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September 15, 2006
Is Leelanau’s farmland in danger?
Upcoming ballot proposal would protect land from development
By Jacob Wheeler
Sun editor
“Cape Cod of the Midwest!”
While certainly a compliment to our home’s beautiful land and sparkling waters, this attribution to Leelanau County has become something of a dubious honor in the eyes of many locals, who fear that as this county’s popularity increases around the United States, the torrid pace of growth and development on our shorelines, in our forests and on our farmland will continue.
A citizens group called Save Leelanau Farmland! has introduced a measure that would preserve much of Leelanau’s farmland by creating a way that farmers can sell the right to develop their property to the county in exchange for public money and state and federal matching funds. The farmland preservation initiative will appear on the November 7 election ballot as a half-mill proposal that, if approved, would cost the local property owner a median amount of $2.35 per month or $28 per year.
Jeff and Juanita Send, who own a 160-acre cherry farm just south of Suttons Bay, believe that’s a tiny price to pay to keep Leelanau’s pastures and rolling hills locked up in agriculture at a time when downstate developers are offering millions of dollars to build homes on real estate with mouth-watering views.
“We have to act now,” says Jeff, a tone of haste in his voice, as he walks along a row of fledgling cherry trees — his future harvest. “Time goes by fast. If we don’t pass this initiative, within a few years from now the land all around us will be condominiums, and we will have lost what this land was all about … forever.”
Jeff Send admits that the temptation for a farmer to sell to a developer is growing, especially since small farmers are having trouble competing with the subsidy-fattened, super corporate farms elsewhere in the country, not to mention food being imported at rock bottom prices from elsewhere in the world. Furthermore, many local farmers are finding a lack of interest from their kids in continuing the family tradition. As the caretakers of some of the most bountiful, and beautiful land in our midst reach retirement age, what are they to do?
“Do the right thing for Leelanau” is the slogan voiced by Save Leelanau Farmland! as well as organizations backing this initiative like the Michigan Land Use Institute and the Leelanau Conservancy. And do it now, for the average age of a Leelanau County farmer is 55 years, according to Julie Hay, the Land Use Institute’s Leelanau County Smart Growth Coordinator. Her three main pillars for supporting the Farmland Preservation proposal are: quality of life and scenic beauty; the local economy; and urgency.
“We’re trying to make it evident to people that this is about preserving our quality of life, and our economy,” Julie explains. “1,200 jobs in the county are tied to agriculture, and $130 million a year are tied jointly to tourism and agriculture. People come on vacation and they enjoy seeing the farms, the cherry blossoms in the spring, and tasting wine at the vineyards.”
Agratourism
Don Coe is the proprietor of Black Star Farms, a luxurious winery near Suttons Bay and a beacon of agricultural tourism. He is also one of Michigan’s five state agricultural commissioners. Don shares Julie Hay’s view that farmland preservation is Leelanau County’s necessary path forward.
“It all starts with the farmland itself. The farmland is the primary raw material for the agriculture business. But in order to have viable agriculture, farmland has to be available at an affordable price, and today farmland is competing with sprawl. In fact, sprawl has just about doubled the value of farmland. That premium between affordable land for farming and the actual price of the land for building homes is putting pressure on sustainable agriculture in Leelanau County.
“What Farmland Preservation does is put the tool in the hands of the farmer so that he can handle the premium of the land. What the farmer does is agree to sell off the premium, the increased value of the land. He’s selling his assets. What community gains in purchasing that asset is a guarantee that the land will stay as agriculture or open land.”
Young farmers, recent graduates of agriculture schools, have been approaching Don Coe in hopes of entering the business and continuing Leelanau County’s relationship with the land. But they have been unable to find farmland at affordable prices. Paradoxically, Don laments, a farmer with 160 acres right across the street from Black Star Farms is closing up shop and succumbing to a developer. The proprietor is an elderly lady who needs cash to fund her retirement, and her own children who wish to keep the farm cannot match the developer’s price for the land. “We’re a rural, agricultural tourist destination, and soon there will be 80 houses on the property just across the street. This will hurt Black Star Farms.”
Don Coe and Jeff Send both believe that the November 7 vote is a way for Leelanau County residents to show how important they value local agriculture. “I’d feel personally a bit betrayed if we find that the community won’t support the only mechanism to deal with affordable farmland,” admits Don. “If we don’t get some kind of control over farmland, we will lose what draws people like myself into agriculture.”
Taxes, opposition
Naturally, any measure that would raise taxes meets a storm of opposition in rural Midwestern America. Farmland Preservation has met fierce resistance in Leelanau County, where the Board of Commissioners killed an initial drive in 2003 to put the millage proposal before voters. In a somewhat surprising move, the Board voted 5-2 last April in favor of placing Farmland Preservation on the upcoming November ballot, which appears to give the movement some momentum.
But a one-issue group called Leelanau Taxpayers United, led by chairman Tom Triebes, seeks to stop the millage and the taxes it would incur. Tom admits that farming is changing all across America, and echoing the spirit of the true blue free market economy, he believes that farmers will have to adapt to stay alive.
“For example, when I began coming to this area there was only one winery in the county, and now we have plenty of wineries. We’re seeing farmers change as revenues are not high enough compared to costs. They have to produce more high-value products.” As an example he cites a farmer living near him who now grows lettuce and mushrooms.
Tom Triebes, who owns farmland near Maple City, though he doesn’t grow any agricultural products on it, admits that many farmers are having a tough time making ends meet, and that, he says, is the main reason to keep their costs and taxes low. He believes in the mantra that this is a “free country” and shudders to think of farmers who would feel deprived of the freedom to do what they like with their farms once the time comes to shut the barn doors (even though farmers would not be forced to sell away their development rights if the initiative passes).
“The landowner has rights to land and this is a free country. If we become a country where the government dictates everything that you can and cannot do, I wouldn’t like that.
“My development rights have gone up by a factor of 10 over the last 20 years. That’s better than owning stocks in the stock market. Most farmers don’t want to sell their development rights because it’s such a good investment owning land in Leelanau.”
Furthermore, he questions the popularity of the Farmland Preservation initiative. Tom points out that only eight farmers in Leelanau County are currently on the list to sell their development rights.
That, says Julie Hay of the Michigan Land Use Institute, is a misnomer. Only eight are in place because there’s not yet a program to pay farmers for their development rights. In fact, a 2002 survey reveals that 60 percent of the county’s 4,000 farmers would be interested in the movement, and equally as telling, more than 75 percent said that something must be done to save Leelanau farmland.
But what should be done? And who should do it?
“I am all for farmland preservation,” says Tom Triebes, “but it belongs in the private sector. “The Leelanau Conservancy is doing a fine job of acquiring and protecting wetlands. Why don’t they seek to acquire farmland to prevent it from being developed, instead of taxing the rest of us? There are billionaires pushing this thing. They could pay for the whole initiative out of their pockets.
“This would be just another tax that makes it more expensive for people of lesser means to live in Leelanau. Are young people with children going to be able to afford to live here if we keep taxing them? I don’t want to see Leelanau become just another place where just wealthy people retire.
More than anything, Tom Triebes resents the fact that farmers who sell away their development rights would give up those rights forever.
“The catch here is the ‘forever’ guarantee. If the founding fathers had implemented farmland preservation, where would we be now? You can’t predict conditions that will be imposed on the next generation and generations down the line.”
Pay now or pay later
Don Coe of Black Star Farms has an answer for those voters who are afraid of higher taxes: vote yes for Farmland Preservation. Taxes are much higher in developed and populated areas than they are in rural areas because of the need for things like roads and rescue services. If the farmland in Leelanau County turns into resorts, condominiums and golf courses, by all means, taxes will rise — and much more than $28 per year.
“No one likes taxes. But if you don’t like taxes, then this is exactly what you should vote for. Farmland Preservation is not an anti-growth movement. It intends to seek a balance between the inevitable growth and inevitable taxes, by creating a vehicle to keep farming active.”
Posted by editor at 11:38 PM | Comments (0)
A Local Barn in all its Autumn Splendor
photo by Cookie Thatcher
The Glen Arbor Sun will take a break for the next few weeks as we enjoy northern Michigan's fall colors and catch up on sleep. We publish our final issue of 2006 on November 9. Thanks for your readership!
Posted by editor at 10:46 PM | Comments (0)
Local activist group makes waves
By Pat Stinson
Sun contributor
Fueled by coffee and a strong desire for change, four area women challenged themselves last summer to stop complaining about the direction our country is headed and start taking action.
“I was inspired by a 90-year-old,” says Celeste Crouch, a Glen Arbor resident and one of the “magic four” who met regularly for coffee and political discourse.
“She asked me, ‘Are you doing anything politically, writing any letters?’ I told her, ‘I’m so down, I’m not doing anything.’”
“Well, I’m just an activist at heart,” Celeste’s friend replied.
“This little group we had, the four of us, we decided to take our discontentment and turn it into positive energy,” Celeste explains. “We created a forum and a way for (women) to get involved and make a difference.”
They formed a non-partisan, progressive, political action group in the summer of 2005 called, Leelanau Independent Women for Democratic Action, (LIWDA). The word “democratic” in the name refers to a system of government that represents the people; it does not describe party affiliation. The group’s brochure states that they “seek to advance democratic values of political, economic, social, cultural and gender justice and equality.”
Word of the group spread quickly among Leelanau County women. One year later, the activist organization boasts 63 members cutting across party lines, from college-aged women to 90-year-olds. Most live in Empire and Glen Arbor, though some reside in Leland, Lake Leelanau, Suttons Bay and Northport. Members include retired teachers, an editor, a public relations person, a fundraiser and individuals involved in politics. Another 40 like-minded individuals who are not members stay connected to the group via email.
“The notion of getting involved has met a need,” Celeste says.
Gender lines have become blurred, too, with the first male to join the organization.
“He really likes our philosophy and asked to join,” Celeste continues. “We’re open to all.”
The group picks and chooses the issues it feels are most important, especially those affecting individuals and their environment — quality-of-life issues needing some type of action.
The group also endorses candidates whose values they share.
“A democracy can only be healthy if people are attentive and watch what our elected officials are doing,” she says. “Apathy and cynicism create a vacuum, and other big interests can move in … We think it’s time to clean house in the state and nationally, and get people elected who are not wanting to be answering to the corporate lobbies.”
A workshop was planned for September 12 at The Leelanau School, hosted by Interfaith Partnership for Political Action (IPPA) of Ann Arbor, to address the “moral imperatives underlying specific political policy positions.” IPPA isn’t a religious group, but its principles are informed by religious and other belief systems found in the U.S. The group’s goal is to “shift focus” of political policies based solely on economic gain to those that recognize “the equal worth of all persons and respect for human life.”
As an example of the above, Celeste cites a bill introduced in the Michigan Senate that would have made smoking illegal in the state’s bars and restaurants. The bill was killed in committee. Business was against it because the bars and restaurants could lose income. IPPA, on the other hand, would look at the health implication for individuals working at those bars and restaurants, Celeste said.
“Looking at the ethics behind the issues is really critical,” she explains. “We’re excited about getting values back into political discussions for a number of reasons. What’s good for the economy may not be good for individuals.”
On a county level, LIWDA endorses Farmland Preservation and continues to work on strategies to promote the proposal. The group also endorses the county’s recycling proposal and raises support for a recycling program at The Homestead Resort.
Celeste added that a lot of the credit for the resort’s new recycling program goes to Bob Ihme, Jr., of Glen Arbor Outdoor, who convinced many of The Homestead’s condominium associations to adopt the program.
LIWDA’s other local activities include monitoring solid waste management council meetings and other county meetings which involve quality-of-life issues. They’ve also written letters to newspaper editors and a forum piece for The Traverse City Record-Eagle, stating their position on clean elections and campaign finance reform. They’ve held open house receptions for political candidates and worked the polls on primary election day.
So far, the group has endorsed and held fundraisers for three political candidates: Governor Jennifer Granholm, Mike Huckleberry for 4th U.S. Congressional district, and Dan Scripps for House District 101.
Celeste says that Governor Granholm made a statement that “really subscribes” to her group’s beliefs. Paraphrasing the governor, Celeste remembers these words: “It’s not every man for himself, but all hands on deck. Together, we can do this.”
“If a candidate’s values match ours,” Celeste continues, “we really just jump on board and do whatever we can. They (Huckleberry and Scripps) are very much for education and making sure there’s equal funding for schools in the state.”
In addition, she says, Huckleberry is an environmental attorney who believes in legislation that protects the environment. He is also critical of corporations sending work overseas, which takes jobs from Michigan workers.
“Respecting the individual and the environment will help with our economic success,” Celeste says.
About half of LIWDA members participate in one of three action committees: National Issues and Candidates, State and Local Issues and Candidates, and Communications. Members hoping to raise awareness about their organization marched this summer in parades held in Empire, Glen Arbor and Cedar.
“The important point is that people can choose the kinds of things they’re interested in working on. We offer a variety of ways to get involved. Our members are working people, stay-at-home moms, retirees and people who live in our area part-time. People can find a place to fit in and really know they are making a difference and working on something important.”
Celeste likes this quote by Margaret Mead: “A small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.”
LIWDA meets the second Tuesday of the month. Three action groups meet monthly. Call (231) 334-6535 for more information. The group is currently working toward a website presence.
Posted by editor at 09:54 PM | Comments (0)
Annual smorgasbord unveils the food spread
From staff reports
The Glen Arbor Women’s Club will hold its annual smorgasbord and raffle on Saturday, October 7 from 6-8 p.m. at the Township Hall.
Raffle tickets cost $5 for six of $1 each. Prizes include: a framed watercolor painting by Ted Peterson; a weekend rental for two from Leelanau Vacation Rentals; a signed print by Kristin Hurlin; a handmade quilt by Marilyn Mook; a hand-knitted sweater from The Yarn Shop; a peace pole designed by Peace Pole Makers USA; a Beachstone watch from Becky Thatcher Designs; a two-night stay including golf or skiing at The Homestead.
Proceeds from last year’s event supported the following community programs: $5,000 for three scholarships for Glen Lake High School graduates; $330 for Glen Lake High School’s freshman leadership camp; $200 for Glen Lake High School’s Close-Up; $50 for The Leelanau School activity fund; $25 for Glen Lake Fire and Rescue; and $200 for soccer player Emily Hubbell.
In English, the word “smorgasbord” is known as any buffet with a variety of dishes. The Swedish word smörgåsbord is a combination of the word smörgås, which means sandwich (or literally “buttered”) and bord, which means table; so a smörgåsbord is literally a sandwich table. This is a bit of a misnomer, since there is a lot more than sandwiches on it.
A traditional Swedish smörgåsbord consists of both hot and cold dishes. It is customary to begin with the cold fish dishes (generally various forms of herring, salmon, eel etc), continue with the other cold dishes, and round off with the hot dishes (of course including meatballs, and other Swedish specialties).
Admission to the Women’s Club smorgasbord costs $12 for adults and $5 for children 10 and under.
Wikipedia.org contributed to this report.
Posted by editor at 08:05 PM | Comments (0)
Time to migrate south for Empire’s snowbirds
By Helen Westie
Sun contributor
A veritable little Empire exists in South Florida every winter. An enclave of snowbirds go to their winter homes in this attractive, well-kept mobile home park, named Holiday Park, which is Northport, Florida, about 100 miles north of Naples. It all started with Caroline Balmer who bought one of the mobile homes after her mother had moved there. Mary and Max Wendell moved in the following year. And then within a few years, in the late 1990’s came Theresa and Ray Sullivan, Mae and Dale Van Houzen, and later, Mary and Jim Dailey. A few downstate friends are now a part of their community.
On hearing of the great fun this group enjoys, the writer of this article tried to rent a home a few years ago in this park but there was not one available. Now rumor has it that there are rentals to be had because the seller’s market is depressed.
When asked to comment on their winters, Ray and Theresa Sullivan penned this joint comment: “There is no place in the world like Empire. It will always be home. But it is a blessing to be active all winter with fellow Empirons in 70 and 80 degree weather.”
At times the whole group enjoys a day at a nearby beach for a picnic or a cookout. They may attend a movie or a dinner together. All are involved in some activity, be it a Mah Jonge, tennis or bridge.
When asked why she enjoys Northport, Mae Van Houzen said, “It’s the people first and the great weather second. Our Empire extended family of friends challenges us to stay in shape physically through sports and exercise, mentally through reading and playing games, and spiritually through our shared love of our Lord. It’s a great time in life and we are grateful for these friendships in Empire and Florida.”
Every member of the group talks about how they help each other. It may be with building or repairs. It may be an emergency such as the bad fall Jim Dailey had on the tennis courts when he was rushed to the hospital by Mary and Max Wendell with a compound fracture of a finger. It may be to help with food and encouragement when someone is ill. All birthdays are celebrated together, often with joke gifts. When Mary and Jim, the newcomers, arrived, a big stuffed parrot was hanging from a dining room ceiling. Also, a bottle of a wine was there to greet them.
“We have spiritual, emotional and physical support from each other,” according to Mary Daily. “We hate to leave Empire but Northport, Florida is our home away from home.”
Sometime in October the Empire snowbirds will be on their way. By November 1, all are settled in at Holiday Park.
Posted by editor at 07:08 PM | Comments (0)
Autumn’s Irony
By Anne-Marie Oomen
Sun contributor
Finally, with our house sort of finished, we turn to landscaping. Landscaping in our woods is simple because the chance of a lawn is nil unless one is willing to cut trees and we have vowed—no more tree cutting. Instead, we tuck the house so far into the dappled arms of forest that even the heartiest veggies will grow nothing but tendrils—it is that shady. In the one or two spots that actually get light a few hours a day, I finally build raised beds and set shade tolerant perennials—hosta, astilbe, ferns—which adapt with ease.
I also invite the woods back in, coaxing leeks, Dutchman’s Britches, Trillium, and wild columbine as close to the house as they will grow in disturbed soil. I plant myrtle on the south side and let wild raspberry brambles reshape a northern jungle. In summer, it feels as though something wild and hungry will climb from the leaf shadows, peer into our windows or squeeze under the doors. But I have come to love the way living in the woods encourages me to look at the shade of the world. I love the metaphor of looking more closely at these shadows, and have come to feel the comfort of release that early dark brings, even on the longest days. Over time, I too have become shade-tolerant.
But none of these insights eases my hunger for color.
One September day at the post office in Empire, I find an abandoned Dutch bulb catalogue. The colors on the cover look alive. I ask if I may have it, and Ginny interrupts her letter filing to holler over the counter, “Oh sure. Folks just leave their extra catalogues. Help yourself.” Then, glancing at what I am holding, she grins.
I pour over clusters of tulips, exotic daffodils, and those bravest hearts of all, the delicate crocuses. I decide to order economy tulips and daffodils for naturalizing because I know as a first-time experimenter with bulbs, I might make mistakes and these seem forgiving. I also fall in love with color names—another weakness being words—and when I order, I choose some simply for that pleasure: tulips named Scarlet Dynasty, Queen of the Night, Lavender Rembrants, Rose Angeliques, Touched Greenlands, Autumn Apricots. That’s not even mentioning crocuses. When I am done, the accumulative order for bulbs is for over 400.
They come UPS with instructions to keep them in the dark until the soil is cool but I open every bag and roll the bulbs in my hands. Here is dream and hope in its raw form, shaped like the turrets of exotic India. Through autumn, I plant in the long light of late afternoons. The light grows as the leaves fall. As I dig and press bulbs into soil, I am aware of ironies. We place these plain seed-things into the subterranean—essentially burying them. All through the process, planting clusters of dafs, lining up tulips and—where they will surprise me—dozens of crocuses. I know this irony. I am closing something alive off from an essential light that comes to my woods only with the autumnal equinox. I am putting the bulbs into darkness, just as I do my own being.
When I am done, no one but the dog knows where everything is planted, no one can tell what blooming anticipation is buried six scattered inches beneath the fallen.
Now, I settle toward my woodsy winter, its quiet and work. But I dream almost daily of what is happening in the dark earth. I imagine that cream sphere splitting open, sending out its white roots. Soon all the leaves will be empty, trees bare, and the blazingly cold and brilliantly monochromatic landscape of winter will surround me. In the spring, the leaves will come and make our woods dark again, as though we above the earth were moving underground, but the bulbs planted underground in fall will send up color, raising the spirit, and will make the world bright for having come from that earthy darkness.
Posted by editor at 06:10 PM | Comments (0)
Letters to the editor
Last edition's story on the Glen Arbor Boat Ramp issue and whether it should move to Glen Haven in the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore prompted quite a few responses among our readers:
Opposes moving boat ramp
We are opposed to the Glen Arbor Township Board's push for their boat ramp relocation to Glen Haven.
Every year the waters of Lake Michigan off the shore of Glen Haven are host to thousands of migrating loons and other waterfowl. Along the shoreline at Glen Haven is an established nesting site of the piping plover, a species identified as endangered on federal and state lists of endangered species. Great blue herons come into the shore area at Glen Haven as well as bald eagles, and there have been sightings of Bonaparte's gulls.
The impact of toxic and noise pollution generated by the increase in traffic on an area of wilderness and aquatic habitat would make the Glen Arbor Township suggested solution to their own problem fundamentally unsound and irresponsible by standards of common sense alone.
To promote a modern-day playground by locating a boat ramp there would in no way emulate the historical importance of Glen Haven. The boat ramp in Glen Arbor is used to launch a myriad of noisy pleasure craft, speedboats, jet skis and private fishing vessels. While the boats are launched, the large towing vehicles with their attached boat trailers are left scattered about at the launch area. To move all of this to Glen Haven would devastate the Park's intent for the area's preservation efforts and the area's scenic beauty.
Glen Haven is a serene place. The Park Service has done much work to restore the historic buildings along the street leading to the shoreline. Many visitors go there to enjoy this quiet and beautiful setting. Let us not disturb the peace.
Sincerely,
Bill Dickinson
Mary Sharry
Empire
Opposes boat launch move
In the Sun's recent article on the Glen Arbor Boat Launch, an advocate for a new launch facility in Glen Haven made the point that Glen Haven would be a good location for launching boats.
It has been noted elsewhere that the National Gallery of Art would be a great place to roller skate. Of course that's not allowed, because the National Gallery is established as a place to look at art — and the two activities are just not compatible.
Glen Haven is a restored historic village; it's on the National Historic Register; it harbors two endangered species; and it contains the remains of the historic Glen Haven Dock, which is a navigational hazard. Unfortunately, a modern boat launch, with jet skis, muscle boats, truck/trailer rigs, and a parking lot, would be a little like a roller derby in a museum.
This is a tough issue with no clear answer. But a Glen Haven Boat Launch just won't work.
Tom Van Zoeren,
Empire
Confused
I always enjoy the stories on your pages, from afar. This is one of the most beautiful areas in the country. My visits one or two times a year carry me over for the rest of the year. Now, I burn a lot of gas driving up a few times a year, but I also have hiked more trails within 10 miles of Glen Arbor than I ever thought possible. Thank you folks for keeping it free and clear. Don't ever, ever, give this unique place up to commercial interests. Lake Street access has always been our “hike” to see sundowns. Seems like a lot of dedicated boaters and fishermen use it — I've never seen a backup. Tourists might complain once in a while. But, I suspect most of the pressure on the Township comes from folks being influenced by the strange projects y’all have allowed (Le Bear, The Homestead extension on Lake St) — at what cost, and at what benefit to the residents of the area? Years ago there were two gas stations in Glen Arbor, now there are none. The Homestead has more than 300 units for rent, and they are quite full during peak season. The (Sleepy Bear) campground on M-72 has 300 sites and, according to them, they are full during peak travel/vacation days. Whew, that's a lot of people (cars). And, we can't even keep a gas station open in Glen Arbor? So, build a new marina, kill the pristine beaches, get a few more bucks. I don't get it!
Sincerely, George
Letter submitted online
Township board didn’t need Le Bear Resort
Using the boat ramp on Lake Street was tough even before the Le Bear Resort was built. I speak from personal experience. So, instead of allowing the resort to be built, why didn’t the Glen Arbor Township Board seize the opportunity to resolve the problem? Couldn’t they have rezoned the property, condemned it, bought it or done whatever it took, so that the property could have been used for additional parking and maneuvering room?
Moving the boat ramp to Glen Haven would endanger the environment, wildlife and peace and quiet that the National Lakeshore was established to protect.
The Township Board’s choice was another resort, which it didn’t need, so why should they be allowed to dump their problem on someone else’s doorstep?
Thank you for your time.
Sincerely,
Gary Wallazy and Karen Winter
Farmington Hills, MI
Posted by editor at 05:13 PM | Comments (0)
Labor Day bridge walks
Peace activisits cross the Mackinaw Bridge on Labor Day in a call of solidarity to bring home the troops (left, photo by Marilyn Bagdonas). Glen Arborites cross the Narrows Bridge on Labor Day — an annual tradition (right, photo by Joanne Rettke).
Posted by editor at 04:40 PM | Comments (0)
Soccer, Mom?
By F. Josephine Arrowood
Sun contributor
As the crackling of a frenetic workday fizzles into late afternoon, witness a scene familiar to many soccer families in Leelanau: rush home from work, gather up scattered cleats, knee-high socks, uniform, shin guards, soccer ball, water bottle, nutritious snack, then head back out the door to get to the soccer game in Petoskey, two hours away. What’s missing from the car as I peel away from the driveway is my 13-year-old child. Yes, I’m a traditional, 44-year-old soccer mom – but tonight, I’m a soccer-playing mom.
My personal kickoff into this most universal of sports began somewhat accidentally last fall, when our family received a signup form for a kids’ winter indoor soccer league through TBAYS in late September. My daughter, still immersed in fall soccer, expressed disinterest, but I spied the words, “Adult League” at the bottom of the page. My only previous and rather dismal sports experience, many years ago, had been cross-country running at our all-girls’ high school - definitely a loner sport with few rules to master. However, after watching kids’ soccer for umpteen years (and even coaching a couple of teams with help from library books), I reasoned, “How hard can it be?” Yes, I decided, soccer would be Fun!
On a treacherously icy Saturday night in January, I arrived white-knuckled at the Just For Kicks building on Hammond Road in Traverse City. Inside, the arena was bright, warm, and boisterous with the shouts of players swarming across a field that resembled an Astroturfed hockey rink, lined with plexiglass and netting stretched from walls to ceiling.
I went into the women’s locker room to don my battle gear, which included shiny silver shin guards that made me feel absurdly and happily like a Roman gladiator. Then I thought about what unknowns lay ahead, and felt nothing but sick dread.
I’d been assigned to the “house” team, with our one-hour game scheduled for 7pm, so I forced myself out of the locker room and over to the players’ boxes. Staring at my 11 new teammates, I thought, “Where are the other women?” There weren’t any. I resolved right then to ask for no favors from these hairy strangers who stared warily back at me, and to give none, either. Then, at the referee’s whistle, several men rushed from the box onto the turf, and the game began.
Back in the box, one player, more cordial, introduced himself as Sam, and explained the peculiarities of indoor soccer: for two 25-minute halves, five players plus a goal keeper field each team; when a player is tired, he lopes out of the game, shouting “Sub, sub!” - the signal for a waiting teammate, who stands in a tense line of fidgeting players, to rush out and take his place. The ball is in fair play if hitting solid walls, but foul in the nets on upper walls or ceiling, and there are no “off sides,” (getting ahead of the ball at the opponents’ end of the arena). I realized that, despite my fears that no one would pass me the ball, it was inevitable that sooner or later, the wildly caroming orb would fly at me, and then what was I going to do with it? In a few moments, I heard the shout to sub in; Sam threw open the door — I began to discover just what to do with a soccer ball, with five determined men rushing at it, and five more exhorting me to “Take it!” “Pass!” “Hold the wall!” and “Shoot it!”
Over the course of the next eight weeks, I spent my days obsessing over the games that lay ahead, and marveling at the exotic vernacular, such as “Man on!” (even when you’re a woman, you can be a man on, closing in on an unsuspecting opponent).”Time, time!” was short for “You got time,” to dribble the ball, or better, ricochet it off the wall like a billiard ball to get it to your teammate, or the goal itself. “Hold the wall!” uttered frequently by Sam, our intrepid leader, meant, “Don’t let that guy get up the field by using the wall as his extra player!” Unaccustomed to the jagged rhythms of the sprinting, dodging, high-kicking game, I also nursed a few war wounds such as strained muscles, bruises, and stomped toes, but felt my strength and endurance increase with each week’s strenuous encounter. Despite every player’s intensity of purpose during the heat of the game, remarkably few of us were injured, and none seriously.
Playing on a largely men’s team (which, technically, was coed) had both rewards and drawbacks. Most on my team were taciturn about sharing personal details; in fact, I never knew anyone’s surname, much less their day jobs or family situations. I only knew that Junior played like a graceful otter, but could be a ball hog; Sam had a chunky, full-body style that bowled over the opposition; and Steve ran with “little feet,” short steps that kept the ball firmly welded to his ankles all the way down the field. Like mercenary soldiers, we were there for one reason: to take on the enemy and defeat them if we could.
To that end, we were in the thick of it as a team. My cohorts freely gave me encouragement, showed me their coolest moves, and shared their strategies. No one held a grudge, played dirty, behaved like a boor, or commented on the fact that I’d naively worn cleats during my first game. Players were from a surprising plurality of countries that included England, Mexico, Columbia, Guatemala, and somewhere in Eastern Europe. One fellow, on a formidable team known as Son of a Preacher Man, would swear in beautifully lilting Welsh while dashing for the ball, or shout (but not at me), “Ye play like a gel!” which I found highly amusing.
When the indoor soccer season came to its inevitable end, I realized that I was solidly addicted to this so simple yet so complex game. I wanted to know and learn and do more. Just For Kicks also hosts a women’s weekly drop-in session, which I promptly joined, only to discover quite a different flavor to the play. Much more informal, and lacking in the intensity I’d come to crave, the drop-ins were nevertheless an opportunity to practice new moves unselfconsciously, and to meet other women players who also wanted to advance their understanding and skills.
In May, nine of us decided to join the Petoskey Women’s League, since (incredibly) Traverse City has no adult summer soccer organization. Insane tactic, I knew, but rationalized that for only eight weeks in the height of summer, I’d spend Thursday nights carpooling to doubleheader games in a league boasting six full teams of women. Plenty of scope there to grow and learn.
And learn I did, sometimes the hard way. Anyone who strained a muscle would be fair game for goalkeeping duty. I happily performed this chore twice, and both times was hit stoutly in the face for my pains. While I rethink my affinity for intense situations, I’m leaving that position to more experienced players who own protective gear, and have health insurance.
After Petoskey ended, I joined a team in Kalkaska, a more sane one-hour drive away. We even have a coach who volunteers her time, and envisions a Traverse City-based regional women’s league within three to five years. Our goal for this year is to field a team at a tournament to be held at the end of September in Lansing. After that, Just For Kicks will be open again for the indoor season. This soccer obsession, it’s a keeper.
To sign up for adult indoor soccer, contact Just For Kicks at www.tbays.org or call (231) 933-8229. Interested in TC-based summer women’s league? Contact Lindsay at (231) 883-5193 or Josephine at (231) 228-4528.
Posted by editor at 04:19 PM | Comments (0)
Additions to your movie collection
By Josh Burrows
Sun contributor
Did anyone besides me feel like they missed out on seeing as many films at the Traverse City Film Festival as they would have liked? Never fear, thanks to some generous people you still have a chance to see most of the films from the last two festivals. Not many people are aware of this, but the film fest organization has been donating extra copies of the films shown to local libraries. Unfortunately they have been unable to provide all of the films, sometimes because there aren’t enough copies and sometimes because they haven’t yet been released on DVD.
Luckily David Diller at The Glen Lake Community Library has been diligently tracking down the movies that the fest couldn't initially provide as well as the ones that have since been released on DVD and video. At this point, the Library’s 3,000-title DVD and video section contains almost all of the 2005 and 2006 Traverse City Film Festival selections, and room is being made for more titles. The collection is searchable online through the library's website www.GlenLakeLibrary.net. Just click on the IPAC (internet public access catalog) link. The system is easy to use, and you can even find out if the movie you want is checked out before you go to the library.
If you're like me, the film festival rolls around right when you're working the hardest. It can be impossible to plan getting tickets and time off, just when the tourist season is at its peak. So I propose that you all hold your own film festivals, a few months late of course. Below is a list of my top picks from the last two years. I hope you enjoy them, and I hope that if you do, you'll take advantage of the rest of this great little collection — now a permanent part of our community.
The Killing
First I must give due respect to this year's featured filmmaker Stanley Kubrick. It would be impossible to describe in a few words the innovation and attention to detail Kubrick brings to his trade, so I won’t even try. I will say this: Kubrick was an avid chess player, and he approached his films as he would a chessboard. Try keeping this in mind when you watch this very early work. Kubrick takes what should have been a simple heist film and turns it into a life and death battle of wills.
Breaking the Waves
It may not be a very far stretch to see the existential overtones in The Killing. In Lars Von Trier’s “Breaking the Waves,” big issues like love and death, fate and God are presented with all the subtleness of a baseball bat. If you haven’t cried, gotten angry, or discussed theology by the end of this movie, well, you just weren’t paying attention.
Gunner Palace and Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room
I’m a huge documentary fan, and it seems appropriate that the filmmaker who brought us Roger and Me should have some good Docs at his festival. These are two of the best in recent years. They provide a window into events that may have happened only a few years ago, but are still mostly submerged in the flood of sound bites and talking points that we call “the news.” Watching “Enron” and “Gunner Palace” is an eye opening experience, mainly because they remind us of how much is held secret from us.
Posted by editor at 03:21 PM | Comments (0)
Solomon’s Wisdom: An allegory for a modern topic
By “Uncle Peter”
Sun contributor
I had been on my way to Savannah when I stopped for a tire repair in a spot about seven miles east of the County seat, a mite of a place, hardly a town at all, just an intersection where the dirt farm road crossed the highway. A hearing was being held in the little General Store, there being no court house in this smidgen of a town.
We were five: widow Maisie Heartland, farmer John Husker, Mrs. Owing, the Judge and myself.
As your observer, I write mostly in mid-American English as I am not apt in colloquialisms though occasionally they are unavoidable and I will try my best.
When you lightly tap a wine glass with the back edge of a knife, it sounds a soft, clear note. Southerners speak with a soft lilt, as pure and clear as that wine glass.
There is a soft Southern logic that contrasts as clearly as that note with the sometimes harsh New England nonsense of the North.
To Judge Solomon, it was an open and shut case. The town council had met but two days prior, surreptitiously it seemed to him, yet within the law. Just three, constituting a quorum of the majority of the five-man council. In the sweltering humidity of central Georgia, widow Heartland had managed to pass an ordinance that made no sense at all. And the Judge was set to put matters right, albeit after due process.
Maisie Heartland, bereft of her husband Bo, after fifteen years of marriage and still barren, had allowed her cats to multiply beyond reason. While they certainly had kept the rodents under control, they had also provided Maisie with companionship and solace. Neighbor John had stepped in and sharecropped the Heartland’s 400 acres, helping now and then when Maisie needed work done she herself was unable to do. She had looked after his horse and dogs when he had to travel to Valdosta on business. Theirs had been a practical, farm friendship.
As the hearing moved along the facts had become clear. Widow Heartland's cats had become an infernal nuisance. Husker had strangled one, shot another. Maisie had been hurt, angry. She had accosted him. As any follower of Garrison Keillor knows, cats can be important, especially in a rural life. They can warm ones shoulders, ones very soul.
Husker’s attitude, simply looking at the matter as a reasonable way to deal with the problem, infuriated her. His act was unconscionable. Tough, occasionally intense, hardened by life in rural Georgia, she had become furious and killed his dog when it had taken one of her chickens. John, a placid man, didn’t think that was right. He had brought it up at the town council meeting and allowed as how dogs were important and valuable farm animals and, in their county, protected by law.
Moreover, cats, while useful enough were after all, just cats. No special protection was accorded cats under local law. Further, they reproduced themselves in great plenty, which is at the very root of this matter.
The three council members had consisted of Maisie Heartland, John Husker and Mrs. Owing. Mrs. Owing had been a teacher. She had taught arithmetic, reading and writing to all six grades in her one room school. Her mind was logical, orderly and run by a set of rules, no less rigid than the mathematical algorithms she taught.
Even though you and I are from other parts of the country, it is not difficult for us to understand the two conflicting points of view. And I was just as curious as you would have been to know how this local melodrama would play out.
Then the unexpected had happened: Mrs. Heartland had introduced a new ordinance.
Mrs. Heartland’s ordinance had said that in the future in accord with local law, all cats were to become dogs. Simply stated, the ordinance would read: “All cats are dogs.”
“Thet’s crazy!” John had opined. “Don’t make no sense ’tall.” And Owing had chimed in. “Y’all can’t just change a word like that! Words have meaning,” she said. “Dogs and cats are different.”
Maisie, however, had not been dissuaded. She had pointed out that as far back as anyone knew, marriage had always been between a man and a woman. That was the very meaning of marriage. That was what marriage was.
But, Maisie had said, a law could, in principle, be passed to make anything the law said, something else, if it wanted to. In Massachusetts, she had heard, they had passed a law saying that a marriage could be between two men!
“Thet’s not marriage!” John had shouted. “Thet’s...” but before he had finished,
Maisie had interrupted. “Besides, this ordinance don’t hurt dogs no way. They have the same special rights they allus had.” And “Now John, you know pufectly well if it’s the law in Massachusetts, its gonna get t’be the law evywhar.” And, to cap her argument “Besides, you know very well they’s betta edjicated up thar. They’s got a mess o’ colliges up theya. They’s iva liggers”
Astonished, Owing had spoken. “That’s insane! Such a change would impact both cats and dogs. In different ways perhaps but both are affected. Words have meaning. A law could say a ‘3’ is the same as a ‘4’. You could add three and four and get six! That’s crazy!
But Maisie had persisted “Now look, I realize this is silly, but the simple fact is that if we wait for the County or the State or the United States Government to give equal protection to cats and dogs, it ain’t nevah gonna happen. So this is a practical answer. An answer to a local problem by local folks.”
Yet as preposterous as it had seemed, Mrs. Owing had been unable to refute Maisie’s logic. She had been moved, too, by strong feelings, that Maisie had somehow been wronged, and she had wanted to support Maisie, so against her own better judgment she had voted for the ordinance. John had vote against. But with a two-thirds majority, Maisie’s ordinance had carried the day.
A two-day lapse had ensued, giving all a chance to think the thing through. And Judge Solomon Harrell had been requested to step in and hold the present hearing.
He had heard all the foregoing arguments, reprised by the same folks who had passed that law. Now, the Judge had to decide.
Words do have meaning, he reasoned. If a law could change meaning, then a law could say a ‘3’ is the same as a ‘4’! You could add three and four and get six! Imagine what that would do to town taxes!! The implications were mind-boggling.
If meaning can be destroyed by a simple change in the law, then all meaning would be shattered as easily as if that wine glass had been crushed in one’s hand. There is a terrible danger buried in that idea, hidden from view. He heard that glass-clear bell- note; a soft, Southern logic. With knowing insight, confident that a higher court would review his finding, his decision was crafted.
He leaned back, spat a practiced plug of tobacco into his battered spittoon. Brown liquid spattered up, gleaming on the stained floor of the country store where the hearing was being held while he pondered and we waited.
At last he spoke. “It is the opinion of this court that:
“1. Being as how you, Maisie, in an unwarranted act and in violation of county law, did destroy your neighbor’s dog, you are hereby assessed a fine of $10.00.
“2. The jurisdiction of this court provides no authority to overturn the ordinance subsequently and legally passed by our town council two days ago. Henceforth in this town, all cats are dogs. This hearing is now closed.”
And with a rap of his gavel, so it was, attesting to the wisdom of Solomon, duly signed and recorded.
Posted by editor at 02:24 PM | Comments (0)
Summer ’06 a biking extraordinaire
By Joel Gaff
Sun contributor
When the Tour de Leelanau cycle race comes through Leelanau County on Saturday September 16, don’t expect the riders to be doped up on anything other than fresh air and beautiful scenery. That’s right, folks — the Tour is back for its sophomore edition with an even longer and tougher course.
The Tour de Leelanau gets much of its influence from the Tour de France, a three-week long, 2200-mile stage race around France. Riders ride an average of around 110 miles a day at an average speed of about 24 miles per hour with only two rest days throughout the Tour. The winner is the rider with the fastest time for the 20 stages all added together. There are flat stages, extremely mountainous stages, individual and team time trials (riders’ start times are staggered and they race against the clock), and everything in between. Riders must overcome heat, cold, rain, wind, fatigue, hills and valleys to make it to the finish line in Paris. The similar Leelanau version of the tour is only one day long, with the men riding 104.1 miles and the women 66.3.
This year’s Tour de France was particularly intriguing. With the Legendary seven-time Tour winner Armstrong now in retirement, this year’s race was wide open. It opened up even more when several days before the July 1 start of the race, officials named 37 riders in an alleged doping scandal. Weather or not the accused riders actually did anything wrong is still in debate. Unfortunately, however, in cycling you’re typically “guilty until proven innocent.” Just ask Lance Armstrong about all the accusations he had to deal with.
The Tour went on nonetheless and cycling fans worldwide were glued to their televisions for three straight weeks. With live coverage every morning and enhanced primetime coverage at night, it didn’t leave much time for the regular programs on the Outdoor Life Network’s (OLN) normal lineup. In the 93rd edition of the Tour, there were seven lead changes throughout the 20 stages and it wasn’t until the last few days that it became apparent who would win.
American Floyd Landis, a former teammate of Lance, looked to be a favorite from the early stages. It would be no walk in the park if he wanted to win, however. As expected, the sprinters dominated the relatively flat first few stages. The race then moved into the sky-scraping Pyrenees Mountains on the French-Spanish border. Landis took the overall lead and put the yellow jersey on for the first time after stage 11. Two days later in a very hilly stage 13, a group of four riders, including Spanish rider Oscar Pereiro, broke away from the peleton (the main group of riders). At the end of the 138-mile long stage, the riders were nearly 30 minutes ahead of the peleton, an almost unheard of amount of time for a breakaway. Pereiro captured the overall lead and took his turn wearing yellow.
Stage 15: Landis gets the yellow back. There were only five stages left and the American had a good shot at winning the race. He had looked strong over the last few stages and he didn’t show signs of slowing down.
Until stage 16.
For the first 100 miles of the exceptionally mountainous stage 16, Landis was right in front with the leaders. Then, with less than 10 miles to go to the mountaintop finish, it appeared as if someone had thrown out an anchor from the back of Floyd’s bike. He slowed down tremendously and it was almost painful just to watch him slog his way up the mountain. When he finally labored his way to the finish line of the stage, he was down to eighth place overall, more than ten minutes behind the now-leader, Pereiro.
With four stages left in the Tour (the last of which is traditionally just a ceremonial ride into Paris), It appeared that Landis’ chances for victory had vanished. He would need a small miracle and the ride of his life to overcome a ten-minute deficit in the final three stages.
Stage 17 was another treacherous mountain stage and it started just like every other stage. Soon after the stage began, a breakaway of ten or so riders took off and left the peleton behind. The breakaway soon had a lead of over ten minutes on the peleton, which included Landis. After seeing how drained and fatigued Landis looked just the previous day, no one expected what would happen next. Suddenly Landis surged away from the peleton and a few riders gave chase. Landis’ surge didn’t stop, and everyone could see that there was fire in his eyes. Several riders stayed up with Landis and this second breakaway surged ahead at break neck speed in pursuit of the lead breakaway group.
They finally caught the lead breakaway, but Landis didn’t stop there. At this point, it was obvious that Floyd was riding with something to prove. Landis pushed on, bringing several riders with him.
Around 14 miles from finish, the last remaining rider dueling it out with Landis dropped off the pace. Landis was alone, in the lead, and not slowing down.
By the time he reached the finish line, Landis had put nearly six minutes between himself and the peleton. In the overall standings, he was now in third place, a mere 30 seconds behind the leader, Pereiro. His amazing effort that day has been named the “best performance in the modern history of the Tour.”
The following day in stage 18, Landis maintained his third place position. There then remained only one stage before the ride into Paris and it was an individual time trial. Landis is known as a strong time trial rider, and he would have stand up to that reputation if he wanted to pull out an overall victory in the Tour. Riders started two to three minutes apart from each other and raced against the clock on the 34-mile course. Landis would be the third-to-last rider of the day to start.
Landis cranked through the stage in his unique aerodynamic position only rising from the seat several times. By the end of the stage, Landis had beaten Pereiro by a minute and a half, and it appeared that Landis had just become the third American to win the Tour (after Greg LeMond and Lance).
The final stage was a 92-mile ride into Paris. The last stage of any tour is mostly ceremonial, with riders sipping champagne as they cruise into the French capital. At this point in the race, it is considered taboo to attempt taking the lead from the yellow jersey wearer. So, as Landis rode his special-made yellow bike onto the cobblestone Parisian streets, all he had to do was finish the stage. And he did.
Unfortunately, only days after standing on the podium as the winner of the Tour, Floyd Landis was accused of having an illegally high level of testosterone in his body during his amazing stage 17 ride. When this news came out, Landis vehemently denied ever having taken any kind of performance enhancing substance. He asked that his backup sample be tested to make sure that there was not a human testing error. The second set of results agreed with the original findings. Landis, who maintains his innocence, has been released by his team and is now appealing the case.
Just like the riders in the Tour de France, the Tour de Leelanau riders will have to conquer hills, valleys and any kind of weather Mother Nature decides to throw at them on race day. No drugs allowed, except for breathtaking views, adrenaline inducing hills, and roaring crowds. The men’s race starts at 10 a.m. in Leland and the Women get underway at approximately 11:40 a.m. at The Homestead resort near Glen Arbor. Both races finish at the Eagle’s Ridge Convention Center in Peshawbetown.
For additional information, visit www.tourdeleelanau.com.
Posted by editor at 01:49 PM | Comments (0)
Inaudible for two decades, the Tigers are roaring into fall!
By Jacob Wheeler
Sun editor
I couldn’t believe the spectacle before me. Late-August was upon us and almost 50 pairs of eyes at a rodeo-packed Art’s Tavern in Glen Arbor were fixated on the television screen above the pinball machine, watching Detroit Tigers baseball.
The Tigers, you say? The sorry team that has become the butt of professional sports jokes: the summer-long yawn that draws about as many fans as the week-long Traverse City Cherry Festival; the perfect metaphor for a city battered and abandoned by race riots? It couldn’t be.
But it was true. The eyes of hungry Michiganders from Motown to the Soo Locks, from the Crystal River to the Big Two Hearted River, and yes, from Hell to Paradise, were watching their sandlot nine — the owners of the best record in baseball — take it to their thuggish rivals from the south side of Chicago. (As of press time the state’s more traditional tourism destinations including Cherry Republic, the Michigan Boaters Association and Mackinac Island were filing a joint lawsuit against the upstart Tigers for stealing their summer recreational attention — Editor)
There was Justin Verlander, the tall and lanky rookie with the grit and poise of a third-shift autoworker, firing fastballs past the heart of the White Sox order. There was slugger Craig Monroe belting a homerun with so much velocity that the ball was still rising when it reached the bleachers. And there was Jim Leyland, the skipper with a face like worn leather, trudging along the pasture he knows so well between the dugout and the pitcher’s mound. He reminded me of an old northern Michigan farmer surveying his land.
And here at Art’s were a school bus load of tourists and locals alike, forsaking campfires on the beaches, fine dining at La Becasse, early morning tee times on the golf course, even forsaking the Art’s shot-ski full of Jaegermeister to concentrate and cheer for their baseball team as the all-important fall days loomed closer.
The Detroit Tigers have been on a roll all season, and even though previous teams hadn’t won as many games as they’d lost in more than a decade and hadn’t made the playoffs in almost two, merely creeping into October with a pulse wouldn’t be good enough for their newfound faithful — not after posting the best record in baseball most of this summer, not with the talented young pitching staff Leyland holds in his deck of cards, and certainly not with the still pitiful Detroit Lions about to kick off their season.
We want more. We want an American League pennant and a World Series appearance. We want to send the arrogant New York Yankee fans vacationing in our midst back to the Big Apple humiliated. We want Dimitri the young waiter in Greektown, just around the corner from Detroit’s Comerica Park, to burn his hand on the flaming cheese and yell “Opa!” extra loud because, his Athenian boss will tell him, “The Tigers are gonna win the whole damned thing this October. They’re gonna fly back from La Guardia having trounced the Metropolitans 3 games to 2 in the Fall Classic, and they’re gonna cruise down Woodward Avenue in a parade to end all victory parades. Tigers owner Mike Llitch will be there, pouring champagne over the head of his prized architect, General Manager Dave Dombrowski, and yelling “Opa!” himself. Llitch may even forget about the other team he owns in town: the Red Wings.”
We’ve waited so long for this, haven’t we Ernie Harwell, you sweet old voice of solace. God willing, you’ll get to see the Tigers win it all again before you return to the Georgia soil, the same ground where the Tiger great Ty Cobb walked while in the bush leagues. For the first time since 1984 you’ll get to use your catchphrases in October: “He stood there like the house by the side of the road and watched that one go by” … or “That ball is LONG gone” … or “The Tigers win it! The Tigers win it!” You deserve this more than any of us.
Stick around, Ernie Harwell. Stick around baseball fans. The leaves are turning colors and it’s getting cold outside. But summer isn’t over yet, for the Tigers are roaring.
Posted by editor at 12:54 PM | Comments (0)
Bringing in the harvest
Will Hendricks (left) marvels at last year's apple harvest. After washing the freshly picked apples, they are pressed in a hand-cranked machine. Finally, his mother Sharon Hendricks (right), filters the fresh apple juice through cheesecloth to remove pulp, readying fresh apple juice ready for the glass!
Posted by editor at 11:05 AM | Comments (0)
A Fall Tour of Leelanau
By Ray Nargis
Sun contributor
This essay originally ran in the Glen Arbor Sun in the fall of 1999.
Almost a quarter century ago — in the fall of 1977 — I drove from my home in Kalamazoo to see the Leelanau Peninsula for the first time. I was looking for a place to live where the air and water would remind me of my hometown, Ludington — without the harness of the past which precludes most of us from settling in the place where we were born.
I knifed up the east side of the peninsula on my way to Sutton’s Bay under a sheltering mix of high clouds recently blown in from Canada and milky October sunlight. I distinctly remember commenting to my companion — a cat named Smoky — that this was the kind of place where we could live.
One year after America's bicentennial the ubiquitous sprawl of mini-marts and fudge shops, which now predominate so much of the landscape from Burdickville to Northport, had not festered into a full-blown attack on the ascetics of Leelanau County. The fall colors were only a few days short of peaking, and the glinting sun off Grand Traverse Bay — at that moment rising above Power Island — was awe-inspiring.
In all the subsequent years I have driven that same route I still cannot twist along the bay without dropping a tire off the side of the road because my attention has wandered to the water and the view.
On that day I stopped In Sutton’s Bay for breakfast and was thrilled to see Jim Harrison, a writer whose work I had recently discovered in the form of a rat-eared copy of his collection of poetry called Plain Song, holding court with the waitress. The subjects of his monologue that morning were the twin virtues of menudo and merlot as hangover cures.
I recall thinking what a wonderful place that was; where writers could be met daily for quips and stories; where the famous and near-famous were available to be observed and befriended. I did not know it at the time, but I was not to see Jim Harrison again for 17 years.
I left Sutton's Bay and drove north through Peshawbetown. The Grand Traverse Band was still years from its official recognition and economic upturn. The blight and poverty of the few tarpaper shacks and mobile homes was palpable and depressing.
I stopped in a yard of rusted cars and assorted junk where a small man and his deaf son were smoking fish in a hollowed-out refrigerator. We talked about the whitefish I was buying and the beautiful day, but I'll never forget the sidelong glances and deferential language he used in our conversation. It was as if he held me in the utmost contempt but was shielding it with the thinnest veil of civility. I drove away wondering what his life was like and glad that I really didn't know.
After a stop at Woody's Bar in Northport for coffee and directions, I rounded Cat’s Head Bay and stopped at the lighthouse on the peninsula’s northern-most point. Despite a stiff wind which had blown up from the West the temperature was almost balmy for October, and I recall thinking that perhaps it didn’t get that cold in Northern Michigan. I walked down the beach a ways and then took the first of what would become many thousands of skinny dips in the isinglass, blue waters of Lake Michigan. I remember having to walk out two or three hundred feet, as the water was shallow and a bit icy, and picking my way over the large stones at the point’s end. Finally I was at neck level, and I recall thinking that if I could just keep swimming north I could escape my whole life and end up in the Upper Peninsula or Canada.
There are days when I still recall standing at the very end of the Leelanau Peninsula, so many years ago, on that fall afternoon wondering about how my life would be in the North. Perhaps everyone has a moment when they stand at some pivotal point of no return. For me it was neck-deep in the water, under an isogonic October sun, looking out towards Beaver Island at the northern-most geographic point I had ever been in my life.
My itinerant ride down the west side of Leelanau that day has remained ensconced in my memory all these years. The rolling hills leading south out of Northport gave way to a photo session at fish town in Leland. Then I made my way to Glen Haven for yet another swim. The trees enshrouding the coastline there were brilliantly vibrant-yellow-red combinations with the musk scent of decay. I stood alone in front of the old cannery and imagined what the scene would have looked like one hundred years earlier.
I stopped to buy pumpkins just north of Empire that day before taking M-72 back to Traverse City. The huge balls lay odoriferous in the wet, mud field and I recall thinking of my grandmother who had just recently died. I don't think I said a prayer; although I might have, but I remember wishing she were with me. In her youth she had lived for a while in Empire and told me stories of going to school on a boat stuck in the ice near there. I think now that, in recalling her that day, she was inviting me to return to the home I'd never seen.
One of the original Beach Bards poets, Ray Nargis now lives in Ely, Minnesota
Posted by editor at 11:03 AM | Comments (0)
Field of Screams Annual Haunted Hayride
Travel through the haunted forest on a tractor-pulled haywagon. Enjoy eerie theatrics, startling events, ghouls and spooks. Everyone is welcome, small children at parents discretion. Celebtrate Halloween with a night of fright!
Two Fridays and two Saturdays before Halloween: October 20, 21, 27 and 28 from 7:30 to 10:30 p.m. each night.
$10 per victim, refreshments for survivors.
Sponsored by Empire Eagles. M-72 one mile West of 669.
Call (231) 325-6021 or email hauntedhayride@hotmail.com.
Posted by editor at 10:09 AM | Comments (0)
September 12, 2006
Village Connector is quick and cheap
Schedule bus service provided by BATA has finally reached the Empire-Glen Arbor-Maple City-Cedar area. With four buses each day, and pickups in each of those villages and also at The Homestead and Glen Lake School, it is easy to move around this part of the county, and to reach Traverse City.
For a mere $2, passengers receive a quick trip to the new transfer station on Hall Street (by Midas and the Candle Factory). There they may easily stroll to Front Street, or change buses and head for other Grand Traverse County destinations.
Glen Arbor resident Michael Buhler, often spotted in his convertible MGB "Sumrcar," recently rode the route to TC. "It was a great trip, and took just 45 minutes from the Town Hall to Hall Street. It was fleet, frugal, and almost fashionable."
Schedule information is available at www.bata.net or by calling 941-2324.
Posted by editor at 12:57 PM | Comments (0)