Vintage

In September 1968 my dad turned 50 years old. My younger brother, age four at the time, went around saying, "My Dad is an antique." This little bit of humor came back to me a few weeks ago when, during a Fourth of July party, I saw a Yeti cooler owned by one of my nephews. From this came a discussion of coolers, and camping. This is a story of the now commonly used term vintage, and how it relates to our cooler.

The Yeti cooler peaked my interest, since we camp, and when we got home discovered our cooler had lost all of its ice on a camping trip that concluded the prior Thursday. We should have bought more, but guessing how fast ice melts is like trying to figure out what room my wife is going to next reorganize. On that camping trip, we guessed wrong. Just like I guess wrong when the wife gets in her moods to reorganize. Hence, my interest in the well insulated Yeti cooler. The good insulation also leads to the issue of weight, and more importantly available space for packing food. We freeze water in three half gallon milk jugs and use that for our trip, and then buy ice once or twice while on a four or five day camping trip. 

Another nephew, who camps with his spouse, and I struck up a conversation about coolers. He uses an Igloo cooler. When I noted that we use a Coleman cooler, green in color, but we also have a red one. He asked if it was metal, which it is. He was upbeat about the fact that we used a "vintage" cooler. He then said you may be able to get some money for your vintage cooler. This means such vintage coolers are in demand likely by trend setters, influencers and their followers. Here, I look at it as a somewhat durable cooler (metal sided) and practical which fits our needs for required space. Most of our camping gear is vintage. Our cookware is from when my wife camped as a child, and a set is in the State of Wisconsin Historical Society museum; the aluminum set was made in Manitowoc. Our Coleman Stove, which we bought when we started camping in about 1995 or 1996 uses white gas and so could now be vintage, and a style no longer made. 

I have heard the term vintage before, often in regard to items from my teen years or childhood--my old Schwinn American bike, or some cookware and toys are often not uncommon to hear described as vintage. Back in 1968 an antique was generally an item 50 years or older. Vintage is now the term replacing and pushing antique back in time. Looking it up, vintage applies to items 20 to 99 years old, while antique is an item 100 years or older. Hence, toys my nephew as played with as a child may now be vintage. 

Our Vintage Coleman Cooler

Vintage is not unlike the era in which I grew up--mid-century modern, which was, or is, all the rage for housing--those sprawling ranch homes with large picture windows. Even some of the 1950's color schemes, of muted pinks, and blues are appreciated. It is too bad the furniture I grew up with had broken from use and several boys in the household, as such mid-century modern chairs are quite the charm.

I don't think every twenty year old item is vintage, as it likely depends on a variety of cultural factors. Beanie Babies have yet to make a comeback, although a few of those furry creatures seem to be in demand. I have yet to see Nehru jackets make a comeback in the US, or, just as bad, leisure suits. Leisure suits were all the rage in the mid-1970's. The 1970's were an interesting fashion time, as it transitioned from the hippie styles of the 1960's to leisure and morphed to the disco rage of later that decade. 

I wonder what it is that attracts people to an old Coleman Cooler? I have to think a large part is nostalgia for a time in a persons childhood. Childhood was often less complicated than what we experience when we grow up and some mature. Memories are part of human nature and if a memory of camping, or a day at the beach with your parents and their old cooler passed down a generation helps give a sense of comfort in a complicated world. Who can argue with that?

Top of our Vintage Cooler

One psychology website noted that not only is, in part, about "a magical time machine, whisking us away to moments long past and stirring up a whirlwind of emotions. Vintage pieces have this uncanny ability to trigger memories and emotions, wrapping us in a cozy blanket of nostalgia. But it's not just about reminiscing; it's about feeling a sense of belonging to a bygone era, even if we weren't there to experience it firsthand." However, the website goes on to further describe as the hunt for such items triggers emotions of a find, but also of locating an unexpected item. In other words, the journey or experience of the journey is part of the thrill in search for a vintage item. 

I am not sure when vintage went from describing a wine to items of a cultural sense fitting in a certain age group, but I do not recall hearing the term in the latter sense much when I was young or even middle age. It likely occurred after Orson Welles proclaimed "Serve no wine before its time." At some point it came about to describe items and perhaps by millennials who seem to love the term so much. Language changes over time. Think of how what I call records is now called vinyl. To me vinyl describes a material, not a record. Record players are another item that is vintage or antique and was replaced by CD's. So, what does a person who calls a record, now vinyl, call the machine that plays it--a vinyl machine? There is a great Everybody Loves Raymond episode where Frank's records get destroyed by one of the kids, and Robert buys him new ones, with scratches and all that give Frank and Marie the nostalgia of the old days when they were younger.  Raymond had bought the music on CD's but Frank did not find it acceptable. Today, our electronic retained and played files of music are rather antiseptic--perfect in a sense, with no cause of harm from wear as would be found with records, excuse me--vinyl. 

Vintage objects, whether records or coolers, harken to a past time and for some reason we often think of the past as better than today. Perhaps, the world is lacking in hope, but it is beneficial that at least a few vintage objects have a place in the heart the millennials and gen Z'ers. I had looked at the Yeti and felt that I would rather purchase more ice than lose space for the cooler. Plus, I am not getting any younger for lifting. Losing space would mean giving up something, which would be difficult to do since Land Girl has her packing list for the cooler down after thirty years of camping.

I hope our vintage cooler holds out, its weak part is the plastic over the foam bottom, which I have repaired. Vintage is not perfect. I have trouble, for some reason, thinking of items I used or played with as a child as vintage. I guess it shows my age more than I wish to admit. 

The Blue Tarp

It was a blue poly tarp, which are rather ubiquitous around homes and farms. I found one that had blown in our yard several years ago, and while not in the best of shape it was useable depending on the task. I repurposed the tarp to use doing yard work. Tarps come in handy to haul leaves to mulch flower beds or the vegetable garden.

The tarp is also used to haul brush. The village picked up brush twice a year--spring and fall, but I just found out they have a summer pickup date, late July for me. They have a drop-off site that is open much of the year. I found out about the summer pickup a few days after I made the haul. To haul bush to the drop-off site, the brush is loaded on the  tarp and then the tarp is tied up to minimize the brush, and its related detritus from messing up the back of the Jeep. That way it minimizes cleanup of the vehicle. 

The blue poly tarp that I had repurposed had seen better days. There were many rips, and most of the grommets had pulled off, with only a few remaining to use to help tie up the brush. Even the heavy string at the edge of the tarp, encased in blue poly of the tap, was out and in fact I used that to help tie up the tarp. When loading brush last week, my wife commented once again that we need to use another tarp. I think she told me that last year hauling leaves, but I wanted to get more use out of it. We tied the brush, and due to the condition of the tarp, we used bungee cords around the brush tarp taco to hold it together. 

We lifted it into the Jeep and then I headed to the drop-off site. I pulled out the brush taco and unwrapped and untied it then lifted it up onto the pile as best as I was able. Brush can be difficult, especially that brush that has thorns--like some of our land shrubs. Hence the tarp can get beat up pretty bad and quick as the thorns or sharp points on the brush grab the poly and the poly tends to rip. 

These ubiquitous tarps are supposed to be waterproof, but one we found out on our last camping trip that the one we bought to cover our chuck box last year, to replace one that lasted almost 30 years, leaked, due to discovering water on the top of the chuck box. I now have to decide if that is the tarp to be repurposed for lawn work, or the one covering my kayaks, which is starting to rip at the edges. They do not make poly tarps like they used to. 

But, the funniest thing of the whole story of my trip to the drop-off site is at the end. I pull into the garage and am getting out of the car, and my wife suddenly appears from the house. She moved faster than a squirrel, who got yelled at to get off a bird feeder.  As I opened the tailgate, I knew exactly whey she was there so fast--to make sure I threw the tarp out. If I had couple minutes before she appeared I would have rolled up the tarp and put on the top of the shelving unit in the garage, which she cannot reach. She knew this and spurted out the door and down the two steps faster than ever before. I knew that she would be there to supervise the tarp being thrown out. 

One tarp down, I now am required to find a different tarp to repurpose for lawn and garden use. Tarps come in handy for many things, as shown by that blue poly tarp which is now buried in the Dane County Landfill a few miles from our home.

Raspberry Time

We have a small red raspberry patch, although it is larger than the five canes I originally installed and has moved beyond the original intended borders demarcated by plastic edging that is now buried within the patch. Much of July is given over to picking the red raspberries.

Past years we tended to pick twice a day, but this year we are mainly picking once a day. We started picking in early July, but our harvest was rather small. Peak picking was this past Saturday when we picked near three quarts, and both Sunday and Monday we picked two quarts of berries. Many are frozen, some go in smoothies, cereal, and some go in the mouth either directly or on a graham cracker slathered with peanut butter and piled with raspberries. One time the a few berries fell of the peanut butter butter and berry graham cracker onto our sofa cushion, which my effort at cleaning made it worse, but which my wife kindly rectified the next morning. I was face timing with our oldest grandchild the other day and as I watched him on the screen I ate berries we had just picked.  

Baby birds in raspberry brambles

Picking berries can be hazardous--weeds, mosquitoes, and even the canes themselves. I was reaching the other day to get some berries and a cane caught my eyeglasses. With a handfuls of berries ready to drop into the container I could not adjust my glasses, so when I backed up, the glasses were pulled off. I can barely see without my glasses. Hence, I had to show Land Girl where they pulled off, as my search yielded no results, because I cannot see much with my glasses off unless a few inches in front of my eyes. I knew not to move my feet less I step on them. I did take a step back thinking that may be safe, and luckily it was. The wife located the glasses and directed me where to reach. When we camp, I usually wear a glass strap all day, and perhaps I need to start wearing one in the berry patch. I did lose a pair of glasses several years ago when tubing, and the glass strap. I now know the glass strap will not fully protect my glasses from falling off, much less sinking in the water. What is needed is a glass strap that will reliably stay on the glasses and float. They make some that float, but I am not sure if it is reliable.

This year I had a unique situation in the berry patch. A couple feet off the ground on our first day of picking as I was moving branches to reach berries and I came across a nest with two baby birds, mouths wide open, but no sound. I moved around and continued to pick. The next day I found one baby had fallen out so I used a trowel to pick it up. It was more difficult to find that baby than my glasses. Unfortunately, later that day or the next both babies fell out and while I located one, it appeared dead. I think they were cardinals. Highly unfortunate, but I hope the mother learned her lesson to build a nest higher up. Berry plants, at least raspberry plants, are not the most stable, particularly when they get jostled in order to pick the berries. Although, they are strong enough to pull off a pair of glasses. 

Usually in March Land Girl and I cut out the old canes and trim the new canes to about 5 feet. Raspberries grow on second year canes and those canes die at the end of the season. New canes, which in March are about to begin their second year of growth will produce the berries. Pruning in March means we are pruning before the growth starts for the season.

I had never come across a bird nest in the berry patch before, but have found rabbit warrens in the spring mulch around plants, particularly in the rose bed. The patch is invaded by weeds and volunteer trees. The most prevalent plant is a groundcover and the state's wildflower--the violet. Raspberry time means picking the berries, which is the most time consuming aspect of the patch, but outweighed by the delicious nature of the berries.

Woodpeckers

About fifteen feet above ground in a small diameter  Maple tree was a small round hole so perfectly shaped it could have been made by a drill bit. Around this hole was a great deal of woodpecker activity, and my spouse and I determined that a nest of baby woodpeckers were in a cavity in the tree with this hole being the point of access. The hole sat about 15 feet into the woods between our campsite and the next one up the road, but since the hole faced our campsite and fire pit area, we were the beneficiaries of the woodpecker activity.

Woodpecker about to access hole in tree

The Hairy (it may be a Downey) woodpeckers, seemingly both the mom and dad, were busy most all day feeding the noisy chicks. For over 12 hours of the day time hours, the little chicks would squeal and squeal, with the noise only occasionally stopping when the parent dropped by with some food. This went on for the five days plus that we were at the campsite, and I am surprised their voices did not go horse. They will have strong vocal cords when they reach maturity. As they chatted all day, I wondered if they were all female chicks getting getting practice for laying out the line to their future mates. My wife quickly could tell the difference between the chick squeal and the adult chatter.

Woodpecker to side of hole pecking insects

The adults would look to find insects on the tree with the nest, but more often fly to nearby and even far trees to find the proper insects. According to a Google search, Hairy woodpeckers (which I think this was) eat a variety of insects, but are particularly like wood-boring beetle larvae, bark beetle larvae, and moth pupae. They also consume ants, caterpillars, spiders, bees, wasps, crickets, and millipedes. Sometimes the chicks seemed to be fed with the adult on the outside simply sticking their head in, and yet other times, the adult would go in the hole not be seen from the outside. Whether they have to worry about allergies for the chicks, I don't know. I pondered whether the siblings were unruly and some punishment needed to be meted out to the youngsters.

Woodpecker about to enter hole

I think we both found some interesting similarities between the moms and dads of the little woodpeckers, and of humans. Babies get a great deal of attention, whether it be a human baby crying (or fussing) or a chick squealing. Parents feed and tend to their needs. The food is not always at home so the parents have to travel to obtain proper a food source(s). Further, while I don't recall the chicks taking a nap, they eventually quieted down at night, and likely left the parents exhausted to reenergize to face another day. At least human babies nap, which gives parents some reprieve from care giving.

There was little wildlife at the site, except for birds, and a squirrel that liked to climb on the camper. My wife saw the the squirrel jump on the the camper frame. Unfortunately, we did not see the babies stick their head out of the nesting hole. But, in the end we got to see bird parents do much of what human parents also do. The care for others is important in human society, but care extends to other species in God's creation, like the woodpeckers.

Images from author

Snake in the Water

As the sun set behind the tall green evergreen trees over a quarter mile distant a profound purple and magenta color formed just above the trees at the horizon of the 44 acre lake in north central Wisconsin. The few clouds seemed to radiate purple to the point that I could almost seemingly touch the color emanating from the distant horizon. I was at the small beach at Cunard Lake, and eyed the horizon parallel to the shoreline on my right. The evergreens made the water color even darker than it otherwise would be at this stage of dusk. Even though the water surface was as smooth as a mirror, an almost indiscernible lap of water occurred at the beach sand. As I looked down I saw a snake in the water. 

Cunard Lake, Google Maps

As I approached the water edge with my Keen sandals, the water almost lapping the black tips, the snake slithered closer to the shore and raised its head out of the water and hissed at me. I took the cue to back up slightly. A bit earlier, as I took off my shirt and set my towel on the fence above the retaining wall which sets aside the small beach from the sitting area, I cannot say I was not warned about the snake. A couple, also camping at Cunard, mentioned the snake and suggested I see what it does as I approached the water. This hissing, making me think it was speaking parsel tongue as it moved its long tongue in and out was not what I would say inviting. I had wished Harry Potter was around to interpret the snake's message. The couple told me that was the small snake and showed me a picture of a larger one that had just been there prior to my arrival. They were surprised at how long the snakes were in the water.

Large snake looked like this
WIDNR

Before noticing the snake, but after the couple told me about it, I noted that I had swam in the lake, from this very beach, for the past five days, and had not noticed any snakes. The prior night I had swam at the lake with a pleasant swim, but about a half hour earlier. That pleasant outing had the exception when I was almost run over by a canoeist who for some reason could not see a person and the waves caused by swimming in front of him. His wife in the front must have seen me but I heard her say nothing. The setting sun was in my eyes and I barely had a chance to notice him approach except at the last minute when their shadow blocked the sun from view. The sun was at his back so I am not sure how they did not see me. Perhaps he was concentrating on the put in at the beach about 30 yards behind me. Or, perhaps, it just adds to my not being very noticeable.

Cunard Beach, Google Maps

The same night I saw the snake I had swam here in the early afternoon after a morning bike ride, topped off with a stop for ice cream in St Germain. While there were a couple water craft at that time, they seemed more stationary and seated near the opposite shore to not be buffeted by the strong westerly wind that caused waves to lap over my body. I had not worry about getting run over. Cunard Lake sits some what evenly between, but south of a line between Woodruff and St Germain, being a few miles south of County J in Oneida County. This was our fifth time camping at Cunard, which is a quiet campground within the Northern Highlands-American Legion State Forest. Could the slithering, curving roads around the many lakes to access Cunard Lake have presaged the coiled snake in the water?

As I watched the snake slither around in the water and taunt me, my first thought was this a water moccasin? I left my cell phone back at the campsite, but it would not have done any good due to an inability to get service, perhaps one bar at best to try and identify the creature that was probably larger in my mind than it was in real life. The photo of the couple had of the larger snake with its diamond type stripes, was rather intimidating and they said it moved off down the water into the lily pads to my left. Prudence took over, and decided I was not going to risk getting a snake bite, whether poisonous or not. It was disappointing as the late evening, with its calm waters presents a good time to swim.

Cunard Lake Beach, Source: WI DNR
The beach area is much smaller this year
with only a few feet between the water and the retaining wall.

We have camped at Cunard Lake before, and one time I had a discussion with a fellow whose friend, a professor in Indiana, had completed a loon study and this lake had been included. While we heard loons, we did not see any. My wife wondered if the snake would bother loon eggs, which made me wonder how scientists take loon predators into account. At other campgrounds I have swam and seen otters, loons, and other water fowl, but this  is the first time I recall coming across what is said to be a Common Watersnake, which, the DNR says, can be easily mistaken for a water moccasin. Varied web sites say the water moccasin is definitely not in Wisconsin. I decided not to try out as a test subject. I chose not to have my wife read the headlines: 67 year old man becomes victim of first known Water Moccasin in Wisconsin. The photo of the large snake was definitely brown with tannish stripes. The small snake was almost black in color with few discernable stripes. Maybe they were feeding on the small fish that spread out as I waded in the cool water to swim. The common watersnake is said to prefer rivers, but the only stream of which I am aware that is with Cunard is the one that connects it to Sweeney Lake.

As the purple color faded from the sky as the sun set well below the far evergreens, I decided to mosey back to our campsite about 500 to 600 feet away to surprise my wife who was tending the campfire.  She was surprised I was back so soon, although not as surprised was I was by the snake in the water.