Recent Past in Village and at Home, In the Midst, and Coming Events

 

Dinosaurs sighted in Northport

That was a surprise as I was leaving the bank parking lot on Thursday morning, and I had to go back for a better view. Apparently both male and female T-rexes had been at the Leelanau Township Library. The plant-eating dinosaur over by the Depot did not seem fazed by the arrival of carnivorous cousins.

Other of us (non-dinos) were somewhat fazed by commotion on Waukazoo Street a little later. What was going on? It involved shutting off the water for our whole block, which meant closing our block off to vehicular traffic and unanticipated time off for the restaurants. 

Bookstore stayed open, though. We had lights. And now, on Friday morning, everything is back to normal.

Home Life

Life continued busy as we northern Michiganders launched ourselves into August. Raspberries have peaked, however, and rain overnight on Wednesday meant I didn’t have to water gardens on Thursday morning. I also picked what look like the last of the beans for this summer (having failed once more to stagger bean plantings). So a few things are no longer on my daily to-do list.

Purple on the outside,
these beans turn green in hot water.

We had our first August company, as my younger stepdaughter and her husband brought their adorable little camper and set it up in the yard for a couple of nights. 

Her sister drove up from Kalamazoo to join the fun, and we all had a collaborative al fresco dinner at the farm on Tuesday (featuring fresh Kolarik sweet corn, a neighborhood treat), followed by a night out at the new Bluebird on Wednesday (treated by the sisters). Wonderful, all of it! Tree guy pronounced our guests “cool,” and they found him “delightful!” Sunny was even exceptionally good with company in the house and yard—as long as there were plenty of tennis ball tosses and as long as her momma didn’t forget Sunny’s meals. I admit she had to bark a couple times to remind me.

Cherry pie was my contribution from one of the three quarts of fresh tart cherries Carlos Fuentes gave me from his gleaning adventure in a neighborhood orchard where he has known the owner for years. He picked and offered, I pitted. (The end of a potato peeler works great for pitting cherries, by the way.) Result: Yum!

My reading

I continue to make progress in the fascinating saga of the 17th-century life of Roger Williams, having gotten him at last from England to colonial America. Among the many, many fascinating facts and events, I was delighted to learn that before he undertook to act as missionary to the Native Americans, Williams took the time, on his own initiative, to learn the language and the customs of local indigenous peoples. The treatise he wrote at the request of the governor of Plymouth authorities and presented to Governor John Winthrop unfortunately exists no longer, but apparently he ruffled a few feathers when he argued (having learned the law in England under Coke) that the Native Americans did make use of the land on which they lived and therefore had legal ownership of it, that the land was not just lying there unused for the indiscriminate taking by Englishmen! He ruffled even more feathers, however, when he stated baldly that the English king was a liar. I am liking this Roger Williams fellow more and more all the time, but he offered his treatise to be burned when the authorities persuaded him that its existence put him in danger. As had so many others and as is still the case today, he gave in to the pressure of the group. 

Reading more than one book at a time sometimes brings surprises. One such for me is how well The Guru Papers: Masks of Authoritarian Power, by Joel Kramer and Diana Alstad, dovetails with the life of Roger Williams. Late 17th-century colonial America and the early 21st-century United States of America have more in common than I would have guessed. 

Three years earlier suffrage had been restricted to male church members, but during those three years, three years during which the population grew enormously, church membership became increasingly exclusive. Initially, one had had to do little more than sign the church covenant to become a member. That soon changed: to join a church now, potential members had to prove themselves “visible saints,” had to prove that they were among the precious few whom their Calvinist God would save. This forced potential members through a stringent and arduous process that included standing before the entire congregation and presenting evidence that God had made the seeker a saint…. This was no pro forma ritual. It was an intimidating, difficult, rigorous, and by no means always successful test. In most churches the congregation had to vote unanimously to accept the new member. Those who either did not seek or were rejected from membership could worship in a church—in fact, the law required them to do so. But they could not belong to a church.

As a result, only a minority of the population, and a decreasing minority, were church members and qualified as freemen with voting privileges.

- John M. Barry, Roger Williams and the Creation of the American Soul: Church, State, and the Birth of Liberty

Who are the “true” Christians? Can a non-Christian be a good person (or a good American)? Should the laws of the community—colony, state, nation—be determined by churchmen? (If so, which churchmen?) What of people who disagreed, whether church members or otherwise? What of those who followed other religions or no religion at all? What gives law its authority? 

Kramer and Alstad argue that Americans today (though not only Americans) have internalized authoritarianism in ways we don’t even recognize. Blind submission to any authority, they say, has its root in self-mistrust, and self-mistrust comes from a psyche divided against itself, with one part labeled ‘good’ and the other part labeled ‘evil.’ They point out that most religions, including Buddhism, consider self-centeredness to be bad, selflessness the ideal good. And so, when we seek a positive good for ourself that does nothing for anyone else, we feel selfish and bad. The divide is embedded in our culture.

Here is an insight I had the other day about their idea: Ayn Rand’s “virtues of selfishness” philosophy does not introduce a new value system at all. It merely flips the good/evil division, insisting that selfishness is good and altruism bad. The “new” morality she offers is just as divisive as the old was, and, like Nietzsche, the “purity” her morality demands can do nothing to integrate what Kramer and Alstad identify as a divided psyche. In the obsession with purity, where someone following a traditional morality would have to twist her reasoning considerably to find altruism in a selfish choice or action, the Randian practitioner has to brand her altruism somehow as selfishness to feel good about herself. 

Kramer and Alstad write (and they are always very clear when stating their opinions that they are doing just that), 

In our framework[,] being self-centered is simply an aspect of being human, as is the capacity to truly care for others. Not only does each have its value and function, they are intertwined rather than totally separate or even separable. Any morality that separates the two, giving much more value to one (the selfless), cannot but deeply divide the psyche of those who accept this frame.

        - Joel Kramer and Diana Alstad, The Guru Papers: Masks of Authoritarian Power 

While they do not address Ayn Rand’s philosophy,* I find a general parallel in what they say about American society’s double message--the fascination with rule-breaking individuals, the romance of the “lawless” frontier, the American love affair with criminals and with fictional bad boys. 

“Rebellion is bad and dangerous,” on one side; and “Rebellion is not only exciting and exhilarating, it is freedom,” on the other. Double messages from parents have been shown to cause schizophrenia in children. The double messages a society puts out likewise must fragment its members, but here the resulting pathology is disguised by being the social norm.

A fascinating book! I was able to find The Guru Papers still available from my distributor so put two copies on my last order. One sold almost immediately. The other is still available. My own copy was already marked up by a previous reader, and I have marked it up even more. 

I finished reading The Meadow, by James Galvin, and still re-reading Mistress Masham’s Repose, by T.H. White, though I haven’t gotten through many pages of either book the past few mornings or evenings.

*Next day: Nearing the end of the book, I find this in a passage about guilt and frustration creating "a self-absorbing vicious circle, for most guilt can be traced back to guilt about being self-absorbed." They continue:

Either/or thinking creates various types of reactions. For example, the "me first" attitudes much in evidence these days (we call it the Ayn Rand syndrome [my emphasis added]) react against puritanical, selfless values by embracing self-centeredness as the "real truth." ...But being an either/or reaction...it also mistakes one aspect of the person for the whole. If we were instead to acknowledge the reality of self-centeredness along with the reality of care and love for others, we would be able to focus more on appropriately balancing the two, both in our own lives and in our social systems.

Coming bookstore author event

Trying to keep up with myself as summer races by, I managed (just barely) to get a press release to our county newspaper for the bookstore event next Thursday, a reading by and audience conversation with Jennifer Sager, whose book Steph’s Story won my heart. Jenny is a delightful person--read more about her here--and I hope many of my local bookstore friends and summer visitors will find time to come learn about her book and her sister. 

The date is August 13, the time 4 p.m., so you’ll have plenty of time to hear and speak with Jenny and not miss your cocktail hour, let alone dinner. 

Oh, and this very Saturday, August 8, is Northport's annual dog parade! Theme this year is “Pawty Like a Rockstar,” so we anticipate a lot of creative and colorful costumes. Wow! It's summer, and the hits just keep on comin'!

Books, Dog, Tree Guy, Me, and More

Another busy week has been flying by.

I took a real day off on Sunday, though. Well, most of a day off. Several hours, anyway. Tree guy and I ventured down to the Leelanau/Benzie county line to explore several little lakes: Armstrong, Brooks, and Pearl. My favorite was Brooks, the smallest of the three. (I have no explanation or excuse for why I originally named the wrong lake as my favorite but have corrected that error now.) There was a public access but no dock. Very few houses. A very peaceful setting. Just standing and gazing felt restorative. 

Shoreline mystery plant. Can anyone identify it for me?

Eventually, turning northward again, we stopped in Cedar for Polish food from Tom Koch’s Polish Kitchen food truck. Wow! Pierogis with jalapeño popper filling! And Tom’s dill pickles are the best I’ve ever had—just dill enough, with a fresh, satisfying, crispy crunch. 

Lakes and lunch were so exciting that we had to rest a while when we got home again in the early afternoon.

Monday, though, was a super-busy day off, as Mondays usually are. It began with an agility session for Sunny and me, only our second this summer. Good to get back in the swing! Then there was housework, laundry, shopping, mowing—the usual Monday routine. Up early on Tuesday, I had plenty of time and leisure to refresh my memory of The Vacation, by Robert ‘Carlos’ Fuentes, over coffee, even time to write up some questions to ask him in our onstage conversation that evening at the Willowbrook.

What fun! Carlos is such a lively guy, with such a happy, positive outlook on life! I only hope the audience enjoyed our onstage conversation as much as we did.

Carlos Unleashed! Give him a microphone and stand back!

After a long-anticipated event, I’m always happy to have a quiet morning, and Wednesday morning’s fresh, cool, still air made being outdoors the best possible way to start the day. I’d only had enough energy to read about four pages of Mistress Masham’s Repose before falling asleep the night before, but when Sunny was ready to get up and go! her momma wasn’t far behind. Coffee, toast, yogurt, and a handful of berries right off the canes was breakfast. I’ve made two batches of jam, and the freezer is still full of berries, so now I can indulge in desultory snacking as the annual harvest diminishes.

Although my new domestic partner is also a reader, my reading has slowed down with another human being in the house, but somehow I managed to finish a couple of books over the weekend, one long one I’d been working on for weeks, Spirit of Place: The Making of an American Literary Landscape, by Frederick Turner, another a short, quick novel from the first half of the 20th century, Edith de Born’s The House in Vienna. Then I thought I would re-read all of Jim Harrison’s Brown Dog stories, but I’m bogging down already in the second one. They really are “guy” stories! And while I may be a tomboy, in some ways, I have never been a “guy” and never wanted to be one. When I said as much one afternoon, Tree Guy reminded me of what a wonderful novel Dalva is. “Right. And that’s not a Brown Dog story,” I reminded him.

My attention was not held. 

The other day I received an email—no, actually, it was caught in my spam filter, but I did glance down the list of spam and saw the heading—entitled, “Can we be honest with you?” I don’t know what it was about. I did not read further. But the question stuck in my head. CAN whoever-it-was be honest? One hopes so! Some people, it seems, are incapable of honesty. No doubt the writer intended to ask, “May we…?” Well, why would I want to receive lies? If asked, “May we send you a garbage can of disinformation?” naturally I would decline. But then, as I say, I only looked as far as the heading before deleting what had already been caught by my spam filter.

Life with Dog

Zen-girl, a.k.a. Sunny Juliet, is blissfully ignorant of economics and politics. Sometimes her humans linger over coffee for what she considers an unnecessary length of time, but the corner of a piece of toast now and then is all the bribe she needs to be patient a little longer. I asked a friend how his new little dog was doing, and he said the dog is providing him with a lot of “satisfaction,” in that he is “good company."

When Sunny and I resumed agility sessions after a three-week hiatus, a hiatus during which the dog momma completely forgot about getting out and setting up the weave poles, the most challenging station of any course for our team, Sunny did not chide me for my mistake but did the best weaving she could, as if we’d been practicing every day! She is in the moment, whatever the moment may be. Of course, she doesn’t have bills to pay or meals to plan or laundry to do, and she doesn’t vote and never will. She’ll never apply for a paying job or move into her own apartment or even read a newspaper. All she has to do is be ready to jump in the car when the momma asks, “Go for a ride?” Or come in the door after our evening walk when she hears the word, “House!” A pretty simple life. 

No human life can ever be as simple as a dog’s life, but their companionship makes our lives all the more worth living. Really--what would we do without them?

P.S. For new flower photos, see here. For pj's latest rant, see here. 

Does Anybody Really Know?

A last bright stretch

Nature’s greens are no longer bright. Where they can still be called green, leaves look tired and dull.  Brightness now belongs to scattered patches of fall’s early turning colors since, except for a few stretches that continue to shine, most of the goldenrod has lost its luster, Joe Pye-weed has gone from rosy lavender to dusty brown, and bracken will soon be crunchy underfoot. 

Typical dull September colors

Over the lakes, moods of sky and water are not confined to seasons, and one September morning’s sunshine and haze can look like a morning of almost any month of the year, though admittedly the lake itself may have a solid rather than a liquid surface in late winter. 

 

Grand Traverse Bay, always magical --

Even as summer does its usual reprise in September, it's time to put away summer serving dishes. Casserole season will soon be upon us.

Summer dishes, to be put away for winter --

Hurrahs Yet to Come

When someone asked me on Saturday if the season is winding down now in Northport, I mentioned next Saturday’s Leelanau UnCaged, our village’s annual all-day street fair, with three stages of dance and music, lots of food vendors, and arts and crafts booths filling the streets. It is a happy day for all and has been, from the first year, a kind of homecoming day for Northport. Colored lanterns hanging over Mill Street are but one of the first signs of the festival to come, along with medieval-looking pennant flags and posters in windows. This coming Saturday!!!

And even UnCaged will not be the last hurrah, for in October Leelanau County will have fall color and Northport will have Halloween, followed a month later by the customary beautiful tree lighting on the Saturday evening following Thanksgiving, with Santa in the village. Streets will be quieter beginning in January but not fully dormant even then. Dog Ears Books—to take one not-quite-random example—will be open four days a week, Wednesday through Saturday, from 11 a.m. to 3 p.m. during the cold winter months.

My Own Treasure Island

In the past couple of weeks, I have had a lot of first-time customers exclaiming over the exciting selection of books they found in my shop. It’s true: I have been able to create an island of literary treasures in the 32 years I’ve been in business. Have you ever heard of a restaurant that served onion soup from a cauldron that was never allowed to go empty and never off the fire, the soup becoming richer with every passing year? Apocryphal or not, concerning the soup, it’s the way I see my bookshop.

Marbled boards announce treasure within.

The current New York Review of Books has an article on Charlotte Brontë that I read avidly. I would have been interested, anyway, but was especially so as I currently have in my shop an early copy of one of Brontë’s novels, so early that the title page attributes the work to Currer Bell, Charlotte and two of her sisters having taken on the pen names Currer Bell, Acton Bell, and Ellis Bell, in part mocking their minister father’s strait-laced curate, Arthur Bell Nichols. 

Following the deaths of the last of her siblings (their mother having died much earlier), Charlotte at last accepted a proposal of marriage from Nichols, her fourth suitor and more than likely, as she told her father, to be her last. Nichols proposed in December 1852, and after 16 months her father finally gave his consent to the marriage, which took place June 29, 1854. When Charlotte died on March 31, 1855, after less than a year of wedlock that included a difficult pregnancy, her vicar father and curate widower lived on, together, until the vicar died, at which point Arthur returned to Ireland and married one of his cousins. The revised 1871 edition of Shirley, then, appeared only after no member of the famous Brontë family remained alive. Control of his late wife’s literary estate having gone to the widower, was the author name on the title page in 1871 his choice?

A Britannica article on Charlotte Brontë gives much more information on the family, and the NYRB review of The Invention of Charlotte Brontë: A New Life, by Graham Watson, tells some of the story behind the story of Elizabeth Gaskell’s The Life of Charlotte Brontë, first published in 1857, commissioned by Charlotte’s father, Patrick. Frances Wilson, the reviewer, tells us that Elizabeth Gaskell and Charlotte “lost touch” after the latter’s wedding “because Nicholls forbade his wife to write to her.” (The sin that made Gaskell an inappropriate correspondent for the Anglican curate's wife was Unitarianism.) The new husband also told his wife that she had “no time for writing [her fiction] now” and must instead tend to her “duties as a clergyman’s wife.” 

Since Charlotte died of hyperemesis gravidarum, extreme morning sickness, only nine months after their wedding, how much time or energy would she have had for those duties? And was there an emotional component to the extreme morning sickness that could also be described (Frances Wilson uses this term) as severe anorexia? Would a husband more attuned and sympathetic to her essentially creative and sensitive nature have been able to see her through the pregnancy alive, perhaps with a living child? I don’t know if Elizabeth Gaskell or Graham Watson asked these questions—Frances Wilson does not—but to me they are natural questions and beg to be asked, though we will never know the answers with certainty. No one living knows or ever can.

Charlotte Brontë has been dead for 170 years, and there is no asking her now if she entered blindly and desperately into what I speculate was a life-destroying marriage, but her writings live on, and while reading what others have to say about her is endlessly fascinating, none of it substitutes for reading Charlotte’s works themselves. 

So yes, the books are the main attraction of my business, and yet it’s important to me also that my treasure island is a physical location that can be visited in person. I have shared joys and sorrows with many families and individuals for over three decades now, have watched children grow up, and have had long-time customers become dear friends. Other businesses sell books only online, some through their own websites, others through gargantuan, impersonal, multi-dealer sites, while booksellers who have both physical and online presences cover all the bases in a way that doesn’t work for me in my one-woman shop. It's all right. I am content with my way of bookselling. It works for me. And judging from all the kind and complimentary words I’ve had from visitors this past year, it works for my customer-friends, too.

Reunion! Another generation is coming up!

For another literary chapter in my life, see this post on one of my other blogs. Also, I'll ask you now to circle a date on your calendar: Wednesday, November 12, 4 p.m. There will be a very special guest with a new book speaking then at 106 Waukazoo Street! I'll tell you more soon.... 

Meanwhile, I ask you, where will we all be five years from now? You, me, our country? No one knows! The future is even more opaque than the past! But we are here now, we have today, and how we treat each other matters. 

Friends! Priceless!

So now, speaking of friends, let's salute the memory of Leelanau County's own Dr. Kenneth Wylie, writer and teacher, lifelong student and learner and loyal friend. For years, he and the Artist were like brothers, and so I often thought of Ken as my brother-in-law. How many holiday dinners we shared! The last one was just Ken and me, at his house, in December 2024, shortly before he moved to Traverse City. Ken died this month, and he will never be replaced. (The Old Guard is passing.) I will come back to add a link to Ken's obituary when it becomes available.

Charlotte Brontë, Langston Hughes (see link a few paragraphs above), and Kenneth Wylie, two writers I never met in person and one who was a close family friend—these are the lives I choose to remember and celebrate today, in part because I believe that the lives we remember and celebrate contribute to the lives of our own souls, and so we must make those choices thoughtfully and carefully.

Kenneth C. Wylie, 1938-2025

The season is moving right along

Days begin and end in smoky haze.

Smoke from Canadian fires makes for dramatic sunrises and sunsets, in addition to reduced air quality. I was going to say “daytime” air quality, but quality must be compromised at night, too, though we don't see the haze. 

In my neighborhood, cherry harvest is over for another year. The month of July is over everywhere! Admittedly, the season we anticipate all winter long, summer, always passes too quickly, but I can’t believe how this one is flying by—a blur, as I always tell people when they ask how my summer is going or, later, how my summer was.

Daisies at their peak bloom. This now is in the past.

For now we still have black-eyed Susans, and the raspberries aren’t quite finished, but already daisies are going to seed, Joe Pye-weed is blooming, and the first goldenrod is showing its bright color. Too soon! Too soon! 

Goldenrod already!

What Has Happened

The Friends of Leelanau Township Library wrapped up their summer author series with guest author Aaron Stander, who read from the 12th book in the very popular Sheriff Ray Elkins series, Smoke and Mirrors, set right here in what he calls “Cedar” County. Aaron shared with the audience some background on how he started writing murder mysteries (Elmore Leonard inspired him) and told stories of having an agent (briefly), looking for a publisher (one was interested until she learned the author's age), and—this was the happiest story—having a loyal, trustworthy editor.

"Did I overdress?" he asked me facetiously.

On the home front, Sunny and I had a visit from a couple old friends of mine and the new little dog of one of those friends. How apprehensive I was beforehand! Would my Naughty Barker terrorize the little rescue pup, who had been cagebound for most of his life until he came to live with Sandra? 

Little Milton, visiting dog

They were fine! They were better than fine! Milton was friendly and relaxed, and so was Sunny. My girl barked briefly at introductions, but soon the two dogs seemed to have been best dog buddies all their lives, and their easy-going happiness added to the humans’ enjoyment of the visit. Relieved? I was overjoyed! It was almost as if Sunny Juliet were channeling Sarah….

Getting acquainted...

Accepting...

Posing...

Resting, hanging out after play -- ah!

What’s Still to Come

Please disregard the erroneous headline in the Enterprise story on my upcoming bookstore event. Our township librarian was even more startled than I was to see the words “library event” (she thought she had forgotten something major!) above the story about Tim Mulherin’s August 13th appearance at Dog Ears Books. 

We’ll begin at 7 p.m. that Wednesday, but you might want to come a little earlier to be sure of a chair, because I’m thinking Tim’s topic is one that could draw a pretty big audience.

Even before that, Northport will have on Saturday, August 2, the annual Fly-In and pancake breakfast, and on Saturday, August 9, the annual and always highly anticipated dog parade. The theme this year is Bone Appétit (please note that final 't' is silent), and, please note, I am registering dog parade entries at Dog Ears Books.

AND my sisters are coming for a visit!!!

My Current Reading

I am still reading the book about Aristotle mentioned in my previous post, along with the other book I wrote about there, In the Merrimack Valley, but was sidetracked yesterday by a very small paperback that I haven't finished yet, an account written in prison—of what turned out to be his last days on earth—by Andrei Ivanovich Shingarev. He was arrested and thrown into prison, without trial, on November 27, 1917, and murdered in January 1918 after being transferred to a hospital. What is available online about Shingarev's life is sparse and conflicting. I have to say, however, that when he writes from prison that members of his political party, the Constitutional Democrats, were declared “enemies of the people” by the antidemocratic Bolsheviks, I thought of similar name-calling from our own White House in our own time. He also writes of lies and hypocrisy but is steadfast in his hope that the Russian people will eventually wake up and throw off those who betrayed their revolution. An empty hope, as it turned out, for that country. Will Americans be different?

Words he wrote from prison --

Which leads me to....

My Thoughts on Forgiveness (because it’s something I think about)

If someone hurts me but exhibits remorse and asks for forgiveness, I can forgive that person. If there is no remorse, no “Sorry!”—let alone a mending of the ways—I feel no compulsion to forgive. I can “move on” without it. Because you can’t make people care.

As I see it, though, forgiving wrongs done to others is an entirely different matter. That is not a matter of forgiveness for me. It is not up to any unharmed and uninvolved person but up to the person or persons harmed to offer forgiveness—if they are still alive and can find it in their hearts to forgive.

In this light, when I look at what is being done in the name of my country in today’s world, at members of our own government who are inflicting harm in our name within our borders and around the world, I not only hold them responsible but also those who put them in office and continue to support them. Can I ever forgive these people? I doubt I will ever be asked, but if I were, my answer would be no. I could forgive ignorance if the truth were inaccessible, but it is not. I could forgive honest mistakes if they were admitted and ways mended, but this is not happening. And even then, I myself cannot forgive violations of the rights and liberties and lives of other people, the ones wronged. 

People who support these violations and call themselves Christian (or Muslim or Jewish or Buddhist or Hindu or whatever!) can ask their God for forgiveness. Rudolf Vrba wrote a book about the Holocaust and the concentration camps and titled it I Cannot Forgive. As I see things (and I realize not everyone will agree), he was right not to.

And as the unforgivable continues to take place day after day, so does rallying around the golden calf. Where is Moses when we need him?

Never malicious —

That’s one of the things I love about the world of plants and sky and rock. Any of these can hurt you, but they never do so intentionally. Even poisonous plants bear us no malice. They are—and I appreciate this from the bottom of my heart—indifferent to human life. Storms may rage, winds may howl, and trees may crash to the ground, but they would do the same if we weren’t in their way, and if we are—well, that’s our bad luck. 

Nothing living lives forever.

Only one of our fellow living beings can push us off a mountain ledge. We may be alone and slip on loose rock, but the mountain is not responsible. There is no one to blame and nothing to forgive. I find that infinitely comforting.

I love their indifference.

What are you missing? What do you love?

Taking a break from the hurdles--with her beloved tennis ball!

“You haven’t been posting as much about Sunny on your blog lately,” one bookstore browser observed recently.  In the old days of Dog Ears Books and Books in Northport, the Artist and our dog Sarah were the stars. 

Sarah in the bookstore

Now (though not in the bookstore) it’s Sunny who is my blog star, so here she is opening the show today before I go on to my usual bookish meanderings. Sunny Juliet is still a Naughty Barker, nowhere near the almost-perfect bookstore dog that her predecessor, Sarah, was for 13 years, but she and I are pretty bonded, her recall improves steadily, and she is the stronger member of our one-person, one-dog agility team, no question about it.

Gli Etruschi e io

La campagna

“The Etruscans and me”? Not really. Not me, personally. It’s D.H. Lawrence and the Etruscans I encountered in the author’s posthumously published book, Etruscan Places. But the title captured my attention, because whether a book is fiction or nonfiction, place-based literature, stories and experiences anchored in a village or a region, is what I find most compelling. 

Il lago

Etruscan Places, in addition to being very much anchored in place, is also very personal to the author. Unlike his fiction, this book’s style is more like letters written to a friend, with emotional responses accompanying Lawrence’s observations. He doesn’t only write about the Etruscan tombs, either, but includes by name all the wildflowers along the way, which (naturally!) I found charming. Judgments on history and the present day also begin on the very first page:

 

The Etruscans, as everyone knows, were the people who occupied the middle of Italy in early Roman days, and whom the Romans, in their usual neighbourly fashion, wiped out entirely in order to make room for Rome with a very big R. They couldn’t have wiped them all out, there were too many of them. But they did wipe out the Etruscan existence as a nation and a people. However, this seems to be the inevitable result of expansion with a big E, which is the sole raison d’être of people like the Romans.

 

Lawrence was not a fan of the Romans. He saw the Etruscans as a people living attuned to Nature (and was instantly drawn to them when he first saw some of their artifacts in a museum),  the Romans as a foe of that sweet life, wanting only to crush and dominate it. Whether he is comparing paintings or architecture, he sees everywhere the same contrast. The “impious pagan duality,” a phrase he uses only in order to reject it, “did not,” he claims, “contain the later pious duality of good and evil.” He sees the Etruscans as a more natural people, more accepting of death—which they saw as a continuation of life on earth, rather than existence in an entirely different kind of realm—and at the same time much more playful than the Romans who came later. 

 

Besides his observations on the tombs and the art in the tombs and his personal judgments on the art and how it compares to Greek and Roman and modern art, Lawrence notes wildflowers he sees along the way, what he and his companion saw in the villages and the countryside, and the different mood called forth by each place.

 

It is very pleasant to go down from the hill on which the present Tarquinia stands, down into the valley and up to the opposite hill, on which the Etruscan Tarquinii surely stood. There are many flowers, the blue grape-hyacinth and the white, the mauve tassel anemone with the red, sore centre—the big-petalled sort. It is curious how the anemone varies. Only in this one place in Tarquinia have I found the whity-pink kind, with the dark, sore-red center. But probably that is just chance. 

 

The town ends really with the wall. At the foot of the wall is wild hillside, and down the slope is only one little farm, with another little house made of straw. The country is clear of houses. The peasants live in the city.

 

Probably in Etruscan days it was much the same….

 

Bellissimi fiori

What Lawrence never states explicitly but what readers in 1932 understood is that the Italy of Lawrence’s investigative travels into history was also the Italy of Benito Mussolini, who had transformed the country into a one-party dictatorship, first by outlawing labor strikes and soon with the use of secret police, eventually allying his Fascist authoritarian state with Hitler’s Germany and Imperial Japan. So when he writes about the “all-conquering Romans,” he is also heaping scorn on the Fascists, for the latter “consider themselves in all things Roman,” and he despises Romans and Fascists alike. 

 

Myself, I like to think of the little wooden temples of the early Greeks and of the Etruscans: small, dainty, fragile, and evanescent as flowers. We have reached the stage when we are weary of huge stone erections, and we begin to realize that it is better to keep life fluid and changing than to try to hold it fast down in heavy monuments.

 

Only a little while later he asks,

 

Why has mankind had such a craving to be imposed upon? Why this lust after imposing creeds, imposing deeds, imposing buidings, imposing language, imposing works of art? The thing becomes an imposition and a weariness at last. Give us things that are alive and flexible, which won’t last too long and become an obstruction and a weariness. Even Michelangelo becomes at last a lump and a bore. It is so hard to see past him.

 

We may well object here. How can anyone reject Michelangelo? But life in the shade of Fascism, along with the tuberculosis that was soon to bring about the author’s death, may have made him impatient. He did love the Italian countryside:

 

Such a pure, uprising, unsullied country, in the greenness of wheat on an April morning!—and the queer complication of hills! There seems nothing of the modern world here—no houses, no contrivances, only a sort of fair wonder and stillness, an openness which has not been violated. 

 

One morning I gave myself a complete vacation from news headlines and enjoyed, before my bookish day, immersion in my own “pure, uprising, unsullied” countryside. Deer in the orchard, ducks and loons on Lake Leelanau, Canada geese overhead, and everywhere the deep, rich, varied greens of summer! 

 

Una bella mattina! E vivo in campagna! Che fortuna!

 

But how long are we going to let ourselves be imposed upon, and how far will we let the impostors impose on us? Where and when is it going to stop?

 

Why we (I and others of my ilk) keep harping on current events

 

The question was asked, Why do Democrats care so much about ICE raids and deportation of immigrants? Why don’t they worry and demonstrate instead about other unsolved problems in our country, such as the plight of the mentally ill or the homeless or people suffering from natural disasters? Years ago, one of my uncles took me to task for donating to the ACLU, arguing that they had done nothing for disaster relief that week. I forget what the specific disaster was, but I explained to my uncle that the mission of the ACLU was not disaster relief and that I had donated to Lutheran World Relief and indicated that my donation was to go to that week’s specific disaster, for which LWR had promised to provide 100% of donations so targeted. 

 

Supporting one cause does not mean ignoring others.

 

There are always ongoing issues we care about and contribute to and work for year after year. Most of us contribute regularly to various nonprofit organizations, each one with a different and important goal. I have a sponsored child through “Save the Children,” donate annually to the Michael J. Fox Foundation (for Parkinson’s Disease), and generally give to disaster relief funds through Save the Children or Lutheran World Relief, besides making annual donations to the ACLU and Southern Poverty Law Center. Memorial donations are an opportunity to give to specific hospitals or churches or libraries (wherever they may be) or local organizations.

 

The reason to pay so much attention to "this stuff” right now—to pardons for insurrectionists; firings of judges for being impartial rather than partisan; arrests, detainments, and deportations without due process—and to demonstrate and to continue to spread the word about what’s happening is that our country, the country we love, is at a critical crossroads. Democracy is in crisis. Understandably but tragically, many Americans, including the young, have stopped following the news, and this is how authoritarianism takes hold. 

As Eric Holder, the 82nd U.S. Attorney General , wrote recently: 

Right now, core pillars of our democracy are under attack – including a free press and educational institutions that teach independent and critical thinking. This isn’t isolated or random — this is an intentional effort by the far right to weaken the very systems we have in place to ensure the health of our democracy. They are dragging us toward authoritarianism. What’s happening now is NOT normal. 

 

If law enforcement and the judicial system are replaced by authoritarian goon squads of revenge, no one will be safe, and all those people Democrats are accused of ignoring will be among the victims, simply because they are so vulnerable. The fight for American ideals is not choosing to care only about, for instance, immigrants. It is about assuring a future in which everyone in this country is accorded dignity, in which everyone’s humanity is recognized and respected.

 

 

Back to the Books

 

On Wednesday evening, August 13, Dog Ears Books will host Timothy Mulherin, author of This Magnetic North: Candid Conversations on a Changing Northern Michigan. These conversations with northern Michigan residents from all walks of life (he interviewed over 75 people for the book), explore the topic of “relocation,” how it may be (some think yes, some think no) changing the face and character of northern Michigan, and what different people think of the changes and hope to see in the future. 

 

Do you see our area changing? If so, how do you feel about it? What do you want us to hold onto, and what could be improved upon? Are there things you miss about the Old Days?

Kinda "old days" in Northport

Older days in Leland

We were all young once.

August 13 promises a lively discussion with this author, who splits his life between Indiana and Leelanau County, so mark your calendar and don’t forget! I’ll issue reminders, never fear.