Lake Superior Day, 2021 – On the road to a watery world

 Again this year, my dear friend Phil helps us celebrate Lake Superior Day. I've learned more about the Superior region from Phil than anyone I've ever met, and am pleased to have his contribution.

Images & text by Philip J. Kucera, except as noted...

Drive Wisconsin Highway 13 north. It's seventy miles of wonder along the state's "North Coast" and was recently designated a National Scenic Byway for good reason.

Start your journey at the Northern Great Lakes Visitor Center near Ashland, a proper intro to the history and culture of the entire Lake Superior basin. It's just beyond a US-2 roundabout guiding you to 13 north.

With twenty-one islands, twelve miles of mainland shoreline, nine historic lighthouses and sea caves to explore, the Apostle Islands National Lakeshore is the highlight of the Peninsula. Lakeshore activities are headquartered in Bayfield, population 463.

Inland, this vintage fishing village turned modern tourist town is surrounded by apple orchards and dotted with berry, while fish tugs and yachts nose each other lakeside. During early October well over 30,000 people might gather at the little hillside community to celebrate its annual Apple Fest.

Among America's national parks there's a uniqueness to the Apostles. Here the goal is to preserve not only the natural history of the region, but the cultural history as well. Boats take you on tours of old fishing encampments, lighthouses, to camp on an island, or for a grand tour through the island chain.

Even a family picnic…

Elizabeth Abernathy Hull, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

On Basswood, visitors can camp overnight, search for the remains of the McLeod-Brigham homestead (farmed from 1865 to 1923) and explore the rust and bust of the former Bass Island Brownstone Company quarry - in 1868, the first to open in the Bayfield region.

Lake Superior Sandstone

 

During the 1800's, tough Apostle brownstone built untold numbers of architectural masterpieces both public and private around the Great Lakes. Many of those still stand proud today.

Back in town it's spring and "Bayfield in Bloom." Nature's painted leaves are on display in autumn, retired Christmas trees mark an ice road to Madeline Island come mid winter.

A short ferry ride over shimmering crystalline waters to La Pointe on Madeline Island, brings you to where the first fur trade rendezvous' on the big lake took place in the late 1600s. A state park and two museums, shops and restaurants welcome you.

Consider driving the remaining miles of #13.  At Frog Bay on the Red Cliff Reservation, the first tribal national park in America protects nearly a mile of sandy Lake Superior shoreline amid the tribal forest.

Image by FJH

Cornucopia is a horn of plenty from where fish tugs once more search for lake trout, whitefish and herring on the open lake. Small farms feed the region.

Kayakers cast off to view sea caves. Shops built in old fish houses display the work of regional artists and crafters.

Six seamen from a crew of twenty-nine on the ill-fated SS Edmund Fitzgerald called the Bayfield region home.

 

At Port Wing on the Flag River, near the northern terminus of Wisconsin Highway 13, a monument stands in a field of Marram or beach grass, backed by masses of wild red roses at a lakeshore park. Here a sculpted sailor peers out over the waters of Superior, on watch day and night.

 

 

On Wisconsin's north coast, it's always about the lake.

 

Shining Light on the Prairie – Summer, 2021

 

Greek oregano bolts in our garden. All manner of pollen hungry fliers work it under a hot summer sun. Great Black Wasps have yet to return. Just a hint of the much hyped great cicada invasion.

Ants, we've enough of. Most everything else continues apace.

In the world at large, drought busting rains of late June helped turn early July's prairie robust.

 

Happily, I made it out and about in time for the season's last wild roses.

 

Lots of roses.

 

I found the prairie made so lush by rain and blazing sun that it can't be taken at a glance but to freeze it.

And even then...

 

When I was a kid on the 'empty' lots we called prairie, it was mostly the fauna that interested me, not the flora. Bugs and a multitude of other unmarked critters abound in the grass.

I knew those saw me. The plants not so much.

 

These days, flora breaks at least even.

 

The prairie is at once sharp-edged and soft.

 

Elegant.

 

Riotous.

 

 

The prairie overflows with a rich diversity of life. So by any measure that matters, is wonderous.

 

Whether in the northwoods or on the grasslands, my primary land-looking directive has always been simple.

If open water's suspected back there, try and push through to see it.

 

Because you can just never tell.

 

American Tradition

Not even considering the 4^th of July, then 93-year-old WWII Navy veteran Tom DeCarlo cutting a mean rug to 'Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy' kicks the holiday off, there's no other way.

And he cuts that rug on grass, too…

The American tradition of town bands goes back to the beginning.

As we grew into a recognizable country, successive waves of immigrants added their own gifts. When the British fife & drum military tradition was sufficiently evolved, it became distinctly American.

Every band reflected their own community. There were thousands of them across the country. They were a community pride.

Probably, John Phillip Sousa didn't do much polka. He was a national act. An American act. Likely ignorant of local cultural nuance...

It pleases me no end that my maternal hometown still has its own town band. That's Marty's Goldenaires, out of American Legion Post 27, in Bessemer MI.

For the longest time, after a day in the woods I'd retire to the now defunct Traveler's Motel (down the hill from what used to be my great Uncle John's farm) for a quiet restful evening spent in a clean, safe place among friendly people.

On certain nights, the breeze carried the defining sound of brass and drums (lots of drums) practicing together on the lawn at the Legion. Sometimes, that drew me back out.

Maybe I'd go over and watch. More often, I hit the Dairy Queen down the block from the Legion, sitting outside eating an ice cream cone, listening to my hometown band play. In the setting sun, A.D. Johnston H.S. across the street sometimes turns gold.

Born to be chattel, my Grandmother graduated from Johnston with honors. She was salutatorian, Class of 1929. Probably about as high as the bright girl could go, then.

These days, when the stoplight between the high school and the Dairy Queen starts blinking yellow for the night, it's been a good long day.

I finally captured the Goldenaires at the annual town picnic, 2019. Not full strength nor decked out in all their golden glory, but the drumming went on and I was there.

Maybe that plays to the little kid in me, I dunno.

Marty's continued existence helps keep alive the multigenerational narrative that's always made tiny northwoods Bessemer feel most like home to me. Even despite my being big city born & raised. More's the wonder, eh?

Call that genetic pride of place, I guess. Or nostalgia for riches spent before I ever got there to share.

Today, my affection for Bessemer's town band feels like patriotism. Since that's too often an undercut bank failing beside a dangerous river, we must be careful where we step.

The American Promise remains unfulfilled for far too many, way too long. Criminally many, shamefully long. Nobody can truthfully deny it.

Just the same, if I could reasonably spend this 4^th of July in Bessemer MI, with the Goldenaires playing their hearts out while bombs burst and rockets red glared, I would. Instead, I'll be content knowing it's mostly all still there.

Mostly. That's just the way of things. Has been, forever.

So happy 244^th birthday, United States of America. Best get at it. You're not exactly young anymore and there's still much to do.

And here's to Marty's Goldenaires. Long may they play.

#america #4thofjuly #patriotism #wipeout