Awesome Wonders

During a recent camping trip to Ashland County, I was able to visit two places, which trained as a geographer, I have longed to see.  The first, visited on the both way to and home from Ashland County, was Timm's Hill.  This is the current highest natural grade point in Wisconsin,  The second was St. Peter's Dome which sits above the surrounding countryside with a view of one of the Apostle Islands on a clear day.  There was more than view involved, it was being in the geography of place. In a larger sense it became the journey. This was particularly the case with our  Friday four mile hike up and back from St. Peter's Dome, with a  side trip to Morgan Falls.  It was my wife who made me ponder the journey aspect of our excursions through a conversation last Saturday evening.

On Saturday evening we attended mass at a small log church a couple miles west of the unincorporated community of Clam Lake.  On leaving the church, my wife commented on how the last song spoke to our recent excursions while camping near Clam Lake.  Most of the music at this mass was not overly inspiring, and in fact was rather slow and ponderous.  However, that changed when we got to the concluding song, "How Great Thou Art."  Her having put the song to our recent excursions, made me realize that the journey is part of the experience.  Does having a more difficult journey make one appreciate a natural site more than you would otherwise?  The more you put effort into something the more it seems to be appreciated.

Timm's Hill is quite easy to reach as a pleasant drive up a paved one lane road through the woods which will take you to within a few hundred feet of the viewing tower.  The journey is not difficult, and the tower takes one above some of the tree tops.  St. Peter's Dome, on the other hand requires a hike, most of it on an unimproved trail, and it contains what the US Forest Service refers to as a moderate grade.  While trails at Devil's Lake may be steeper, steps have been formed out of stones.  This is not the case with the trail to St. Peter's Dome.  There are small brooks to ford, tree roots to avoid and you need to make sure you gain firm footing on various rocks.  Each place, however, in its own way provided a unique experience.  On the way home Sunday at Timm's Hill it was seeing the fog form and rise from the rain the previous night--photos of which were placed on my Facebook page noting the Smoky Hills of Wisconsin.  Reaching the top of St Peter's Dome, it was the hike through what is a specially managed area by the US Forest Service.  There had been attempts at a granite quarry, remnants of what you can see from a portion of the trail.  There is also a snow mobile trail that crosses about two-thirds of the way up the trail.  A road could have been cut in and paved, affecting the natural surroundings, but then one would have missed the small brooks and other sights along the way.  These features lack the grandeur of Yosemite, the depth of the Grand Canyon, and the mass of Yellowstone, or the power of the great water falls of the west coast, but yet they still have significance and are really quite pleasing.  Maybe they could be thought of as a simple pleasure. St. Peter's Dome is at western end of the Penokee Range; this range was formed over 1.8 billion (yes, with a b) years ago, and is thought to have been at one time as grand as we know the Alps or the Rockies of today.  Millions of years of erosion have worn them to where now they are but a vestige of what they once were.  Like Rib Mountain, they are monadnocks.  Time takes it toll on our geology not unlike our human bodies, just through a much longer time frame.  Human history is but one small blink in the geologic time scale.

St George Church at Clam Lake

Back at mass on Saturday evening, not only did the organist ramp up his play on the last song, but so too did the attendees in this small log church with their voices.  "How Great Thou Art" is not the type of song one would normally consider able to rock a building, but it came close with the organ and the less than fifty gathered as part of a larger universal church.  The song, as my spouse noted to me, in fact spoke to our experiences on this trip, and in particular it related to our journey to the top of St. Peter's Dome.  My spouse would refer to this as another one of her "God-incidences."   Our journey in life is but one small section in time of the existence of the natural world, and the wonders in which we take pleasure. Things need not be on a grand scale in order for them to be appreciated.  For example, Morgan Falls is quite beautiful even though it is fed by a small unnamed creek.  They need not be overly ornate.  The beauty of God's creation, his "awesome wonder" is in how it is perceived, and what we wish to make of it.   But, it is important to let this aspect of nature inform us as we do the grand parts of creation which leave us in a different type of awe.  It is for us to take in the lessons nature can impart.  To me, the overriding lesson is to appreciate the journey and a duty to protect the awesome wonders gifted to us.  I was reminded of this coming out of a simple log church, and the memories gained made my soul sing.

Below are the first two verses from "How Great Thou Art" juxtaposed with photos from our camping trip, which can better explain than I the awesome wonders.  

O Lord my God, when I in awesome wonder

Eagle over Day Lake (Toni H. photo)

Consider all the worlds they hands have made,

Part of Morgan Falls

I see the stars, I hear the rolling thunder
They power throughout the universe displayed

------
verse 2:


When through the woods and forest glades I wander,

Part of the trail to St. Peter's Dome

And hear the birds sing sweetly in the trees.

Just to the side of the St. Peter's Dome Trail

When I look down, from lofty mountain grandeur 

From Timm's Hill tower

View from St. Peter's Dome

From St. Peter's Dome

And see the brook, and feel the gentle breeze

Brook to the side of the St Peter's Dome trail

 Unless otherwise noted, all photos by the author.

A Group of Three...

It is not unusual to see groups of threes.  In literature for example, we have the story of the "Three Little Pigs".  We also see three as having importance in landscaping, as an odd number of the same plant seemingly goes better together than an even number such as two or four.  In this case, a group of three plants can work better in a typical yard over a group of five or seven.  But, three is not uncommon in nature.

As the last of the sun leaves its red trail over the water,
a group of three make its way across Day lake

This past Friday, my spouse and I were camping at Day Lake in the Chequamegon portion of the Chequamegon-Nicolet National Forest, just outside Clam Lake, WI.  For many years our family camped in the Nicolet portion, and always found some event of which to relate a story.  Once it was seeing the eagle nest near Gordon Lake, or, it was raccoon's crossing our campsite at Point Beach, or it was when one of our children fell down a water fall in Marinette County causing my wife's heart to skip a beat or two, or giver her a gray hair.  But, it was also paddling by loons at one of  our favorite campgrounds.  At that favorite campground it was not be uncommon to see three loons, a mother and two young loons, swimming on the lake,  That campground had a number of sites with good views of the lake, and we became familiar with the call of the loon, whether it be late at night, early in the morning, or even midday.  It brought back memories when, while camping part of the past week, we heard the call of the loon.  Unfortunately, weather conditions of rain and cold kept us from the beach for good parts of the first two days.  On Thursday, in the evening, the conditions finally turned, the rain stopped that is, but not the cold.   Following one of my wife's delicious meals (even if it was planned left-overs from the previous day), we found ourselves walking down to the lake, and to take in the sun which had been pretty much absent until that evening.  At the lake, we could see, in the distance toward the opposite shore a loon, although perhaps the highlight of the evening was watching an eagle fly over the lake.

They are moving closer to the east shore

Having enjoyed such a nice experience on Thursday, we made our way to the lake Friday night, a little later in the evening than the day before.  We went to watch the sun set, but nonetheless with a hope of seeing some of the loons we had been hearing from our campsite.  It was during this time, that my spouse noticed three figures near the opposite shore, one a little larger than the other two. Our minds jumped to the conclusion that they were loons and we were wishing they would gradually make their way closer to the east shore, on which we were located.m  Our thoughts of loons were only strengthened when we say another loon land nearby, although it left rather quickly after making some odd sounds.   My wife followed the movement of the three figures in the water and she noted that they were gradually making their way east to our shore, and not all that far from our present location.  To get a better view, I grabbed the camera and waded into the water in hopes for a memorable photo opportunity and a Kodak moment, but one hopefully less disconcerting to my wife than a child falling down the eighteen foot high water fall  She then noted how close the three figures were to a floating bog located a couple hundred feet off the edge of the far beach buoy. At this point the group of three was hidden by the bog, and I could not locate them.  Shortly thereafter, all of a sudden a large figure quickly poked above the water, using I am sure a below water edge of the bog to lift itself up.  It was much too large to be a loon, and I commented that the it is the size of a big dog, but the animal was back in the water so quick that I could not determine what it actually was.  I began to wade closer to the group of three.  On our journey to the campground we came across a site we have not really seen before in Wisconsin, and that was a caution sign reading "Elk Crossing."  My wife's thought, building off of that sign, was perhaps it was an elk.  As the group moved closer to the east shore, The head popped up again, and I quickly said--"it's a bear!" Of course it was not just one bear, but three.

That is no group of loons

I was so struck by the coincidence of having seen three bears, a mom bear and her two children, that I had to watch with my eyes and not through a camera lens.  But, I was able to capture a few photos.  This was the first time I have seen bears up rather close.  (My prior time was seeing one cross the street while traveling down Highway 17 east of Merrill.)  This was no zoo, and the three figures quickly popped out of the water and made their way into the brush and trees of the shore.  I then made my way back to shore.  After a short discussion about the event and showing my wife the photos, a group of three appeared and asked if we had seen the bear.  They noted it apparently crossed near their site, but they did not see the bears.  Ever the practical one my wife suggested we should get to the campsite to make sure our food will not attract the bear.  After all, the food is much better for my stomach than the little sustenance it could give three bears.  While making our way back to the campsite, we could hear what sounded like animals climbing a tree, but the thickness of the vegetation prevented us from seeing if it was the bears, or our minds placing a sound unrelated to the event that was occurring.

Mom Bear looks back to check on her cubs

When my wife camped as a young girl with her family, they would go and watch bears at dump sites.  Dump sites are attractive to bears.  However, there is something different with seeing three bears swim across a lake and hop up on land.  It forms a nice memory to have seen Mom Bear leading her two cubs, let us call them Andrew and Joe, across Day Lake.  In the end they did not reach our campsite, and we placed our food in the car overnight. Life always seems to throw something to us, we just have to be prepared to be on watch.  Not that loons are not impressive, but we received that evening an event we are much less likely to see again.  It is now a our version of the story of the three bears.

Hopping on shore.  Note the other camper on a dock beyond the bears.
The photos were taken on the opposite side of the bed of aquatic plants,
which we estimated to be perhaps 100 to 150' from the bears

 Photos by the author, Friday, August 21, 2015

Tale of Two Cities

Life can be filled with puzzling events. In a similar manner our built environment can be puzzling in the relationship of one place to another. If suburbia is viewed as entrenched with similarity, a central city core is often viewed as a panoply of sights, sounds and smells which overload our senses. The mid-1960’s story of the murder of Kitty Genovese, while it has been debunked, nonetheless still plays a large role in the perception of how the anonymity of big city life can desensitize a population to the point of inaction, or worse, apathy. The economist Edward Glaeser notes, however, that urban poor are better off than the rural poor. Cities, he says, contain the poor because the poor arrive looking for opportunity. Opportunity, his thinking goes, is provided by amalgamation that is the city.

Downtown Minneapolis as viewed from Sculpture Garden
Photo by author

Warehouse/Industrial space being remodeled into high end loft units
Photo by author

As one walks in a city you can see the seeming dichotomy at play. Waterfronts were developed in the industrial age with warehouses and industry which took advantage of transportation or electricity which arose from dams. Today, many of those former industrial spaces have been, and continue to be, converted to high-end loft dwelling units. Perhaps the best example in modern culture is in the now 25 year old movie “Ghost” where the characters Sam Wheat and Molly Jensen remodel a warehouse space in which to live. Sam, is an investment banker, and Molly a potter, representative of the both the finance and artistic classes drawn to urban areas. Nearby are less than desirable neighborhoods.  Sam and Molly were Millennials before the term was coined.  

Gold Medal Flour sign at night, part of the structure is now loft apartments
Photo by author

A recent journey to Minneapolis further shows the milieu of urban life, and the contrasts that are present. First, is that the old flour factories and warehouses have been, or continue, to redevelop to urban loft style living or offices. These places demand high rents. As we watched fireworks over the river, behind and above our location, part of the top 10% gathered in units to party and view the fireworks from large picture windows. I am sure that not far away were dwelling units containing the less fortunate. Other than workers, central city cores are perceived as having become inhabited by the wealthy or those that struggle to meet ends meet, with little room for what we know as the middle class.

 

Minneapolis Club, Downtown Minneapolis
Photo from Google Images

Second, enjoying a picnic at Washburn—Fair Oaks Park next to the Minneapolis Art Museum on a hot summer day, the urban fabric was again shown by the variety of races and cultures present in and around the park. Some seemingly going by their business or out for a walk, others in groups that may appear rather disconcerting in one way or another. Being a regional attraction, the museum will gather persons from all walks of life, yet I suspect not many of the visitors choose to walk through this park, much less in the neighborhoods that surround the park. The museum is a structure in a classical style that exudes privilege and wealth. The surrounding neighborhood was once wealthy occupied primarily by barons from the gilded age into and up to the depression. Today, the old mansions built in a prior age, perhaps a few under single family occupancy, exist next to multi-family dwellings. Some of the multi-family are well-designed, others not so affecting the neighborhood aesthetics, but yet avoiding monotony.

  

Pocket Park owned by St. Olaf Parish, entrance to Exodus house
is to the left side of photo
Photo by author

The third and final example is one I found most telling. At the intersection of S 8th Street, and 2nd Avenue S in Minneapolis is the Minneapolis Club. This is to Minneapolis what the Wisconsin Club is to Milwaukee. Like the Wisconsin Club it is located in a grand old building, and is downtown. Unlike the Wisconsin Club which is surrounded by streets, the Minneapolis Club is next to a Minneapolis version of a skyscraper. It is at this location that the powerful, well-healed, and connected of the twin cities environs gather to party, socialize, and to network. Some may live in the city, many likely live outside in a wealthy suburb and come to their downtown playground. What makes this interesting is not the fact that the club is in downtown Minneapolis. What I found striking is what is in the block next door. Across the street from the Minneapolis Club is St. Olaf Catholic Church. Finding a church across from such a club is not unique either. After all, a massive red stone church sits across from the Wisconsin Club. It is what St. Olaf has next to their church that best represents the dichotomy and the tale of two cities. An eight story rather non-descript building of red brick is really only noticeable due to individual room air conditioners hanging from windows in a location where large buildings are cooled by equipment out of sight and concealed in a way to maintain the urban street fabric. This building is part of the social outreach of  St. Olaf church. Called the Exodus Residence, the church website describes building purpose as providing “a home to 95 single men and women in need of low cost and supportive housing. It meets the critical need of low cost housing for persons who have experienced homelessness.” The residents receive supportive medical care to deal with chronic illness or disease, and can stay up to two years. It is a place to help people. To allow the indigent of society to get a step up in the world.

  

Exodus House, owned and operated by St Olaf Parish
Photo from Google Images

In the amalgamation of urban America you can find what is essentially a homeless shelter across the street from a building that is the gathering spot of the powerful and well-connected. You find a variety of people, representing an increasing variety of cultures of the “stew” that is America continues to evolve. Minneapolis may be one administrative city, but like most of the nation it is a composed of two or more cities. Perhaps the ministry accomplished by St. Olaf Church is a reminder to the powerful that gather at the Minneapolis Club to help assist those who are less fortunate, those members of the “other city”.  This may be a tale of two cities, but we are all one humanity sharing a common home.  

Mind War

Seventy years ago on this date “the bomb” was dropped on Hiroshima. There have been many tons of bombs dropped in modern warfare, but none has come to the level of that one atomic bomb released from an American bomber on that summer day in Japan. Even today, the world has concern about keeping the nuclear club rather exclusive—the reason why the Obama Administration has negotiated an agreement to purportedly keep Iran from developing nuclear weapons. The deployment of the first atomic bomb was followed by a second, three days later, and a third atomic bomb was in transport to the east for use when the surrender of Japan was received. More recently, the United States has fought some wars only through the air, think the conflicts in the Balkans and Kosovo. Such warfare is more antiseptic—we lack direct contact with its results, and even better, to the general public and the politicians who order war, it involves little loss of American lives. Even though the bombs today can have a predetermined location there is still “collateral damage,” to use a military term. Euphemisms in our language attempt to down play aspects of terrible events.  But, war, regardless of how it is fought, is still hell.

Paul Tibbetts in the "Enola Gay"

I recently watched the movie “American Sniper” and two scenes in the movie gave pause to the main character. In providing cover for U.S. and allied missions in an area of terrorist activity replete with varied explosive devices and the use of suicide bombers, he sees a young boy next to his mother and the mother has her hands around her clothing, he realizes she is carrying an explosive device, he gets site of it and takes her out. The young boy takes the device and heads to the American soldiers gathered nearby. It poses a difficult choice for the sniper, and the viewer realizes the peculiar situation the sniper faces. He saves his fellow soldiers by killing the boy. You sense a moment of deep regret.  In the second situation, a man comes out to a corner of a building with a rocket propelled grenade launcher about to shoot it into a group of US soldiers.  the sniper takes the man out. A young boy enters the scene and he picks up the RPG, which is longer than he is tall, and balances it on his shoulder, and looking to pull the trigger toward the group of Americans. The sniper again faces an issue of conscience. What should he do, he does not really want to take out the young boy, perhaps thinking of his own son. He hesitates, and in the hesitation his dilemma becomes solved when the young boy puts the RPG down and runs away. At this moment the sniper realizes that the choices he makes have become too much for him, and he calls his wife and tells her he will be coming home. War is hell, and it can affect the mind and soul, but in ways that are invisible to the rest of us.

Cathedral in Nagasaki after the dropping of the Atomic Bomb

In an earlier post, I noted how Walter Miller, a member of the flight crew which bombed the abbey of Monte Cassino during WWII, converted to Catholicism, and would go on to write one of the better known post-apocalyptic novels of a nuclear war—A Canticle for Leibowitz. The effects of bomgbings was different for  Lt. Colonel Paul Tibbetts, who would retire as a general, was the pilot of the Enola Gay, named for his mother.  Tibbetts piloted the bomber which dropped the first atomic bomb, named “little boy.” Tibbetts would have no regrets about his actions, saying that he thinks of the lives that would otherwise have been lost during an invasion. Historians to this day debate the differences between use of the atomic bombs, which instantly killed 80,000 persons in Hiroshima, and three days later an additional 40,000 were killed. This contrasts with the Catholic Chaplain at the base in Tinian Island in the South Pacific, from where the Enola Gay was launched. He had blessed the crews prior to their mission. In an interview recounted recently by Tony Magliano, the Chaplain, George Zabelka, noted that it would be mortally sinful to allow a soldier to put a bullet through the head of a child, but yet he saw many planes that “went to Japan with the express purpose of killing not one child or one civilian but of slaughtering hundreds and thousands of children and civilians—and I said nothing.” He would say that he was brainwashed. That may not be too dissimilar to the line that Paul Tibbetts took to rationalize his dropping of the atomic bomb, so too did George Zabelka say that he followed the party line. Fr. Zabelka would say that atomic bomb was not the only issue. The Allies fire-bombing of Tokyo would kill 75,000 persons in one evening. Fr Zabelka, Magliano notes, would by 1975 go from a proponent of the Just War Theory to a total pacifist. He would, with Jesuit Fr. Jack Morris, arrange and participate in the Bethlehem Peace Pilgrimage which commenced at a nuclear submarine base in the state of Washington and concluded in Bethlehem on Christmas Eve in 1984.

Chaplain, Fr. George Zabelka

Fr. Zableka searched his soul and came to a conclusion that war is not the answer. Walter Miller would also become a pacifist and write his novel, before later taking his own life. The sniper searched his conscience and realized the difficult choices he had to make in whether or not to kill a child was not worth what it did to him. Paul Tibbetts rationalized his duty by how many persons would be saved from an invasion.  Each man found his own way to deal with the demons of war which would work their way into their mind.  The most unfortunate occurrence is that men are put in the position of having to make such choices. On second thought, perhaps the most unfortunate occurrence is a culture that uses suicide bombers and children to fight their wars. The mind war can be difficult to face and to explain.  War is hell and the hell is not limited to the destruction of our common home, or the visible wounds, but it also produces invisible wounds in the mind and in one’s soul.   

Land-Grant of 1862

For any person who has viewed the documentary titled the "Civil War", that was directed by Ken Burns, they may recall a comment by pro-southern writer Shelby Foote who noted that the north entered the engagement with"one hand tied behind its back." While the north, after a long, bloody and protracted war would claim victory, Foote was referring to other actions that were authorized by the Republican congress and a near like-minded Lincoln administration during the first few years of the 1860's.  Most readers will recall the passage of the 1862 Homestead Act which gave a person, or family,who had not taken up arms against the nation, a grant of 160 acres of land in the west in exchange for settlement of the property for at least five years. The land-grant was usually only the cost of a minimal filing fee.  Yet, 1862 was also notable for another land-grant--The Morrill Act of 1862.  Its formal name is much longer--"An Act Donating Public Lands to the Several States and Territories which may provide Colleges for the Benefit of Agriculture and the Mechanic Arts,"

Vermont Congressman Justin Morrill

Justin Morrill was a Republican congressman from the state of Vermont, and he proposed during the 1862 legislative session that the nation supply a grant of 30,000 acres for each Senator and Representative to the states for them to sell and fund the establishment of schools of agriculture and mechanic arts.  Some states would fund new schools, others turn the funds over to existing colleges, and some would even help fund private colleges.  His goal was to assure that college was affordable to all classes of people.   Interestingly, given its design to applied endeavors, it would start a shift in education away from the classics and liberal arts to the applied sciences.  The library of Congress website notes that the act would end up funding 69 institutions of higher learning.  Interestingly the website calls out three of primary note that received such funding--Cornell, MIT, and the University of Wisconsin. Cornell is privately charted institution, but three of its colleges receives, to this day, substantial public subsidy.  MIT is also a private institution.  However, the University of Wisconsin at Madison is the standard bearer of publicly owned land grant institutions. Why else would it be recognized by the Library of Congress with two institutions that are privately held?  Not only is it a public institution, it is also the flagship of the now University of Wisconsin system.

Record of the US Senate Approving Morrill Act

In fact, much of the Big Ten is comprised of land-grant colleges.  Michigan State and Pennsylvania State University are recognized as the first land-grant institutions in the nation to  be funded under the Morrill Act. In addition, to the three already noted, the list of land-grant institutions in the Big Ten also includes Illinois, Purdue, Maryland, Minnesota, Nebraska, THE Ohio State University, and Rutgers.  Michigan State, established in 1855, was the basis for the Morrill Act.  While Iowa was the first state to accept the grant, the funds were used for Iowa State University, not the University of Iowa.

US Capitol Building, 1861
A symbol of a nation under construction

Author David Van Drehle, notes in his work Rise to Greatness:  Abraham Lincoln and America's Most Perilous Year, that the "laws passed in 1862 would create fountains of wealth, the only questions were how large the fortunes would be and who would get them."  1862 was also the year of the passage of an act to fund the construction of the Transcontinental Railroad, of which graft and greed were plenty.  Yet, the Homestead Act and the lesser known Morrill Act were important pieces of legislation intended for those below the top one or ten percent.  The Morrill Act was the brainchild of a Republican Congressman, passed by a Republican Congress, and signed into law on July 2, 1862 by the first Republican President, Abraham Lincoln.

Statute of Lincoln in front of Bascom Hall on the University of Wisconsin Campus

In his book, Van Drehle also comments that "the Union faced the flames of destruction, yet Congress was looking beyond the disaster to a future of hardworking homesteaders and an educated middle class."  1862 would plant the seeds for the rise of an American educational and industrial system that would propel the nation forward to be a leader among nations.  The 1862 Republican Congress understood the importance of an educated population.  It understood the importance of providing funding for higher education that would not only advance agriculture and mechanics, but also assist in growing the liberal arts. It understood the role of higher education.  Perhaps they understood the Wisconsin Idea, before it became the Wisconsin Idea.  The University of Wisconsin is the standard bearer of great public land-grant institutions, but yet, the current Republican administration and legislature in Wisconsin have seemingly lost the history of 153 years ago.  On July 12, 2015 (153 years and ten days after Abraham Lincoln signed the Morrill Act) Governor Walker signed into law the biennial budget bill for the State of Wisconsin.  This budget cuts UW-System funding by $250 million (although this is less than the $300 million dollar cut in the budget Governor Walker presented to the state legislature), and also alters the tenure and shared governance provisions that have helped to create a strong university. If Governor Walker wants to grow the state economy perhaps he should look back to the reasoning behind the Morrill Act.

On Wisconsin?

The Berry Whisperer

We Americans, particularly those of us in the Midwest, tend to associate mid-summer with a variety nick-names and activities. Sometimes we refer to it as the dog-days of summer, or the lazy days of summer. It is a peak vacation time, allowing families a trip before children go back to school, and before fall sport training/practice intervenes and the days shorten. It is a time for picnics, baseball, hot dogs and Chevrolet (oops, in today’s world that should probably be Toyota). In the Madison, WI area on Thursday of this week the average high temperature is 81 degrees, a drop of one degree from the average high Wednesday. The high of 82 degrees before Thursday represents the highest normal temperature for the Madison, WI locale. As a weather forecaster said this morning, the normal temperature goes downhill for six months, before it starts to increase. But summer is more than celebrating warm weather, or longer daylight hours. It is also our prime growing season here in the Midwest. That means plenty of fruit and vegetables. Some vegetables, like broccoli, have peaked, and like other cool season vegetables do not fare as well in the warm weather. Mid-July is also peak raspberry time, at least in our red raspberry patch.

Our Raspberry Patch

So it is, that my wife finds herself picking raspberries twice a day, and during heat waves three times a day. The patch of raspberries is thick and so high that she said she could die in there and no one would ever know. I noted that I would probably notice when I tried to figure out what smelled so bad. I do, however, join in picking raspberries when I am home from work. We are lucky her job gives her off for most of mid-summer during prime berry picking time. Who else would pick the berries during the first part of the day? When I was growing up, we had a huge, and I mean huge, berry patch. My mother would send, or really order, us children out to pick the berries. We would spend an hour or two picking the berries and come in with a few quarts. On days we did not pick twice a day, Mom would have Mrs. Dohm, an elderly family friend and our babysitter, come down to pick. She would pick several quarts in much less time than it would take us. I always thought it was Mom’s way of saying we did not pick well enough.  After all, she was always telling us to lift the branches, and when we say what Mrs. Dohm picked it was easy to think we did not do well lifting the branches. However, now that we have our own berry patch, what I realize is that these berries ripen rather quickly on a warm summer day. A berry not ready for picking at 11:00 am, may well be ready by 6:00 pm.

Two Nice Big Raspberries

The older of my two sisters and I, became young entrepreneurs and one summer picked a huge number of quarts of berries that we sold to the former Krause grocery store in Sun Prairie. The store was only a store-front away from our Dad’s office in Sun Prairie on the main street, back when such traditional down towns were still vibrant. We made enough money to buy a tent to pitch in the back yard and the campground later owned by my older brother near Westfield. Raspberries sell for significantly more today, and are sold in pints, rather than quarts which notes how valuable they have become in the marketplace. I can understand why There are fewer picking machines like Mrs. Dohm around today than in the late 1960’s and early 1970’s. The ability to make some cash off the old berry patch is also a testament to the size of the patch. My Mom still had sufficient supply to make jam, pies, desserts and just to plain eat. We were no small group to feed.

Happy Raspberries Baked in a Pie

Last Saturday, which was a nice warm and humid day, my spouse and I ventured into the berry patch with mosquitoes dive bombing in to our faces and most annoyingly near our ears. We managed to get another haul of berries to complement those harvested earlier in the day. When Sunday morning came around, I knew that she would want to get to work making jam, and I had prepared my response. When she announced that she planned to make jam that day, she was informed by her husband, the berry whisperer, that the raspberries had whispered to him to have her make one of her delicious raspberry pies. I could tell she wanted to protest, but I noted that the berries were pretty adamant about not being cooked down and placed in some jars, followed by a hot water bath. Not to be outdone she found it odd that the raspberries would rather be baked in an oven. Berries are there for human eating and pleasure and a pie made with fresh raspberries, particularly the one my wife makes, is more pleasing to the berries, not to mention my stomach, than being cooked down and stuck in a jar on a shelf. She will have plenty of other berries to use from which to add to our collection of preserves, but the chance to get a raspberry pie with fresh homemade berries is shorter than the raspberry growing season.

Chocolate Chip Zucchini Bread, layered with Peanut Butter and Red Raspberries
A nice delicious treat

As for me, I found another use for raspberries. I have been known for some odd sandwiches over time, such as my peanut butter, chocolate chip and bologna which was my main stay as a child. (I like to think I was the precursor of peanut butter and chocolate before Reese’s.) This past weekend, I slathered peanut butter on top of a piece of chocolate chip zucchini bread and layered the peanut butter with fresh raspberries. A nice treat to eat in between my daily pieces of raspberry pie.  Of course, as next week approaches and the peak of the season passes, my ears will once again be open to hear the sounds of the raspberries prodding me to get my wife to make another tasty desert.  While it is nice to keep my stomach happy, it is even nicer to keep the raspberries happy.

Photos by the author

Difference a Year Makes

The circumstances in which you find yourself can be dramatically different from one year to the next. It can be more than being one year older, it can be more than being at work one year and retired the next. It is a rainy mid-July evening tonight, and knowing that there is little I can do outside, I decided to go through some of the letters my father had written home while he served in the Counter Intelligence Corps during WWII. I just happened to open my copied collection to July 4, 1945. In July of that year he was in, if I correctly read his handwriting, Vilshofen, Germany. He notes in the letter that he and "Jack are going to meet Joe for dinner out" and then go to a party. Although he admits it “has been a dull l4th so far today.” The next paragraph begins with “though the 4th hasn’t had any of the loud celebrating (and this was 18 years before my sister Jeanne was born) which usually goes on in the States, it has been a holiday,” but it is the completion of this sentence that peaked my interest when he wrote “and what a relief from last year.” With the war complete and the censors less concerned about what he writes he adds some additional information on where he found himself one year earlier.

American Cemetery in Normandy in early 1950's, with temporary wooded crosses

“I remember,” he begins “we were living in Carentan (which is a port city in Normandy) and I was sent down to the 329 regiment to work that day as that was the 1st day we attacked the enemy. It was an experience I’ll never forget.” Carentan was made famous by the battle fought by the 101st airborne division in June, as part of the  D-Day invasion. Part of these events are captured in the popular video series "Band of Brothers”  which documents the exploits of the 101st.  The history of the 83rd notes that the division’s first command post was in a circus tent near Bricqueville. At this point in the war, the division was under Omar Bradley’s First Army. While there, they received orders to move to Carentan and relieve the 101st Airborne. Carentan, it says “was the roughest and most hotly contested area in the entire American zone.” The 83rd would move in over the course of two nights in late June—the whole division from the riflemen to the headquarters and service troops. As noted by my father, July 4 was to be the first engagement of the 83rd Infantry division who began to arrive on the continent on about D-day plus 15 at Omaha Beach. The fighting would take place south of Carentan, noted in the 329th Regiment “After Action Reports” specifically as Le Plessis. The division history notes that they jumped off the Carentan—Periers road. They were fighting in the hedgerows of Normandy. The hedgerow fighting was perhaps some of the most severe of the war. Not only was it thick with brush and trees, as the name would imply, but there was also a usual significant change in elevation, also implied by its name. American tanks, with their special plow type fronts, were not nearly as effective in the hedgerows as the war planners had thought. They also had not anticipated the density and commonness of this French farm feature. It could well conceal the enemy, and the hardened Nazi fighters took advantage of the territory. As the division history notes “We found hedgerow fighting treacherous, rugged, nerve-wracking, murderous. Even now we find it hard to explain, for it almost defies description.” It goes on to describe the hedgerows as consisting of “gnarled tree roots and vines as tough and strong as iron hoops, all woven together in an impenetrable wall.” They could not see the enemy, nor the enemy see them, but they knew each other was there. Movement was tortured and time consuming, it was simply slow, creeping, crawling and costly.

A special plow on a US tank to battle the hedgerows

Costly it was, the August 8 entry in the “After Action Report” notes that casualties for the battle that began on July 4 and would last most of the month were in the range of 35%.  More specifically another report notes that of the 3058 enlisted men in the regiment, after two days of fighting 2518 were still in fighting condition. In just two days the 329th had 540 casualties. Yet, the situation was actually worse than that, as the casualty rate of companies that came in to contact with the enemy was 50%. As for weather, it was rain, rain, and more rain. Mud was getting deeper, making movement difficult, and more importantly it dampened air support. It would be 21 days later, on July 25 when air support would arrive to provide some much needed assistance. The Germans utilized effective machine gun placement “with maximum field of fire” which was supplemented by mortars and what they would come to realize were the deadly 88’s.

US Soldiers in Normandy, Summer 1944

In that July 4, 1945 letter, my father goes on to say that prior year he was “fairly safe in a fox hole in an orchard, but the boys on the front 1,000 yards away were caught in a hell as they had to go through a swamp waist deep in water.” But he continues to describe what a dire situation the regiment was in when he says that “some got over and were cut off, others stayed in the swamp and a few struggled back and the look they had after their first real day of battle was horrible.” War is hell, and it showed on the faces of the men who retreated from the swamp as they were caught in the fire of German machine guns and 88’s. That first day of encounter, he goes on to say, was also the first day he “saw a German prisoner for the first time…and it was quite an experience. Now we live with them, practically.”

My father, Roy Bernard Hovel, CIC

One year makes a difference. On July 3, 1944 my father and the 83rd Infantry were preparing to enter battle against the Germans in France, but a year later, on July 3 he had taken “the large Mercedes” to what he refers to as some God-forsaken place” and got stuck twice on the way back due to heavy rain. His location, means of transport and means of purpose had changed, only the rain reamained the same.  He then notes that “4 former German army boys helped me out.” However, following that tale, he gets more serious when he writes “It sure is a funny world though and if you could see all that has been going on here for the past 6 yrs and still it would seem all twisted up to you too. I couldn’t even begin to write about everything because it’d take a year or two. I can understand it because it is my work but I guess there are few others over here outside of some CIC men who do. Even many CIC men are surprised to hear of different things and can’t imagine them.” He goes on to recount of having heard a father send his son to a concentration camp, and a son a father. “The Nazi propaganda, education, and system was horrible in its efficiency and the way it would keep the truth from the German people and still attain a horrible end.”  As a member of the CIC he would experience not only the horrors of war, but the ruthlessness of man to a fellow man.

83rd Infantry CIC Detachment, Morning Report
for August 1, 1944

In less than one year the war went from a terrible situation where the victory to secure the beaches one month earlier was almost lost, two ten months later with the total and unconditional surrender of the German army. It would take one year for my father to write about his account of his first experience near the front. July 4, 1944 was for him an experience that was burned in to his memory, and was quite the contrast with the party and dinner he would have one year later. He was part of the 329th regiment during those July days that would feel the wrath of the German war machine, but yet persevere. He would go from life in a foxhole in an orchard among the hedgerows of Normandy to driving a Mercedes on Army business in the south of Germany. Most of all, he saw the hell of war, the terrible cost, and a bittersweet July 4, 1945 where a holiday was interrupted in his mind by the horrors of one year earlier. What a difference one year can make.