Glen Arbor Sun

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August 25, 2005

How this small-town, black & white rag outgrew its own clothes

The Glen Arbor Sun turns 10!

When a restless 18-year-old kid just out of high school began knocking on the doors of Glen Arbor businesses in June of 1996, asking for community support to start a small-town newspaper, he figured, at most, he’d pocket a few hundred bucks to help pay for his first year of college at the University of Michigan that fall. Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine the Glen Arbor Sun would be alive and still kicking a decade later.

Of course, this is no longer “Jacob’s cute little paper” as Leelanau Coffee Roasting Company owner John Arens once quipped. What you are reading is now a cherished community resource.

Thousands read the Sun every summer on their way to the beach, the dining room table and, God forbid, their drive back down south; hundreds of businesses have advertised to keep this paper rolling off the presses; and dozens have contributed over the years as journalists, photographers, poets, essayists or just well-wishers. Now the Glen Arbor Sun is experiencing a new birth on the web at www.glenarborsun.com. Read us online if you can’t make it up to Leelanau County. We hope you’ll still feel that gentle breeze coming off Sleeping Bear Bay.

With that in mind, this commemorative Tenth Anniversary pullout section is devoted to the local community that has breathed life into the Sun every spring. Many of your favorite photos, bylines, friends, events and unforgettable moments are chronicled in this section’s highlights of the last decade.

Get to know your faithful Glen Arbor Sun staff, past and present, and check out the best photos of the first decade on this page. Look inside this pullout section for the best investigative articles, the best features, the best sports/adventure stories, the best poetry/essay pieces, the best local personalities, the best dispatches from afar, the best food/organic living stories, and the most controversial articles. And read a year-by-year history of the Glen Arbor Sun on page 8. It’s a history in progress.

Posted by editor at 11:31 PM | Comments (1)

Our first decade

1996: A humble beginning

Fresh out of high school, and with no journalism experience, 18-year-old Jacob Wheeler decides to follow his mother’s advice and launch a summer community newspaper. Leelanau School classmate Richard Taber comes up with the generic launch name, Glen Arbor Sun, and originally intends to co-found the paper with Wheeler, but eventually sits out the first summer.

After a month of carefully courting local businesses for advertising support, Wheeler produces Volume 1 Issue 1 of the Glen Arbor Sun on an 8½ x 11-inch page on June 25, using nothing but a trusty copy machine. The inaugural issue boasts 40 business card-sized ads and little text. Only two short articles appear, one on the upcoming (and now defunct) Glen Arbor Days Festival, and the other on the Beach Bard’s Bonfire poetry circle.

The first editorial decision is to eliminate ads on the front page. But the rough and sometimes careless page design continues, as borders are often drawn in pencil without the benefit of a ruler, and shorthand comments appear, without warning, in the margins. Some businesses tell the editor to shape up, while Leelanau Coffee Roasting Company owner John Arens is willing to “take a gamble on Jacob’s cute little paper”.

Bob Sutherland, president of the Cherry Republic empire, remarks that his first business venture in town was selling t-shirts out of a ramshackle hut called Petoskey Pete’s, which was nearly run out of town. And look at him now!

1997: A two-man wrecking crew

Out of compassion for his friend, Richard Taber boards the ship the following spring and insists that the paper go through a printing press before reaching the reader’s eye (Guttenberg does it; why can’t we?). Gone are the hand-drawn borders and business cards run through a low-quality copy machine. Gone are the penciled in one-liners at the bottom of every page.

Taber opts for the layout program PageMaker and colors the masthead orange, and later red. Design consultant, and Leelanau School admissions director at the time, Mike Buhler suggests “Here to enlighten you” as a slogan to spice up the masthead. Most importantly, Linda Ihme buys the back page for Leelanau Vacation Rentals — the first advertiser to go beyond a business-card size. By mid-summer Wheeler finds other writers to contribute, and the Glen Arbor Sun acquires a literary feel.

We print news pieces about the National Park’s decision to charge entrance fees and foreign workers living at The Homestead, as well as features about skateboarders in Glen Arbor and locals at Art’s Tavern watching hockey.

1998: A good-looking tabloid

In its third year, the Sun finally takes the page design you recognize today with a masthead sketch of the sun setting into Sleeping Bear Bay. Local cook Josh Miller draws the catchy masthead to replace a dizzying scene designed by our Russian artist friend Alexandra Chernozatonskaya. Taber colors the setting sun red after the first issue, and his masterful photography catches the attention of people all over town. We first hear the phrase “the local paper” after expanding to 12 pages on July 17.

Bylines appear under articles for the first time, though most are still written by Jacob Wheeler. The Sun receives praise for balanced articles on the new cell phone tower in town and the controversial canceling of Glen Arbor’s fireworks. We also hone in on colorful locals like pianist Andy Anderson and the knitters at the Yarn Shop. Miller shakes things up in the July 3 issue with a cartoon asking, “Who is Art’s Sexiest Bartender?”

1999: A family thing

A fundamental problem faces the paper. Richard wants to upgrade to full-color and plant the Glen Arbor Sun firmly in the minds of area residents, but Jacob is off in Germany, gallivanting with Fraüleins through the Black Forest. Up to the plate steps his father Norm, an English and astronomy teacher at The Leelanau School, to handle the editorial side of things.

Taber hires Chris Walker to sell advertisements, Norm sounds the call for contributors, and dozens of writers come forward to help, suddenly turning the Sun into a community-produced newspaper. The names of talented writers like Ian Richardson, Jenny Robertson, Tom Reay, Anne-Marie Oomen, Chase Edwards, Jo Anne Wilson, Holly Spaulding and Sam Duwe grace our pages for the first time. The Glen Arbor Sun doesn’t quit when the leaves turn, churning out 10 issues in its fourth year of existence.

Norm introduces several series to the paper: a Green Thumb column on gardening; a poetry section; and coverage of Glen Arbor’s only sports team — the colorful Western Avenue Grill softball team.

2000: A new base of operation

College diploma in hand, Jacob Wheeler returns to Glen Arbor in May and finds that the paper has taken on a life of its own. But this time it’s Richard’s turn for a sabbatical, leaving the Wheeler boys on a train without an engine.

In steps Mike Buhler, the man behind “Here to enlighten you”. A computer design guru, Mike hammers out business terms with Jacob and Norm over a pitcher or beer at Art’s Tavern — where most business is conducted in Glen Arbor. To this day, they represent the brain trust of the Glen Arbor Sun. The staff box in the first issue of 2000 reads, “Editors Emeriti: Jacob Wheeler, Richard Taber” and “Working Stiffs: Norm Wheeler, Mike Buhler”.

With responsibility for providing content firmly in his hands, Norm focuses on local characters and lets their quirks color the paper’s pages. The late fishing legend Carl Oleson, Glen Arbor’s first firewoman Mary Sutherland, Jerry Decker’s sewage-pumping “honey wagon” and children’s author Ron Schmidt (who happens to be blind) all make cameo appearances.

2001: The taste of home

“What’s there to do around here when the weather turns sour,” the Fudgies ask. The Glen Arbor Sun answers that question with a sensuous dish or a local chef on every front page. The bountiful spread at Pat Settles’ and Dave Kahn’s potluck wedding and culinary guru Nancy K. Allen’s food columns and recipes grace our covers. Norm’s palette succumbs to La Bécasse’s terroir superb, and Jacob features organic jams and salsas made by Food for Thought in the July 12 issue — when the staff works overtime to produce a 16-page issue (haven’t done it since).

Harping on extreme sports, Norm features several out-of-towners who have just completed impressive journeys: Jeanne and Gene Sacha just pedaled across the United States on their Rans Recumbant bicycles, and Whit and Andre rowed across Lake Michigan in 31 hours and 40 minutes.

The Sun also boasts its literary edge with nature essays by Anne-Marie Oomen, Jane Greiner and Mary Sharry. And native New Yorker Bronwyn Jones remembers the September 11 attacks with a memoir entitled “The Birds are Burning”

2002: The talk of the town

Having solidified his Danish skills, Jacob returns from a three-year absence to co-edit the Sun with Norm, bringing with him a desire for investigative coverage. The paper warns locals about the National Park’s plan to turn much of the Lakeshore into wilderness and reports on the coming of the humongous Le Bear Resort.

Shortly before his passing, the Sun features Arthur and wife Helen Huey, who kept The Leelanau School open during the Second World War and then sold the land at the mouth of the Crystal River that would become The Homestead resort. We also publish breaking news of near unanimous local opposition to a land swap The Homestead is trying to engineer with the National Park, and report that The Homestead has hired powerful lobbyists to convince Washington legislators that the land swap enjoys local support.

The public successfully convinces Congress to shut down both the Park’s wilderness plan and the land swap — the subjects of numerous letters.
Not everyone agrees with the Sun’s tone all the time, but we do keep our readers informed of important issues.

2003: Writers with initiative

Sometimes what appears in the editor’s Inbox on the morning of layout Sunday makes the paper great. Jane Greiner’s piece on Linus, the Empire deer-licked cat, finds Jacob eating his pancakes, and sends him to the floor laughing. The wit of freelance writers Greiner and newcomers Thomas Benn and Christina Campbell makes 2003 a standout summer. Greiner also pens a piece on Clive Haswell, the 90-year-old Honor poet and train-hopping hobo.

Meanwhile, Benn explores the past and future of Empire’s historic Schoolhouse, and remembers migrant workers who toiled here in the ‘50s and ‘60s, harvesting the fruits of Leelanau County orchards. Campbell writes the “Mysteries, madness and intrigue of the Manitou Passage” and debates whether jet skis are a “lake lice or a harmless thrill”.

Other highlights of 2003 include the search for Ralph Dorsey’s sunken steamboat, Rescue, which he apparently sank intentionally 90 years ago in Big Glen Lake, and Mike Buhler takes us on an afternoon ride to South Manitou Island in Hugh Gordon’s 1967 Amphicar.

2004: “No more politics, please”

During a presidential election campaign that seeks to overshadow our vacations “up north”, the Sun begins the summer by paying homage to artist Suzanne Wilson and church leader Grace Cochran, who each left important legacies behind, and ends with a pile of letters (mostly) critical of editor Jacob’s decision to attack George W. Bush and the war in Iraq.

Notables include a travelogue on “Suzanne’s van: the gift that keeps on giving”, Benn’s “A Boatwatcher’s Guide to the Manitou Passage”, Campbell’s piece on Taghon’s Garage (“the community lifeline”) and Helen Westie’s report on recycled houses within the National Park.

Norm tries to lighten the mood with his series on what’s “Ripe in the Land of the Sleeping Bear”, while Jacob stirs things up with reports from inside the Democratic and Republican National Conventions, and Bush’s campaign appearance in Traverse City in mid-August. More letters appear in our fall issues than at any other time in history, and Jim Dorsey’s note entitled “No more politics, please” sums up the mood. On November 2 Glen Arbor Township votes for Bush, Empire Township picks John Kerry, and the Glen Arbor Sun ultimately loses one faithful advertiser.

2005: Picking up Latin vibes

The paper catches Latin fever, and not just because Jacob spent the winter in Guatemala. We also learn that the Sutherland brothers Mike and Paul have done humanitarian work for people living in the dump in Guatemala City, and that realtor John Martin’s daughter Liz has worked in a makeshift medical clinic for Mayan Indians deep in the jungle. Furthermore, Max Miller, once a hoops star at Glen Lake School for his uncle, Coach Don Miller, studied photography at the San Miguel de Allende art school near Mexico City.

The Sun contracts chef Nancy Allen to pen another popular recipe series, and maritime expert Jed Jaworski revisits the mystery of local Lake Michigan shipwrecks. Native American writer/activist Lois Beardslee kicks off a series on Indian stories and issues. The Sun staff attends the Pow-Wow in Peshawbestown (outside of Suttons Bay) and hopes to incorporate more Native American stories in our future coverage.

We’re thrilled and equally amazed that the Glen Arbor Sun has lived 10 years, and we understand that the local community and summer residents fully expect to read it every summer when t-shirt weather arrives. So we’ll keep chugging along.

Posted by editor at 11:30 PM | Comments (1)

Learn the ABCs of Summer Eating

By Nancy Krcek Allen
Sun contributor

An August 13, 2005 New York Times piece declared, “For millions of Americans, filling up the tank has become an eye-popping experience this summer as prices reached levels that, after adjusting for inflations, have been seen only once on any sustained basis since World War II — in the late 1970’s and early 1980’s, when the Iranian revolution and the Iran-Iraq war disrupted global oil supplies.” A professor of economics, George Lowenstein, (quoted in the same piece) concluded that a gradual increase in the gasoline tax would help the federal budget deficit and decrease dependence on foreign oil by encouraging conservation.
This is the time to go native.

Start in the kitchen. It’s as easy as ABC. Just begin at A for arugula, B for beets, broccoli and Brussels sprouts, C for corn, carrots, cauliflower and cucumbers, and keep going right on to Z for zucchini. Leelanau County is blessed with this abundant produce and more from almost every letter in the alphabet. If you shop locally you will not only come home with fresher, higher quality food, support your neighbors — local farmers, you’ll conserve gas and save money. And you might feel yourself to be a better person for it.

Nutritionists and health professionals sing praises to the vegetable’s fine tastes and healing qualities. Broccoli, Brussels sprouts and turnips fight cancer. Garlic and onions act as blood thinners to help prevent heart disease. Celery lowers blood pressure. Tomatoes discourage prostate cancer. Apples and squash stabilize blood sugar. Raw cabbage juice eases ulcers. Shell beans reduce blood pressure and cholesterol. You name it and there is a vegetable or fruit to relieve it.

So why aren’t we all eating more vegetables? Perhaps it’s because we’re vegetable challenged. As children, many of us never saw fresh watercress, kale, fresh fennel bulb or spicy arugula — let alone learned what to do with them. Most of us knew only corn, green beans and spinach from the freezer, asparagus from a can and potatoes from McDonald’s. It’s a pity.

Could it be that vegetables refuse to knuckle under to someone else’s consistent standards? You might buy huge yellow ears of corn one day and the next, smaller, white-kerneled ears. Cauliflower might turn up pale white one week and glowing purple the next. You never know about produce: that’s its delight and downfall. You can’t expect it to act and taste the same. Each piece is an individual that demands your respect.

I’ll admit that working with vegetables can be a chore. They need you to care for them, trim, wash, chop and cook them into something your family and friends will eat with, if not relish, at least recognition. It’s a shame that so many of us turn to frozen and canned produce, or none at all, when our local selection is so wonderful.

Get out there and do your part: buy local produce. It won’t bite. You’re never too old to overcome the perils of vegetable cookery. Start with a vegetable cooking class or a good vegetable cookbook then invite a skinny, purple eggplant, some broccoli rabe or a few leeks to dinner. You’ll discover a new language of flavor and health.

Vegetable 101

Choose your vegetables wisely. Choose them in season. Young, taut, shiny and moist looking produce with perky leaves and good color is the best choice. Generally, smaller vegetables are the sweetest. Choose local over produce trucked in from California or Florida. Purchase organic or biodynamic whenever possible. This produce may cost a little more but these farmers work to preserve the health of our soil. Support them.

Treat produce gently. Bruises happen easily and allow an opening for quick spoilage. Watch the grocery bagger’s backhand with your avocadoes.

Wash all produce in cold water before you use it. You may want to wash and spin-dry all herbs and greens as soon as they enter your kitchen if you’re a hurried cook. Store them in ziplock bags with paper toweling. Keep a running list of what lies in the cavernous depths of your refrigerator. It will enable you to prepare meals according to what needs to be used.

Keep it simple and pay attention when preparing vegetables. Vegetables lend themselves to any method but take a cue from the Italians and Asians and don’t over cook vegetables. Steam, grill or stir-fry them. Most bite-sized vegetables steam in about 4 minutes to crisp-tender. Vegetables contain important enzymes benefiting digestion and health that are destroyed by cooking, and vitamins that are affected by overcooking so eat some of your vegetables raw in salads and salsas.

Raw vegetable salad
This is my favorite summer impromptu meal. Its inspiration comes from salsa. Feel free to create your own combos. First considering color, I take whatever my refrigerator holds and transform it into this crunchy side dish. Make a few of these salads and your knife skills will improve by leaps and bounds.
Serves 4

1/2 red onion, peeled and finely, finely sliced (paper thin)
1/2 of a medium head Savoy (curly cabbage), finely shredded
Kosher salt or unrefined sea salt
Optional: 1 clove fresh garlic, finely minced
Red wine vinegar
Two handfuls snowpeas or sugar snap peas, finely chopped
2 carrots, finely shredded
Herb of choice: fresh cilantro leaves, flat leaf parsley, basil or dill, lightly chopped or torn
2 to 4 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
Fresh ground pepper

In one bowl, mix the onion with a heaping teaspoon of Kosher salt or less of unrefined sea salt. In another bowl, mix the cabbage with 2 to 3 teaspoons salt. Set them aside while you finish chopping the remaining vegetables—about 20 to 30 minutes.

When the onions and cabbage exude liquid, squeeze them over a colander and drain. Discard their liquid and toss the onion and cabbage together with the garlic in a clean bowl. Toss them with a tablespoon or so of red wine vinegar. Set them aside until the vegetables look softened and the red onion is bright pink, about 20 minutes.

Just before serving toss the beans, carrots, herbs and olive oil together with the cabbage and onions. Mix the salad and taste it. Season your salad with more vinegar, oil, salt and pepper, if desired.

Shredded Brussels sprouts with balsamic vinegar and pine nuts
Adapted from Vegetables Every Day by Jack Bishop
Serves 4 to 6

1 pound small Brussels sprouts
3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1 medium onion, finely diced
2 cloves garlic, finely minced
2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar
1/4 cup toasted pine nuts (Toast in 350F oven until golden, about 8 to 10 minutes)
salt

Set up your steamer basket. Trim the stems of the Brussels sprouts lightly and discard the outer layer of leaves. Steam the sprouts until almost tender, about 4 minutes. Remove them to a bowl to cool. Slice the sprouts into thin strips.

Heat the olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat and add the onion. Sauté it until golden, about 5 minutes. Add the Brussels sprouts and cook, stirring occasionally, until they begin to brown, about 5 to 7 minutes. Add the garlic and vinegar and cook them until they evaporate, about 1 minute. Stir in the nuts and season with salt to taste.

Roasted green beans and corn
Serves 4

2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1 pound green beans, stem ends trimmed away
Corn cut from 4 ears
salt

Preheat oven to 450F. Combine the oil, green beans and some salt in a mixing bowl. Combine the corn in another bowl with oil and salt. Toss so that the oil coats the beans and the corn well. Line two baking sheets (with sides) with parchment. Spread the beans out onto one and the corn on another. Place the pans into the hot oven. Roast the beans and corn until browned, about 15 to 20 minutes. Toss them together and serve.

For a little more fun, you could toss the hot vegetables with chopped herbs like basil or parsley, minced shallots or garlic or with diced tomatoes and feta cheese.

Steamed leeks with mustard vinaigrette
Serves 4 to 6

6 medium leeks
1 1/2 teaspoons Dijon mustard, no substitutes
1 tablespoon white wine vinegar
4 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1 tablespoon chopped herbs like tarragon, basil or thyme leaves
optional, 1/4 cup peeled seeded and diced tomato

Set up your steamer. Trim and discard the dark green leek leaves and tough outer skin. Trim away the hairy root but don’t cut it away completely, you want the leek leaves to hold together. Cut the leek in half along its length and wash it well under cold water. Farmers achieve the white part of the leek by mounding dirt up around it so leeks take on a lot of dirt.

Steam the leeks until tender, about 15 minutes. Transfer them to a platter and pat dry, if necessary. While the leeks steam whisk together the mustard and vinegar. Slowly, as you whisk, drizzle in the olive oil until you have a smooth, thick vinaigrette. Stir in the herbs.

Drizzle the dressing over hot, room temperature or chilled leeks. Garnish with tomato and serve.

Find local produce on Wednesdays at the Farmer’s Market in Glen Arbor, Saturdays at the Farmer’s Market in Empire, or at the Sunny Swanson roadside stand, on M-22 near Sugar Loaf, in addition to your local grocery stores.

Posted by editor at 11:28 PM | Comments (0)

Revisiting the mystery of the W.H. Gilcher

By Jed Jaworski
Sun contributor

The infamous loss of the Edmund Fitzgerald shocked the entire Great Lakes community. How could one of the largest vessels, using modern technology, simply vanish with all on board? Leelanau County experienced its own version of the Edmund Fitzgerald story in the 1890s, when the largest and most technologically advanced ship of its time “sailed through a crack in the lake” off the Leelanau coast. The ship still lies undiscovered in the cold dark waters, and the mysteries of its loss remain unresolved.

The 1880s and ‘90s experienced many revolutions in ship design and construction on the Great Lakes. One advent greeted with great skepticism was the use of iron and steel as hull materials. Despite doubts and grim predictions, the first iron-hulled carrier, the Onoko of 1882, proved a great success. 1890 saw the construction of the Western Reserve and W.H. Gilcher. These ships’ 300-foot hulls were of steel, not iron. Longer than a football field, they were among the largest ships of their time. The two vessels had different owners and slightly different construction details, but were considered sister ships. They met their owners’ fondest expectations for speed and efficiency. Almost at once the Gilcher captured the grain-carrying record by transporting 113,885 bushels of wheat from Chicago to Buffalo, New York.

But August 30, 1892 found the Western Reserve bucking against a summer gale on Lake Superior. In addition to her regular crew, the owner, his family, guests and the captain’s sons were aboard. At about 9 p.m. that evening a sudden jolt shuddered through the hull, and the mainmast crashed to the deck. Forward of the spar, a break appeared in the deck, groaning and widening with the passing of each wave. Two lifeboats cleared: a wooden boat with the owner, his family and some crew, and a metallic yawl with the others. The yawl capsized, and the lifeboat picking up two survivors. The 19 occupants of the lifeboat bailed and drifted in the blackened sea for 10 hours, when within a mile of shore a wave suddenly capsized the boat and all but one man drowned. The lone survivor struggled 10 miles along the desolate and uninhabited Lake Superior coast to reach the Deer Park Lifesaving Station, and there, news of the tragedy spread. Bodies from the lost ship began to wash ashore, and the Deer Point Lifesaving men buried them above the wilderness beach in lone graves with a simple prayer.

Harsh and bitter criticism soon rocked the owners and builders of the Western Reserve, and investigations questioned the safety of steel ship and lifeboat construction. But no flaws were found in the design or construction of the ship.

Meanwhile, at 2:20 p.m. on October 28, while public debate on the Western Reserve’s sinking continued, the W.H. Gilcher passed through the Straits of Mackinaw and into a storm-swept Lake Michigan. Fully laden with coal and making headway for Milwaukee, Capt. Lloyd H. Weeks, veteran master of the Gilcher, did not doubt the integrity of his vessel. The Gilcher was the finest vessel lakes technology could produce, and she was ideally loaded for heavy weather, unlike her lost sister, which had carried no cargo and traveled in water ballast. Other ships were seeking shelter as the intensity of the storm increased. South Manitou Harbor was crowded with storm-beaten vessels weathering at anchor or aground. Somewhere in the ragged, black expanse of northern Lake Michigan the W.H. Gilcher, with it’s crew of 22 men plowed on.

The intensity of the storm peaked in the late afternoon and early evening. At Glen Haven, barrels of cranberries setting on the big dock washed into the bay. On a rocky shoal near what is now The Homestead resort, the schooner Flying Cloud lay stricken. As the rocks gored the sailing vessels hull, its cargo of 2,300-barrels of oat spilled out onto the beaches along the Glen Arbor coastline. People attending a political rally at the Traverse City Opera House could not hear the brass band performing over the din of the storm outside. Farmyard fences and barns all around Leelanau County were laid flat by the fearsome winds.

During the light of the next day the weather began to abate, and ships left their protective anchorages for their ports of destination. As vessels arrived, or failed to arrive, the tragedies of the storm became apparent. Among the list of vessels overdue was the Gilcher. None of the ships in South Manitou harbor reported seeing the lights of any ship pass into the open lake. Some, however, reported sailing through fields of wreckage, including a battered pilothouse. The steamer White & Triant picked up a piece of cabin work in which “James Riley 9 PM” was carved. The mail carrier at South Manitou reported wreckage including a box labeled “Lackawana” drifting ashore on the west side of the island. The steamer Shaw reported a schooner, found to be the Ostrich, bottom up and wrecked upon the shore of South Manitou with no apparent survivors. The majority of debris found was from a steamer.

Nearly everyone presumed the Lackawana had been lost — until she sailed into Green Bay. Damaged by the gale, the seas had swept her decks clear. Hopes that the Gilcher may be disabled and at anchor or adrift prevailed until detailed reports of the debris field came in. Owners of the Gilcher claimed the description of the cabin work and pilothouse “matched that of the Gilcher exactly”.

Dock gossip spread like wildfire. Theories ranged from a collision with the Ostrich, to sinking after hitting the Fox Island shoal. No lifeboats were ever found. Later, the lifeboat strongbacks from the Gilcher were located. They had apparently been struck with an axe as the crew, in desperation, slashed through the canvas boat cover to gain entry. This would indicate that the Gilcher might have foundered very suddenly, the crew not having time to release the cover in the usual fashion. Few of the Gilcher's crew was ever found. On January 5, 1893 the Leelanau Enterprise, noted unusual efforts to locate second mate Thomas Finley’s body. “Mrs. Thomas Finley accompanied by Mrs. M.J. Zinysfer, a clairvoyant, doctress, and life reader of Buffalo, were in town today on their way to North Manitou Island. Mrs. Finley has strong hopes of recovering her husband’s body.”

While the fate of the Gilcher may never be known, its effect upon Great Lakes shipping is clear. The Gilcher was the heaviest single loss ever incurred by insurance underwriters on the lakes. This dramatically affected the underwriter’s future policies. The new era of steel shipbuilding came to an abrupt halt, as everyone questioned the use of steel in Great Lakes vessels. Ship builders fully tooled for steel construction worried as orders for new ships ceased.

Seaman accused builders of sacrificing sailor’s lives with experimental building techniques. Ultimately, some answers were found. Both of the “sunken sisters” were built of a new, (and less expensive) steel formed by the Bessemer process. Investigators testing this steel “found it impossible to get a homogenous stock of steel even in the same plate. Lab tests found that the plates and angles would crack in handling, heating and punching.” To this day Bessemer process steel is not accepted for marine use.

The fate of the Gilcher may be presumed as catastrophic structural failure, but only with the discovery of the wreck in the timeless depths of the lake will the story be completely told.

Posted by editor at 10:00 PM | Comments (2)

The Midwife's Spiral Dance

By F. Josephine Arrowood
Sun contributor

Amy Marowitz always knew she wanted to be a midwife. Yet the journey along her chosen career path has followed a circuitous route that has taken her from her native Ohio to western Leelanau County, from the bustle of Midwest academia to a remote Indian reservation, and from the prevailing nursing philosophy of childbirth as medical crisis to an outlook that embraces this most natural rite of passage.

In college, Amy at first declined the expected option of nursing school, feeling it would be “too prescribed; a hoop to jump through”. Instead, as an anthropology student at the University of Michigan in the late 1970s, she found freedom to explore the rich worlds encompassed in diverse societies, traditions and points of view.

“You learn about the importance of cultures, and how that affects human behaviors,” Amy says. Now, “As a practitioner of midwifery, you see that there is more than one right way,” to approach a woman and her family in the birthing process, to support her and help ensure a positive experience. Such a respectful attitude might seem alien in the prevailing allopathic (MD) world of obstetrics and gynecology, where “Doctor knows best,” is still the norm, and technology plays an ever-increasing role in determining a birth’s outcome.

“The clock is the biggest invention that has affected how the birthing process is perceived,” she states. “A lot of ‘rules’ of practice in labor and delivery in hospitals is based on 1950s statistical research. Often there’s no science to support the many rules,” such as when a woman should push during labor.

The 1970s saw a dramatic rise in midwife-attended births, as the feminist, back-to-the-land, and consumer movements all helped educate women about their bodies, their babies and their rights as health care patients. After completing her degree at U-M, Amy headed to St. Louis University in an accelerated RN program, She attended home births for a year under the guidance of Detroit-area lay midwifery pioneer Kathy Nunez, but eventually decided to return to school for an advanced degree in nurse-midwifery at the University of Colorado.

“We [nurse-midwives] have a foot in both worlds. It’s a very complex place to be,” she explains. Lay or direct-entry midwives primarily attend home births, as well as offer some prenatal and post-natal care to mother and child. Nurse-midwives, with their clinical and academic background, typically work in hospitals or birth centers. Amy acknowledges that there are some conflicts between the two branches, but points out the validity and need for both.

“Philosophically, I’m more aligned with direct-entry midwifery,” she explains. “But to be able to move around the country and get a job in a hospital or birth center, there are more job opportunities,” for certified nurse-midwives, as well as more scope for related health practices, like family nursing.

Amy worked at St. Joseph Hospital in Ann Arbor, and for the Indian Health Service in the Navaho Nation in Arizona, before hearing the call of northern Michigan, where she’d vacationed as a child at Camp Innisfree (now Camp Leelanau-Kohana).

“Oddly, in the early 1990s, there were only two obstetricians in Traverse City,” Amy says. “Munson Hospital decided to start a midwifery service, and I was hired in 1992,” along with fellow Innisfree alumna and nurse-midwife Nancy Gallagher. In northern Michigan, Amy was also destined to meet and marry Glen Arbor’s own Ron Kramer, a social worker who now works for the state. By a strange coincidence, Ron’s cousin Pat Kramer was a leading figure in Ann Arbor’s midwifery movement of the 1980s, although she and Amy had never met downstate.

Midwifery, whether practiced by direct-entry or nurse-midwives, is an intense, demanding profession. The term literally means to be “with woman,” and midwives spend a great deal of time with their clients during births, sometimes as long as a couple of days. Increasingly, Amy found the rigors of her practice to be incompatible with her desire to be a more hands-on parent to her daughter Addie, then two. In 1994, she had begun working part-time as an online instructor through the Frontier School of Midwifery and Family Nursing, based in Hyden, Kentucky. In 1997, she quit her half-time job at Munson to teach nearly full-time for Frontier out of her home office on Wheeler Road.

“My work is intellectually challenging, which I love, although I do miss some of the intensity of attending births. I love how my job fits with my life, how I can do it at different times of the day,” around parenting Addie and now Eli, age six. “Of course, the thing I like least about it is also the lack of boundaries,” a common issue with those who work at home.

Amy feels fortunate to be affiliated with Frontier, a preeminent institution that has educated nurses in maternal and family health care issues since the 1920s. Founded by Mary Breckinridge, a wealthy Southern aristocrat (whose own tragedy of losing two children led her to a lifetime of service in the remote Appalachian region), Frontier’s visionary mission was first carried out by British-trained nurses on horseback. In the 21st century, Frontier now reaches women all over the world via cyberspace, offering master’s degrees in nursing in both midwifery and family health, and sending desperately needed expertise into rural and underserved areas both here and abroad.

“The school is amazing, with a huge variety of people, age spread, social backgrounds, and points of view,” Amy exclaims with the ardor of the anthropologist.

Her teaching focuses on the intrapartum, or labor-birth phase of pregnancy, with academic courses that build a solid foundation of knowledge for students, using actual case studies, online forums, and tools such as life-sized models of a female pelvis and fetus (students later go on to clinical studies all over the country that are monitored by Frontier). A big part of Amy’s teaching involves identifying “normal” labor to birth attendants.

“Most of my students have been labor and delivery nurses, but they don’t know what a normal, non-interventionist birth looks like,” she states. Even with nurse-midwives, “there’s enormous pressure on them to perform inductions [forcing labor], fetal monitoring and epidurals. Hospital obstetrical culture is very powerful; even if you don’t believe in it, it’s hard not to go along with traditions” that have taken on the verity of second nature.

Yet she sees hope for the future, even as she looks back along a personal and professional path shaped in ever-widening spirals. As a result of Frontier’s accreditation in 2003 to offer masters’ degrees, Amy now finds herself back in the role of student. Revisiting her anthropology roots, she’s in the process of earning her PhD online, studying international health science, and plans a dissertation on midwifery-related issues.

“It’s broadened my perspective,” she says, and mulls the enticing possibility of someday traveling to Africa, to train midwives and study firsthand the cultures she’s come to love through her academic learning.

“It’s not what I ever imagined I’d do originally,” with midwifery, Amy concludes. “Although I miss attending births and having that impact on one woman’s experience, I can do so much more,” says the educator, mentor, and lifelong student of humanity, gazing from her window on the world in rural Leelanau County.

Posted by editor at 09:53 PM | Comments (0)

Teaching Respect for Native Peoples

By Lois Beardslee
Sun Contributor

• Do present Native peoples as appropriate role models with whom a Native child can identify. * Don’t single out Native children, ask them to describe their families’ traditions, or their people’s cultures. * Don’t assume that you have no Native children in your class. * Don’t do or say anything that would embarrass a Native child. * Do look for books and materials written and illustrated by Native people. Don’t use ABC books that have “I is for Indian” or “E is for Eskimo.” * Don’t use counting books that count “Indians.”

* Don’t use story books that show non-Native children “playing Indian.” * Don’t use picture books by non-Native authors that show animals dressed as “Indians.” * Don’t use story books with characters like “Indian Two Feet” or “Little Chief.” * Do avoid arts and crafts and activities that trivialize Native dress, dance, or ceremony. * Don’t use books that show Native people as savages, primitive craftspeople, or simple tribal people, now extinct. * Don’t have children dress up as “Indians,” with paper bag “costumes” or paper-feather “headdresses.” * Don’t sing “Ten Little Indians.” * Don’t let children do “war whoops.” * Don’t let children play with artifacts borrowed from a library or museum. * Don’t have them make “Indian crafts” unless you know authentic methods and have authentic materials. * Do make sure you know the history of Native peoples, past and present, before you attempt to teach it. * Do present Native peoples as separate from each other, with unique cultures, languages, spiritual beliefs, and dress. * Don’t teach “Indians” only at Thanksgiving. * Do teach Native history as a regular part of American history. * Do use materials, which put history in perspective. * Don’t use materials which manipulate words like “victory,” “conquest,” or “massacre” to distort history. * Don’t use which present as heroes only those Native people who aided Europeans. * Do use materials, which present Native heroes who fought to defend their own people. * Do discuss the relationship between Native peoples and the colonists and what went wrong with it. * Don’t speak as though “the Indians” were here only for the benefit of the colonists. * Don’t make charts about “gifts” the Indians gave us. * Don’t use materials that stress the superiority of European ways, and the inevitability of European conquest. * Do use materials, which show respect for, and understanding of, the sophistication and complexities of Native societies. * Do use materials, which show the continuity of Native societies, with traditional values and spiritual beliefs connected to the present. * Don’t refer to Native spirituality as “superstition.” * Don’t make up Indian “legends” or “ceremonies.” * Don’t encourage children to do “Indian dances.” * Do use respectful language in teaching about Native peoples. * Don’t use insulting terms such as “brave,” “squaw,” “papoose,” “Indian givers, “ wild Indians,” “blanket Indians,” or “wagon burners.” * Do portray Native societies as coexisting with nature in a delicate balance. * Don’t portray Native peoples as “the first ecologists.” Do use primary source material—speeches, songs, poems, writings—that show the linguistic skill of peoples who come from an oral tradition. * Don’t use books in which “Indian” characters speak in either “early jawbreaker” or in the oratorical style of the “noble savage.” * Do use materials, which show Native women, elders, and children as integral and important to Native societies. * Don’t use books, which portray Native women and elders as subservient to warriors. * Do talk about the lives of Native peoples in the present. * Do read and discuss good poetry, suitable for young people, by contemporary Native writers. * Do invite Native community members to the classroom. * Do offer them an honorarium. Treat them as teachers, not as entertainers. * Don’t assume that every Native person knows everything there is to know about every Native nation.

The preceding is reproduced with permission from Oyate, a Native American non-profit organization working to see that our lives and our histories are presented honestly. Oyate acts as a clearinghouse for quality Native American literature and educational materials produced by Native peoples. For a copy of their catalog, divided up by grade-level and identifying authors by tribal affiliation, please contact Oyate: 2702 Mathews St., Berkeley, CA, 94702; (510) 848-6700; or oyate@oyate.org www.oyate.org. Oyate evaluates texts, resource materials and fiction by and about Native peoples, conducts teacher and community workshops that teach ho to evaluate children’s books for cultural biases, distributes children’s, young adult and teacher books and materials, and administers a small resource center and library. In an era when so many quality materials by Native American authors and illustrators are available, please do not opt to promulgate stereotypes by sharing “Indian” stories with your children that are written by non-Indians for the purpose of maintaining an unequal socioeconomic status quo. It does make a difference in your child’s ability to interact with others in an increasingly small world. Thank you. –Lois Beardslee

Posted by editor at 08:37 PM | Comments (0)

A walk through history with "Mr. Empire"

By Helen Westie
Sun contributor

Some residents of Empire refer to Dave Taghon as “Mr. Empire”. He certainly deserves such an appellation because he has done more for the town than any other single person. Affable and always upbeat, Dave knows everyone in town and also knows every facet of Empire history. Born in the downtown in 1943, he is a third generation American of Belgian descent. Dave’s service to the village includes: Membership on the Village Council from 1967 to 1994, Village President from 1989 to 1994 and active museum member since 1974. He is now the president of the museum, and his wife Diane is secretary treasurer. Dave has also been an active member of the Empire Lions Club for over 30 years. He was honored as Citizen of the Year by the Leelanau County Chamber of Commerce in 1998. He received the Edgar Guest Award from the Empire Masonic Order.

Asked about working with him, Dave’s friend Diane Oberschulte stated: “Throughout the 11 years that I worked with Dave on the Empire Village Council, he maintained a constant vigil of respect for each and every member of our community, for our form of participatory government, and for the community as an entity. He provided leadership, support and follow-up. In the future, I would support him in any endeavor he wishes to pursue.”

Dave met his wife, the former Diane Novak of Cedar, in 1962 and they went on just two dates before he joined the service. Dave did his stint at McDill Air Force Base in Florida. In 1964 Dave and Diane were married. They have four children: Roy, Kathy, Lou Ann and Fred, and one grandchild.

Now retired, Dave and Diane devote much time to St. Philip Neri Church and to the Empire Area Museum. Dave enjoys fishing, kayaking and golf. Recently, he caught a huge salmon but left his net at home. His fishing cronies, Tom Rose and John Peterson, are not letting him forget this gaff.

Dave’s grandparents, Charles and Louise Taghon, immigrated to this area from Belgium in 1905. Charles found employment at the Empire Lumber Mill. When a fire destroyed the mill, they were able to farm on property they had leased on the corner of M-72 and M-22. Grandma Taghon had a store and boarding house. They built a gas station on the northwest corner now occupied by the Lakeshore Inn Motel. Their son Fred, Dave’s father, helped run the station and when the elder Taghons retired in 1945, Fred took over. Later, he bought a second gas station on the opposite corner of M-72 and M-22. This station was destroyed by fire but Fred had it rebuilt and improved with a three-bay unit. All of Fred’s and Reva’s children, Mike, Sharon, Dave, Pat, Rockie, Jeanine and Charles helped with the business. To this day, it has been known as Mike’s Garage.

In 1966, Fred Taghon and his son Dave formed a partnership until 1980 when Fred retired. A new modern gas station and store had been built on the northeast corner of M-72 and M-22. Known as Taghon’s Corners, this was a unique enterprise. It became a convenience store with various products: groceries, T-shirts, souvenirs, candy and drinks. But Taghon’s Corners had an outstanding attraction: a replica of an historic gas station was inside the store with five restored antique gas pumps in an old-time Standard gas station. This reconstructed station was moved to the Empire Area Museum in 2002 when Diane and Dave retired and sold the business.

The walls of the Taghon living room are lined with antiques. Fully functional, hand-operated musical furniture items, which give forth a distinctive sound of their own and are indeed musically charming. Some are cylindrical recordings; others are on metal discs. At one time the Taghons owned 50 of these, but they are now down to 25. As with many unique items, they may end up in the museum, which has an interesting history of its own. In 1972 a group headed by Julia Dickinson and Jo Bolton founded the museum. An auction of the Roen estate was held and the museum group was able accumulate many items for the museum. A Michigan Equity grant of $100,000 enabled the group to gain a full saloon and many antique carriages.

Posted by editor at 07:50 PM | Comments (0)

August 11, 2005

Pete Edwards brings Ski Walking to town

By Maggie Meyers
Sun contributor

Have you been surprised to notice someone walking on local trails or roads with what appear to be cross-country ski poles? What you have actually seen is a new fitness trend that is rapidly gaining steam in Glen Arbor, and beyond. Ski Walking — an off-season training technique that world-class ski coaches have prescribed for athletes for many years — has recently been introduced to the community by local veteran running and ski coach Pete Edwards. According to Edwards, Ski Walking moved outside the niche of competitive skiers in Finland three years ago. He admits that, “The Finns deserve all the credit. They saw the potential of using trekking poles in the backcountry.” Today, Edwards estimates that more than 750,000 Finns are Ski Walking regularly, and he is enthusiastically spearheading an effort to get the rest of the world to catch on — starting in Glen Arbor.

An avid runner, Edwards began to experiment with Ski Walking last July when, following a running injury, he was searching for an alternative form of exercise that would allow him to continue enjoying his favorite trails and regular hiking spots. By August, Edwards observed that Ski Walking had maintained his aerobic base, and moreover, his body was in as good or better physical shape than it was prior to his injury. As he continued to experience the benefits of Ski Walking, Edwards started to incorporate Ski Walking into his coaching plans. He elucidates: “Daily we warm-up with at least a one mile Ski Walk. Short jogs and sprints with Ski Walking poles have also been added to many workouts. For athletes with minor aches, pains and pulls, their entire workout may involve Ski Walking exclusively due to the impressive aerobic benefits and yet minimal impact on these athletes' joints, shins and typical sore spots.” The improvements that he observed in his athletes’ performance further inspired Edwards to transform his new fitness hobby into a full-time business enterprise.

A seasoned cross-country skier with a keen business sense, Edwards investigated various ski manufacturers and collaborated with Salomon Sports (which produces his favorite Nordic ski strap) to design his custom Ski Walking poles. Edwards launched his website, www.skiwalking.com, in February of this year. The poles, priced at an affordable $69.95, are manufactured in Lillehammer, Norway, but the company headquarters remains here in Glen Arbor.

How do Edwards’ Ski Walking poles differ from ordinary cross-country poles? And how does his product stand out among trekking poles marketed by American retailers or “Nordic Walking” equipment produced by European ski manufactures? Edwards claims that the adjustable shafts of existing trekking poles on the market are far less sturdy than poles intended for skiing, while the one-piece construction of his poles renders them more durable, lighter, and thus more effective. While the pole shafts that Edwards has chosen are essentially identical to cross-country varieties, his Ski Walking poles have custom carbide tips that are designed to be especially durable for handling rocks and snowless trails. Another unique feature that Edwards offers is a removable rubber tip suited for Ski Walking indoors.

Edwards is particularly enthusiastic about the Salomon hand strap that he uses. He explains, “The strap is really special, because it fits like a fingerless glove and allows the walker not to have to statically grip the pole. I have gotten a lot of feedback from customers who have tested the strap against other varieties and simply find it more comfortable.”

Much of Edwards’ energy is focused on building a more diverse Ski Walking demographic and marketing it as an excellent source of fitness for the whole family. Edwards emphatically insists that “[Ski Walking] is no longer just for cross-country skiers staying in shape for the summer — it is for all ages and all fitness levels. There is no way to walk and not use the poles correctly — the movement is automatic.” Edwards’ mission, as stated on the company website, is to “[encourage] Americans to initiate their own personal fitness programs by providing a proven, low-impact, high calorie burn fitness activity that will result in the adoption of healthier lifestyles and increased use of and appreciation for our bike paths, hiking trails, parks and recreational areas.” For Edwards, Ski Walking has provided a fun, active way to spend meaningful time with family.

Ski Walking is gaining attention rapidly, as people of all ages and all fitness levels are picking up Edwards’ custom crafted poles and feeling and seeing remarkable results for themselves. According to Edwards, “Three miles of Ski Walking is the same as a five mile hike, and you burn 20 to 40 percent more calories than walking without poles.” While the promise of weight loss is perhaps enough to allure mainstream American consumers, Ski Walking also offers incentives of improved posture, strengthened upper body, and improved overall physical comfort.

Since February, Edwards has hosted clinics in Lake Tahoe, Park City, the Catskill and Allegheny Mountains, and across the entire Midwest. This summer, he has been busy traveling to promote his poles as a rehabilitation tool, and has sparked a great deal of interest among Physical Therapists, Occupational Specialists, and high-profile MS physicians. He explains, “With the poles, the patients’ strides are longer, their hips are further forward, and the impact is greatly decreased. After only a short time with the poles, patients reported that their knee, back and hip issues were significantly relieved.”

The burgeoning fitness movement that Edwards is leading with his Ski Walking venture is ultimately but a part of his larger mission to advocate better American health and fitness on a large scale. In addition to launching his Ski Walking enterprise, Edwards has also started another business in the last year, Old Sleeping Bear Trading Company, which sells such healthy treats as organic maple sugar and candies sweetened with honey rather than refined sugar. With such projects underway, it is clear that Pete Edwards is an entrepreneur whose genuine passion for promoting healthful living goes beyond mere intentions of profit seeking, and offers hope to a bright future for Glen Arbor’s community.

Posted by editor at 12:04 PM | Comments (0)

New birds nest at La Bécasse

By Norm Wheeler
Sun editor

It’s not as if he just flew in from Paris with a “chippering trill” upon ascent and then a “burbling warble” as he descended*, but Frenchman Guillaume (pron. Gee-OHM) Hazael-Massieux will soon rule the roost at legendary La Bècasse. Guillaume is fixing up the adjacent house as his lovely wife Brooke and delightful three-year-old daughter Margot will soon join him at the landmark French country restaurant in Burdickville.

Born a Parisian, Guillaume came to Michigan in 1996 after he completed his military service in France and then sent letters all over the world seeking work as a chef. He was hired by the Amway Grand Plaza Hotel in Grand Rapids. There he met his wife Brooke, who worked in Human Resources (and obviously saw one in Guillaume!). “I am the chef this summer at La Bècasse, and once the closing is complete I will be the new owner,” Guillaume explains.

Long time fans of French country cooking need fear no slackening of quality. Hazael-Massieux’s credentials are impeccable. Guillaume studied in Lyon in the Paul Bocuse chef school. Chefs come there from every country to compete for the Bocuse d’Or prize. The program includes three years of cooking and management training, and combines classes with internships leading to a degree diploma. He has also earned two additional French national cooking degrees. “These are the two major degrees in France, and they require seven years of study and apprenticeship. After earning those I was 25, I went to the military for one year, and after two months of boot camp they decided to have me teach cooking,” grins Guillaume.

Following a stint at the Amway Grand, Guillaume worked for three years for Steelcase in Grand Rapids hosting dinners for customers the company brought in to wine and dine. He then became the executive chef for Restaurant Toulouse in Saugatuck. “I was working 12-14 hours a day and commuting home to my wife and baby daughter in Grand Rapids,” he says shaking his head.

In December of 2004 Guillaume heard from Brooke’s aunt and uncle (who have a cottage in Omena in Leelanau County) that there was a fine restaurant for sale in Burdickville. He made contact during the winter, completed a business plan, and started cooking at La Bècasse on May 1.

“It is such a charming place, and Peachy and John Rentenbach have done such a great job,” Guillaume continues. “My plan is to work on the culinary aspect, on adding more French country food, more of the daily fare of the French. In France people eat at home, and there isn’t foie gras and truffles on every plate, it is simpler. I will emphasize sauces and try to make a difference with original, classical French dishes. I want to work the right fresh, local products with the right attitude and a sense of fun.”

La Bècasse promises to remain the charming and excellent dining experience it is known to be. And Guillaume wants to start some cooking classes, maybe this fall and winter. “I love teaching,” he smiles. “Even if my English isn’t perfect, I have a good rapport with my students.” Soon visitors will be able to return after a first rate culinary experience to whisk up their own French sauces. Stay tuned.

And what about Peachy and John Rentenbach? Can they leave behind the nest they’ve tended for 18 years? “ I may stay and work here some,” Peachy muses. “But I have enrolled in a yoga teacher training class with Sandy Carden in Lake Leelanau, so that will keep me here and busy all winter. I know it will better my life whether I ever teach or not.” John wants to enjoy the summer by not working it away for a change. He plans to ride his bike, play golf, garden, “Do all the things our customers do”. John may also build a kayak this winter, but he assures, “That’s not work”.

They will continue to travel as well. Last year Peachy and John visited Jo Anne Wilson at the place she has in Provence that was pictured in the Glen Arbor Sun earlier this summer. “We want to be able to enjoy summers the way we have been seeing our guests enjoy summer,” Peachy says. “We are giving up our baby, we have no children — so a big responsibility is gone. It’s great to turn it over to such nice, enthusiastic young people. Guillaume understands the business, so we are pleased to see them take over.”

(*Woodcock sounds stolen from Roger Tory Petersen’s Field Guide to Birds)

Posted by editor at 12:03 PM | Comments (0)

Old Cowboy, New Tricks: Lessons from Bill Bricker’s Adventurous Life

By F. Josephine Arrowood
Sun contributor

Octogenarian William Bricker doesn’t typically practice inverted postures, but he does turn on its collective head some stereotypical notions of what it means to grow old in youth-obsessed America. In appearance, the white-haired, tanned Glen Arbor resident blends in with many a retiree as he negotiates his three-wheeler bike or white Beetle convertible through town. But beneath his mild appearance beats the heart of a cowboy, passionate teacher, decorated Marine veteran, and fun-loving world traveler.

Like so many of his generation, Bill’s life was shaped by world events far beyond his midwestern hometown of Winnetka, Illinois. The son of a baker, Bill came of age during the Great Depression. At the same time, war was afoot in both Europe and the Pacific, and although the United States was not yet officially involved, young men were required to register for the draft.

“You knew you were living on borrowed time,” he remarks. “Every month, you looked for the letter in the mail telling you to report to the Army. When my number came up, I raced over to the naval air base and joined the Marines instead.”

“At first, we never thought we’d really kill somebody,” says Bill. “Our training put us in the mindset of killing Japanese; the dummies all had Japanese faces, we had to yell things at the targets while using the bayonet.”

November 1944 saw Bill aboard the U.S.S. Wharton, heading for the South Pacific islands of Peleliu (Palau). He recounts the initiation of the Marines by the Navy servicemen running the ship. The “rites” included tomfoolery such as walking along the rigging clad in little more than combat boots while sighting through toilet paper roll binoculars, kissing King Neptune’s daughters — “two of the biggest, fattest, ugliest, hairiest Navy guys they could find!” — and diving into the water, being sprayed with fire hoses, and shouting, “I’m a clamback!” The initiation eventually became a slugfest when some Marines wrested the fire hoses from their tormentors and blasted them, which Bill witnessed from high in the rigging.

The young officer’s initiation into war’s realities was a more serious affair. After landing on Japanese-held Okinawa on April Fools’ Day 1945, the Marines discovered that their opponents had left two-thirds of the island empty, fleeing to the mountainous terrain at one end. Using artillery mounted on railroad tracks in caves, the Japanese poured a constant, lethal rain of fire on troops trying to cross the wide valley below.

Bill’s account of the battle that ensued is as vivid as any Hollywood film, but without the gloss. “You know, in the movies, all the soldiers are shown as grown men, which is false,” he notes. “In my platoon, only one other soldier besides myself was over 21. My ‘runner’ was only 15 years old. He was from a poor family in the South; his parents had lied to get him into the service.”

Bill credits a cheap watch with saving his life during the assault on the cliffs. After an initial dawn attack by U.S. ships at sea firing long-range missiles, and Navy pilots bombing the caves from their Corsairs, the infantry was set to charge uphill at 8 a.m.

“I took two-thirds of my men (about 25 soldiers) up a long narrow hill. We were running, falling, crawling, getting back up and running again, with flamethrowers, machine guns, and other gear. We got to the top, which had been flattened by our artillery earlier. One of my fellows was killed as he dug his foxhole right above me. My runner had the radio strapped on his shoulder; when he took it off there was a bullet hole right through it — and his shoulder. So we couldn’t communicate with anyone.”

When they looked down and saw all the rest of the troops begin their charge, Bill realized his watch had been running 20 minutes fast. So many were killed, he says, including the entire remainder of his platoon.

Dug into foxholes, with no radio, his little group was forced to play a very tense waiting game through that long first day and into the night, enduring sniper fire, combat fatigue, and psychological warfare from the Japanese.

“I had two men in every foxhole, with one keeping awake at all times in case of attack. At some point in the night we heard voices calling: ‘Marines! Tonight you die, Marines!’ I went from hole to hole to check on my men, talking all the while so I wouldn’t be shot by them.” In one hole, he discovered that his machine gunner had dug himself down six feet deep; he had, Bill says simply, “cracked up.”

Later, they heard voices again, and Bill decided it must be a couple of Japanese soldiers setting up a mortar. He and another man crawled downhill with grenades in each hand. When they threw them, the flash lit up the night to reveal about a hundred combatants, who had been receiving instructions from their officers.

“I don’t know how I got up the hill; I must have flown, “ he recalls. The soldiers came after them, screaming, “Banzai!” — a kind of suicide charge by the young troops, made fearless by opium and saki.

When a grenade exploded behind Bill, his right arm took the brunt of the blast. For the next two days, with the injured limb tucked uselessly into his shirt, he was forced to fight with his left hand. Later he would receive the Purple Heart (wounded in action) and the Silver Star (valor on the field of battle), but he never regained the use of his arm, except for a finger and his thumb.

He says somberly, “Back then, we just fought hand-to-hand, face-to-face. We took no prisoners. You got them, or they got you.

“One of my jobs was to do a daily death count of both sides. [To make sure they were dead] we were to bayonet each one once in the belly. One of my men came running to me and said, ’Spider’ — my code name — ‘I can’t do it! There’s a beautiful woman down there!’

“He took me to a spot where a woman lay, with long hair flowing. She had been a ‘comfort girl,’ either a Korean or Okinawan woman forced into sexual slavery,” for the Japanese army’s use. They found two other women on the battlefield that day.

Bill then tells the story of the last man he killed, and how it altered his life.

“There was an officer wounded on the ground, and after I killed him, I collected his pistol, and a bunch of photographs. That was a Marine tradition, to get ‘souvenirs’ off the bodies — things like guns, knives, personal mementos. Later, after the heat of the battle, I was completely worn out. Then I looked at the bloody photos for the first time. They showed the man with his wife, a baby, and other family members.

“That was a day of revelation for me,” Bill states, the distress on his face still strong after 60 years. “Suddenly, I realized this was a human being, not just a rat to be killed. After that, I became anti-war.”

Bill spent the next 18 months in hospitals, battling gangrene in his arm, and the doctors who wanted to amputate. The medical men also attempted surgeries to reattach his severed nerves, but with little success. Bill notes this time as a nadir in his life. “I didn’t know what I could do, or what I wanted to be,” he says. “And no one talked about my war experiences; they thought they weren’t supposed to.”

“The day I left the hospital, I ran into a man who changed my life,” he recalls of the new chapter that was to open up for him. Wendell Wilson had recently founded the Teton Valley Ranch in Wyoming, and offered the young veteran a job teaching children to ride horses. Bill was able to use his Marine captain skills to teach, organize and encourage youngsters in a new way.

“Being in the hospital for so long creates a lot of doubts in your head,” he remarks. “Going to a beautiful place with physical challenges, like horseback riding, hiking, and mountain climbing, changed my outlook. I owe a great debt of gratitude to [Wilson].”

How did a man with a paralyzed arm learn to be a bronco-busting cowboy? Bill smiles gleefully as he reveals that bronco riders use only their left hand for reining their mounts. Traditionally, a cowboy would keep his right hand free to wield a rifle or lasso while riding the range. Bill competed often as an amateur, winning prizes like Pendleton blankets, belt buckles, spurs, and other prizes donated by local merchants. A spectacular photo shows him in the rodeo ring, riding high on the neck of a wild mule, looking impressive — until Bill reveals, laughing, that he was in the process of being thrown from the animal.

Through college, a 37-year career teaching physical education in the Winnetka schools, 50 years as a Boy Scout leader, and long past the time when most would have gone to pasture, Bill spent 53 summers at Teton Valley, teaching all things Western to generations of children, “from those who loved horses to those who were terrified.” Boys and girls ages 10 to 15 learned responsibility by brushing, feeding, saddling and mounting their assigned mixed-breed quarter horses. Riding lessons included barrels (clover pattern), poles (slalom), and roping, and Sunday was rodeo day.

The ranch, near Jackson Hole, became a mecca for the wealthy and famous as well. Some of Bill’s students included Land Lindbergh, the son of pioneer aviator Charles Lindbergh; young Bill Paxton; and a son and nephew of King Hussein of Jordan — complete with bodyguards. The movie Shane, with Alan Ladd, was filmed there, and Bill recalls chaperoning young female campers to the set to see their “dreamboat,” only to come away disappointed upon meeting a short, middle-aged actor whose wife, Bill laughs, “looked a lot like their own mothers!”

In the fall of 2002, Bill was riding his bike in Glen Arbor when a car struck him. The accident fractured his hip, among other injuries, and left him unable to continue his life’s passion, teaching at Teton Valley. “That was my favorite thing to do in the world,” the cowboy sighs. “I miss the horses, but I’m grateful for the long time I had there. I’ve made a lot of lasting friendships,” including his favorite horse General, given to him a few years ago by the ranch’s current owners. Last summer in Montana, a mutual friend arranged a reunion with Land Lindbergh, whom he hadn’t seen in 40 years. Bill travels regularly to see other ranch alumni, and this spring completed grueling back-to-back journeys to both Honolulu and Munich, Germany, invitations that were “just too good to pass up!”

At 85, Bill still seeks adventure, mostly right in Glen Arbor. He has tried storytelling at the Beach Bards’ bonfire, plays cowboy guitar, kayaks on the Crystal River, shows evidence of a strong green thumb in the garden, defeats The New York Times crossword puzzle every Sunday, and enjoys gatherings with extended family.

He mentions a movie, Pass It Forward, whose plot involves the idea of bestowing the blessings or gifts that one has gotten in life to another beneficiary. Bill’s own transformation at Teton Valley Ranch inspired him to create a scholarship fund for campers. In addition, he plans to leave the bulk of his estate as a charitable trust to the ranch, so that future adventurers can learn not only how to be “plumb Westerners,” but also learn about themselves, what they‘re capable of, and hopefully, pass on their own legacies someday.

Posted by editor at 12:02 PM | Comments (4)

Are there really wineries in Michigan?

By Dan Herd
Sun contributor

Wine touring in Leelanau County is a religious pilgrimage, involving a group, an ideal, and a passion for the process. It is for this process that we return annually to the Leelanau hills.

With church bells ringing on a recent Sunday, we seven seasoned friends gather at Kejara’s Bridge in Lake Leelanau to start our own spiritual service. Though it is breezy and cool, the humidity waits on us as we drink coffee and plan another tour through the barn-spotted hills.

Sitting in the almost-sun morning, I think about the couple I had conversationally kidnapped two days prior when they asked me the wrong question: how is the wine touring around here? My answer took about 20 minutes. And now, as I wipe the last bit of egg from my plate and walk to the car to start another afternoon sample-sipping local fruit fermentation, the anticipation makes me smile. I want you to understand the answer, to feel the reason and to thirst for the same, yourself.

As we turn onto Lake Leelanau Dr., and look for Otto Rd. I get excited again, maybe because I feel grown up or because I have found another reason why northern Michigan feels endless in its unique beauty. Or I may just like free booze. Every time is different, but the group of people rarely changes. I look around at these friends — all young, knowing almost nothing about wine and not smart enough to censor our distasteful or humorous remarks. Though all from the area, we have acquired a token Californian for the tour to ground our enthusiasm for local wines in the larger scope of the domestic industry.

The local industry started in 1965 with Bernie Rink, proprietor of the Boskydel vineyard. He was laughed at for years, but now, with a dozen other vineyards on the peninsula and thousands of cases in production, people have quit laughing. But, catering more to local customers than drunken tourists like us, Bernie cares none for regular business hours. Boskeydel is closed this Sunday morning.

Undaunted, we head towards Black Star Farms and turn into the driveway, which bends past sandy Maple trees and an arching hill of ripening white grapes. The Farms are a showcase for local products and potentials. I don’t know what that means but I like it. With a bed & breakfast, local cheeses and chocolates, a horse stable, and a summer full of weddings, the grounds are always teeming with customers, employees and events. Fun stuff, but we have a mission.

After Dianne, the lovely and well-informed immigrant from da U.P. takes our $5 (yes some of the wineries charge you to taste, though it was always worth it) she sets us upon the huge selection of wines. We sip, scribble, and talk snootily about “body”, “finish”, and any other funny words we can think of while gazing around the large room. All are drinkable, but the Arcturos Pinot Noir with its surprisingly large body gets the most smiles and nods. The Rosé is a great beach wine, and the grappa — an Italian digestive liquor that tastes like farm-rich fermented dung — led one of our budding sommeliers to state, “you could clean wounds with it”. With a loaf of Stonehouse bread and local Roclette cheese, I would enjoy hours at Black Star cleaning my wounds.

After purchasing a few selections we drive back up the hill to L. Mawby. Though the area may produce good grapes, it is through the mad genius of Larry Mawby that such fine sparkling wines (not champagnes!) are made. Our group may not appreciate fully the subtleties of good sparkling wines (not champagnes!) but we like the bubbles in our noses. After tasting a few of the more expensive varietals, we agree that the Sandpiper, a $10 bottle is one of our favorites. Gwen, who also pours at Bel Lago, is full of wine knowledge, but more importantly she answers all our questions, responds to my stupid comments about why they carbonate wine, and remembers what each person had tried and liked. We drink deeply. This is why we search, but wine tasting is larger than us. More complete than the crispness of a stainless steel Gris, or the difference between two local Cherry wines, tasting embodies our re-grounding in the localness, in the highest art of fruit production.

With its sandy soil and quick summers, northern Michigan has thwarted farmers since they first started tilling the area in 1852. Potato fields perished, vegetable gardens frosted over in July, and grain crops could not mature before the fall’s bitter nights began their nine-month reign. But fruit: apricots, peaches, apples, cherries and grapes grow well in these oak-crested rolling hills. We drink in the fermented fruit of another northern Michigan success. It tastes of triumph and love.

In this vein, Ciccone vineyards — which we call Madonna’s Father, referring to the owner’s famous daughter — has found local success. For the past few years we have been unimpressed with the selection, but last year was one of surprise. The gewürztraminer, Pinot Noir and Chardonnay were all superb. This year, though, they were less impressive, with only four wines and a Pinot Noir that tasted “fishy” to three of us.

As we step from the air conditioning of Ciccone, the heat and humidity that we had felt increase gradually, slams through us, rushing at the several patrons still inside. We stumble around the grounds for a while, gazing through the heat fog that clouds the usually spectacular view and take random photos. Not beach weather, but the heat and companionship make the air reek of summer.

Just down hilltop road is Willow, our fourth winery. We pause for a picture among the perfectly parallel rows of grapes, and I linger behind a minute to look at the fruit, waiting to be pressed, barreled, bottled and poured. The front of the pouring room is crowded with lavender, which tumbles onto the stone steps. I come through the doorway of the wine tasting room into a conversation between my sister and her long-time friend. The conversation is about sweat, fans and the cutting edge ways of keeping yourself cool on hot Michigan days such as this. John, the wine pourer enters our conversation effortlessly, mentioning Lance Armstrong’s seventh Tour de France win and the controversy over new wine distribution laws before checking our ID’s and pouring us the first of their four selections. (Michigan alcohol distributors are lobbying politicians in the state capitol in Lansing with a smear campaign against wineries to secure exclusive distribution rights, even though the prices they charge locals wineries to distribute their own products could send the wineries out of business. — Ed.)

The wine here at willow characterizes the subtlety of the local landscape. Like John, the wine is multidimensional, refined and yet capable of just having a good time. The tastes don’t attack you but ask you to put your feet in, wiggle them around, and find pleasure in its cool, clear character, just like Michigan’s sugar-sand beaches. Maybe because of this, the Californian in our group makes icky faces at all four samples. California wines, dominating the market for the past decade, are Evangelists. They tell you what to taste and push strong oak resins through you, and all the tannin you could wrap up in this newspaper. Michigan wines are unimposing, like Lutherans. But once you enter into the conversation, ask a few questions and pour a second glass, their character emerges, bright and complete.

In a conversation of this sort, we arrive at Shady Lane, a group favorite for the large samples, consistent quality and attentiveness of the pourers. We also love the wine room, because it is shelled in stone, covered on the inside by all light woods and vaulted ceilings with two levels and a back patio. The farm feel, suggested by the large barn and encircling orchards, creates a contrast between the idyllic process we carry out and the reality of local production. For those of us who will stay in the area, living in Michigan is an act of repudiation. Survival jobs are common throughout the area with many locals getting by on seasonal work.

While wine touring we are shown the pinnacle of local living: to produce from the land a great fruit nectar, full of pressurized anticipation waiting under a cork stopper.

In the same way that new arrivals to the area become stunned by the combination of beaches, farms, lakes and tress, so too are we winos surprised by the crisp subtleness of an L. Mawby Sandpiper and the leathery, organic undertones of a Shady Lane Chardonnay.

We finish the day, a few to head back to evening commitments, a few to continue up the coast toward the new tastes at Gill’s Pier and the well-known lushness of Chateau Fontaine. But the afternoon was crowned a success even before we left the chiming bells in Lake Leelanau.

Wine touring in northern Michigan is not just about wine, just as potluck dinners are not just about food. It is about process and people, reconnection and recommitment. A recommitment to enjoy, not just use and a reconnection with those we gradually start to take for granted. Wine touring is about the process of taking an afternoon, rainy or bright and drinking deeply from what makes this the most beautiful place on Earth.

Posted by editor at 12:01 PM | Comments (0)

Sink into a Melon Magic

By Nancy Krcek Allen
Sun contributor

We’ve all grumbled at a hard, green honeydew or a terse-on-the-tongue cantaloupe. Many years ago I made myself a promise never to buy an out of season, out of state melon again. Only a fully ripe melon can develop the magical, sweet, unctuous flesh that makes my honeydews hypnotize and my muskmelons move me. Your unsuitable melons were probably shipped from states or countries you couldn’t reach in a day’s drive. Contrary to what you might think, most melons don’t ripen appreciably after the farmer picks them.

Melons are late summer’s parting gift to cooks. Taking most of the summer to gather, distill and store their summer sweetness, melons are among the last of farmers’ fragrant treats before autumn. Fortunately, with this long, hot summer, local melons should be in abundance. Look for them at Farmer’s Markets and grocery stores that stock local produce. No one should have to resort to a melon from elsewhere.

Melons are a relatively new fruit. The first melons that we would recognize as such appeared somewhere in the 16th century in Europe, but didn’t really gain commercial appeal until the last part of the 19th century. Melons (genus: cucumis melo) are native to the area of Egypt, Iran and northwest India. Many people still believe the best melons come from Afghanistan and Iran. They should taste one from Leelanau County after a hot summer….

Melons fall into three categories: cantaloupe, netted or musk and winter melons. The name cantaloupe came from the town of Cantalupo near Rome where they were first grown. Cantaloupes are fragrant, smaller, round, with a rough surface lined with segments. Some varieties of cantaloupe are French Charentais, Ogen, Galia and Sweetheart.

Netted or musk melons all have a light network pattern on their skin, which stands out from its surface. The thicker and more raised the netting, the riper the melon. These melons can vary from small to large, skin may be white, yellow, green and it may or may not be segmented. These are most of what comprise melons in North America. Persian melons are in this grouping.

Winter melons ripen slowly (and a slight bit while in storage). They are the latest of melons. They are slightly elongated and their skins are finely ribbed, sometimes with crackling. These are sugar cracks—the deeper they are the sweeter the melon. Best known of this variety are the Honeydew, Cavaillon and Casaba. Some winter melons hint at the flavor of cucumbers or squash. They are great in salads like the Thai salad below.

Choosing a ripe melon is a snap if you’re buying directly from a farmer at the market—farmers are generally very helpful in directing you towards their ripest produce. After all, they want you to return.

If you choose to buy your melons without seeing a face behind them, there are several ways you can determine a ready and ripe melon.

• Weigh the melon in your hand and compare it to others in the bin. The heavier melon will be sweeter.

• Run your hand on the outside of the melon. Is it tacky or smooth? A tacky melon is a very sweet one that has a bit of sugar seeping out.

• Test the stem end; it should yield to pressure but the rest of the melon should be firm. If the stem is still attached avoid the melon. It was picked too soon.

• Lastly, the melon should be fragrant. Refrigeration dampens the flavor of a melon. Store your melons at room temperature and only refrigerate them after they been cut, for up to three days.

As the classic combination of prosciutto (salt-cured Italian ham) and cantaloupe reveals, melons love flavor contrast. With this in mind, choose to highlight the charm of your melon by teaming it with salty or strong-flavored foods like bacon, cheese, green olives or grilled meats. Finely diced melon makes a great salsa for topping grilled fish. Use it as you would tomatoes.

Don’t forget the melon seeds. Chinese love to snack on salted and dried melon seeds. Rinse them first to rid the seeds of strings. Spread them out on a sheet pan and salt them. Slide the sheet pan into a 350F oven until the seeds begin to dry and toast.

Salt-seared snapper with melon, mint and watercress
4 servings
Adapted from The Best of Fine Cooking, Spring/Summer 2005

2 cups clean and dried, packed watercress leaves
2 cups finely diced, ripe melon
1 cup loosely packed mint leaves
1 teaspoon salt
1 pound red snapper fillet, cut into four pieces
1/3 cup plus 1 tablespoon fresh lemon or lime juice
1/2 teaspoon brown sugar or maple syrup
2 to 3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

Toss the watercress, melon and mint leaves together. Divide evenly among four plates. Sprinkle the salt on the bottom of a sauté pan (not non-stick) and heat it over high heat until very hot. Add the snapper skin side down and cook about one minute. Turn the fish and add 3 tablespoons citrus juice; cover the pan. Reduce the heat to low and cook the fish until it is lightly browned, about 2 more minutes. Whisk sweetener and oil into the remaining citrus juice. Divide the fish on top of the melon and watercress, drizzle the fish with the pan juices the then with the sweetened citrus juice. Serve.

Thai style melon salad
8 servings

8 to 10 cups peeled honeydew, 1/2 inch dice
1/2 cup cilantro, chopped coarsely, thick unsightly stems removed
1/2 cup mint leaves, chopped coarsely
3 to 4 tablespoons Thai fish sauce
3 tablespoons freshly squeezed lime juice
1 jalapeno pepper, seeded and pith removed, minced; use gloves
Maple syrup to taste, about 2 to 3 teaspoons
Dry roasted peanuts, lightly crushed, toasted cashews or pumpkin seeds are a good substitute

Toss all the ingredients except the peanuts together. Chill.

When you're ready to serve the salad, toss it and taste it. Add and adjust to make it jump and grab your attention. Pile the salad onto a platter and for goodness sakes, don't smash the top of it down with a spoon. Get some loft into it. Make it pretty. Top with the peanuts. If you can't stomach cilantro stay away from Thailand and substitute basil or more mint for it here.

Grand Marnier-macerated melon

8 or more servings

1 cantaloupe or muskmelon
1 cup blueberries
4 or more (to taste) tablespoons Grand Marnier
sugar is optional

Peel the melon and cut into small cubes; peel the peaches or simply wash and slice. Place the fruit in a bowl and drizzle the Grand Marnier. Add sugar if you must. Stir lightly to mix, cover the fruit, and refrigerate for 30 minutes to one hour. Spoon the fruit into wine glasses and serve it chilled.

Macerating fruits

Maceration is a process of flavor exchange so it's wise to choose complementary fruits and flavorings. Remember--contrast colors and flavors.
Strawberries, mint, and vanilla
Cherries, apples, and almond liqueur
Cucumbers and tomatoes with vodka
Watermelon with Campari
Melons with Orange flower water

Clean fruits of skins, pits, and slice into bite-sized pieces with lots of surface area for quick penetration and flavor exchange.
Fold in the alcohol or flavoring and sweetener to taste. Allow fruits to sit at room temperature for 1 to 4 hours or refrigerated overnight.
Serve in wine glasses or bowls.

This is a good way to use up leftover melon. Freeze it and puree it in a food processor for a refreshing treat. All the extras you add will simply gild the lily.

Frozen melon smoothies

1 very ripe melon, peeled and diced
fresh lemon, lime or orange juice to taste—start with 1 to 2 teaspoons
Optional, coconut milk or yogurt

Freeze the melon overnight. The next day, puree it in a food processor with pulsing motions. Add the citrus and taste the puree. Does it need sweetener? Add a bit. Add coconut milk or yogurt if you want a creamy smoothie.

This melon water is a great summer refresher and one way to get your kids off of those sugary, fizzy colas.

Melon water

Adapted from Better Homes and Gardens, June 2005

2 quarts water
1/4 of a very ripe melon, peeled and finely diced
4 mint leaves
juice of one lime

Mix the ingredients together in a clean glass jar. Chill overnight.

Posted by editor at 12:00 PM | Comments (0)

The Yarn Shop celebrates 50 years in Glen Arbor

By Maggie Meyers
Sun contributor

Among the woods, among the trees
The Yarn Shop sits in peace and ease
The shop is more than ordinary
The yarns are magical, people merry
It holds great yarns, a different kind
No other place these yarns you’ll find
It’s full of color, full of light
The greatest pleasure for your sight
Creating gifts fit for a queen
No greater gift has yet been seen
Among the trees, among the wood
The Yarn Shop sits just where it should.
— Rob Glauz, age 10 (2002)

The poem above, inconspicuously hanging near the entryway of The Yarn Shop in the Village Sampler shopping center in Glen Arbor, speaks to a particular magic that been by hundreds of people — of all ages, female and male alike — have experienced over the past 50 years. Amidst endless yards of yarn, in a shop filled with eager knitters-to-be and seasoned regulars working on various projects, I was lucky enough to sit down with Owner Mary Turak to hear first-hand the history of The Yarn Shop, a family business that has been a major fixture in Glen Arbor culture for more than four generations.

Half a century ago this year, Turak’s parents, Marge and John “Doc” Standen, then-staff members at The Leelanau School, took up selling yarn — as well as sport clothes and photography — as a summer business venture, in what is today the dining room of the Good Harbor Grill. In the following summer of 1956, the Standens purchased and relocated to the space that is now the Western Avenue Grill. In 1960, upon the suggestion of Andy Turak — Mary’s father-in-law and inventor of a cutting-edge soda fountain spicket — the Standens transformed half of the building into a soda shop. Turak recalls that her husband, Theodore, expressed some contention over such a strange combination of businesses, joking that “You either get fuzzy sodas or sticky sweaters.” Yet while the novelty and popularity of fountain soda rendered it a more promising product than yarn — especially in a summertime economy — Marge Standen insisted that the other half of the space be maintained as The Yarn Shop.

For her mother, the moneymaking aspect of The Yarn Shop was always secondary to its significance as a meeting-place for close friends, Turak says, and without a doubt, she inherited her mother’s business ethic. In large part, the Yarn Shop’s success as a business has been sustained by a long-standing network of friendships in the Glen Arbor community that is rooted in a shared passion for knitting. Turak vividly remembers her mother seated by the shop’s fireplace surrounded by the women who were both her mother’s closest friends and most loyal employees, chatting while working industriously on projects to sell in the shop.

The centrality of The Yarn Shop in the lives of its regulars is perhaps most poignantly illustrated by the passing of Turak’s mother-in-law, Ulga “Oggie” Turak in 2001. Having just had her hair done, Oggie came to the shop and began her daily ritual of knitting. Shortly thereafter, she put her head down and quietly passed away. As Turak herself candidly commented, “She had quite an exit. I can’t think of a more appropriate way to go.” It is extremely evident that as generations have turned and regular faces have changed, The Yarn Shop’s unique charm has survived, while the business, under Turak’s ownership, has thrived.

To date, The Yarn Shop has occupied seven different spaces in central Glen Arbor.

In 1976, upon the passing of both of her parents, Turak — established in her career as a public school teacher for Montgomery County Public Schools in the Washington D.C. area — inherited the family business. She admits that she was overwhelmed by the thought of filling her mother’s shoes as owner, and she had some self-doubts about being an adequate instructor. However, Turak told me, “I quickly realized that running this shop isn’t all that different than running a classroom,” and her anxiousness disappeared. For six summers, during her time off from her teaching position on the east coast, Turak managed The Yarn Shop out of a smaller space behind the main building, and delegated responsibility of the soda shop to then 19-year-old daughter Elizabeth Edwards and best friend Carol Hilton. In the summers 1982-83, The Yarn Shop was temporarily located on Lake Street, before it moved into one and then another of the original spaces in the Village Sampler shopping center. Over time, it became evident that a larger space was necessary to accommodate the sheer volume of yarn and other knitting materials and the shop’s growing clientele. According to Turak, “It was when we actually started wading in yarn that we realized those spots were too small, and so we moved [to a new space in the addition of the Village Sampler] in 1995.” For 11 years, Turak has kept the shop open year-round.

Turak’s firm dedication to teaching — as suggested by the poster on the wall that reads, “To Teach is to Love” — is without question the secret to her success. For Turak, “Every day is completely different and new. We welcome and give free instruction for anyone. Just last week, a five year old came in and left knitting.” Turak and other resident knitters are always forthcoming with advice, and generously and patiently spend countless hours teaching newcomers the ropes (or the yarns, as the case may be). Next to her commitment to instructing others, innovation and creativity are arguably Turak’s highest values as a knitter. She explained, “I don’t like to use pattern books to make something ordinary. I like to invent something that is different, but not too hard to teach others to do.” Turak orders yarns from over 25 different companies around the world — only one of which is domestic — which are made from materials ranging from high quality wools to shredded silk Nepali saris, to the remains of processed tofu and even banana bark. Additionally, there is a crucial humanitarian aspect to Turak’s business. In her own words, “The minute I find out people are making hats for premies or blankets for older people in need, or want to knit but can’t afford supplies, I donate yarn.”

Turak has witnessed a transformation in her own small business in the last few years that she claims reflects an expanding knitting industry driven by larger cultural influences. According to Turak, “Knitting was dying out and then suddenly Hollywood stars — Julia Roberts and Darryl Hannah — were doing it. The minute something was published about celebrities knitting, it was the suddenly the thing to do.” Suggesting another insight regarding the remarkable visibility of knitting in recent mainstream American popular culture, Turik added, “After 9-11, people needed comfort, and I think knitting just took off.” What is certain is that in an industry that is constantly subject to changing fashions and swings in the level of popular interest, Mary Turak embodies the integrity of the knitting craft, by experimenting with new trends while upholding the old tradition of sharing ideas, teaching, and collaborating with fellow knitters.

The Yarn Shop, in its current spot in the Village Sampler in Glen Arbor, is open Monday thru Thursday from 10 to 5, Friday 10 to 8, and Sunday 11 to 4. Any and all interested are invited to an all-day Open House, complete with door prizes and refreshments, which will be held on the Saturday of Labor Day weekend.

Posted by editor at 11:59 AM | Comments (0)

Cry of the Loon is in danger

By Ron Schmidt
Sun contributor

GRAND MARAIS, Michigan — I bolt upright from a deep sleep and try to get a handle on what has roused me so abruptly. The clock reads 2 a.m. and I’m not expecting company. My cabin is three miles from the nearest neighbor and I rarely hear any man-made sounds.

I pad naked to my front deck and listen to frogs croaking. Then I hear it – the tremolo alarm call of my pair of loons 150 yards out in the lake beyond my dock. A second pair answers immediately from a second lake — a quarter of a mile west, across the marsh. All four are worried and alert for danger. Then, there it is. The hoot (who cooks for you) of a hunting barred owl. A newly hatched loon chick would be a find dinner for these owls. Sadly, there are not chicks this summer, just as there have been none for three summers now. From behavior learned over millions of years though, the loons still call their alarm.

Of course, these loons do not belong to me or anyone, though I think of them as mine. They next each year on my lake, and I feel protective of them and their nest. Intrusion by people on personal watercraft and predators can easily ruin nesting and though I can do little about predators, I do keep humans away from the loon’s island during June when privacy is critical.

I get great joy from hearing all the calls the loons make to each other. I thrill to hear the woosh-ing of their wings as they fly overhead. I know it will be a sad day if there are no more loons here. Loons are in danger in this part of Michigan’s upper peninsula, however, just as in many other areas. Habitat destruction is one cause, but a more subtle and deadly one is mercury poisoning.

I was unaware of this threat until a loon researcher, Damon, headquartered at the Seney Wildlife Refuge, stopped by to check on my loons and fill me in. He is in the middle of a six-year investigation of the dwindling loon populations on Upper Peninsula lakes. Loons are hot hatching chicks in most lakes, or if they do, the chicks die off before time comes to migrate in the fall.

Damon is convinced that mercury contamination of the fish in these lakes is causing all the trouble, but it will take more time to have scientific proof. Most mercury is produced by coal-burning power plants, which also cause significant acid rain. Mercury dissolves more readily in acidic water and lakes around here are very acidic. I hope his research will help convince our politicians and those in charge of cleaning up our air to stop letting mercury pollute our air and water. In the meantime, I choose to live without electricity for six months of each year at a cabin outside of Grand Marais. It is of little consequence I know, in the overall electric industry, but it is something I can control. I hope that others who depend upon electric power year around, will try to reduce their use by knowing that the cost is far greater than the cash needed to pay monthly bills from electric utilities. Keeping pressure on our federal representatives to not roll back clean air standards doesn’t hurt either.

Posted by editor at 11:50 AM | Comments (0)

Being Nice is the real thing

By Jen Semanco
Sun contributor

Every seventh grader at my middle school was required to take a class called “Guidance.” This class was supposed to help “guide” us through the beginning of adolescence — to teach us how to make good choices, to educate us about our changing bodies, to build our self-esteem. Towards the end of the course our teacher gave us a simple class project. Everyone was to write their name at the top of a piece of notebook paper and that piece of paper would pass through the hands of each of our classmates. We were to write a compliment about the person whose name appeared at the top of the page. I anxiously waited to get my paper back, curious to see what my peers thought of me. I began to read down the list of self-esteem boosting comments: “You’re nice.” Okay, next one. “You’re really nice.” Uh huh, I get the picture. “I don’t know you well, but you seem nice.” What? “Nice?” That’s all I get? I’m sure there were other comments, but I couldn’t get past the fact that I was merely a “nice” person. The only people I wrote “nice” for were the people I didn’t know or the people who, in my mind, had no other outstanding qualities. Nice secretly meant boring. To say this exercise scarred me in any way would be a stretch, but I can tell you that I didn’t walk out of class that day with the “warm fuzzy” feeling (my teacher’s words, not mine) that I was supposed to have.

Now that I’m older, I hope that people would still include “nice” on my list of good qualities because I’ve learned that there are a lot of people out there who really aren’t nice at all. When I work at the Leelanau Coffee Roasting Company during the summer I encounter people who are rude, impatient, snooty and sometimes downright mean. I don’t get it. I don’t understand what anyone gains from being mean. I see only one way to deal with people like this — the old cliché “Kill ‘em with Kindness.” I refuse to take part in anyone’s quest for conflict so my retaliation is rooted in smiles and manners. I actually feel bad for people who are so miserable that they feel the need to verbally abuse the girl trying to give them their latte.

Everyday we are all confronted with trying situations. People cut you off on the road; the person in front of you in the checkout line at the grocery store is stocking up as if Y2K was happening all over again while you only have two cans of soup; babies cry — it’s all part of everyday life. For as nice as I’ve proclaimed to be, I’ve been known to be a road rager, a silent curser and a hopeless whiner. But, I’ve learned that ultimately it’s much easier to be nice. We can’t always control our circumstances, especially unfortunate ones, but we can choose the way we react to them. In fact I just had a computer glitch that caused me to lose the last paragraph I wrote so I now have to start it over (really, I’m not making that up). I know that a lot of times it’s really, really hard to stay positive and not take out your frustrations on the people around you, but here’s some advice on what to do. Think of something that will always make you smile. The easiest way for me to get to my “happy place” is to think about the day I got my dog from the Humane Society. Really, I am forced to smile when I think about her as a puppy. See, I’m smiling now and I’ve completely forgotten about my previous computer problem, well … almost.

The other day I was talking to a wise man (Mike Hasselbeck) and fellow teacher. He said he always told his class to “never mistake his kindness for weakness.” How true. Treating people with respect won’t get you beat up on the playground. I would say it’s quite the opposite. It always makes me laugh when people say things like, “The reason I don’t have a girlfriend/boyfriend is because I’m just too nice.” I have never in my life had a conversation with anyone who has said, “You know, I’d really like to date ______, but he/she is just too nice!” Chances are, the reason you’re home alone on a Friday night has very little to do with your overabundance of niceness. I should also say that I’m very weary of over-the-top-syrupy-sweet nice people. You can usually spot a faker fairly easily. They often call you “hon,” have beady, sinister-like eyes, and use too much inflection when they talk. Be on the lookout.

I can’t write an article about being nice without briefly touching on the old adage about “nice guys finishing last”. All I can say is that I’ve never been very competitive and if the race is life — well, I don’t mind being one of the last ones standing. Glen Arbor is full of nice people. To find a town full of nice people can be as rare as finding one with beautiful sand dunes — we’re lucky to have both.

Posted by editor at 11:40 AM | Comments (0)

A jack-in-the-pulpit is a diamond in the rough

By Shelley Yeager
Sun contributor

One must look closely to find it. You almost need to train your eyes to pick it out, much like finding Petoskey Stones on the beach or Morel mushrooms among the dead leaves. You must carefully observe the patterns of leaves and flowers in the woods around you. Once you have its unique pattern etched in your mind, they become relatively easy to spot. The rather elusive objective of your search is the jack-in-the-pulpit, an amazingly unusual native wildflower, not known for its beauty in the traditional sense, but impressive nonetheless.

Begin looking for jack-in-the-pulpits in moist, shady hardwood areas. The mature plant may stand anywhere from one to three feet tall on a stout, upright stem with either one or two large compound leaves. Each leaf consists of three smaller leaflets, in some ways similar to those of poison ivy. Somewhat hidden beneath the canopy of its leaves, the extraordinary flower makes its appearance in May and June. Neither showy nor colorful, the flower contains two primary components. The outer part, a purplish and green striped hood, is the “pulpit” which surrounds and drapes over the “Jack” in the center. Carefully lift up the flap to get a close look at the “Jack”, a green, fleshy, club shaped structure.

The lengthy reproductive cycle of the jack-in-the-pulpit sets it apart from the typical wildflower. A perennial, the plant may live for many years. During its first year, the plant sprouts from its seed and sends up one small simple leaf. That first leaf produces enough food that a bulb-like structure forms underground. For the next two years, the plant produces a single compound leaf while the bulb grows larger and develops plant buds. Finally, during the fourth year, the plant is able to grow two compound leaves and a flower structure.

At the base of the “Jack” the true flowers develop, very tiny and either all male or all female. The jack-in-the-pulpit relies on tiny insects for pollination, carrying pollen from the male flowers of one plant to the female flowers of another. After pollination, the “pulpit” structure withers while the fruit and seeds develop over the summer. The cluster of berries remains green until autumn when they turn a brilliant red, attracting birds and other animals to feed on the ripe fruit. The bright berries are easily noticed by humans too, although not many recognize what they are seeing. In addition to reproduction by seeds, the plant buds underground separate from the main bulb and begin to grow on their own. So, regardless of the method, either by seed or vegetatively underground, reproduction of the jack-in-the-pulpit typically requires four years.

As you walk through the woods this summer, tread lightly and look carefully for signs of this sturdy, tenacious wildflower. Find a mature specimen and then search the surrounding area further for younger plants without flowers. Do not collect them as you might Petoskey Stones or Morel mushrooms, but enjoy the thrill of the hunt. However, should you wish to cultivate jack-in-the-pulpits at home, contact the Wildflower Rescue Committee. The Committee, under the auspices of the Leelanau Conservancy, dedicates itself to rescuing wildflowers growing in the path of development. Call Patty Shea, a Committee member, at 256-9249, to see if they have any jack-in-the-pulpits for sale. Also, the Leelanau Soil Conservation District has bulbs available in the spring and in the fall.

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