Glen Arbor Sun

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July 29, 2004

Meet the Indians Behind the Indian Legends

By Lois Beardslee
Sun contributor

Some of Leelanau County’s finest traditional basket-makers, quill-workers, artists and authors will be demonstrating and selling their products at the Native American Art Market on Saturday, August 7 at the Grand Traverse Heritage Center in Traverse City, from 10 a.m. until 4 p.m. The group, which normally meets the third Saturday of every month, has made an exception this month due to the August 20-22 Pow Wow in Peshawbestown. The Heritage Center is located on 6th Street in the historic old Traverse City Library building. From downtown T.C., take Union Street south to Sixth St. It’s the first building on the right along the river, adjacent to the park. You may phone the center at 995-0313. There is currently an exhibit of Anishnabe, or Woodland Indian, culture in the upstairs gallery.

Some of the art forms we do are so rare that there have in recent decades been only one or two of us alive still doing them. For example, I was once one of only two people still making birch bark bitings, an art form in which we peel the bark thinner than typing paper, fold it, and create symmetrical images by bruising the bark with an eye tooth. Oddly, one favors either the right tooth or the left — depending upon one’s handedness — and the other artist had his dominant eyetooth pulled. (I’m not kidding!) Suddenly, I found myself the last living soul I knew of still creating an art form that dates back thousands of years. Aware of my own mortality, I began frantically dragging other Indians out into the woods. “I don’t want the responsibility,” I claimed, “I could get hit by a bus tomorrow.” Granted, we don’t have many busses in Leelanau County, but my point regarding the rarity and fragility of what we do remains intact.

Those of us who still make baskets have watched our predecessors pass away and have seen few people replace them. Part of this is simply because of the profoundly labor intensive nature of the work. For every hour put into making each basket, we spend at least an hour gathering and processing the materials. Sweetgrass, the strong, fragrant, rare grass that most of us use, must be picked one blade at a time, with two hands. We keep its locations secret and we respectfully ask that you refrain from asking us where to find it or to sell it to you. It is a precious resource, and a tremendous amount of responsibility goes along with knowing its secrets.

At the art market, you’ll find a nice selection of baskets, by Cindy John, Helen Raphael, me and others. Helen is an incredible black ash basket-maker, and just getting a peek at her full-sized baby bassinette with its dreamcatcher air vent is worth the trip. Potawatomi craftsman Hal Wiggins is usually present, with his beautiful hand-carved knives, pouches, and other unique bone and antler items. Alvina Marshall has gorgeous dreamcatchers and lots of other small items that are affordable for children as well as adults. Margaret David does exquisite beadwork in an old style that is well-respected by Native people. The selection is wonderful and includes prints, paintings, sculptures, cards, jewelry, beadwork, books, tapes, and purses. Some of us have items that are not for sale but merely for display. These include some rare quill baskets and a traditional backpack made of cedar bark fiber and porcupine fur cordage.

We’re never quite sure who will join us from month to month. Last time, Odawa author Simon Otto joined us and was signing books. Sometimes artists visit from as far away as Lansing or Sault Ste. Marie. When we’re lucky, Lyle James drops by with his paintings and prints. Even our children make and sell items, as we use this as an opportunity to teach them traditional skills as well as new ones.

Whether you are a resident or a visitor, we encourage you to visit us on August 7. It’s a chance to talk with us, see us interacting with our children (“if you hit me with that skunk pelt one more time, you’re grounded for life!”), and dispel any sense of otherness that you may have, if you’ve not grown up in close proximity to Native people. We love interacting with our neighbors, seeing old friends, and explaining the hows and whys of traditional arts. They are at the heart of our people.

Posted by editor at 10:09 PM | Comments (0)

Second Annual Glen Arbor Car Show

By Torin Yeager
Sun automobile correspondent

The sunlight filters softly through the trees, birds sing, and the scents of fresh flowers mingle with the perfume of motor oil…

Indeed, it is time for the second annual Glen Arbor Car Show, following in the tracks of last year’s highly successful inaugural event, sponsored by the Glen Lake — Sleeping Bear Area Chamber of Commerce. The upcoming display of classic automobiles on August 7th will feature 15 classes of cars and trucks, with participants judging the winners of first and second place trophies.

Many fine machines are expected to rumble, roar, or otherwise roll into town, but one will stand out from the crowd, if not for being an exotic auto, but for its driver. Brandon Mikowski, an 18-year-old senior at Glen Lake High School, is likely to be the youngest participant in the show, with a 1966 Ford Mustang.

Brandon “found” his light blue dream car last June at a Traverse City modular home dealership, of all places. Despite the odd location, a nearly all-original classic car for $6,500.00 was just too good to pass up.

“It had a Straight Six 200 Sprint engine with a three-speed automatic transmission and only 55,000 miles on it,” Brandon recalls almost reverently. “It’s not a speed demon, but it is a classic car.”

Mikowski has long been a fan of classic cars, and particularly of Mustangs. “My love of cars began when I first saw my uncle’s collection of classic cars,” says Brandon. “I like all classics, but it was the Ford Mustang which I feel to be ahead of its time in that it was the sports car that anyone could own. Now I own one, too.”

Due to the lucky timing of his purchase last year, Brandon was able to participate in a number of local car shows, including the Northwestern Michigan Fair, the Maple City Car Show, and of course, the 2003 Glen Arbor Car Show. “I enjoy being able to see machines that are rarely seen on the road anymore. Historic cars are a dying breed because steel has an unfortunate tendency to rust away, so it is good to know that some of them are still taken care of so well,” says Brandon. “The Glen Arbor Car Show is definitely the best show I have participated in; there was live entertainment, friendly registration, fair judging, just a great environment.”

Mikowski was able to get input from his much older peers in Glen Arbor, not only about Mustangs, but other classic cars as well. “I learned a lot about better presentation of the machine to best educate viewers about my car,” says Brandon. “Everyone was very helpful and friendly, and the worst I heard was, ‘You’re too young to have a car like that.’”

Regardless of age, all are welcome to enter their automobiles at the Glen Arbor Car Show, which will take place on Saturday, August 7th, from noon to 3 p.m., located. Pre-registration by August 1st costs $10 and registration between 10 a.m. and noon on the day of the event costs $15. Line up behind the Glen Arbor Township Hall on Oak Street and M-22. All proceeds will benefit the Chamber’s Scholarship Fund. Vendor space is also available. For more information, please call Bob and Teddy House, the event organizers, at (231) 228-3424.

Posted by editor at 09:13 PM | Comments (0)

Greetings from the south of France

By Jo Anne Wilson
Sun international correspondent

SAIGNON (Provence), France — I can scarcely believe that I’ve been here for two weeks. My travels from Traverse City to this remote hamlet in southern France went without a problem. The trip is not difficult, just long. A jet to Paris via Detroit and the high speed train, right from the Paris airport to the city of Avignon. From there, a 45-minute car ride east to this area of Provence known officially as the Département de Vaucluse. The closest official governmental division we have in the states would be a county. Informally, the immediate area is known as the Luberon, the name of the surrounding mountain ranges.

I’ve met a great assortment of international folks (and in that assortment, I include a few from New York City). The current guests at the Claparèdes include folks from Ireland, England and Texas. Talk about an international flair. There are many similarities to those of you who are spending your time basking in the beauty of Leelanau County. The shops and stores are crowded, the roads are full of traffic and the beauty of the countryside is the topic of many Kodak moments.

I’ve managed to arrive just as the lavender hits its peak. The color is absolutely astounding. It truly defies description and even the best photos do not convey the brilliance. It seems to vibrate in the fields. Driving around the country roads, the scent is everywhere.

Driving, however, does have its challenges and navigating through the nearby town of Apt (only slightly smaller than Traverse City) poses all the frustrations of Traverse City during Cherry Festival. This is a huge tourist area and the Europeans take their “holiday” in July and August.

I’ve found the best time to hit the supermarket is during the lunch hour, which, here, is from noon until 3 p.m. In a very civilized manner (at least in my opinion), shops and stores close and folks take a nice long lunch break. This means, however, that one can shop until 6 or 7 in the evening. The supermarkets do stay open and thus noontime shopping for groceries is a good idea.

Let me tell you how clever the French are about grocery store carts. Carts are all parked outside in the lot and chained together. To release a cart, you insert a one-Euro coin (about $1.25). When you return the cart, push in the little holder and back comes your coin. No shopping carts rolling around the lots in this country!

Another little idiosyncrasy is that you bag your own groceries. In some stores, the clerk will help, if there’s a line and you have a lot, but the other day, as I was gathering my first load of provisions, the flame-haired young woman clerk (henna red is big over here), sat patiently until I finished the bagging and then took my money.

The daily cost of living is pretty much comparable to Leelanau and Grand Traverse Counties. Property is very expensive and grocery prices are equivalent to home. The only things that are truly a bargain are fantastic bread and superb wine. A great baguette can be had for the equivalent of 75 cents (Bob Pisor, take note.) and if I want a nice local white or red wine, I can expect to pay $7 a bottle. Truth be told, some of the great local wines cost around $3.

So here I am in the land of lavender, cicadas, chilled rosé wine and the Tour de France. I can scarcely put one foot in front of the other in the intense heat from the provençal sun. I cannot imagine pedaling a bicycle along any road, least of all up the mountainside.

The French do love their cycling and they do take it very, very seriously. It is both a national sport and a national pastime and the name of Lance Armstrong is on the lips of all.

Since I’m located only 45 minutes from the historic and bustling city of Avignon, I went with a friend on Monday, to do some serious shopping for supplies for the Domaine. The big supermarché is called Auchaun, and the clerks make their way from one end to the other on rollerblades. Talk about a BIG store.

In direct contrast to the giant stores are the many fruit and vegetable stands popping up at every turn. Today, on the usual drive to the village of Saignon for my daily bread/baguette, I noted a new sign propped up along side the road. Vente de melons (Melons for sale). The small cantaloupe melons from this area are Cavaillon – the city nearby. Local apricots are also hanging ripe from the trees. My baguette was baked this morning and tomorrow it will be replaced with a fresh one.

People live closer to the earth here. There’s much less time from harvest to table. There are weekly Marché Paysan where the local farmer comes in a truck with whatever he has grown this week. It may not be much, but he brings it in hopes of selling for whatever he can. There is a flavor of such markets at the Traverse City in the summer, however, the faces, the language and the products are not the same.

Life is simpler, slower and more personal here. I stopped for lunch at one of my favorite spots. Opting to eat on the terrace, I was in the company of a couple of other guests and the three resident dogs. Dogs are king in France. They go everywhere and the French dote on their pets like a favorite grandchild. I well recall the day I saw an older couple with their tiny white terrier, in the grocery store. The dog was riding along in the child’s seat in the cart. I suppose he got to pick out his favorite brand of kibble.

I am fortunate, as I begin this year as a property guardienne. I’m here for the lavender harvest and will also be here for the annual vendage, when the grapes make their way from vineyard to vat. As always, friends, remember when opportunity comes your way, Carpe Diem.

Readers are encouraged to visit Jo Anne’s website at www.meetmeinprovence.com

Posted by editor at 08:33 PM | Comments (0)

Senior Nutrition Program cooks in Empire

By Helen Westie
Sun contributor

“A complete dinner for two dollars?” someone asked. “Where? When?” At the Empire Township Hall at noon on Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays is the answer. The catch is that one must be at least 60 years old to qualify for the Senior Nutrition Program, which offers an entré, salad, vegetables, bread and butter, dessert and coffee, tea and milk. This program is under the auspices of the Northwest Michigan Human Services Agency in Traverse City (NWMHSA). Vi Brott of Traverse City heads the nutritional part of this agency. She says, “this program is the original Wellness Program before Wellness became so popular in recent years in communities and businesses.” It encompasses activities and friendship as well as nutrition. Fifty-three percent is funded by a grant from the federal government under the Department on Aging. Thirty-seven percent is provided by fees and donations for the meals. The department has contracted through Goodwill via paid workers who prepare and deliver the hot meals from Traverse City to Empire.

In Empire the volunteer heads of the program, Conley and Marion Addington of Burdickville, have been leading it for 12 years. They make reservations, collect fees, unpack the hot food as it arrives, and serve it. Bette and Les Haney of Empire assist in the whole process. They have attended senior dinners for 25 years.

Some of the ladies can be seen playing cards at 11:30 on dinner days. “Kings Corner” seems to be the popular game. At noon the group gathers at the tables for the blessing by Conley and the dinner is served by Marion and Bette. “Attendance is not what it has been in the past,” says Conley. “So many have passed away and newcomers to the area do not know about the program. Our people come not only for the dinner, but for the fellowship.”

Sometimes a birthday is celebrated. Goodwill sends over a large, decorated cake. Ice cream comes from our local fund. Recently, Betty Haney was honored for her 90th birthday.

“I think the program is wonderful,” said Marcella Bodoh. “I started coming when I turned 60.”

Doris Larsen of Empire gave this opinion: “Some elderly people should not be sitting at home eating crackers and cheese when they could be having a good, warm dinner. In the past, we had more people. We often stayed until 3 or 4 in the afternoon playing Pinochle or Euchre.”

Betty Haney commented, “The senior program is a fine one. If you do not like an item, there is always another one. I like the friendship.”

Dorothy Lanham of Glen Arbor said she likes the social aspect. “You learn what is going on.”

Geri Valentine, a member of the board of the Commission on Aging, was a recent dinner visitor. She came to answer questions about all the senior citizen programs and helps offered senior citizens in the area.

Marion Addington came with Conley for socializing 12 years ago. “Conley had to retire and we had to get out of the house. You may not need us but we need you,” she said.

“We have our own piano. Now we need a piano player. Some sing-a-longs would be nice,” said Mary Beaird from Empire.

Barbara Gerndt of Empire commented, “It’s fun to come here.”

Les Honey added, “My wife and I look forward to coming here and meeting people in our age group.”

The writer of this article can attest to the quality of the dinners. I would say they range from good to excellent.

Any senior citizens interested in the dinners should call Conley Addington at 334-4922.

Posted by editor at 07:31 PM | Comments (0)

The Inner Game of Art

By Jane Greiner
Sun staff writer

Let me be clear from the start; I have no expertise in art or art criticism. But lately I have discovered a way for the total amateur to enjoy art in a new and exciting way. And it is so much fun that I feel the need to share it with any other art amateurs who care to read this.

In the past I would look at a piece of art and make an immediate judgment. I liked it or I didn’t like it, and that was what counted. I couldn’t get much beyond that. If I didn’t like it, I was unable to understand why the artist even painted it.

Gary McClain and Eve Adamson, authors of “The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Zen Living,” have a different, more Zen-like approach to art appreciation. They have an exercise in which they suggest writing a haiku-like short poem about what you see when you look at a work of art. The idea is to “look, really look,” at the art without trying to understand, analyze or compare it. Let your poem “speak of your direct experience of the art,” they advise.

OK, I decided I would try it. Having lived with an artist, my home is filled with art. I first looked at the picture I have above my writing desk. It shows two cows, huddled together, looking at you. It is called Easter Sunday and is a colored pencil “painting” by Carolyn Hudson.

I have always enjoyed the picture but could never figure out exactly why. I tried to suspend judgment and simply ask myself, “What did she see that she wanted us to see?” Then I wrote my few lines without trying to follow the strict rules for haiku. With minor revisions, here is what I see in that picture.

Two cows,
Heads together,
Staring at me,
A stranger in their field.

Wow, I thought, pretty good. That’s a description of what I see in that picture. Writing about it clarified its feeling for me.

I looked at a watercolor scene by Jeannie Reynolds, an Adirondack artist. There is a loon on a nest in the foreground, an Adirondack lake and mountains beyond.

I wrote:

Loony cove,
Blue Adirondack lake.
Boundary mountains of eternity,
‘Neath unpredictable sky.

Not bad, I thought. It captured the content of the picture (somewhat), without placing a judgment on it. Again, I felt a new connection with the picture, a different kind of bonding.

Next I tried another favorite of mine, which hangs in the living room. It’s called Oswegatchie Pilgrimage, also by Carolyn Hudson. The picture says to me:

Father and daughter start up the river
In his hand-made canoe.
It’s an Oswegatchie Pilgrimage,
A memory, of a memory, of a memory.

This was exciting. I was finally finding words to describe what the pictures conveyed to me without the interference of judging. I was seeing why the artist had been moved to draw and paint these particular scenes and not some other. Putting words to my inner-reaction, to these pictures was giving me a new-found understanding and experience of the art. It was a kind of intimacy with art that I had not experienced before.

I was having way too much fun with this. I had to find more art.

I rushed down to the Synchronicity Gallery, one of my favorite stops in Glen Arbor. The owner, Marion DeVinney, gave me permission to continue my experiment with the inner-game of art appreciation.

My first test was of an oil painting by Debra Reid Jenkins called, “My River.”

Before you read my inner-reaction Zen-ku, try mentally composing your own. Remember, no value judgements. Just think about what you see, what the artist is showing you. Here’s mine.

Still, dappled lily pads
In gently flowing river.
Earth, leaves, water,
Fusing in green harmony.

Next I was drawn to “Clouds Moving In”, an oil painting by Lynn Strough.
Again I urge you to think through your own zen-view before reading mine.

Huge clouds rush over Lake Michigan,
Excitement fills the air.
Nothing on earth can touch this grandeur,
Though even it will pass.

Finally, I studied a large watercolor by Carol La Chiusa called “Sleeping Bear Dunes.”

The picture shows a scene we have all witnessed or experienced ourselves.

I wrote:

Children out-run fear
Tripping down the vast sand face,
Suddenly needing Mom,
Who waits anxiously below at the base.

OK, so my “Zen-kus” are strictly amateur. But that is the idea. They are just a tool to help you focus on the experience of a piece of art. The object of all this verbiage is not to write great poetry. It’s a technique to help see art in a new and meaningful way.

My experience with this inner game of Zen-viewing art has made art a whole lot more fun to look at. It gives me a point of contact with each piece I use it on. It’s an exciting discovery to me. I hope you will try it and see if it changes the way you look at, and experience art.

Posted by editor at 06:34 PM | Comments (0)

Practicing what you preach: Are you tough enough for the farming life?

By Codi Yeager
Sun staff writer

I have always thought of myself as a “non-city” person. Growing up in rural Leelanau County has made me think of myself as someone who doesn’t scream at mice or cover their nose when within 20 feet of a barn; someone who knows how to handle being on a farm or in the so-called “wilderness”. When a good friend invited me to spend the day at her farm, along with another friend, I realized just how wrong I was.

I had been to the farm before and it hadn’t been a big deal, as long as I stayed with my friend while we were doing chores. This day would be no different. My friend, Claire, ran to greet me as I got out of the car, crunching the gravel under my boots. I was wearing an old t-shirt and my blue jeans that had holes in the knees. (I had learned long ago NOT to wear anything white or at-all decent.) We talked for a while in the driveway while we waited for another friend to show up. About 10 minutes later a black jeep pulled up and our friend Mel jumped out, apologizing for keeping us waiting. With our entire party assembled, we began walking towards the big old barn that housed the hay, horses and equipment. The barn had originally held dairy cows but had been redone to accommodate the farm’s 16 horses. One wall held saddles, bridles, halters and pitchforks. The rest of the first floor was devoted to stalls, with the second floor acting as a hayloft.

Our first farm chore for the day was to throw down hay into the stalls where the horses would find it. Claire instructed Mel and me to do this while she poured the correct amount of grain into the feed buckets. Doing as we were instructed, Mel and I started our ascent to the hayloft up a narrow wooden staircase. The light was dim and as I reached out for a railing to steady myself, I felt instead the silky wad of a spider web. I let out a yelp and jerked my hand back before frantically waving it in front of Mel saying, “ Get it off! Get it off!” By the time Mel could do anything, the web was already long gone, thanks to my waving. After a moment, we continued cautiously up the remaining steps and made it safely into the hayloft. When all the horses had hay, we climbed back down to ground level where Claire was waiting for us.

The next task on our list was to fill all the water tubs in the pastures so the animals would be able to drink while they were out grazing. As Claire went to “water” the cows, Mel and I pulled a hose out to the horse pasture. Since the day was heating up, most of the horses were crowded around the water tub. The tub itself was almost empty. If the horses had been ponies, or even normal sized, it wouldn’t have been quite as intimidating. Unfortunately, these horses were draft horses, their hooves the size of dinner plates or bigger. Mel and I warily ducked under the fence wire and into the pasture. I grasped the hose tighter and walked as lightly as I could over to the water tub, Mel following right behind me. As I bent over to watch the clear water pour into the tub, I could see those huge hooves stomping at the flies right next to me. Suddenly I felt a huge nose blow into my hair and I froze, afraid to move. Turning around ever so slowly, I stared up into the eyes of a towering horse. I shifted slightly to the side and the horse stepped up to the tub where it promptly started drinking. Still in a slight daze I backed away and out of the pasture, glad to be done with that particular job.

Mel quickly caught up to me and we walked back to the barn. Once inside, Claire, who had had no problem with the cows, asked us if we wanted to go to the house and take a short drink break. I was beginning to feel the heat, so I quickly agreed. We trudged up to the house and plopped down on the old couch that was the only furniture on the porch. Claire handed Mel and me each a cold can of Pepsi before popping the top on her own. I drank thankfully and enjoyed sitting and talking to my friends. The peace was nice while it lasted because after 10 minutes or so, it was time to get back to work.

As we walked down the porch steps, a medium-sized, brown dog rounded the corner of the house. Claire saw him and quickly went over to grab his collar. “This is Barney, our hunting dog,” she explained. Mel bent down to try to pet him, but pulled her hand back in a hurry when a she heard a low growl and he curled one of his lips. Claire assured us that he was really very friendly. Then she also warned us not to get lower than him, look him in the eye or pet him. By the time she was done talking, Mel and I had our minds made up to pretty much stay away from Barney at all costs.

Claire then told us what our next job would be: collecting eggs from the chicken coop. Finally something I knew how to do. Mel and I ran towards the low building that contained the laying hens, anxious to get away from Barney. We heard Claire shouting after us, “ Don’t run away from him, he’ll think you’re a coward!” When Mel had closed the door firmly behind us, we both breathed a sigh of relief. Collecting the eggs was very easy, and was almost like a treasure hunt. We looked carefully into each of the laying boxes for the smooth, cream-colored eggs.

After all the eggs were collected, Mel went over and tugged the door open. I heard a low growl before she gave a short shriek and slammed the door closed. She turned and looked at me with a scowl on her face. “That dog was looking at me like I was his dinner!” she exclaimed. I gave a nervous laugh and replied “ Well, I guess we’re stuck in here then.” We set the eggs gently into one of the laying boxes and leaned up against one wall of the coop. “ I can show you how to hypnotize chickens.” I offered with a shrug. Claire had showed me how on one of my past visits and I thought I could remember how. First of all we had to catch a chicken to hypnotize. This was easier said than done. After a couple of tries and a few pulled-out feathers, we managed to capture a chicken. I had Mel hold it on the ground while I drew a straight line away from its beak in the sand. I told Mel to slowly take her hands away. She did and the chicken sat there, staring straight ahead and clucking softly. For the next 20 minutes we hypnotized chickens, yet we began to tire of this after a while. I walked over to the door and peaked through a crack. I couldn’t see any sign of Barney. I slowly opened the door and Mel crept up beside me. We shot out the door, slamming it behind us and running for all we worth towards the house.

Suddenly I saw Barney around the corner of the barn. Both Mel and I put on an extra burst of speed that led us up the steps and into the safety of the screen porch. We sat down on the couch, gasping for breath. “That was close” Mel said. I nodded my head, thankful I had made it through the day alive.

My experience on the farm was a humbling one. I realized I may not be a city person, but I’m not a farm girl either. I also gained a lot of respect for my friend Claire that day. Farms are fun, but living on one is for someone with a little more guts than the average person. As for me, let’s just say I’ve learned a lot.

Posted by editor at 05:42 PM | Comments (0)

A Dog’s Gift

By Mary Sharry
Sun contributor

Sadie, our black lab, is gone. Embracing her and cooing these gentle words, “You’re such a good girl, such a good doggy,” we set her free. Sounds of comfort and praise. What else could we give to an animal who eagerly gave companionship and love?

Now we look at the photographs, see the beautiful brown eyes. The begging eyes, the eyes that always seemed to ask, “What next? Now what do we do for fun?” Sadie was forever on the lookout for fun. Fun, and food. She was an expert at begging for any food that we ate. If it was edible, and within reach of her tongue, it was fair game. Her tongue could reach far. The plate of cheese had to be placed at the very center of the table, the sandwiches far back on the kitchen counter.

She was smart. Experienced in the art of distraction, she would run to the front window, barking. We’d follow to have a look and that gave her just enough time to get back to the kitchen. Half of a tuna sandwich makes a neat snack. Thank you very much. She knew no shame, and returned to the living room, licking mayonnaise from her whiskers.

Sadie had two beds, one sofa and a rocking chair. She had a favorite place in the kitchen where bits of carelessly stirred food sometimes flew to the floor. She was quick. If not food, a dirty sock from the laundry basket was also fair game. She had mastered the art of unraveling yarn. A box of Kleenex was a prize. Given the chance, she could massacre a brand new box, tossing the tissues everywhere until the living room looked as if she’d plucked a chicken there.

Someone has said that it seems that when dogs age, they do so rapidly. That certainly was the case for Sadie. When Sadie began to move stiff-legged and groan and pace in discomfort, we tried many suggestions and courses of treatment. In the end, though, her condition worsened and she looked to us as if she were asking for our help.

A neighbor said that whenever someone considers owning a dog, they must also realize that at some point the big decision will have to be made — when to let go. When it was time to release Sadie, we cradled her and cooed and sang the good doggy words. Just before the needle was inserted into her vein, she looked me in the eye as if to say, “Thank you.” Her passing was gentle. She simply closed her eyes and we felt her weight give into our arms.

No, it is not an easy decision to make, but there comes that time and we can be assured that the pain in our hearts is great because our love for the animal is great. Such love is a mutual gift.

Posted by editor at 04:44 PM | Comments (0)

My Labor of Love: Remembering the Martin Basch farmstead

By Kristin Seitz
Sun contributor

“A handful of pine seeds will cover mountains with the green majesty forests. I too will set my face to the wind and throw my handful of seed on high.” Fiona Macleod

For generations people have thrown their own seeds to the wind in this beautiful region. With blood, sweat and tears the pioneers of Port Oneida carved out of wilderness a home for themselves. I discovered this magical area through the kindness of my very dear friends, Dr. Joseph Naoum and Lynn Stevens-Naoum. Just short of a decade ago, they offered their Glen Arbor vacation home to my family for a week getaway. I absolutely fell in love with this area and its history. My heart was touched by the dedication and perseverance of the Port Oneida founding families. It was troubling to think that their hard work was slowly fading away right before our eyes. The once active and fruitful farms are now slowly decaying away. Very soon it will be as if they never existed, doomed to disappear.

During one of my many explorations of the area, I “discovered” the Martin Basch farmstead. This farm piqued my interest. Although the home is in serious decay, the craftsmanship was still evident. The architecture was extraordinary. I just had to know more about this farm. Unfortunately, I found very little information on this particular farm through reading most of the books on the area. It was then that I decided to write my own book on this particular farmstead. It has been said that the true art of memory is the art of attention. To me, this book is my attention and is now my labor of love.

The German community was not only a strong presence in the Port Oneida/Glen Arbor area, but in Michigan as a whole. The first Germans arrived in Michigan around 1830-1840. Interestingly, by the 1880’s, Germans were the largest foreign-born group in the Detroit area. In 1852, Carsten Burfiend of Hanover, made the move from North Manitou Island to the mainland. The patriarch of the Basch family, Martin Basch, immigrated to America with his wife, Aderheit “Allay” Basch, around 1868. They first settled on North Manitou Island then made a permanent home in the Port Oneida area. The Basch families, including the Nicholas Basch family, have been important figures in the Port Oneida area. It is vital that we not just recognize these founding families, but bear witness to their hard work and hardships.

Working in conjunction with the wonderfully benevolent non-profit group Preserve Historic Sleeping Bear (PHSB), it is my intention to restore not just the history but home of the Basch family. Eighty percent of the proceeds of this book will go to restoring the Martin Basch farm. The enthusiasm of the Project Coordinator of PHSB, Mr. Michael Matts, has been nothing short of contagious. I am also excited to announce the participation of Ms. Barbara Siepker, owner of The Cottage Bookshop in Glen Arbor. She has been extremely supportive in this project. One current venture that The Cottage Bookshop and I are undertaking is a “corporate challenge”. Through private donations, I have raised $2,000.00 to restore the Basch farmstead. We are challenging the business owners/shopkeepers in the Glen Arbor area to match the $2,000.00 already raised. The results would be phenomenal. With the initial “seed” money, PHSB already has made plans to restore the granary building on the property. Think what an additional $2,000.00 could do. We are excited at the possibilities. I would love for the Glen Arbor community to get involved with this worthwhile project. I truly believe that in saving our past, we save our future. We have already lost too many historical buildings and farms. The time to act is now.

I encourage everyone, both in the Glen Arbor area and abroad, to get involved. This is not just your history but everyone’s history. The foundations laid by the pioneers of this area should not have been made in vain. few need to not just recognize but honor their dedication and sacrifices.

For further information on this project, please contact Kristin Seitz at manitoumoon@hotmail.com or Preserve Historic Sleeping Bear at 231-334-6103. For donations to this project, please contact Barbara Siepker at The Cottage Bookshop in Glen Arbor.

Posted by editor at 03:46 PM | Comments (0)

Being a Bean Babe

By Jen Semanco
Sun contributor

Each morning around 400 million cups of coffee are consumed in the United States, making it the world’s largest consumer of coffee drinks. While many people still choose to fire up the “Mr. Coffee,” countless others seek out the gourmet coffee drinks offered by their local cafe. In Glen Arbor, the most popular place to get a fresh cup of java is the Leelanau Coffee Roasting Company. After opening its doors eleven years ago, the Arens Brothers, along with Michael Buhler have made LCRC a routine stop for coffee buffs—locals and visitors alike. While they keep themselves busy roasting numerous pounds of coffee imported from all over the world, they leave the coffee-making business to the knowledgeable and friendly retail staff of which I’ve been a part of for the past three summers.

Coffee Fact: Coffee is a world-wide multi-billion dollar business, second only to oil production as an export.

Our staff has been referred to by many different titles—“Baristas”, “Bean Grinders”, “The Counter Intelligence”, or as Norm likes to call us, “The Coffee Babes.” This summer’s counter staff is as diverse as our varieties of coffee. Some are students, while others are teachers. One is an environmental scientist, one is a new mother. Three employee weddings will be celebrated in the next month! The one thing we all have in common is the pleasure we take in selling and making the best coffee around.

Most of the time our work is fun—we all agree that there is not another job in town we would rather be doing—but there are some parts of our routine that really get under our skin, literally. Micah Manikas, a senior from East Lansing High School who is enjoying his first summer working at LCRC, says the worst part of the job is getting the oil used to flavor coffees like Leelanau Cherry, Dutch Bavarian Chocolate, Manitou Blueberry and many others all over his hands. We have to deal with persistently dirty fingernails and the smell of coffee stuck to everything from our clothes to our glasses. When a barista takes a shower after a long day of work, it often feels more like brewing than bathing.

Coffee Fact: In Italy, one spends four years learning how to become a barista--two years on coffee and machine maintenance (including grinder) and two years on milk.

Another challenge of the job is trying to figure out what a customer really wants. It seems simple enough—a customer orders a cappuccino, you give them a shot of espresso (not “expresso”), a little steamed milk, and top it off with thick, creamy frothed milk. Cappuccinos are strong drinks, if they are made properly. The “cappuccino” sold at many gas stations and convenient stores tastes like coffee-flavored sweetened milk and barely resembles the true drink. If the customer is expecting a GSC (Gas Station Coffee), they will not enjoy the drink you have just crafted for them and will leave unsatisfied. Along the same lines, many coffee shops have their own signature drinks (especially Starbucks) and they often have names that are confusing or downright misleading. For example, I have no idea what a “Fluffy-Snuggles Latte” might be so if a customer orders one and can’t tell me what’s in it, we’re both out of luck. Starbucks boasts a popular drink called a “Caramel Macchiato” which I always assumed was a caramel latte, but it’s actually made with mostly vanilla.

Coffee Fact: There are over 130 Starbucks in the greater Seattle area.

Of course there are the small nuisances of the daily work that can really grind on a barista after a long summer of slinging coffee. Empire’s Hadley Wilkerson, one of the most senior employees of LCRC who now works in production, says the worst part of the job is when we run out of supplies and have to explain this to customers. Our business can often be predicted by the weather, which unfortunately is unpredictable. An unexpected rush can leave us without enough skim milk and an unusually hot summer day can drain our supply of ice. Kristen Huber, a new employee from Traverse City, says that the monotony of doing the same thing over and over can wear you down. It isn’t uncommon to explain the difference between a latte and an au lait (the latte is made with espresso, the au lait with regular brewed coffee) more than twenty times in a six-hour shift. Melissa Irving, another long-time employee of LCRC, gets tired of answering the question, “Isn’t there any just regular coffee?”

Coffee Fact: In Indonesia and China Kopi Luwak, or Civet Coffee, is made from coffee beans eaten, partly digested and then excreted by the weasel-like civet cat. It’s “good to the last dropping!”

We all agree that one of the best parts of the job is—to be quite frank—us. We enjoy each others company and try our hardest to have fun while we work. The camaraderie is what makes it possible to not get overwhelmed by the Fourth of July rush, or to actually have a smile on your face while scrubbing down the espresso machine at the end of the day. Melissa Irving points out that, “even if you take a summer off, you can always come back to good people, good music, and good coffee.” Megan Umulis, another summer rookie, is just happy to not be working in Traverse City this summer, even if it means getting up early to make the drive from Lake Ann. Mark Rossman, one of the two male employees at LCRC, says the best part is “The jugs…of milk, that is.”

One reason I have chosen to work at LCRC for the past three summers is the simple fact that I love coffee and enjoy helping people pick out their beans and making them a great coffee drink. Jenny Evans, part-time barista, part-time art teacher at the Glen Arbor Art Association, agrees that our job is easy because we can be proud of the product we’re selling. All of our coffee is roasted on the premises, our espresso drinks are made on a top of the line machine and all of our brewed coffee is made in French presses which takes a little longer, but allows you to enjoy all of the unique qualities of the coffee that are lost when using a paper filter. Melissa Huron, a long-time veteran of LCRC who is also on the production staff, says that the best part of the job is “having unlimited access to fresh gourmet coffee and knowing how it’s been roasted, flavored, and packaged.”

Whether you need the jolt of a triple espresso or a pound of beans to enjoy at home, stop in to the Leelanau Coffee Roasting Company for great coffee and don’t forget to “support the counter intelligence!”

Posted by editor at 02:49 PM | Comments (0)

July 15, 2004

Fanfare for the Sleeping Bear at Dune Climb kicks off Manitou Music Festival

from staff reports

The Glen Arbor Art Association’s Manitou Music Festival has a new director this year, but the quality and diversity of the concerts that will resonate from the Glen Arbor area this summer haven’t changed. Debra Fayroian, a cellist in the Detroit Symphony Orchestra, takes over for Crispin Campbell, a cellist at the Interlochen Arts Academy who founded the summer music series 13 years ago and turned it into an extravaganza that many of us mark on our calendars even before the birds return.

“We’re very excited to have an artist with her qualifications,” says David Early of the GAAA. “She is an accomplished cellist who has run music programs in the Detroit area.”

As usual, the annual Dune Climb concert will ring in the festival, to be held this year on Sunday, July 18 at 7 p.m. at the dune’s well-known location on M-109 near Glen Haven. The Bill Lucas Jazz Quartet will play the world premier of Fanfare for the Sleeping Bear, a tribute to the great dune through the voice of brass chorale, to go with classics from the Avatar Bass Quintet. In addition, renowned local poet Anne-Marie Oomen will read poetry inspired by the legend of the Sleeping Bear Dune.

“We’re grateful to have the opportunity to work with the Park in this cooperative endeavor and happy to provide family entertainment and excellent music in a natural setting,” Early continues.

The Dune Climb concert is the result of a successful “creative partnership” between the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore and the non-profit Glen Arbor Art Association. The family-friendly event is free of charge, yet the National Park Service charges to park in the Dune Climb lot. Overflowing parking will be available along M-109 for no charge. People are encouraged to bring folding chairs, blankets and picnics.

The Manitou Music Festival’s Chamber Music Series opens in Leland on Monday, July 19, but comes to Glen Arbor the following night, July 20, at The Leelanau School one mile north of town. Both concerts will begin at 7:30 p.m., featuring music by the Nuance Quartet — all members of the Detroit Symphony Orchestra. Tickets for this even are $15.

Then on Sunday, July 25 at 7:30 p.m. at The Leelanau School, the jazzy-folk group Rani Arbo & daisy mayhem opens the first of three “get-down, roots” gigs, which the Manitou Music Festival has always interspersed well with classical music. Rani Arbo & daisy mayhem are “ambassadors of a new kind of American acoustic music rich in four-part harmonies, recycled percussion and instrumental wizardry.”

Keep your schedule open for August 8, when one of the most sought-after acts in Michigan, Steppin’ In It concludes the 2004 Manitou Music Festival with an outdoor benefit concert at Thoreson Farm. You won’t want to miss this one.

For more information please call the Glen Arbor Art Association at 334-6112 or visit the web at glenarborart.org. The Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore branch of the National Park Service can be reached at the Empire Visitor’s Center at 326-5314.

Posted by editor at 11:52 PM | Comments (0)

Michigan Land Use Institute’s Smart Growth Coalition targets Leelanau County

By Jacob Wheeler
Sun editor

It’s a common misconception. Smart growth does not mean no growth. So forget nightmarish images of tree-hugging activists tearing up infrastructure and highways to rid the land of mankind’s tracks. Throw out that loaded word, communist, too. The Michigan Land Use Institute has no intention of gobbling up tracts of privately owned land for some centralized, totalitarian state.

The Beulah-based MLUI and its new locally focused initiative — the Leelanau Smart Growth Coalition — seeks to empower citizens to help thoughtfully guide development, themselves, by teaching them how to use zoning laws and public awareness as tools to preserve the spirit and vitality of their communities even as growth in northern Michigan surges inevitably forward. Green spaces, bike lanes, affordable housing and public access to what we cherish most in this beautiful part of the world are all trademarks of smart growth.

Leelanau County is the obvious focus for the MLUI’s Smart Growth Coalition, which will hold a public meeting at Cherry Republic, in Glen Arbor, from 9-10:30 a.m. on Tuesday, July 20. The area we call home is changing faster than anywhere in the Midwest, as our pristine lakes, beaches and sunsets attract the eyes of tourists and developers alike.

The gathering in the heart of Glen Arbor will present an opportunity for newcomers to learn more about the coalition and the issues they’re undertaking, voice concerns, get involved and rally together as a community. Complimentary coffee and cherry breakfast treats will be available as Smart Growth Coalition Director Jim Lively and Cherry Republic President and MLUI Board Chairman Bob Sutherland discuss several of the peninsula’s top land use issues — such as the “new urbanist housing” neighborhood in Empire, and whether to move the county courthouse out of downtown Leland.

“Leelanau County is a great place to launch an initiative like the coalition,” says Johanna Miller, Smart Growth Coalition Project Organizer. “People obviously care quite a bit about preserving their community’s characteristics and natural resources. And they should. This county is one of the most beautiful counties in the nation, but it’s changing rapidly. If we’re not careful, we could ruin the very resources and qualities that draw people to this area.” Miller grew up in the Glen Arbor area, and has returned to help protect her community after studying at Northern Michigan University and the University of Vermont.

“We’re not anti-development. We’re in favor of development that fits into the community’s vision of where and how it wants to grow. We think that smart growth gives people choices, by promoting development within villages and making them attractive places to live and protecting our rural areas.

Miller continues, “Communities should be safe and walk-able, with easy access to public services, friends, neighbors, and in the case of Leelanau County, the beach.”

The “New Neighborhood” village in Empire, spearheaded by Sutherland, may be the perfect example of how Smart Growth’s vision can foster new development that doesn’t compromise the benefits of small-town life. Affordable housing lots located just across M-72 from the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore Visitor Center are going for about $50,000 a piece. Factor in another $100-150,000 to build a home, and you’ve got a viable way to live in downtown Empire, within walking distance of shops, restaurants, hair salons and a fantastic public beach on Lake Michigan — even if you don’t come from a family with “old money.”

Empire also recently decided to retain its original streetscape plan, which will protect the quaint sidewalks and lush trees along the village’s main streets and help to keep traffic moving slowly. Community leaders, including village zoning administrator Lea Ann Sterling, village board member Ryan Deering and township clerk Christine Neiswonger all played integral roles in rallying Empire to protect its downtown. The Michigan Land Use Institute’s Smart Growth Coalition supported their efforts to uphold their community’s vision for a green, walkable downtown by helping facilitate an informational meeting on the issue just prior to the Village Council’s decision.

“Lea Ann came to us and asked us to get involved,” says Miller. “We helped by providing information and technical expertise on how other communities are benefiting from narrower streets to help slow traffic and protecting their community character by preserving green space and trees.

“That’s the way we want the Smart Growth Coalition to work — powered by citizen energy, but with us supporting people’s efforts and helping to raise awareness and build the capacity of citizens to engage more effectively on land use issues in their community.”

Other towns could learn much from Empire, and its smart zoning policies. Though overshadowed by the glitz and money of, say, Glen Arbor, Empire boasts a sizeable and excellent public beach that includes volleyball and basketball courts, public bathrooms, South Bar Lake (for the warm-blooded) and even a trophy anchor display. Empire’s downtown is also much greener, and quieter, than Glen Arbor’s bustling shopping district, where the inception of cellular phone towers and luxurious resorts have raised more than a few eyebrows in recent years.

Smart Growth is blossoming in Empire, and the Michigan Land Use Institute hopes the westerly winds will spread its seeds elsewhere as well.

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

No Newbies! Taghon’s Garage has been community’s lifeline for decades

By Christina Campbell
Sun staff writer

The movie Night on Earth has a poignant scene between a high-powered casting agent and her young, female taxi driver. The casting agent says she has a part the cab driver would be perfect for. Wouldn’t she like to be a movie star? The young woman agrees it’s a great offer, but no thanks--what she really wants to be is a mechanic.

Mike Taghon talks with the same unabashed enthusiasm about the forty-four years he spent stretched under chassis in his garage. In The Garage. If the intersection where M-22 meets M-72 is the heart of Empire, then Taghon’s Garage is a prime artery. Into this Empire institution limp vehicles with broken belts and torn tires, and they emerge road-ready for another trip to the Dunes or to Traverse. Vehicles are pumped through with a speed and efficiency that belies the garage’s small size and crowded quarters. The garage’s three repair stalls are full year-round. The mechanics work over 50 hours a week. In a rural community without mass transit (do BATA buses count?), citizens and visitors don’t suffer disabled vehicles lightly. “Some people panic,” says Mike. “You’d think someone had died in the family.” Indeed, for the mechanically uninclined among us, being without our wheels is akin to house arrest. And you may have five shelves of DVDs at home, but no movie star is gonna step off the screen and fix your car.

But just because it has wheels, doesn’t mean Taghon’s will take it on. In the beginning, they did try to do it all, repairing everything from motorcycles to lawnmowers to bicycles to chainsaws to garbage trucks. But that diversification did not survive the prosaic problems of state certifications, equipment supply, and space. Nowadays Taghon’s mechanics service only cars and trucks under one ton. But there’s always a bit of wise wiggle room: “Once in a while,” says Mike Taghon, “We will do a schoolbus.”

Flexibility, and the ability to not just roll with the punches but to learn from them, have been part of the business from the beginning. The building that would become Taghon’s Garage was actually born on the other side of town.The garage office and one adjacent repair stall originally stood near the end of Empire’s Main Street, about where the alley between Deering’s Grocery Store and Tiffany’s Ice Cream and Cookies is now. In 1935, the building was torn down and reassembled block by block in its current location. Ten years later, owner Alfred Verno sold the facility to Fred Taghon. In 1950, Fred installed the garage’s first hoist. The next year, he added two new repair stalls. If you spend any length of time in the Empire area, sooner or later you car must end up in one of those stalls. Or on the back of the Taghon’s tow truck.

What with the fingerprints of Taghon’s mechanics speckling the insides of automobiles all over Leelanau and points further, you’d never guess that Taghon’s is The Garage That Almost Wasn’t. One winter when Fred Taghon was cleaning up his new business, a box of dirty old rags spontaneously combusted. The building caught fire. Firetrucks arrived, but their hoses were frozen. The hoses must have thawed quickly enough, because the garage survived and was repaired. Today it still looks pretty much the same as it did back then, even down to the charred boards in the attic.

In 1958, Fred opened Taghon’s Gas Station across the street and left the garage in the hands of his son. Mike Taghon had attended the Empire school across the street. He’d grown up running across to his dad’s garage at recess and lunch hours. He was no newbie. But the beginning wasn’t easy. He was the shop’s one and only mechanic and manager. Mike worked twelve-hour days, seven days a week. When he told his dad that he was thinking of closing on Sundays to spend time with his family, Fred warned him, “You’ll never make it.” But he did make it, with both the Taghon family and the Taghon garage intact. In 1960 he was able to hire another mechanic. Jack is still repairing cars at Taghon’s today. Both he and Mike have seen some changes. Cars have gotten smaller, and the garage has installed new hoists to accommodate them. Vehicles no longer just need tune-ups; now they “have driveability problems.” And every year Taghon’s spends thousands of dollars on new computer equipment for working with electronic engines.

But the wrecker service is timeless. It’s not unusual for Taghon’s to bring the tow truck out to Holland or Grand Rapids. Wherever and whenever there are roads, people need to be towed off of them. There was the man whose twenty-foot sailboat fell off its trailer onto the road. Taghon’s wrecker hauled the trailer into Traverse. For the boat itself, they had to call in a crane. Another poor boater needed rescuing after he backed his boat into Lake Michigan--and his car as well, right up to the roof. One snowy day, Mike Taghon got a wrecker call he thought would be pretty easy--after all, the stranded motorist said his car was stuck right by the side of the road. When Mike arrived with the wrecker, he saw that the car was indeed right by the road. But it was also upside-down. Then there was the engineer who walked into the garage one winter and bought the biggest tires they had. The guy had a cabin in the woods, and he wanted tires large enough so that if he cranked his truck up to 50 mph, he could speed to his cabin over the surface of the snowdrifts. He said adamantly that the laws of physics would support him. The laws may have, but the snow didn’t. An hour later, Mike was there with the wrecker.

One relieved customer actually wrote a letter to the editor of the Leelanau Enterprise last winter, praising Mike for coming out to tow his car. The letter, entitled “Taghon goes beyond the call of duty,” was a redundancy to anyone who is familiar with — and possibly takes for granted — the Taghon’s commitment to quality, personal sevice. Even Mike Taghon himself says, “It’s just what you do when you have a wrecker.” It’s only frustrating, he says, “when you’re just about to step out for dinner with your wife and you’ve gotta go on a wrecker call.”

In 2002, after 44 years of canceling dinners so other people could be on time for theirs, Mike Taghon retired. “I did it for a lot of years because I enjoyed doing it for a lot of years,” he says. “I never worked any place in my life except at that garage.”

Mike’s son Dennis is the new owner of Taghon’s Garage. Dennis has been one of the mechanics since he graduated in 1978. And like his dad, he’s been hanging around the garage “since he could crawl.” He’s no newbie, either. But Mike still helps him with the wrecker now and then.

Mechanics Wayne Taghon, John Grabowski, and Jack Dempsey, and Ajay Zirkel and office manager Annie Porter help Dennis carry on the Taghon’s torch. Or rather, the torquewrench?

Posted by editor at 09:00 PM | Comments (0)

Ice Cream Scoopers are ripe in the Land of the Sleeping Bear

By Norm Wheeler
Sun editor

The cool, wet weather of June and early July put scowls on many faces, but it was great for the restaurants in town. Bad beach days pack the lunch tables. Brendan Burroughs (Good Harbor Grill) and Tim Barr (Art’s) both report records for the week after July Fourth. When folks get tired of waiting for the sun and heat they go on out and just do what they came here to do. Mist and drizzle last week didn’t stop the diners and toe-tappers from packing the deck at Boonedocks, or from gathering on stumps at the Beach Bard’s Bonfire Friday night to spin yarns, recite poems, or sing a capella gospel tunes. The cold keeps the mosquitos away!

And everybody still eats ice cream regardless. Many a local has entered the world of work by making ice cream cones for a teen-aged summer in one of the area scooperies. Maggie Haskins, who made the final four on ESPN’s Dream Job reality contest last winter (trying to get a spot on Sportscenter and win a car) listed Ice Cream Scooper as her first job. (Maggie, graduate of Brown, still waits tables at the Good Harbor Grill, but don’t tell anyone. As a celebrity she fears stalkers.)

It’s the same ritual everywhere: The family’s eyes peer through the glass at the buckets of Butter Pecan, Moose Tracks, Mackinac Island Fudge, Bubblegum Swirl, Black Cherry Jubilee, Double Chocolate Triple Cream Marshmellow Bypass, or just plain Vanilla, and then their lips breathe all the names aloud as they try to decide. The scooper waits to recite the mantra: “Sugar cone or regular?” all day and all evening long. They endure sticky fingers, excavate tubs of asphalt-hard frozen ice cream or yoghurt, and grow the biceps of a one-armed house painter. But they keep smiling and having fun and they’re happy to have the job.

Here are some quotes straight from the scooper’s mouths in this season of malteds and hot fudge sundaes:

What is the best and worst thing about being an ice cream scooper?

Ashlee Schroeder from Okemos, who works at Little Bear at the Glen Lake Narrows:

“I like interacting with all the silly people who come in. Worst is the Coffee with Cream is sooo hard, it’s like scooping cement!”

Tami Pischke of Maple City works at the Pine Cone:

“We have big sizes, so when the little kids order a small and get a big, it’s cool. But when it’s really busy you get sticky arms.”

Pontiac Young from Empire also works at the Pine Cone:

“Same as what Tami says, but I like working here because I get to pick the music!” At the moment it is the punk rock anthem “Freedom” by Antiflag. “And our motto is: Life is Short, Eat more Ice Cream!”

There’s a whole squadron of scoopers at Cherry Republic. Amy Woodward says the best is sampling all the ice cream before you get sick of it later, and the worst is customers who ask for several samples and then order something different. Mike Stuart of Bloomfield Hills, who has been coming to Glen Arbor for all of his 15 years, says the best are the free samples, and the worst are all the pestering girls he must work with. “No,” he changes his mind, “they’re pretty cool.” Jamie Moyers loves “getting to see little kids who are so cute and happy,” She avoids “really picky people who want something other than cherry ice cream!” And Aral’s own affable and magnanimous Maggie Mountz, mucho master malted maker, declares “the best is that you don’t ever have to worry about eating ice cream again, because you get sick of it. And the worst is that your forearms get sticky and you have to go home and let your dog lick them clean. And your one arm gets bigger than the other and you can beat boys at arm wrestling.” So when you benefit from the skills of these young ice cream miners dipping into their sticky buckets, TIP BIG!!

Posted by editor at 08:03 PM | Comments (0)

Preserving Native American lore — excerpts from “Lies to Live By”

By Lois Bearslee
Michigan State University Press, published 2003

Lois Beardslee, author of Lies to Live By, is an accomplished Native American artist, teacher and writer in Leelanau County. She practices many traditional art forms, including birch bark biting, quillwork, and sweetgrass basketry, as well as painting and illustration. In publishing these excerpts from Lies to Live By, the Glen Arbor Sun seeks to initiate and expand coverage of this area’s history and traditions preceding the white man’s arrival. — the Editors

Birch Bark Biting

As far as I know, there were only two of us alive in Michigan still making birch bark bitings, although for years Canadian collectors told me about an older lady in the far north who was still making them. Then I started hearing about the lady who made them bus was in her eighties. Finally, someone told me that she was gone. One Valentine’s Day, I traveled around Lake Nipigon. While there, I demonstrated to some of the Ojibwe and Cree women how to make bark cutouts. Some of the people I spoke to asked if I did bark bitings. It is an art form that is remembered and respected, but no one there knew how or knew of any local individual who still made them. There is so much communication, travel, and intermarriage between the Indian communities of the northern Great Lakes, that word tends to get around about such things. We value the old art forms and want to know who still does what.

That was back when there were two of us. Then Ron had his eyetooth pulled. The bitings are created only with the eyetooth, and the biter, either right-handed or left-handed, tends to favor one eyetooth over another. Never having gotten the opportunity to demonstrate bitings to any of the interested parties at Lake Nipigon, I found myself the last living soul I knew of still creating this art form. Painfully aware of my own mortality, I began dragging other Indians out into the nearest birch woods. “I don’t want the responsibility,” I insisted.

Birch bark bitings were originally done strictly for amusement. The designs are traditionally floral and abstract. Pictures of animals are also done, and these are usually at least bilaterally symmetrical. As a child, I saw it done near the small northern Ontario Indian community of Palomar. The bitings were done as a curiosity after dinner, by a couple of older men who peeled the bark directly off the firewood next to the stove. I was very young and didn’t know yet that these things I saw would disappear, so I didn’t really pay attention to the details of how the bark was treated. Mostly I remember the joking and cajoling as the designs were held up to the kerosene lamp. One uncle lacked the necessary teeth to make the designs.

Eventually, as an adult, I began to try bark biting as an offshoot of other bark that I do. It was hard, and it hurt my teeth. One day Ron Paquin, a Native who worked at the Ojibwe Culture Museum in St. Ignace, Michigan, mentioned that he did bitings. He suggested that I try heating the bark over a candle flame to make it more pliable. Although I had known that heat was traditionally used to flatten large sheets of birch bark, it had not occurred to me to try it on such delicate layers. It’s tricky. As Ron warned, too much heat destroys the bark.

Today, I make my bitings while I am doing other bark work, utilizing the papery thin layers that peel off but are too thin to fold and cut. I rarely have time to use fresh bark when it is first gathered. Much of my bark work is done during the winter, when the bark is less supple. I trim the bark so that it is symmetrical, because the designs are created strictly by folding, refolding, and planning the bite patterns. I use the pot of hot water on my woodstove to heat the bark. If I am making a particularly complex design, I keep touching parts of the bark to the stove surface. I use the warm water to help pull apart the bitten layers without splitting them. Pressing the unfolded finished pieces onto a hot, cast-iron skillet helps to eliminate fold lines and create a smoother finish for market work.

I don’t remember how many years ago I started making the bark bitings, I’ve gotten better over the years, just because of the hands-on learning experience I’ve had. It is my absolute favorite traditional art form, because of the surprise element created by the challenge of working with a surface I can’t see once it enters my mouth. As with bark cutting, the size, shape, thickness, and texture of each individual piece of bark determines the final product. No two are alike. Birch bark biting is also the single most threatened traditional Woodland Indian art form that I know of. I can teach people how to do the cutouts any time, any place, with paper and scissors. But biting is trickier, and young people think it’s “icky,” because I put the bark in my mouth.

Sometimes when I am out in the woods I pick up pieces of bark that the tree sheds naturally during winter’s harsh winds. I make bitings, then lift and release them to flutter away in the breeze. This is how I thank the woodlands for my livelihood. This is the way of leaving a message to future generations that the Anishnabeg are still here, that this one small tradition has not yet perished. Sometimes my children find the bitings, years after I have released them. For a few brief moments we admire the tree’s gift of a particularly suitable piece of bark, and we wonder at the durability of the medium. Then we send them back to the forest floor… I long to find someone else’s, for the security that comes with being part of a mainstream, part of something that is alive and growing, like a culture.

One of our traditional stories tells about a group of siblings who entertain themselves by cutting and biting animal and floral motifs with their mother’s basket-making scraps. Preoccupied by the illness of her youngest son, the mother angrily swept the children’s “mess” into the fire. Later, her recollection of the bark designs was the only remedy to save the infant’s life.

Minan

Minan is the Ojibwe word for berries. Some berries are named for what they look like. Strawberries are really called “heart berries,” or oday-minan. Raspberries are miskiwiminan —“blood berries.” As children, after we had carried them around in our hands for too long, we used to call them miskiwiiwiminan, or “bloody berries.”

The word for blueberries is simply minan — “berries.” Blueberries are the most important wild fruit in the subarctic. People who have never been north of the southern Great Lakes during late summer and autumn cannot fathom how extensively minan grow. They are not picked a handful at a time. They grow in such large, thick, bushy swaths that women and children can gather huge quantities of them in only a few hours. Minan have such a high content of sugar and pectin that they stay intact and harvestable from mid-August until hard frost. Even if the berries dry on the bushes, they are still harvestable and edible. In the old days, it was not uncommon for northern Ojibwe to trade blueberries for corn, beans, and squash with their cousins to the south.

My family has a camp in the far north. In September we bake as many as a half-dozen blueberry pies in one day. Big, full, bulging pies. We scoop up the minan with our fingers stretched out, raking them up by the handful, eating at least as many as we bring home. I have always told my children that I have only one berry-picking rule: for every berry you put in the bucket, you must put two in your mouth. A favorite game is to eat them like bears, on all fours, no hands.

We are not alone when we pick our berries. Sometimes the dog’s ears perk up. We look up, to stare off into the bush where a lumbering, crashing sound in the woods has come to a sudden stop. Sometimes we pick so quietly that the bears happen upon us. They watch us, then silently, cautiously back away. It is their favorite blueberry spot, too. On the way home, we see their loose, blue-stained stools on the dusty openness of the bush trail. It seems that we both enjoy and depend upon minan so much that we risk this uncomfortable interaction with one another.

We have a story about Minan, the Blueberry Boy. He wandered off from his sister and his mother. Like most small children, he didn’t understand the importance of the task of gathering berries for the long winter ahead. He ate so many berries that he turned into a bear, and his family did not recognize him.

I gaze over at my own little blue-tooted Minan and urge him to stay a little closer to me and the dog. The big St. Bernard cross is lying down, lapping up blueberries with her tongue. When the buckets are full, we join her for a last-minute feast, on all fours, no hands. Mmmmmmmm-minan.

Lies to Live By was published in 2003 by the Michigan State University Press and is available locally at the Cottage Book Shop in Glen Arbor. Lois Beardslee’s next book is forthcoming. For information about the publisher, please visit www.msupress.msu.edu or call (517) 355-9543.

Posted by editor at 07:05 PM | Comments (0)

Disc Golf: A Totally Different Spin on a Familiar Sport

By Torin Yeager
Sun staff writer

In an area populated by more than a few picturesque golf courses, it is generally not surprising when yet another large expanse of neatly tended greens appears. However, when a course is created that puts an entirely new spin on a time-honored sport, interest grows substantially.

A disc golf course has sprung up in the heart of Leelanau County’s Myles Kimmerly Park near Maple City, and draws a surprising number of players from the entire Grand Traverse region and beyond. The course was designed and built by Cal Benke, an avid disc golfer from Kalkaska. Benke approached the Leelanau County Parks and Recreation Commission in April of 2001 with his idea of a disc golf course at Myles Kimmerly. He brought along a basket, some discs and let the Commissioners try them out on the courthouse lawn in Leland. The response was extremely positive. The members of the Commission agreed that a course could be a terrific asset to the park, providing another recreational activity for many people. As well as County funding, local businesses gave money to sponsor holes. During 2002, Benke designed and constructed the course. Several of the holes are in the open, while most wind through the hills back in the woods. He prefers to leave the large trees and obstacles, such as fallen logs, while removing only the small brush that would hinder the flight of the discs. This makes for quite a scenic and challenging course. The holes vary in length from approximately 250’ to over 400’. The new course officially opened in the spring of 2003 and is immensely popular with area disc golfers. The parking lot is rarely empty.

“But, what exactly is disc golf?” asks the uninformed. Unlike conventional golf, with its long metal clubs and small dimpled balls, disc golf equipment consists of an assortment of Frisbee-like discs of varying weight and balance. Otherwise, the basic concept remains the same: move from the tee to the “hole” with as few tosses of the disc as possible. The rules of etiquette are similar as well. The tees typically consist of a 4x4 anchored in the ground, which you must stand behind when you throw your disc. The “hole” is actually a heavy metal basket about 3 feet in diameter, attached to a 5-foot tall metal pole. Lengths of chain are suspended above the basket to cause the disc to drop down into the basket.

My first experience with disc golf was a very enlightening one, as I had never played any kind of golf before. John Lee, a 13-year-old friend, enthusiastically acted as my mentor. John first learned the game at Camp Hayo-Went-Ha, a YMCA camp on Torch Lake he attended two years ago. He took an immediate liking to the increasingly popular sport. The next year, when he discovered the new disc golf course at Myles Kimmerly Park, a mere stone’s throw from his home, he was hooked. John jumped at the opportunity to share his knowledge with me. My passing familiarity with Frisbees had given me the basic skill of throwing a disc, but everything else was new.

We walked to the first tee, studied the sign showing the “hole” map, and observed that it was a par 4. I watched intently as John stepped to the board, took up his stance, and threw his disc toward the unseen target. It sailed straight as an arrow. Next came my turn. With confidence, I moved into position, aimed, and flung my disc into the air. I suddenly noticed the gusty wind out of the West. Maybe that’s what caused it to hook to the left. John instructed me to locate my disc and continue on toward the basket, which remained elusively out of sight beyond a small group of trees. I searched in the tall grass and realized the importance of having a brightly colored disc. After another two heaves of my disc, the basket was finally in view. John, of course, was already within putting range. He took out his “putter”, a slightly heavier disc that willingly drops into the basket. He achieved par with no problem. My fourth toss landed amazingly close to the basket. I was sure I would finish my first disc golf hole ever with a bogey. However, as I released the disc with a little too much force, it bounced off the chains and I watched in agony as it rolled further away. I finally made it into the basket with a score of 6.

After my first few “holes”, I became aware of the fact that the tilt of the disc was causing all of my drives to fly off course to the left. This gave me no choice but to employ some difficult tomahawk shots to get through the trees. (A tomahawk is a shot where you throw the disk overhand, on its edge.) Sometimes my curving disc would ricochet off a large tree and actually land in a good position. To improve my control, John showed me how to hold my disc level as I released it, thus allowing it to fly satisfyingly straight. The more spin I could put on the disc, the more stable its flight as well. My drives continued to get better as I progressed through the course. John and I completed the entire round of 18 holes in less than two hours. I thoroughly enjoyed my afternoon and definitely planned to play again soon.

If you would like to try disc golf yourself, you can start with just one long-range driver disc as I did. You can expect to pay around $12.00 for a starter disc. Disc golf discs differ from your garden variety Frisbee in that they are smaller, heavier and made of a different type of plastic. I bought mine at Tillie’s Party Store in Traverse City where they have a good selection of discs and knowledgeable people to help you make a selection. You can also purchase discs online from a number of suppliers. If you like the game as I did, you may eventually choose to add other discs to your collection. Some discs are weighted to curve to the left, some to the right. They sell long-range drivers, short-range drivers and everything in between. They even have discs called “rollers” which start out with a level flight and roll onto their edge. (I haven’t figured out what they are used for yet.) Then, of course, there are numerous putters from which to choose.

If you wish to learn more about disc golf, visit the Professional Disc Golf Association web site at www.pdga.com. The site is loaded with information and links to related sites. Additionally, a tournament is scheduled for Saturday, August 28 at the Myles Kimmerly course if you’d like to see experienced disc golfers in action.

Posted by editor at 06:08 PM | Comments (0)

New doctor, surf boarders making waves in Empire

By Jacob Wheeler
Sun editor

A couple of new businesses have opened their doors in town — a surf shop and a doctor’s office — and as long as you play it safe, there should be no causal relationship between the two. As a matter of fact, the Glen Arbor Sun wouldn’t even mention them in the same story if Empire weren’t such a small town where everything gets intermingled over a juicy burger at the Friendly Tavern.

Stoked for a gnarly session?

Beryl and Frank Skrocki opened the Sleeping Bear Surf & Kayak Shop in late June, and what began as just another flip-flop shop is now decked out with sleek kayaks and buff surfboards. Says Beryl, “Our three little kids love kayaking along the coast when the water has that glassy quality to it, so we decided to fulfill our dream of opening a store in beautiful Leelanau County. Kayaking is a perfect way to experience the lakeshore without huffing and puffing up the dunes.”

Wait. Stop the presses. Surfing? Here?

Yeah, apparently so, confirms Sarah, the lovely surfer diva from San Diego who will offer lessons on the Empire beach to anyone interested in renting a board from the Surf & Kayak Shop. “It seemed like a joke at first,” remembers Sarah. “Surfing in a lake? My friends in Santa Cruz where I was living at the time asked why I was bringing my boards with me.”

But Sarah and her boyfriend Tim, who monitors the Piping Plover for the National Park Service, have ridden waves of as large as four-five feet high on Lake Michigan. The main difference between here and California — the Mecca for anything hip and outdoorsy — is the frequency of the waves. Under the right conditions the waves in Empire hit every two or three seconds, whereas the swells on the Pacific Ocean give you ample time to prepare for the next ride.

Well, that and the lack of salt in the water. “If it weren’t for the frequency of the waves, I’d notice the lack of buoyancy in the freshwater,” says Sarah. “But it sure is nice to take in a mouthful of water here. And the wetsuit doesn’t stink afterwards!”

Sarah is what we’d call a surfing pro. She learned the trade from her father when she was young, and got into the art “pretty hard-core” five years ago. She’s been participating in contests and jumping on a board four or five times a week ever since then.

And as you might imagine, she speaks the surfer language fluently.

“I’d say the lingo is part of my daily vocabulary,” Sarah confirms and proceeds to fill me in on a few key terms. Some of them I had heard before. Others I brought up, like “hella,” the adjective I had heard Californians use to precede another adjective, turned out to be “valley girl talk” and not surfer lingo. Oops.

“Gnarly describes a really cool wave,” she explains. “And stoked is when you are really excited. Your session is the time you spend on the wave. A ripping wave is a big one that throws you around. If you charge it then you go full force into the wave.

“But if you’re a beginner,” she tells me as I blush, “make sure to use a longer board. And when you paddle toward the wave, don’t lay too close to the nose of the board or you’ll nosedive, or pearl into the water.”

That’s it. I can talk the talk. Now it’s time to walk the walk.

Back in caring hands: Coles fills the void

Doctor Douglas Coles wants to get to know Empire, its population and all its family dynamics. He’s the new vital organ in town, and so proving himself to the locals is important. But one thing he absolutely will not do is participate in the Polar Bear Club’s plunge through a hole in South Bar Lake in the dead of winter. Coles knows too much about health for that.

“I’ll cheer them on, but it’s unlikely that I’ll join in,” he says with a straight face.

The rest of Empire should be smiling. Ever since legendary Doc Houghton packed up his bags and left for Glen Arbor, the town has been minus a doctor — until now.

“Houghton served this community well,” says Coles. “He made house calls, and that impresses people.” Doc Houghton’s office in Glen Arbor also sent flowers as a welcoming gift to Coles’ office when it opened in mid-June, next to Diane’s Hairstyling, just across M-22 from State Savings Bank.

(If a nice hair-do and a cash transfer don’t cure what ails you, then the doctor is there for you.)

Coles has practiced medicine in nearby Frankfort for 19 years, and will continue to do so for half of the week. He will be in the Empire office on Tuesdays and Thursdays from1 p.m. to 6 p.m. every other Monday and every other Saturday between 8:30 a.m. and 1 p.m. during the summer. Luckily, he doesn’t mind the commute because nothing beats the drive on M-22 between Frankfort and Empire.

But patrons may see nurse practitioner Robyn Yates more often. The cheery, outgoing Yates hales from northern Michigan but just moved back from Anchorage, Alaska, with her husband. Coles called it “a bit of a leap of faith” to put her to work since the two didn’t know each other, but Yates has gone above and beyond the call of duty. She has ventured north and south, from The Homestead Resort to Platte River Campground, handing out fliers to inform locals about the new doctor’s office in town.

The other integral parts of the new team are medical assistant Nancy and receptionist Heidi Solmose, whose daughter Ashley won the Miss Northwest Michigan pageant, as reported in the July 1 issue of the Glen Arbor Sun.

Posted by editor at 05:10 PM | Comments (0)

July 01, 2004

A Boatwatcher’s Guide to the Manitou Passage

By Thomas Benn
Sun contributor

Far out in the lake, the “long boats” approaching from the south look like floating logs with small knots protruding above one or both ends. Some are on a course slanting in toward shore and the Manitou Passage. Coming closer, bulk carriers over a thousand feet in length can be seen threading their way through a navigable gap barely a mile wide between the Pyramid Point and North Manitou shoals. From there it’s a straight shot north to the Straits of Mackinac.

If it’s a large vessel, it is probably carrying little or no backloaded cargo on a return trip from the southern end of Lake Michigan. Stretch lakers fully loaded with coal or grain will elect to swing around the islands on a longer and more fuel costly route about eight miles to the west of North Manitou Island. The reason why the heavy ships cannot take the shortcut lies about 65 miles to the north. It’s known on the maritime charts as Gray’s reef. Here the lake is only 27 feet deep, too shallow for many loaded Great Lakes vessels.

The major southbound “lane” for big ships carrying iron ore pellets to the steel mills in Gary-South Chicago is still further west in the middle of the lake.

(Note: One of the ways you can tell whether a moving bulk carrier is loaded is that the bow, or front, will rise up slightly if ballast water is in the hold instead of the cargo.)

U.S. flag commercial traffic through the passage has been busier than usual so far in this shipping season. Temporary restrictions on steel imports improved market conditions for American steel, creating a renewed demand for the iron ore and limestone used for steel production. One of the major trade routes for processed iron ore, in the form of taconite, is from the Mesabi Range of Minnesota to ports on Lake Superior and thence to the Calumet region of Chicago and northern Indiana. Limestone moves to the same destinations from ports in northern Michigan.

The high rate of construction activity also stepped up the need for stone of various kinds and for cement.

Another important factor in the fast start of the shipping season — what mariners call the year’s “dry bulk float” — is the higher water levels in the Great Lakes. Lake Michigan is more than 10 inches above last year’s levels. Deeper water can accommodate bigger loads in harbors and other tight spots.

Weather anticipation plays a part too, in the delivery of coal and salt to Lake Michigan ports. A hot summer requires more coal-generated electric power for air conditioners, just as a severe winter will deplete supplies of road salt. Coal shipments to Lake Michigan ports were almost half again as much during the first three months of this shipping season as the five-year average for the same period.

While shipping orders are up, sharply higher diesel fuel prices remain an urgent incentive for laker skippers to opt for the shortest possible route.

How to tell what you’re seeing

The standard length of a self-unloading bulk carrier on the lakes is about 730 feet. From shore, you can estimate how long a passing ship is by calculating the ratio of the on-deck horizontal boom, which is 250 feet long, to the rest of the ship. The moveable boom swings up and over the side of the ship to swiftly disgorge materials from the hold below on a system of conveyor belts.

The biggest of the stretch carriers — the Paul R. Tregurtha — measures 1,013 feet with a cargo capacity of 68,000 tons. (The new ocean liner Queen Mary 2 is 1,132 feet long.) Normal cruising speed of a bulk carrier is 15 m.p.h. The blunt design of the ship (to increase cargo capacity), the tendency of a faster vessel to squat lower in the water, and of course the benefits of conserving fuel all tell us that these ships are not interested in speed records. Lakers compete for business with railroads, Mississippi River barges (especially for grain and petroleum), and trucks on shorter routes.

Among some of the other vessels you will see going through the passage are the slightly smaller cement carriers going to or from Charlevoix; the only remaining tanker in the Great Lakes fleet, the Gemini, which is captained by Daniel Hobbs, who lives in Leelanau County; and barges, often carrying liquid leads, pushed or pulled by tugs.

In a typical season, every fifth of sixth ship going through the passage is likely to be a “saltie” — an ocean-going freighter flying the flag of a foreign nation — as distinguished from what mariners call a “sweet water” American-built laker. The saltwater vessels must be small enough to negotiate the St. Lawrence Seaway and the 27 miles of Welland Canal locks near Buffalo.

Some are general cargo freighters, identifiable usually by the tree or four derricks standing upright on the deck, which are used to unload a cargo of manufactured goods. Ironically, the imported items sometimes include lower-priced steel products delivered in the shadow of the once dominated Gary blast furnaces.

A recent example of the import trade was a southbound vessel flying the Dutch flag, with Dutch officers and a Polish crew, carrying wind generators to Milwaukee. Around the same time another ship came bearing bales of processed wood pulp from Finland. Ocean bulk freighters, on the other hand, are usually filled with grain. This spring, citing another example, a Greek ship with a Filipino crew headed north out of Chicago with a load of Midwestern wheat bound for Algeria. More ships flying Lithuanian and other former eastern bloc flags began visiting the Great Lakes last year.

Unlike the U.S. flag ship traffic, however, which is from one lakes port to another, and has been on the rise, the number of foreign flagships in Lake Michigan was down about 30 percent at mid-year. The reason for this, according to Don Willecke, president of the Western Great Lakes Pilot Assn., is that foreign shippers are concentrating their fleets and their business on the more profitable China trade. Last year there were 125 foreign flagships in Lake Michigan, compared to 202 in 2001 and 182 in 2002.

Boatwatchers equipped with binoculars and a directory should look for the national flag, near the stern of the ship; and the company emblem on the smokestack.

All foreign ships must have an American or Canadian pilot aboard once they enter the lakes. The pilot’s job is to dock and undock the ship and to help the crew through narrow or difficult passages and in bad weather. Edward Harris, 49, has been a registered pilot since 1988. At repeated intervals throughout the season, his normal work period is 20 days on followed by 10 days home with his wife and three children in Elmwood Township, Leelanau County. His wife, Cyndy, teaches chemistry at Traverse City West High School. Earlier in the year, as a member of the merchant marine naval reserve, Harris used some of his off-time in Kuwait, assisting Kuwaitiis who were unloading military cargo.

He goes to work, usually, at the village of De Tour, Mich., near the eastern end of the St. Mary’s River. The trip through the river and the Soo locks can be the most trying for an unfamiliar crew. If his assignment is on a northbound vessel going through the Manitou Passage, Harris said he will make haste for the wheelhouse, regardless of the hour, approaching Point Betsie near Frankfort. In a challenging position requiring continuous consultation he will sometimes move a pillow and sleeping bag into the wheelhouse.

Communicating with the officers steering the ship can be a particular problem with the Chinese, he said, although most of his companions at the controls of a host vessel speak passable English. He is careful, especially in rough weather, about the exotic cuisine served in some galleys, and always brings his own drinking water and a reserve supply of soda crackers. Standard rule: “If I don’t know what it is, I don’t eat it.” He joined the Coast Guard after high school and said he has never been bothered by seasickness.

The working life on the lakes

What is the working life like on a U.S. flag laker? Not bad. The typical crew consists of 24 men. A few, but very few, women work on Great Lakes ships. Harris said the gender integration of shipboard officers is considerably greater on Russian and Dutch vessels.

The eight officers (each represented by one of three different unions) are led by the captain, who is in charge. Dan Hobbs, now 47, was a captain at age 28, one of the youngest on the Great Lakes. He is responsible for all the maneuvering of his ship, the Gemini. This is one of the most sensitive of tasks because of the danger of an oil or chemical spill on a tanker.

Under the captain are three mates who work rotating watches, four hours on, eight hours off, around the clock. The mate is the navigator whose job is to keep the vessel on course. Jon Olney, 46, is second or third mate aboard the American Steamship Company’s American Mariner, a frequent 730-foot visitor to the Manitou Passage. He and the other officers are on duty for 60 days, then have 30 days off, which for Olney means returning to his home near Traverse City to be with his wife, Kathy, and two children. The work routine is continuous with immediate turnarounds in port. No time for shore leave. “Don’t bother to get sick,” Olney told me. “If you’re tired and everybody on board has the flu, it doesn’t matter. You’re still it.”

If you see a ship passing in the middle of the night, there will probably be three people up and awake in the wheelhouse, one or two in the engine room.

The other officers are a chief engineer and three assistant engineers. They keep the engines and other mechanical equipment running smoothly day and night. Eight to 10 deck hands, four others who work below deck, and two cooks round out the crew.

Officers have their own rooms with toilets and showers. The ship has satellite TV. Most of the men bring their own televisions. Many also have stereo systems, laptop computers, and an assortment of video games. Deck (and below-deck) hands usually sleep two to a room. Their work rules are negotiated by their union, either the steelworkers or Seafarers’ International.

Depending on the breakup of ice in the harbors, the typical shipping season runs from late March until just before Christmas or in some cases early January. According to John Tanner, superintendent of the Great Lakes Maritime Academy in Traverse City, deck hands typically earn $35,000 to $40,000 for the nine months. Third mates receive in the neighborhood of $45,000, second mates $50,000, first mates more than $60,000. Captains are paid $80,000 to $100,000, sometimes more.

Hobbs, Harris and Olney are all alumni of the academy, which is a branch of Northwestern Michigan College, in Traverse City, and the only fresh water maritime academy in the nation. Students elect either the deck program, training for jobs as pilots of mates, or the engine program for marine engineers. After completing the four years of course work and training, many of the men married area women they met as cadets. Tanner estimated that approximately 200 graduates of the academy who are employed on the lakes or in other maritime jobs live in the Grand Traverse Bay area.

To find out more than you will want to know about Great Lakes shipping, consult the website, www.boatnerd.com

Posted by editor at 11:13 PM | Comments (0)

Jo Lynn’s: Hairdo & Cockatoo

By Helen Westie
Sun contributor

Barbershops and beauty salons, besides rendering services for which they are intended, have ever been places to gather all the news of a community. But at Jo Lynn’s Hair affair in Empire there is even more interesting and unusual entertainment available. Two parrots and some colorful fish comprise a mini-menagerie, which comes to work with Jo Lynn and goes home with her every night. Talon’s predominant soft grey color is accentuated by a large swath of bright red feathers in his tail. This African Grey Congo parrot has a vocabulary of 400 words. He sings all of the words to “The Wizard of Oz.” He whistles the beginning of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony, the Bridge Over the River Kwai, the Andy Griffith theme, and the song of Ed, Ed, and Eddie, the popular children’s Saturday program. He imitates police sirens and animal sounds. On a nearby perch is beautiful Dini (named for Houdini, but she is a female), an all-white Umbrella Cockatoo named for its distinctive fanning out of head feathers umbrella style. Jo Lynn found Dini through a Pet Rescue Mission. She was taken from an abusive home and had lived in a rehab foster home for two years. Jo Lynn was one of many applicants for providing a loving home for Dini. She was chosen to be the new Mama by the Mission people because they thought Dini’s going to work with Jo Lynn every day would keep her mentally active. Dini is exceptionally gentle and affectionate. She does not scream, as Cockatoos are known to do. She loves attention and wants to be cuddled and petted. Talon, on the other hand, keeps his distance and does not want to be touched. He does enjoy verbal contact with people. Jo Lynn found him as a three-month old in a bird nursery downstate after he was hatched by a breeder in Tennessee.

Jo Lynn can provide answers to the many questions people have about her pets. She has gained her wide knowledge from a monthly magazine, “Bird Talk,” and she attends two or three Bird Shows each year where many experts answer questions. Jo Lynn has this advice for anyone interested in owning a parrot: “There are so many unwanted pet birds out there. People should do their homework before going out to the pet store and buying a bird. They are not the ideal pet for just anyone. It’s like having a three- or four-year-old child all the time. Parrots are too intelligent to sit contentedly in a cage day after day. They need contact with people and mental stimulation or they will throw tantrums and become mean. But if you have the time and patience, a parrot can become your best friend. Talon and Dini would like to meet you, so stop in and give them a hello.”

The antics of Talon and Dini seem almost human. However, scientists say that this practice of attributing human qualities to animal behavior, anthropomorphism, is not valid or scientific. But consider this conversation: Jo Lynn was talking to her mother on the telephone one day as Talon, like a child, kept babbling louder and louder for her attention. Finally, Jo Lynn shouted “Talon!”

“What?” answered Talon.

“Be quiet!” Jo Lynn ordered.

“What are you doing?” asked Talon.

“Talking to Nana on the phone, so be quiet.”

He paused, then said “Dammit!” (This is the only swear word that Talon has been exposed to). Then he gave a loud, hearty laugh: “Ha ha ha ha ha.”

Another adornment of Jo Lynn’s Hair Affair is several fish tanks of multicolored Flaring Bettas. Raising these fish is no easy job, as the tiny shrimp they eat must also be raised. These are Siamese fighting fish and must be kept separately. A mirror provides a fighting atmosphere and the fish “flare.” Male Bettas get ready for the females spawning by building a bubble nest of foam from his saliva, which floats atop the water. As the female drops the eggs (roe), the male catches each one in his mouth and blows it into the nest. From then on, the care of the eggs is in his charge. If they should fall out of the nest, the male gingerly picks them up in his mouth and swims them back to the nest. The baby Bettas are born with a yolk sac, which nourishes them. When the yolk sacs are gone they eat the live food that is provided. Their tanks require no aeration because they are one of only 13 species of fish that are air breathers, meaning they have lungs as humans do. They come frequently to the surface to gulp a breath of air.

There’s also a perpetual jigsaw puzzle in progress at Jo Lynn’s. Many women come early or stay after their hair appointment to put just one more piece in. Husbands occupy their time while waiting for their spouses by puzzling or by teaching Talon a new song. There’s never a dull moment at Jo Lynn’s shop of many colors.

Posted by editor at 10:19 PM | Comments (0)

Help for Willie is Ripe in the Land of the Sleeping Bear

By Norm Wheeler
Sun editor

“It’s just amazing,” says Ken Hurlin. “We thought if a couple hundred came it would be great!” But around 800 people from the Glen Lake area showed up on the deck at Boondocks on Wednesday, June 23, to raise funds to support the care of Willie Hurlin. Willie (the son of Matt and Carol Hurlin and Ken’s grandson) fell while skateboarding on Hlavka Road on June 12 and has been in intensive care ever since with a severe head injury. As the family faced skyrocketing health care costs, Willie’s aunt Kelli Lively approached Patrick Niemisto about how they could organize a community fundraiser. Patrick went to Bob Ewing at Boondocks, and an event was quickly arranged with little time for publicity.

But word-of-mouth travels fast in a small town. Bob Ewing got support from his suppliers to donate some of the food, his brother Bill Ewing donated ice cream, and Stephanie Ewing worked on logistics and organization. Bob donated the deck of Boonedocks and accepted any loss of revenue from his usual customers, and many of Bob’s wait-staff donated their tips to Willie’s cause. Cherry Republic donated Boomchunka cookies, Willie’s pals on the Glen Lake tennis team staffed the donation tables, his aunt Kristen Hurlin sold her amazing art cards and prints, a group of girls including Willies’s cousin made over $200 doing face-painting, and the New Third Coast band donated their fee as the Wednesday night musical entertainment. Patrick Niemisto also gathered many local musicians who donated their time and talent, including the Cabin Fever Band, Laura Murphy, Linda Duwe, Bob Jones, Jason Elsenheimer, Mark Martin, Jeff Richard, and Jim and Hannah Curtis. Several of Willie’s peers and some former Glen Lake students performed as well, including TJ Shimek, Kate McCarty, the rockin’ band Noble Effort, Emily Gordon, and Willie’s cousin Emily Lively, who performed two sets of her original folk music and sold her CD’s as another contribution. And Bob and Linda Turner from the Lakeshore Inn called WCCW Oldies Radio in Traverse City. “The people at the radio station were really sweet,” Linda said. “They made several announcements and received many calls from concerned listeners who made contributions.”

The Glen Lake community stepped up in a huge way and raised approximately $20,000 to help Willie Hurlin and his family. “Most everyone in the community showed up,” observed Bob Ewing. “And that says a lot. Many who didn’t even really know Willie came to make a donation. It makes you feel good about living here. It was amazing.”

Posted by editor at 09:21 PM | Comments (0)

It’s not a myth! Cougar seen in Glen Arbor

By Jane Greiner
Sun staff writer

GLEN ARBOR (June 24) — A family stopping for pastries at Barb’s Bakery in Glen Arbor this morning spotted a cougar walking behind the bakery. It was moving toward the rear of the Post Office, according to Joyce Long at the Philip Heart Visitor Center.

Gregory and Joanne Newman and their two sons of Grand Ledge, came to the visitor center afterwards to fill out a report. They said they were eating pastries in the car parked behind the bakery and facing toward the woods when they saw movement in the underbrush in front of them. When they realized it was a cougar, they tried to follow it in the car, but it turned left down into the woods and they lost sight of it.

Gregory said that at first he thought it was a deer. But then he saw “that rolling gate” and “that big, long tail and real muscular chest,” he realized it was a cougar.

“It was really incredible,” he said. The cougar looked just like pictures he had seen, a sandy color, with a “thick, thick tail.”

“The tail must have been three feet long!” he said. It was so long, in fact, that the end was hidden down in the grass.

Gregory estimated they were only about 20 feet away from the animal when they first saw it.

Gregory mentioned it was a coincidence because on the previous morning while riding his bike around Glen Lake he thought he had heard a cougar. He was on 616 and it was very quiet, with no cars passing. He stopped to listen and heard it again. He described the sound as a “screaming growl.”

There have been a number of cougar sightings reported recently at the Visitor Center. Chief Ranger Larry Johnson reported seeing one around June 9. His sighting was on Indian Hill Road just south of Fowler at around 6 p.m.

He and his wife were in the car. He said the big cat crossed the road some ways in front of him. The thing that impressed him most was the way the cat walked. It “just glided,” with a “very smooth and fluid motion.”

It had the tawny color and long tail, just like in the pictures.

Johnson said he had gone back to the location two or three times trying to figure out just how far away it had been when he saw it. He estimates it was about 0.2 miles away. It was right by a mailbox and it struck him how close it had been to some houses in that area.

Because of the presence of cougars in the National Park, Johnson says that all trail headings are now posted with information on what to do should you encounter a cougar while hiking. “You should make yourself look big,” he said. If you have a jacket, open it and spread it out. Keep your eyes down, don’t make eye contact. And back away.”

Johnson said this is the advice given out west where there is a larger cougar population and more frequent encounters.

Johnson, the new Chief Ranger, has been at the Sleeping Bear National Lakeshore only about three months. His last posting was at the Ozark National Scenic Riverways in southern Missouri. He said it was interesting because they have been having cougar sightings there too.

In another recent incident in the Park, a volunteer at the Visitor Center, Eleanor Commings, of Frankfurt, nearly walked into a cougar while hiking a park trail. Apparently she was looking back over her shoulder and when she turned forward again she was only a few feet away from a cougar. She told Joyce Long at the Visitor Center that, “If she hadn’t looked around, she would have stepped on it.” We don’t know whether Commings had the presence of mind to “make herself big,” but in any case, the cougar walked off with no harm done.

Posted by editor at 08:23 PM | Comments (0)

Nighttime visitors: the legacy of the flying squirrel

By Torin Yeager
Sun contributor

We all enjoy watching the variety of birds we see every day at our feeders. From the common chickadees and sparrows to rose-breasted grosbeaks and orioles. What most of us don’t notice are the nighttime visitors to our feeders. The occasional raccoon or opossum might stop by, but the smallest diner could be the flying squirrel. Looking like chubby mice with oversized eyes, they make a comical sight while stuffing their mouths full with seeds. They are very protective of their food and if an unknown squirrel tries to sneak a seed, the first squirrel goes into fits of rage; squeaking shrilly and chasing away the offending intruder. However, if a human approaches them, they appear completely indifferent and allow you to get quite close. When you have gotten too near for comfort, the squirrels will leap off the feeder, spreading their legs apart so the flap of skin that attaches them allows the animal to glide to the nearest tree (which can be up to 100 ft. away). Their flat tail acts like a rudder and steers the squirrels to their destination. Since the flying squirrel is nocturnal, its primary enemies are owls and cats. It lives in nests made in stumps or hollow trees. The females and males live separately in the summer, but during the winter they will nest together. The flying squirrel lives mostly in hardwood forests because of its love of maple sap. Since my house is in the middle of a hardwood forest with lots of maples, it is an ideal spot to watch these tiny critters.

The first time I saw a flying squirrel, I was looking out on our deck to watch for the raccoon that made it a regular stop for sunflower seeds. Instead of seeing a raccoon, I saw two tiny, bug-eyed creatures with white under-bellies and light brown fur. They sat poised; ready to leap, but afraid to move. I quickly turned out the light and instead pressed my face to the glass to get a better look. There they were, eating sunflower seeds at our bird feeder. I silently got my shoes on and tiptoed out onto the deck. I thought that they would run away as soon as they saw me, but I got so close that I could have reached out to touch one. I hesitated to go closer for fear they might leap at me. It seemed to me that they were eyeing me for a possible perch. I held my breath and took a step backwards. This movement seemed to give the signal to run and before my eyes they scampered along the deck railing and dove off the side. That was when I finally figured out that they were flying squirrels, for they did not hit the ground but instead “Velcroed” themselves to a tree. I quietly went back inside to savor what I had just witnessed. I hoped they would come back again.

Luckily the squirrels came back the next night and have been coming ever since. It seems they are almost impossible to scare away now that they have taken the feeder as their own. They have become a regular sight at our feeder and one that I will always welcome gladly.

Posted by editor at 06:25 PM | Comments (0)

"Eine Lebenserfahrung": Exchange student’s view on her stay in northern Michigan

By Kate McCarty
Sun contributor

Every few years the Glen Lake student body has the opportunity to get to know a student from another country. During the course of the second semester of the 2003-04 school year at Glen Lake, fellow students came to know the beautiful, intelligent Theresa Holverscheid, a German student who came to stay with the Tompkins family. Theresa brought many qualities with her when she came to this community. When asked why she wanted to become an exchange student, Theresa, affectionately called “Tessi,” answered, “I have always been interested in other cultures. I enjoy learning languages, and a trip to the U.S. seven years ago made me want to live here for a while.”

While in the United States, Tessi has taken part in many activities in the community. She played volleyball and soccer, and worked as a member of the backstage crew during “The Unsinkable Molly Brown.”

When interviewed about her stay in Glen Arbor, this is what Theresa had to say about the school, community, and experience:

Sun: What do you love about the U.S.?

Holverscheid: “I love how the people always ask me how I feel and if they could help me, and also I love how they ask me questions about Germany. Seriously, every single person I have met here has been so nice and friendly, and I really want to come back and live here sometime. Also, I like how the U.S. is so big and that there are so many different things to see and to experience.”

Sun: What do you miss about Germany?

Holverscheid: “Certainly my family, my friends, my Volleyball team and chocolate.”

Was it hard to say goodbye to your family, and how do you feel about your family here?

“I guess it will be a lot harder to say goodbye to my friends and my American family here, as I know things will never be the same again, even if I come to visit. When I left home I knew I would come back in only seven months and everything would be nearly the same, so that was not a huge problem for me. The Tompkins, my host family, and I have been a perfect match in many ways and they made me feel at home from the first day on. I sure will miss them a lot back in Germany.”

Sun: What are some of your favorite things about Michigan?

Holverscheid: “It’s so beautiful! I loved skiing in the winter, I love swimming and going to the beach in the summer. I like the little towns like Glen Arbor and Leland, and most of all I love the people here. Also I think fudge is very good.”

Sun: How did you like Glen Lake School. Did you feel that it’s different from German schools?

Holverscheid: “I went to Glen Lake School and it was awesome. I loved the people and how friendly they welcomed me. So if anybody from Glen Lake reads this: Thank you so much. The school was hard at times, but we also had many fun times. I personally think that school here is more laid-back and students and teachers have a better understanding of each other than they do in Germany. Also there’s a lot more school spirit, which I enjoyed a lot.”

Sun: If you could take one thing back to Germany with you after your stay, what would it be, and why?

Holverscheid: “Can I take all my friends, please? If I can’t take them I would take one of the lakes so I could go swimming in the clear water.”

Sun: What do you love most about Michigan that you don’t have in Germany?

Holverscheid: “The nature. We do have nature in Germany as well, but I don’t live that close to it so I would not have the opportunity to just go canoeing or swimming in a lake that often. Sometimes I think it is breath-taking just to drive through the county and see all the nature around, like the lakes, the dunes and the woods.”

Sun: Do you feel the Glen Lake students treated you respectfully?

Holverscheid: “Yes they did. Without exceptions they have all treated me well and I have made many new friends that I love and that I hope to stay in touch with. I have never heard anything rude or impolite. I just hope that many other exchange students will be able to attend this school in the future.”

Sun: Do you think you’ll remember your experience in years to come?

Holverscheid: “I will never forget the time I spent here in Michigan, that’s for sure. The student exchange was a once in a lifetime experience and I have so many nice memories to take with me that I can’t possibly forget about it. Also I hope to always stay in touch with my American family and my American friends.”

Sun: When you look back on your stay, what were some of your favorite things about it? Holverscheid: “Fun times with my friends and my host family, snowball, prom, basketball games, soccer and volleyball season, graduation, my trip to Chicago, walking through Meijer and the mall, watching movies, swimming in the lakes, a trip to Ohio, having lunch outside, going sledding at night, skiing, bonfires — there are just too many things.”

Sun: Lastly, if you could say one thing to all the students at Glen Lake, what would it be? THANK YOU FOR EVERYTHING. Please stay in touch.

Although she leaves mid-July, one thing is certain, Tessi certainly has enjoyed her stay, and feels like many do, Glen Arbor is an amazing place. It has left a lasting impact on the young German. She will carry a piece of this place with her wherever she goes. And all who have known her hope she will return to the place she has called home for the last seven months.

Posted by editor at 05:26 PM | Comments (0)

Water Play

Mary Sharry
Sun contributor

The goldfish I bought from the dime store never lived very long. In two or three weeks, a month at the most, after I had them home they would develop red scales. Their gills looked painfully raw. First one fish and then the other, they finally looked like carrot strips afloat inside the small glass aquarium.
“Flush them down the toilet,” my mother instructed.

A swirling goldfish is not a pretty sight, not at that point anyway. I’d hope for the best. Resurrection. Perhaps my fish weren’t really dead. Maybe they would find their way from the sewer and into the Detroit River to become mighty carp.

My mother and I would take the bus downtown on Saturday mornings, mostly to window shop along Detroit’s Woodward Avenue. Sometimes she might buy herself a new pair of white gloves, or for me some cotton underwear or socks. We’d stop for a bite to eat at Sanders lunch counter. I’d order a tuna sandwich, she a hot fudge cream puff along with two spoons, so we could share.

A single parent at a time when the word divorce seemed scandalous, at least to her upbringing, my mother would evade a direct answer when people inquired about her husband, my father.

“He’s out of town,” came her stock response or mine, if asked, and we’d quickly change the subject.

She helped out at a nursery school. Given her slim salary, our Saturday excursions were a splurge. After lunch we might stop at the dime store, and if my goldfish had recently died, she’d let me buy two new ones. Two, to keep each other company.

At the back of the store where caged canaries sang and parakeets squawked and gave kisses to their own reflections in little mirrors, amidst the smell of fresh cedar shavings where mice and hamsters ran on squeaky wheels, there the beautiful orange fish swam amidst tiny bubbles, gurgles and the drone of a mechanized pump. I loved to watch their motion in the water, the graceful sway of their tails, and tried to imagine what they thought of me as we stared at each other.

My mother asked the clerk in charge if she knew what might be causing the sudden death of my fish. A fish net protruded from the front pocket of the clerk’s rubber apron. She squinted at me and asked if I was the one who cleaned their aquarium. She wanted to know how I cleaned it. I told her that I scooped the fish into another container.

“Do you use a net to catch them?”

“No,” I said, “just my bare hands.”

“Well, that’s the problem.”

She said something about the oil residues on human skin. That was why my fish had been dying.

So, along with the two fish I chose, my mother bought me a net. Now when it was time for a water change I could scoop the fish safely into their holding tank, the cake-mixing bowl. They would like their new home, especially after the bus ride in the paper carton, the same sort of container that cottage cheese from the dairy came in or chop suey from the China Clipper.

These fish did live a long time. By the time I was 10 years old they had been with me for almost a year, far longer than any other fish I’d ever owned. Their longevity must have been related to my use of the net.

I’d had an earache, so my mother told me I should stay home from school that day. While she was away at work I had our upstairs flat to myself. Even though my ear felt as if a needle were stuck inside, I enjoyed the time alone. In my nightgown I could dawdle about and read, draw, listen to records or the radio. I could clean the aquarium and run the faucet for as long as I pleased.

On the counter beside the kitchen sink the fish darted back and forth in their holding tank, the ceramic mixing bowl. Their glass aquarium, a rather small two-gallon tank, sat in the sink basin. I let the faucet water flow over the container and into the sink. I scoured around the sides of the glass, rinsing and refilling.

Under the jet of water, the bubbles were beautiful to see. My hands danced, and when I held them still my fingers, like starfish, seemed to undulate beneath the surface. Water was my element. I enjoyed this chore as much as I liked to swim my hands amongst socks and underwear in the blue rinse water of my mother’s laundry tub.

Even washing dishes in a pan full of foamy suds was a delight. The creamy texture of the dish soap reminded me of my aunt’s ivory satin wedding gown. Sometimes I’d get out the hand-cranked eggbeater and make mounds of suds. With measuring cups I’d pour water back and forth from cup to cup all the while singing with the radio the songs of unrequited love, their words and meaning beyond my understanding.

Gossamer-like rainbows of froth would climb over my wrists to the crook of my elbows. My forearms glistened with bubbles and I’d dance and wave my hands in loops and arcs like fish in a great body of water, and dapple the kitchen with foam. Sometimes I’d swash about at the sink for so long that the water would cool and I’d have to empty the dishpan and start all over again.

So cleaning the aquarium was water play, too; and if it sparkled algae free, my mother would carry it to the living room. There she placed it upon the coffee table in the center of the doily, a bloom of stiff ruffles surrounding the world of my fish. Otherwise, if I neglected them for too long, the fish were relegated to swim in their scummy tank on the laundry room shelf.

At last I’d had enough of the cleaning chore. I netted up the fish and transferred them into their fre