for the recent colored pencil class. She provided art materials for each participant to use, including a step by step instruction sheet, a piece of illustration board to draw on, plus colored pencils for participants to use during the demonstration.

She explained briefly the advances in colored pencil technology, and showed her electric pencil sharpener, colorless blender, a large piece she is currently working on and a book of prize-winning pieces published by the Colored Pencil Society of America.

After the short introduction she got the class started on their practice drawing of a red apple. She had provided each student with a pre-drawn apple outline so that they would not have to worry about the drawing and could concentrate on learning to use the colored pencils. Like the demos before it, this session went on past the scheduled ending time.

Afterwards Hudson said, “I was amazed at the willingness of the participants to just jump right in and work. It really gave people hands-on experience with the medium, and they realized the difficulties and joys of working with colored pencils. I was glad when it was over but only because I was nervous about it. I think it’s a great way to get people more involved with art, and therefore less intimidated by it.”

Marion DeVinney echoed her feelings. “I think it’s been a very positive experience. It’s fun to see the enthusiasm of all the participants. And the artists enjoy connecting with the people,” she said.

The series will conclude with the fourth session this week.

Posted by editor at 04:16 PM | Comments (0)

Greg Brown gives folk music a face and a name

By Jacob R. Wheeler
Sun editor

INTERLOCHEN -- His baritone voice still sounds like a mellow bullfrog’s croak resonating from some swamp, and his head swings back and forth like a bobblehead doll grinning like a child when he sings lyrics that border on the naughty, like “Everything with you is sex”. But Greg Brown has taken his act to a new level. The Iowa folk singer has become one of the most sought-after performers from the Midwest and draws crowds in the thousands when he sits down to strum a tune. He has released nearly 20 albums under the Red House Records label and has been nominated twice for Grammy awards. Brown was featured recently in The New Yorker – America’s premier intellectual magazine that sometimes seems to cast the Midwest as a mosquitoey backwater.

Lucky for local folk enthusiasts, Brown still makes regular pilgrimages to northern Michigan, where he never misses an opportunity to break from his touring schedule and fish in our majestic rivers. Brown mesmerized a sold-out crowd at Corson Auditorium in Interlochen on July 23, hours after failing to “catch one damned trout” in the Boardman River near Traverse City. This after playing a benefit concert for nurses in Petoskey in late May. Brown still reminisces about gigs at J.R.’s Warehouse in Traverse City, the dark establishment now called the Loading Dock where he often took the stage in a wife-beater t-shirt with sweat rolling down his arms. Over the years he has also graced the Bay Theatre in Suttons Bay and Bliss Fest in Cross Village, and Greg knows Michigan’s Upper Peninsula as well as any avid snowmobiler.

One of Brown’s hit songs, “Laughing River” on his Dream Café album, is about a minor league baseball player who hangs up his spikes to settle down on a river in the U.P., “way up in Michigan, where the laughing river flows”. It was at a benefit for such a river that Brown met the talented young harp and string band Steppin’ In It, which opened for him at Interlochen (and will play again on August 3 at Thoreson Farm, north of Glen Arbor, as part of the Manitou Music Festival.) Brown joked about the absurdity of playing a benefit concert for a river. “It’s kind of funny,” he said during the Interlochen concert. “You wouldn’t think people would threaten a river to the extent that artists would have to come in and save it.”

So it goes in troubled times. Folk musicians, especially, find themselves playing concerts with political undertones, singing for the environment or protesting a war. “Normally I don’t think politics and music make a very good combination,” Greg Brown told the Glen Arbor Sun during a telephone conversation while he waited in Chicago’s O’Hare airport for a flight to his next concert. “But with all of the stuff that’s been going on lately, I feel like I have to sing out about it.” Brown sang, “I want my country back … I don’t feel at home here anymore” to emotional applause at Interlochen. Nearly a dozen people, mostly senior citizens, left the room when he sang the same tune in May in Petoskey. “I’m really more of a storyteller,” Brown said. “There’s a political feeling in a lot of my songs, but that’s not the main focus. For instance, it’s inferred there’s a political reason that a couple is having trouble.”

Take The Poet Game, the title song of the album that won him an Indie Award for Singer-Songwriter Album of the Year: “I watched my country turn into a coast-to-coast strip mall, and I cried out in song. If we could do all that in 30 years then please tell me you all, why does good change take so long? Why does the color of your skin or who you choose to love still lead to such anger and pain?”

Brown’s lyrics and deep soothing voice have always been his main strengths, and one can hear the oratorical skills he inherited from his father, a Pentecostal preacher in southeastern Iowa where gospel music is a way of life. His mother played the electric guitar and his grandfather the banjo, which probably inspired songs like Billy from the Hills, about a hide-tough mountain boy living in the nearby Ozarks. “I’m a hick and I dance like one, I just jump around and grin. I know a guy who doesn’t dance too much, but when he does he gives everyone a thrill. You might run away or suck it up and stay when he dances: Billy from the Hills.”

No matter how famous Greg Brown becomes or how many household names cover his songs (they already include Willie Nelson, Carlos Santana and Ani DiFranco) he may always present the appearance of an outdoorsman who is more likely to shoulder a fishing pole than a guitar. He stopped by the Hofbrau House, Interlochen’s local dive, after that concert to mingle just as a local folk musician would.

Occasionally Brown will dress in an elegant black suit when touring with DiFranco and Gillian Welch, against whose personalities he must play the role of the older brother, but he’s more likely to take the stage in army overalls, sandals and a visor that barely covers his shaved head (One of his three daughters recently gave him a buzz cut). “I don’t associate myself with being famous,” Brown said. “I just stuck around for a long time and now I get to play at some bigger venues. No one recognizes me when I’m walking around.” But Brown recalls the time he and Bo Ramsey, his sidekick sometimes on the guitar, were boarding an airplane. “Someone came running down the gangway and tapped me on the shoulder, asking ‘Is that Barry Manilow you’re with?’”

Posted by editor at 03:18 PM | Comments (0)

July 17, 2003

Empire Fire Department saves Anchor Days

By Jacob R. Wheeler
Sun editor

As a local kid who grew up knowing his hometown as well as he does the palm of his hand, Ryan Deering wasn’t about to let Empire’s Anchor Days festival just wither and die. So when talk arose of canceling the annual party for all the trouble it’s worth, Deering, the town’s fire chief and son of Deerings Market proprietor Phil, insisted that the Fire Department sponsor Anchor Days, which will unfold this weekend, July 18 and 19.

“Growing up here I always remembered Anchor Days,” Deering recollects. “It wouldn’t be the same without the parade, and as a community event I thought the Fire Department should get involved.”

As the story goes, Anchor Days commemorates Doug Manning and Michelle Stryker-Deering-Hoch’s discovery of a gigantic anchor 26 years ago while they were peering through the depths of Lake Michigan just off the Empire shoreline. How and why it got there remains a mystery, but the town’s proud icon now sits for all to see (but not climb on) at the entrance to the public beach.

Anchor Days is Empire’s way to stand out, and the locals celebrate the festival every year with a parade on Saturday that drives twice down Main Street to afford kids ample opportunity to catch butterscotch drops, tootsie rolls and even toilet paper, which the Decker’s Pumping “honey wagon” generously tosses. Got your important papers?

Also unfolding on Saturday will be a 3-on-3 basketball tournament on the beach, a street dance in front of the Town Hall and a family movie evening at dusk at nearby Johnson’s Park. New to Anchor Days this year is a sidewalk chalk art festival for people of all ages from 7-8 p.m. on Friday. Chalk and prizes provided, just meet at the Town Hall.

Deering is excited about another addition to Anchor Days; what could be perceived as “a day in the life of an Empire fireman”. For one dollar you can don the protective gear and swing a sledgehammer at a fairly new Escort station wagon donated by the Lion’s Club. No, this is not wasteful, the car’s engine is blown out. Proceeds may go to buying the fire department new equipment.

Posted by editor at 11:22 PM | Comments (0)

The Glen Arbor Car Show: An Art Exhibition of a Different Kind

By Torin Yeager
Sun staff writer

Bright and early on Saturday, July 19th, the rumble of powerful engines and the glimmer of polished chrome will greet Glen Arbor, and it’s not the morning commute. The first annual Glen Arbor Car Show, sponsored by the Glen Arbor Chamber of Commerce, makes its debut this summer, rain or shine.

Among the many registrants so far, are a 1925 Packard, a 1959 Ford convertible, a 1969 Ford Mustang Mach 1 and a 1964 Dodge Dart GT, with many other cars expected to fill up Oak Street and M-22 by the Glen Arbor Athletic Club for the show. Registration at the show is $15, with checks payable to The Glen Arbor Chamber of Commerce. All proceeds will go to the Chamber Scholarship Fund. Spectators are welcome and encouraged to attend the show as well.

Why are so many people drawn to the allure of these “antique” machines? The car show’s main organizers, Bob and Teddy House, agree that people, “enjoy the nostalgia behind the event.” Every car has its’ own interesting story. “Lots of people enjoy just looking at the lines and colors of a fast car,” adds Bob, “but car enthusiasts at a show can appreciate how much hard work has gone into every tiny detail of a car, including the working parts of the engine that people often overlook. We grew up in a time of muscle cars, and it’s great to see how well people take care of their machines. It’s a big pastime for car aficionados, and some people even plan their summers around all of the shows. You will recognize faces and vehicles from one show to the next.”

Bob and Teddy have their own unique story of the automotive world. “Bob had a 1970 Mustang in high school, and he messed around with it using his knowledge from auto classes in school,” says Teddy. “He then went into Automotive Tech at college before working for Ford Motor Company, and he still reads magazines and manuals in addition to asking lots of questions to fine-tune his skills. After we met, I ended up going to a lot of car shows with him, and eventually we started helping out in the shows. That’s how I got my experience in judging cars. Car shows are just an art exhibition of a different kind.”

Bob’s own work of art in progress, a 1970 Ford Mustang Mach 1, will be a close replica of his first Mustang, classic “calypso coral” red paint and all. It won’t be ready for the show this year, but it is, ”a lot further along than it looks”. A new interior, ram air, chrome engine fittings and racing slats, to name a few improvements, will soon grace the car, which has not been driven since 1989. Pity the cars that go up against this machine once it is ready.

For those who are inexperienced in the lingo of automobiles, here is a quick dictionary to help you give the impression of automotive competence:

Muscle car – This is a production car made between 1964 and 1972 that has a very powerful engine. Think of them as street-legal racecars.

Antique car – Any car that is 25 years old or more. For this year’s show, the latest model to qualify as an antique will be from 1978.

Original – This is the term for an unmodified car that retains the same parts it was built with in the factory.

Cubic Inch (Cu In) – The total displacement of an engine. Bigger is better.

Carburetor – A mechanism that mixes fuel and oxygen for a car’s engine to burn.

Ram air – An air “scoop” on the hood of a car that allows cool air to be funneled directly into the carburetor.

So now that you’re an expert in the automotive field, come and stroll the sidewalks and admire the results of car wax and a lot of hard work. If you don’t own a classic car, you can still enjoy the machines that will be present at the Glen Arbor Car Show, and bide your time until that old Honda Accord in the garage is old enough to display at the art exhibition on wheels.

Posted by editor at 10:23 PM | Comments (0)

“Awe-inspiring” Canadian singer-songwriter comes to Glen Arbor

- from staff reports

In a darkened bedroom, lit only by the amber glow from an old floor radio two young brothers, ages 6 and 12, listen to the country music broadcast from the Grand Ol' Opry, and practice their harmonies. Two years later, the youngest one, Garnet Rogers, is playing the definitive eight-year-old's version of "Desolation Row" on his ukelele. Soon he abandons that instrument to teach himself the flute, violin and guitar. 

Within 10 years and barely out of high school, Garnet is on the road as a full-time working musician with his older brother Stan. Together they form what has come to be accepted as one of the most influential acts in North American folk music.

The Glen Arbor Art Association is pleased to announce Garnet Rogers, one of Canada's most acclaimed singer-songwriters, as part of its Manitou Music Festival Concert Series, to be held Sunday July 20 at 7:30 p.m. on the graduation green at the Leelanau School north of Glen Arbor.

“I love playing in beautiful northern Michigan,” says Rogers, who speaks from experience. He has performed in Traverse City, Cadillac and Manistee before. “Certain types of people gravitate towards this area – people who want to escape from what some call civilization.” Whenever possible Rogers avoids playing gigs in big cities. “I dislike the added hassle and security issues at those kinds of venues, whereas performing in small towns is more relaxing. I’m also able to make contact with the local community and learn about what’s going on there.”

Since picking up the flute, violin and guitar, Rogers has established himself as "one of the major talents of our time". Hailed by the Boston Globe as a "charismatic performer and singer", Rogers is a man with a powerful physical presence, as he stands close to six and half feet tall, with a voice to match. With what the Washington Post calls his "smooth, dark baritone", his incredible range and thoughtful, dramatic phrasing, Rogers is widely considered by fans and critics alike to be one of the finest singers anywhere.

His music, like the man himself, is literate, passionate and highly sensitive with deep purpose. Cinematic in detail, his songs "give expression to the unspoken vocabulary of the heart,” Kitchener Waterloo Record quips. An optimist at heart, Rogers sings extraordinary songs about people who are not obvious heroes and of small, everyday victories. As memorable as his songs are, his over the top humor and lightning-quick wit moves his audience from tears to laughter and back again.

“Garnet Rogers is capable of awe-inspiring stuff-and that includes more than just music."

Rogers has been the featured performer on numerous television and radio programs, including Much Music, The Country Beat, Listen Up, Gabereau, Morningside, Mountain Stage, Central Michigan University’s Our Front Porch and All Things Considered. He has headlined at concert venues and festivals such as Wolf Trap, Lincoln Center, Art Park and the Dennos Museum Center. He has shared the stage with performers such as Mary Chapin Carpenter, Billy Bragg, Bill Monroe, Ferron, Greg Brown and Guy Clark.

Resolutely independent, Garnet Rogers has turned down offers from major labels to do his music his own way. Amidst numerous albums produced over his musical career, perhaps the Boston Globe's review of Garnet's Sparrows Wing release best describes Rogers’ gift. It writes: "He mixes the powerful and the gentle and demonstrates his mastery off both...One of the major talents of our time."

John Gorka says of Garnet: "musically, I am a direct descendant of Stan and Garnet Rogers. Their music is my blood. When I listen to "Sparrows Wing" I not only hear Garnet's distinctive voice, I also hear him reclaiming his heritage as co-creator of what became known as Stan's Rogers' sound. Garnet is an eloquent songwriter and a passionately gifted musician who is commanding as both a singer and a performer.”

The summer twilight of July at the Leelanau School will offer the perfect moment for an audience to experience the magic of Garnet Rogers. Tickets for this concert are $15 and available at the door or by calling the Glen Arbor Art Association at 334-6112.

As part of Rogers’ ongoing commitment to the local community food banks, concertgoers are requested to consider bringing in non-perishable canned goods for donation to the Empire Food Bank.

“Making money is one thing, but being able to do something good for the local community is very important to me as well,” says Rogers.

Posted by editor at 09:26 PM | Comments (0)

Linus the deer-licked cat

By Jane Greiner
Sun staff writer

An Empire cat named Linus has developed an unusual relationship with the deer that visit the back yards of the homes on La Core Street. On a number of occasions Linus has been sleeping in the yard only to be approached by a doe from the herd that carefully, yet fully, licks him. While one deer is licking him, the other deer stand nearby and watch.

Linus seems to enjoy the deer-licking. He will lie on one side and accept their offering, and then roll over to the other side as if to say, “now get this side”. The procedure may go on for 15 minutes; long enough to call the neighbors and have them look out their window to enjoy the spectacle.

Jeanette Daniel, her husband Dick, and the neighbors Carol and John Peterson, have all witnessed this ritual.

When he comes inside after a licking, Linus is wet and sticky. Jeanette says he is often so messy after one of those lickings that she has to bathe him.

The story of Linus is “a most peculiar thing,” says Jeanette. “He came one sleety March night and forced his way in on us.” He was on the deck begging to come in and driving the Daniel’s two cats Luey and Libby crazy.

The Daniels took pity on him and brought him inside. Libby, their female cat, accepted him right away, but it took some time before the male cat Luey bonded with Linus.

At first the Daniels tried hard to find Linus’s family, but they had no success. He had no identification and no one recognized or claimed him. In the meantime the Daniels fed and took care of their new pet and gave him a temporary home.

“Linus is a very sociable cat,” says Jeanette. He gets along with “all children, other cats, dogs, and really the whole neighborhood.”

He seems to have adopted Jeanette and Dick, although she says “we really share him” with Carol and John and the neighborhood. “We can’t make Linus an indoor cat,” she says. He is not one to be restricted to just one house.

For example, he may be visiting the Daniel’s house but he knows the sound of John Peterson’s boat trailer. When Linus hears John return from a fishing trip he insists on going to John’s house for fish cleaning scraps.

About two years ago when the Daniels were on vacation in Alaska, the Petersons looked after Linus. They held a big Memorial Day picnic in their yard and Linus schmoozed with everyone there. Suddenly Linus suffered a grand mal seizure.

When the Daniels returned they had some hard decisions to make. They had considered taking Linus to the animal shelter. But now they realized that no one would adopt a cat with epileptic seizures.

So Jeanette said, “Oh, what’s one more cat?” And Linus had a home.

They took him in to the veterinarian for shots and a surgery. Linus settled in and continued to make himself loved by all.

About a month later he had another grand mal seizure, this time at the Daniel’s house. “It was awful,” Jeanette said. He was flopping around and turning summersaults. But, by some miracle, that second seizure seems to have been his last one. No one has witnessed a seizure since then.

Things settled down for a while until about a year ago when Linus started losing weight. He had been a rather hefty kitty, but now he dwindled away. He acted listless and just seemed to lie around a lot. When they took him to the veterinarian, she said the cat had severe anemia, so severe that “he should not be alive”.

Just about that time the Daniels first noticed Linus getting licked by the deer. He loved to lie right in the middle of the backyard, and in his listless condition he spent a lot of time there. At some point the deer must have come into the yard, found him lying there, and decided to investigate.

Whatever the cause, the deer began licking, and the sociable kitty that he is, Linus lay there and let it happen.

Then it happened again and again. Jeanette says, “We watch the deer approach. It’s usually a large doe who steps forward very cautiously. She walks up and starts to lick him from head to toe. This isn’t just a little lick. It lasts a long time.”

The deer licking became a routine for Linus and the doe. At some point the Daniels noticed that he was gradually beginning to recover. He began to put on weight and started to play again with the other cats. “He has made a splendid recovery,” says Jeannette, though he is not yet back to his old form.

Today he looks and acts like a handsome, healthy cat. Jeanette had him indoors for his “interview” for this article. He showed a normal feline lack of cooperation in having his picture taken but was happy to sit on the reporter’s notebook.

Did the deer save Linus’s life? “It’s a puzzle,” Jeanette says. Friends and neighbors speculate that perhaps his fur tastes salty to the deer and that is why they lick him. Or maybe the doe who licks him (Jeannette thinks it is usually the same one), at first mistook him for a fawn when he was curled up in the yard.

One thing is clear; Linus, the sociable cat, has found a place in the hearts not only of the Daniels, the Petersons, and the neighborhood, but also of the Empire deer.

Posted by editor at 08:28 PM | Comments (0)

Hearts of Public Safety

-Anonymous

This piece was submitted anonymously to the Empire Fire Station under the agreement that it would be printed in the local newspaper

I wish you could comprehend a wife’s horror at 3 in the morning as I check her husband of 40 years for a pulse and fine none. I start CPR anyway, hoping to bring him back, knowing intuitively that it is too late, but wanting his wife and family to know everything possible was done to save his life.

I wish you could read my mind as I respond to an EMS call, “What is wrong with the patient? Is it minor or life threatening? Is the caller really in distress or is he waiting for us with a gun?”

I wish you could be in the emergency room as a doctor pronounces dead the beautiful five year-old girl who I have been trying to save during the past 25 minutes. She will never go on her first date or say the words, “I love you Mommy” again.

I wish you could know the frustration I feel in my cruisers or the cab of the rescue, with my foot pressing down hard on the pedal, my siren and air blasting again and again, as you fail to yield the right-of-way at an intersection or in traffic. BUT when you need us, your first comment upon our arrival will be, “It took you forever to get here!” or “What took you so long?”

I wish you could know my thoughts as I help extricate a girl of teenage years from the remains of her automobile. What if this was my sister or my friend? What is their parents’ reaction going to be when the open the door to find a police officer with hat in hand?

I wish you could know how if feels to walk in the back door and greet my parents and family, not having the heart to tell them that I nearly did not come back from the last call.

I wish you could know how it feels dispatching police officers, firemen and EMTs and feeling our hearts drop when we call them and no one answers back, or to hear a bone-chilling 911 call from a child or wife needing assistance.

I wish you could feel the hurt as people verbally, and sometimes physically abuse us or belittle what we do, or when they naively say “It will never happen to me”.

I wish you could realize the physical, emotional and mental drain of missed meals, lost sleep and forgone social activities, in addition to all the tragedy my eyes have seen.

I wish you could know the brotherhood and self-satisfaction of helping to save a life, or being able to be there in times of crisis, or creating order from total chaos.

I wish you could understand what it feels like to have a little boy tugging at your arm and asking, “Is Mommy OK?” Not even being able to look in his eyes without tears from your own and not knowing what to say.

Or to have to hold back a longtime friend who watches his buddy as he is has rescue breathing done on him as they take him away in the ambulance. You know all along he did not have his seatbelt on. A sensation that I know all too well.

Unless you have lived with this kind of life, you will never truly understand or appreciate who I am, who we are, or what our job really means to us … I wish you could though.

Appreciate and support the local EMS workers, firefighters and law enforcement officers in your area.

One day they’ll probably be saving your property or your own life.

When you see them coming with lights flashing, move out of the way quickly, then pray for them.

Posted by editor at 07:30 PM | Comments (0)

“Toad” continues hopping toward Junior Worlds

By Chase Edwards
Sun staff writer

My sister, Cassidy, was given the nickname Toad as a toddler. My parents say it’s because she never stopped hopping around. She even signed her papers as Toad Edwards during elementary and middle school. That was until one of the teachers told her it wasn’t appropriate.

Toad took home a gold medal this year at the Cross-Country Skiing Junior Olympics in Fairbanks, Alaska. She called me from Alaska to tell me two things. She said that one of the races was almost canceled because of the temperature: it was 20 degrees below zero and the girls were instructed to duct tape their sports bras (which they turned into a party). Then she told me about one of the top college coaches in the country standing at the crest of a hill in the middle of the race yelling, “Damn it Toad! you’re two seconds away from three of the fastest college skiers in the country. You’ve got it...now let’s go!” This meant she was in the lead in her age group. I learned later that she grinned at him, and then picked up the pace.

Years before Toad’s cross-country skiing days my dad used take the two of us to track and cross-country running races all over the country. We raced in Mississippi, Tennessee, Virginia, the Carolinas and Georgia. We even took the Greyhound bus to Orlando, Florida once. But one AAU junior national indoor track meet in Indiana stands out in my mind. Toad was 9.

I trained hard with Dad during the months before this particular meet. We always asked Toad if she was going to join us, but a nonchalant “nah” was her usual reply. She would then hop out the door, without the slightest bit of guilt, to play dress up or go ice-skating with her friends. I think Cass ran once a week, if that, prior to the meet. I remember Dad telling her before the race that she really didn’t deserve to be there. Toad laughed and bounced off to the starting line. She won her race and broke the meet record.

Four years later Dad bought us our first waxable cross-country skis and Toad started taking her training seriously. The plan was to use cross-country ski racing as a form of crosstraining, to make us stronger runners. But we soon fell in love with skiing and it became our favorite sport. We were pretty good for the area, too.

After one full year of cross-country ski racing we qualified for the Junior Olympics (2000) in New Hampshire. This meant we would compete in four events: a relay, a sprint, a distance race with skate technique, and a distance race using classic technique. Toad came in dead last in the classic race.

The following year Junior Olympics were held in Marquette, Michigan. Toad placed in the top ten. This was the third time she’d made All-American in a sport (the first two were in track and cross-country). Dad decided to buy us roller-skis after that and we began training for the ski season year round.

Cassidy beat me at the state meet the next winter. Then we went to Idaho for Junior Olympics (2002) and Toad crashed on a steep downhill during the classic race. Her ski boot, with the ski still attached, came off her foot. She put the boot back on and finished in 11th place. She took 5th in the skate race.

Although Toad’s 11th-place finish in Idaho made a good story, no one in the ski world expected her to take home the gold medal from Alaska in 2003 like she did. No one except Dad and I, anyways. She is the first skier from Michigan to win a gold at the Junior Olympics.

At age 16 Cassidy has her eye on qualifying for Junior Worlds next ski season. She is currently roller-skiing 50-60 miles a week and running 20-30 miles a week. She does this all on her own without the support of a team or even a formal coach. So if you see her training in Glen Arbor this summer wave or yell “hey” to her. She’ll be working hard, but I guarantee she’ll pause long enough to give you her famous Toad smile and say “hey” back.

Toad and I don’t work out together as much as we used to, but she’s still my best friend. When my friends and I ask her to join us at the beach or bonfire or to watch a movie, however, she will sometimes reply with a nonchalant “nah.” Then we watch as she hops out the door to go train.

Posted by editor at 06:32 PM | Comments (0)

Moon Dog: earth-friendly goodness finds home in Empire.

By Ashlea Turner
Sun staff writer

Local artwork. Organic pet food and catnip. Free-trade and organic coffee. Fresh, hormone-free milk in returnable glass bottles. Scrumptious pastries. Great service. It’s usually difficult to discover these attributes together under the same roof. Luckily for the village of Empire, Moon Dog provides all of these and more to a year-round clientele.

Although owners Carmen and Dayton Howard just opened Moon Dog this summer, they already feel so well received by the community of Empire that it feels almost like home to them. Carmen, the powerhouse and visionary behind Moon Dog, feels that Empire is “very appreciative” of their new coffee bar. In fact, there is a bounty of which to be appreciative at Moon Dog. Not only can someone in Empire now have an espresso drink made with fresh milk from Shetler’s Dairy, but one can purchase good-for-you soap and sunscreen for a day at the beach. And don’t forget to pick up an energy bar or a splendid brownie to take on a hike to Empire Bluffs.

So how did Empire get so lucky to have the goodness of Moon Dog in its village? The Howards moved to the Lake Ann area (east of Empire) from the Detroit area about three years ago. For many, like Carmen and Dayton, making the move “up north” can bring some unexpected hardships. They had begun to miss the ambience of a good coffee bar and instead of just dreaming of the places Ann Arbor offers and Empire doesn’t, they created it. Moon Dog is a great new neighborhood coffee shop and café that serves local baked goods from Kejara’s Bridge and pastries from Stone House Bread. They also serve and sell coffee roasted by the Great Northern Roasting Company of Traverse City and Higher Grounds, both organic.

The Howards take much pride in both using and selling Shetler’s milk products. Shetler’s Dairy is a family-run business in Kalkaska that believes in healthy soil, animals and people. It doesn’t use any manmade chemicals, antibiotics or hormones (rBST). Shetler’s also avoids homogenizing its milk, with the understanding that “when cream is left in its natural state it is more easily digestible.”

Speaking of healthy animals, for those who have pets at home, you can buy organic and all-natural dog and cat food at Moon Dog. Carmen believes that a large part of Moon Dog’s service to customers is education and awareness. She believes that what companies are able to put into commercial pet food is horrendous and if most pet-owners learned of this injustice, they would surely switch to such brands as Solid Gold, Canidae or Felidae (all natural pet foods). Moon Dog also offers organic catnip sacks along with natural supplements.

In addition to supplying the body and pet with nutrients, Moon Dog enjoys enriching the mind and heart with expressions of the local artistic community. Moon Dog supports the local creative community by exhibiting paintings, jewelry, mixed media work and note cards, among other creations by a wealth of local artists and craftspeople.

Coming soon: natural frozen treats made from soy and tofu, a tasty and healthy alternative to traditional ice cream. As if you needed one more reason to stop by and check out Moon Dog.

Moon Dog plans to stay open year-round (I can hear the cheers from the locals already). Carmen and Dayton are currently open from 7-5, Monday – Saturday, and 8-3 on Sunday. Technically Moon Dog is located at 11590 La Core Street, but the coffee bar is basically right on M-22 across from the Village Inn in Empire.

Posted by editor at 05:34 PM | Comments (0)

Lake Michigan: A Rhapsody

By Linda Jo Scott
Sun staff writer

Lake Michigan has always been a close companion to me. I was born -- like millions of other people -- in Cook County, Chicago, and our family lived just 11 blocks from Lake Michigan's shores. I walked some of my earliest steps on her sandy beaches; my first toboggan rides were down her steep shoulders; I loved hearing my mother tell about that very cold winter in her childhood when the lake froze as far as one could see -- and farther.

I especially remember our first boat ride on my beloved lake. The ship was the Yankee Clipper, and my sister, brother and I must have been three, six and nine, or maybe four, seven, and 10. It was summer, and our family set out for a day's cruise. As we ate our picnic on the deck, we noticed my brother's face suddenly go from its usual healthy tan to an ashen gray. He put his head down on my father's lap and proceeded to vomit what looked like the entire contents of our picnic basket all over the entire surface of my father's trousers. My poor father had to spend the rest of the day pretending not to notice his saturated pants, in hopes that no one else would notice, either.

I still live near Lake Michigan, though on the other side, where the sun sets in the lake rather than rising there. I still love that lake like a member of the family, but each time I remember that first boat ride, more than 50 years ago, I remember not the sunny day, not the thrill of walking the decks of a big lake ship, but rather I catch the stench of fresh vomit in the hot sun and the image of my poor father coming out of the men's room with his dripping wet pants, held up by a dripping wet belt.

Posted by editor at 04:36 PM | Comments (0)

On the Road: Mesas and natural aquifers give way to spring training in suburbia

By Jacob R. Wheeler
Sun editor

Part two in a series of four travelogues (Read part one, “Leaving the Midwest’s gloomy grey for Southwestern red dirt” in June 19 issue of the Glen Arbor Sun)

“Though much is taken, much abides; and though / We are not now that strength which in old days / Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are, / One equal temper of heroic hearts, Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will / To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.” – Ulysses

My forehead swims when I sit up straight in the morning, and the pink blanket over me bares the musty smell of fever. I did not respect the elevation change Albuquerque, New Mexico throws at visitors from out-of-town – an omen, like the glance the roughneck at the bar gives he who walks into the wrong establishment, wearing the wrong attire. And I am paying the price, bed-ridden though my journey across America is not yet three weeks old. I have the lungs of a chain-smoking retiree, and my stomach turns at the mere hint of juevos rancheros in a greasy spoon diner on Route 66. Alas, the show must go on.

My host nurses me back to health with Thai takeout and creamy ice tea that could sooth even an irate postal worker’s palate, and we search the Spanish-style colonial square in the old town for straw hats and turquoise jewelry. If you don’t feel right, shop your way back to health, so say the billboards across this country. The afternoon of February 7, 2003 finds me taking a nap among the Petroglyphs – mountains of grey rocks outside of town marked by intricate drawings of sun gods and stick figures that were left there too long ago to call them “graffiti”. The gods settle my stomach, and the smell of the sweaty straw hat covering my face induces dreams of rolling in the hay as a small boy. When I awake I am healthy and rarin’ to go.

Thus, the stage is set the next day for a 10-mile hike up to the peak of the Sandia Mountains in an oncoming snowstorm, to an elevation of 12,000 feet where the air is so thin it could give you a paper cut. Saddled with enough water and Gatorade to stay alive, not just hydrated, we climb 4,000 feet on hitch-back trails through dirt, over slippery rock and even snow drifts until my brain gasps for oxygen and I stumble from left to right on the trail. “Focus, focus”, my guide tells me, for if I were to fall off the edge, this travelogue would be left for the crows to read. But I am in luck. The Petroglyph gods see our ascent complete and even have a gondola there waiting to take us back to Earth. The suspended cabin glides through the haze and casts an eery shadow on the red rock below like some Navajo ghost of the Southwest, and our lifeline shakes whenever a passenger coughs.

Now, with lungs as acclimated as those of a mountain goat, I am ready for a visit to the Acoma Pueblo, an Indian community set on a single giant mesa located about two hours west of Albuquerque. Acoma may be the longest continually inhabited community in America, and probably the friendliest, too. As I cruise the back roads of the Indian reservation south of I-40, everyone I meet throws up a hand in a wave as our paths cross for only half of a second. So I catch on, and slow down to greet the kids on their bicycles by the roadside, only to be greeted by dumbfound glances. Must be the Michigan license plate or the tacky plastic compass hanging from my windshield. At the parking lot from where the Acoma bus tour departs I am greeted by a convoy of vans selling turquoise necklaces and clay pots the color of a sunrise out of their open bay doors. Since turquoise reminds me of the soft sky I shop for a lady I know, then eat fried bread spread thick with honey atop the timeless mesa where roughly a dozen families have lived since long before the Franciscan friars climbed the hill and lugged their Catholicism up with them. The Acomans got along fairly well with their invaders, as evidenced by the traditional graveyard beside the majestic church where both Indians and white men are buried.

South, to Truth or Consequences, N. Mex.

Three months before in drizzly Copenhagen a Dane named Jesper had told me to seek out a little trailer-trash town near the Mexican border that was named after a popular 50’s television show, and soak in its hot springs. Could this be the Viking plunderer’s blind quest for the pool of eternal life? No, there really is a town called Truth or Consequences, and I choose truth; an aquifer bubbling up out of the clay and spilling into giant oak tubs beside the Rio Grande where I sit and welcome the morning. The consequences are the two lonely nights I spend shivering in the youth hostel’s trailer with a broken space heater as my only companion. But a stoic old hippy named Bart entertains me after my bout with the frigid night as crumbles of granola tumble down his beard. Every rural youth hostel in America seems to have an old man whose life responsibility it is to pass one traveler’s tale on to the next one, thereby aiding the spread of knowledge.

From Truth or Consequences I take a day trip to the White Sands dunes in the heart of the government’s missile testing ground. The National Park’s museum here swears that the billions of cake white sediments receding slowly across the desert are a natural phenomenon. They contrast with New Mexico’s typical terrain so much that one can recognize them from outer space. But let the imagination run loose, and remember that the U.S. government exploded mankind’s first nuclear weapon here, at the Trinity test sight just before obliterating Hiroshima. I break the law and steal from the Park, depositing two handfuls of the white powder into a coffee cup, nearly expecting my hand to fall off at first contact. When I get home I will compare this to the grains found in the Sleeping Bear Dunes. That evening I spoil Jeremiah, the proprietor of the youth hostel, with good Sierra Nevada Pale Ail, and listen to him lament how difficult it his to maintain true friendships when the people he meets always move on the next day. The life of the wanderer, or he who caters to them, is filled with wonders, new sights and sounds, but it is lonely too. I hope to look back on this journey more fondly some day when I have my own roof over my head.

West, to Silver City, N. Mex.

My little Honda probably looks forward to crossing the mountainous Gila National Forest on New Mexico’s western border as much a camel does to crossing the Sahara Desert. “Push me to my limit, master, with no regard for my well being, you thankless slave driver.” Highway 152 through the Mimbres Mountains presents hours of switch-back turns, up into snowy peaks, down into lush green, and then up again, as I constantly switch between second and third gear as my right foot moves promiscuously back and forth between the gas pedal and the brake. The car yawns and lets out a little whimper occasionally, but I refuse to take pity. She is my beast of burden, and we must cross this treacherous path.

At San Lorenzo I follow highway 35, and then 15, to the Gila Cliff Dwellings, where a tour guide leads me up into the caves where an ancient native civilization built homes completely within the rocks and established an architectural sophistication that we claim didn’t exist until the white man got here. Somehow the rock peoples just disappeared, and were in enough of a hurry to leave behind traces of their daily lives: cooking utensils, carvings, ladders. I am reminded of another great civilization -- modern before its time -- that mysteriously vanished: that of Knossos on the Grecian island of Crete. Could archaeology be a futile science. Are the peoples of old taunting us, leaving behind just enough artifacts to plant the seeds of doubt in our egos that we may not be living in the first civilized age?

That night I stay in an EconoLodge in Silver City, and immediately regret paying $60 for a gigantic room that is too clean and lonely when I could just as well have forked over $15 for another night of social entertainment at the youth hostel. I don’t need a double bed or a television set; these amenities make me feel far from home.

Northwest, to Phoenix, Ariz.

The moment I cross the state line into Arizona on February 12 the heavens open up and begin spitting rain. The cacti that appear at random east of Tucson multiply and take on a greener plumage the farther north I go, as if I am spreading the seeds of life in this barren region. Or maybe it’s just the rain. I am way ahead of schedule today and will reach Phoenix by noon if I don’t kill some time. So I pull of I-10 into the only market I can find – a strip mall – and load up on gifts for my hosts: bread, cheese, fresh flowers, and two bottles of Italian wine that complement each other: a red Chianti and a white Pinot Grigio. I had hoped the locals might acknowledge me as the one who brought the rains today, but there is no distinguishing between locals and tourists in this setting: we are all just faceless strangers wandering up and down the aisles of a gigantic air-conditioned Walmart. This mall is its own universe, and one where the weather never changes.
The Phoenix that I experience is one of several million lost souls who have forgotten their identities, or never knew them in the first place. They awake each morning to line up on this city’s countless expressways and accept the name, job title and cultural status they are assigned. Each one is given a three-room apartment in a cookie-cutter subdivision with a large gate barring admittance to anyone without an access card. The lawns inside the complex by the tennis courts and pool are mowed so low that they remind my feet of a carpet. Inside the apartment, one could turn off the air-conditioning and open a window, but the ever-present “whoosh” of automobiles going by on the expressway and the smell of chlorine wafting up from the turquoise pool often make one reconsider. Greater Phoenix is a series of grids, with nearly all roads meeting each other at right angles. Getting lost here is nearly impossible, though dropping off rented movies at the wrong Blockbuster (you’ll find one on almost every other block) is a distinct possibility.

This imagery may not seem so bad to those who have grown up in a suburban maze and enjoy the continuity of these communities, but the visitor who seeks out something unique at every destination, be it even one mile down the road from the last, is left wanting. I, for instance, relish Lake Michigan’s turbulent, icy waters exactly because they jar me from my sense of comfort, and I grew up mowing the lawn only when the grass had grown too high to find the errant baseball during a game of catch. I will not enjoy Phoenix, Arizona, and I realize this the moment I arrive. My host is not a native of this setting, and she seems out of place here. The moments when I remember her sitting on the ground drawing on a canvas with crayons or writing poems in the sand with a stick have been replaced by anxiety after an hour stuck in traffic jams. Phoenix seems to have sapped the creativity out of her, and that which was born on the free beaches of Lake Michigan at the height of summer is slowly dying here in confined suburbia. We go for a hike on Squaw Peak -- this city’s version of a mountain trail – and the real challenge is not the climb, itself, but dodging ugly show poodles on leashes around every turn and finding traction on a trail that’s been worn into a superhighway. Alas, from the apex of Squaw Peak one gazes down at a million blue swimming pools. The British painter Hockney who lives in Los Angeles and glorifies this American sub-culture would certainly approve of this trail.

The only part of Phoenix I really enjoy is Guadalupe, the dirt-poor Mexican ghetto, set just south of Tempe where I’m staying and just across I-10 from a rich country club. So it goes in many American cities, the expressway separates two cultures as well as any Iron Curtain would. I have to lock my car and watch my back when strolling through Guadalupe’s dilapidated shantytown, as I’m sure all the banditos recognize the naivety resonating from my gringo skin. But at the local barbershop I meet Tommy, the only genuine Phoenix local during my three-week stay here. We engage in guy talk, debating the prowess of the local sports teams, sharing advice on how to deal with woman issues. That he is a Latino from the ghetto, and that I am a middle-class white boy from the other side of the continent, matters not. We are both humans addressing our own problems every single day, and that we will conquer some and fail others is a certainty on which we both agree.

Luckily, my stay in Phoenix coincides with the beginning of baseball’s spring training: the truest sign that eternal summer is on its way. Since I am from the Midwest, and since I am humble enough to bet my pennies on a perennial loser, the Chicago Cubs are my team. So I drive to Mesa for the Cubs’ first day of full-squad spring training in their complex next to HoHoKam Park. Their star Sammy Sosa's has reported to work on time for the first time, ever. Sammy is his usual charismatic self, and feeds at least two sound bites to the small crowd at hand for every homerun he crushes during batting practice. The woman standing next to me, separated from the players by a mere fence, professes out loud that she wants to marry Sammy. He stops his game of catch with Moises Alou and walks over to write down his phone number. "Chica, call me collect," he shouts. Sammy isn’t quite as interested in me, but when I ask him what he plans on doing this coming October, he pauses for a moment and says very matter-of-factly, "the playoffs man". But I want to get a second opinion, so I ask Alou, the typical slow starter, after the game of catch if things feel like February or May. "February", he says in a hoarse voice. Alas, another Cubs season of woe.

To be continued in the next issue of the Glen Arbor Sun

Posted by editor at 03:37 PM | Comments (0)

‘Ladies of Leelanau’ celebrate the Solstice by running, and running.

By Ashlea Turner
Sun staff writer

The Summer Solstice, June 21st, is always cause for much celebration as we honor the longest day of the year. This year’s Solstice brought much reason to celebrate for the ‘Ladies of Leelanau,’ a local running team. For the second year in a row, the ‘Ladies’ completed the North Country Trail Relay in historic fashion. Among 30 teams, we were the only all-women’s team to succeed in completing the long and arduous race.

The North Country Trail Relay is a 77-mile long race that begins just west of Mesick and ends near Baldwin. The race is run entirely on the North Country Scenic Trail and celebrates trail running and team spirit. This particular section of the trail runs through the Huron-Manistee National Forest and is quite hilly with lots of switchback trails, views of the Manistee River, beautiful hardwood forests and lots of roots. It is open to foot traffic year-round. Sections of the trail are also open to mountain biking and offer wonderful climbs and sweet descents.

Traditionally, teams of six runners complete between 10 and 13 hilly and “visually orgasmic” miles per person. This year’s five members of the ‘Ladies of Leelanau’ were empowered to run about 14 to 16 miles each. Team members Laura Hood, Jessie Houghton, Patty Sutherland, Evie Rhynard and myself absolutely love the challenging hills and the gorgeous scenery that the North Country Scenic Trail provides.

How do we ladies prepare for and finish the race? All of us enjoy distance running, especially on trails, and train by running regularly and running longer on the weekends. All of us have run at least one marathon, including the Anchorage Marathon in Alaska, the Detroit Marathon, the Bayshore Marathon in Traverse City and the North Country Trail Marathon that takes place in September every year. We also stay fueled by drinking lots of water, eating Scoobie Snacks, pounds of trail mix, and of course, bananas. Most importantly, however, we empower each other.

At 3:10pm on June 21st (the official beginning of summer), the ‘Ladies’ howled like wolf goddesses in honor of summer’s arrival and the power of the all-women’s team. But the ‘Ladies’ still had about three more hours of running ahead of them in order to complete the race. After about 12 hours of running, navigating old fire roads, and laughter, the ‘Ladies of Leelanau’ completed the race and were ready for their next challenge. Jessie Houghton, the Alpha runner of the group, summed up the day perfectly by saying that she was “proud to be a member of the only all-women’s team.” What a perfect start to healthy summer.

The ‘Ladies’ are looking for more women to run against us in the race next year. Come on, ladies. For more information, go to www.truheat.com/nctrcourse.

Running like the locals

If you’re a runner living in Chicago, you probably run between Lake Michigan and Lake Shore Drive through Lincoln Park, with thousands of other runners. If you’re a runner living in New York City, you probably run through Central Park, with thousands of other runners. But if you’re a runner living in Glen Arbor, where do you run? Well, wherever you run in the Glen Arbor area, I can guarantee that you won’t be running with thousands of other runners. This area is home, however, to both great road and trail running. Although the local runners are reluctant to give away all of their secret running haunts, here are a few.

For a classic trail run complete with beautiful vistas of both Lake Michigan and Big Glen Lake, try Alligator Hill, where it’s always a bit shady and always very challenging (read HILLY). One can access the Alligator Hill trail network from Pierce Stocking Drive or from Forest Haven Road, both just south of Glen Arbor. Looking for a trail that has something for everyone? North of Glen Arbor and The Homestead lies the Bay View Trail network. One can park at the trail head off of Thoreson Road and run short, run long, run hilly, flat, or a little bit of both. Jessie Houghton, a local runner, loves the Bay View trails because “there are just so many possibilities for a great run.” And don’t forget to stumble up the hill to Lookout Point. It’s worth it.

Too often runners can be found in the sunniest and most traffic-ridden places in the summer. For excellent road running, free of traffic and direct sun, try the following routes. For a shady, flat and scenic road run, try Northwood Drive along Big Glen Lake. If you’re looking for a good road workout complete with long hills, try the Pierce Stocking Scenic Drive. Long hills are accompanied, of course, by long descents. Have fun. You can park at the entrance and run the 7.4-mile loop, stopping at the inspiring lookouts for a break. Make sure not to go in the middle of the day when the drive is void of wildlife but full of tourists. There are even bathrooms. Perfect.

Several of these trails are part of the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore and require a parking pass. Consider buying a year-long pass for $15. This will allow you and your family access to all of the trails and beaches in the Lakeshore for the rest of the year.

For a healthy summer of running, drink lots of water and don’t run in the middle of the day when the sun is beating down. One last piece of advice: Don’t forget to jump in the big lake after your run. You’ve earned it.

Posted by editor at 02:39 PM | Comments (0)

July 03, 2003

Wash the paczki down with a cold one at Polka Fest

By Torin Yeager
Sun staff writer

Polka, kielbasa, beer galore! The 22nd annual Cedar Polka Fest, sponsored by the Cedar Chamber of Commerce, will bring a homesick Pole, or anyone else for that matter, back to Warsaw for four fun days of dancing, food and spirits in the Polish capitol of Leelanau County.

From July 3rd through July 6th, two large tents will grace the tennis court in downtown Cedar, one filled with people enjoying the latest polka tunes, as well as some old favorites. “There are two major types of polka,” says local Sonny Czerniak. “There is the traditional three-beat ‘oompa-oompa’ sound, which most people recall when they think of polka, and then there is the newer Chicago style, which is much faster and more energetic.” Both styles of polka will be played at the Polka Fest by bands from as far away as Chicago and Pennsylvania. A 40 by 80 foot wooden dance floor will be available for boogying, and newcomers to polka are welcome to try their luck as well. “It’s great fun for everyone on the dance floor, which is why I come every year,” says Czerniak.

In and around the tents are vendors of many fine Polish delicacies, such as kielbasa, also known as Polish sausage, which is a spicy blend of pork and veal. Also popular is paczki, pronounced “punch-key”, which is a delicious pastry resembling a jelly doughnut. Paczki-making actually has its own Polish holiday just before Catholic Lent, known as Fat Thursday (Fat Tuesday in the United States). On this day, all the sugar and other fattening substances in a Polish kitchen are used to make the sweet doughnuts, ridding the house of any tempting foods during a time of relative fasting. You may learn the secret of how to make a perfect paczki at a baking session on Friday at the Cedar Fire Department. Another ethnic delight is golabki, pronounced “glumpky”. This odd-sounding dish is made of spiced beef, pork, or veal wrapped in cabbage, then served with a sweet tomato sauce. A well-known Polish/German treat, sauerkraut, is also available at the Polka Fest. In case you’ve been out of the loop, sauerkraut is made of pickled cabbage, fermented in large vats, that is cooked and served alone or with many other Polish and German dishes.

Having a hard time convincing your stomach to go to Krakow with you? There are plenty of American foods available as well, such as hot dogs, hamburgers, pizza and elephant ears from vendors’ stands. Oddly enough, most of these “normal” foods have their roots in European countries, including Poland.

Not to be forgotten are the truckloads of beer sent into the “Beer Tent”, which shares space with the other food vendors. Sponsored by Budweiser®, this portable bar helps raise money for the primary organizer: the Cedar Chamber of Commerce. Dozens of beer kegs are downed each night, but security officials will make certain that not one drop goes to any minors. “The security gets better every year, which makes it more enjoyable and safe for everyone,” says local mother Carole Mikowski.

Special events will be held each day, the first being a flag-raising ceremony on Thursday. Friday will bring the paczki baking, all of which will be sold during the remainder of the Polka Fest. On Saturday, a parade will coast by for the whole family to enjoy: Floats, classic cars and bands will all pass through downtown Cedar, not far from the tents. On Sunday the bishop from Gaylord will preside over a Mass on the Polka Fest grounds. Polka music by Pan Franek and Zosia Polka Towners will accompany the service, as will television cameras from the local news stations, making the event visible to all of northern Michigan.

Although the under-21 age group won’t have access to the Polka Fest after 8 p.m. without a parent, there are still plenty of activities during the day. Sidewalk chalk art will begin on Friday, followed on Saturday by face painting. A softball tournament will get into full swing for the Polka Fest, as well as various other games for children. Also, as the tents are located in a park, there is a playground too.

The Polka Fest is obviously about Polish heritage, but how did Cedar come to have such a large Polish community? According to the extensive research of Lucia Novak and the Leelanau Historical Museum, the first few Polish families came to the area in the late 1860’s, around 1868. They were simply scouting out the county for their relatives in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, another large Polish community, in response to the Homestead Act of 1862. This act allowed land to be purchased at just $1.25 per acre for farming. The scouting families found the area to be to their liking, and so by the 1870’s a large wave of immigrants spilled into Centerville Township, but not directly to Cedar. The small farming community the Poles called home was Isadore, just 2 1/2 miles north of Cedar, which is now the home of the Holy Rosary Church. The Poles continued to live in Isadore until the first generation of immigrants began to retire. The succeeding generations moved to Cedar, then a near-treeless ghost of a logging town, and called it home. Isadore is now a ghost town except for the church, but the residents of Cedar are once again celebrating their heritage at the 22nd annual Polka Fest. Come on over, and bring on the paczki!

Posted by editor at 11:55 PM | Comments (0)

From “Bach to Brazil” Manitou Music Festival resonates through Dunes

By Jacob R. Wheeler
Sun editor

Now entering its 13th season, the Manitou Music Festival will once again play matchmaker for an unlikely trio of acts that seeks harmony despite their differences in style. The Manitou Festival Orchestra, led by conductor Mathew Hazelwood, the eclectic Neptune Quartet, and soloists from Interlochen Arts Academy will team up on Sunday, July 13 at 7 p.m., for a free concert at the Dune Climb in the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore to deliver a musical extravaganza that will vary from Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto no. 4 to a piece for the marimba composed by the Brazilian Rosauro.

The show-stopper, according to festival director Crispin Campbell, may be Chihiro Shibayama, a vibrant Japanese percussionist who just graduated from Interlochen and will bring a little Brazilian rhythm to Glen Arbor when her marimba resonates though the hot summer air. The Tokyo native will attend the prestigious Julliard School of Music in New York City in the fall. “She’s a stunning, dynamic performer,” says Campbell, who predicts that Shibayama may perform a solo piece in addition to her collaboration with the orchestra.

“The audience will be wowed by the warm, intimate sound of the marimba,” Hazelwood, the orchestra’s conductor, promised. The marimba, traditionally a Central American instrument, looks like a large xylophone. “For the Brazilian dance piece, the percussionist has to use 4 mallets – 2 in each hand, so the audience will be amazed both visually and auditorily.

“We’re performing Bach’s Brandenburg concerto because it has great rhythmic vitality,” said Campbell, who doesn’t rule out the possibility of the Dune Climb crowd marching down M-109, all the way to Rio de Janeiro in their rhythm-induced nirvana. “This concert is all about the relationship between serious music and popular music, to the point where they rub shoulders. It’s about rhythm.”

Hazelwood suggested this program. He is also the conductor of the Interlochen Art’s Academy Orchestra and former music director of the Battle Creek Symphony. Just as important for this gig, perhaps, Hazelwood lived in Columbia for nine years and played percussion with the Bogota Symphony Orchestra. So he knows hot-blooded Latin American music well.

Campbell’s own group, the Neptune Quartet, fits into this eclectic mix because they have also delved into Latin music lately. The crossover group, which also features Don Julin, Angelo Meli and Glenn Wolff, refuses to be labeled under one musical persona. The Neptune Quartet is influenced by jazz, Latin, folk as well as classical. “We call it Americana,” said Campbell, who brings the quartet back after it was received warmly at last year’s festival.

This festival may be a bittersweet one for Campbell, the founder of the Manitou Music Festival, who will step down as its director after this summer. “This festival has been a huge part of my life and I retain a lot of great memories,” he said. “But I need more time to pursue some of my own projects – to practice, take the Neptune Quartet to the next level, and travel with my wife Carol.

“Change is a good thing, and it’s time for someone else to give it energy.”

This is the fifth time a Manitou Music Festival concert will unfold at the Dune Climb, courtesy of a successful collaboration between the National Park Service and the Glen Arbor Art Association. The Park service seeks “creative partnerships” like this one in which it makes its land available to non-profit groups that foster educational opportunities within the community. This concert is also a gift from the Art Association, which foots the bill for the performers. The music is essentially free and open to the public, except for $7 the Park charges per vehicle parked at the Dune Climb.

Posted by editor at 10:59 PM | Comments (0)

Is the Empire Schoolhouse a goldmine or a Pandora’s box?

By Thomas Benn
Sun contributor

The clock is running out on the old Empire schoolhouse.

Built in 1901, this architectural marvel has been gathering dust and slowly disintegrating for the last 35 years in what may be the village’s most important crossroads commercial location.

Sitting on five lots at the gateway intersection of Highways M-22, M-72 and downtown Front Street, the 10,000 square-foot structure remains on the market, for an asking price of $399,000. The tract is zoned in such a way that almost any commercial or residential use would require the specific approval of various public bodies.

The village’s Master Plan, last revised in 1998, refers to the building as a major community asset that should be preserved. “Mechanisms must be identified to convert the vacant building to a semi-public community center for arts, theater, music and probably a senior activity center,” the plan says.

To be paid for by whom? Best estimates are that the building has maybe a year or two before it will have to be bulldozed out of existence. Can it be restored? The present cost of renovation, conservatively put at one million dollars, discouraged a number of recent prospective buyers, who were hoping to attract government financial assistance by exploiting its historic significance.

At last week’s community forum sponsored by the village planning commission, the problem did not rank among the leading concerns on the minds of residents. Many citizens appear resigned to the removal of the building and uncertainty as to the future of the site.

Students walked through the school doors for the last time in 1968, the final phase of the Glen Lake Community Schools consolidation authorized in 1956. As in many other parts of the country, consolidation seemed unavoidable. The high school graduating class in 1954 numbered only two students.

In lots of places, surplus classroom buildings were hastily replaced by administrative offices, video stores, fast-food dispensaries, condominiums, whatever made economic sense.

In lots of places, but not in the village of Empire, for a combination of reasons…

The story of the old schoolhouse begins in 1899 when the previous building burned. Empire’s population numbered 609 then, compared to 378 in the last census. Harve Wilce, the manager of the lumber mill, insisted on a new top-quality four-room school of the best virgin white pine. He knew that a good school would attract the skilled workers needed for the mill. The technologically advanced hot air circulating system made efficient use of the bell tower chimney. Great tall windows provided excellent classroom lighting.

All four high school classes shared one large room, the seniors closest to the windows, the freshmen furthest away. The high school basketball team, known as the Pirates, started playing at the town hall in 1913. WPA funds paid for a gymnasium addition in 1932. Joann Harriger, who still lives in the Empire area, remembers her master carpenter father, Joe Dhuyvetter, building the gym. While a student there, Joann helped out in the cook’s shack where lunches were prepared alongside the building. An old machinery storage shed, moved from several blocks away, added space for shop classes. In 1941 the Boynton school was brought in from its location on the Benzonia Trail near the Empire airport to become a separate kindergarten.

Beginning in the late 1930s, students were bused in from rural elementary schools. The availability of federal financial aid partly explains why it was temporarily renamed the Empire Agricultural School.

From time to time the school lost and then regained its state accreditation. The main problem appeared to be the limited academic course offerings in a curriculum that also included agricultural courses. Students might be taking both Latin and animal husbandry in the same semester. A few families in the village sent their children to out-of-town schools for what they believed would be better preparation for college.

Teachers and other personnel were kept busy at the Empire school. The janitor, Bill Hinstock, also played the piano for school assemblies and dances.

Graduates who live in the area have fond memories of their favorite teachers. For Alice Coppens (class of 1940), it was Myron H. Vent, who arrived in 1938 fresh out of the University of Chicago and intent upon a cultural renaissance. “He wore a different suit every day, brought a briefcase to school, and gave a course in manners,” she remembers. “He organized a glee club, taught us ballroom dancing, and had us writing poetry.” The school newspaper in that period was called “The Imperator,” the title of a Roman emperor.

Alice went away to college, became an army nurse in the Pacific in World War II, and married Vance Diggins. After their retirement, the Digginses settled in Empire, where he is a member of the planning commission. Myron Vent stayed two years, then left for another job.

High school enrollments continued their decline in the postwar years, bringing about the consolidation with Glen Arbor, Maple City, and Cedar/Centerville. Now, instead of bringing students from the Burdickville area to Empire, the buses were running from Empire to the distant site between Burdickville Maple City.

Versel “Butts” Harriger, Joann’s brother-in-law, took advantage of an opportunity to buy the old school. Many of the fixtures, including the chalkboards and the bell in the tower, were removed and sold. He told me last week that he had two options in mind at the time: One was to assemble the crew that would tear down everything but the gym and use the lumber to build houses. The other was to obtain a liquor license and operate a “poker palace” in the building. Before doing either, he got disgusted with the vandalism and sold the property less than two years later – at a profit.

For much of the school’s active life, there was a tavern on the corner across Front Street – next to an icehouse for keeping the beer cold. Parents were less concerned then about shielding their children from objectionable adult influences than they are today.

A third owner acquired the school building before it was sold again in 1978 to the present owners, Nick and Ruthie Hoffbauer. The Hoffbauers are retired teachers who now live in Carmel, Ind., a suburb of Indianapolis, except when they are visiting Empire and living in the former kindergarten annex. Like so many others, Nick Hoffbauer’s family was introduced to the area on vacation trips when he was a child.

Ruthie told me that she and her husband, who now operate a hot air balloon company in Indiana (“The Above and Beyond Balloon Co.”), bought the property because of its distinct architecture. She said they intended to move to Empire, renovate the building themselves, and establish retail shops. But family illnesses interfered with their plans.

In a rezoning application last fall, the Hoffbauers said they also considered converting the gym to a theater. Over the years, they said they had even bought 150 theater seats. “We are just too far away to make it happen,” they said. Their request to have the entire property zones co