Theory and Practice of Life

Crabbing upcurrent some evenings [walking in the river], feeling the force of the water on my legs and a night breeze in my face, I often think of myself as passing the house offshore. Up there in that room, as I see it, is the reading and the thinking through, a theory of rivers, of trees, of falling light. Here on the river, as I lurch against a freshening in the current, is the practice of rivers. In navigating by the glow of the Milky Way, the practice of light. In steadying up with a staff, the practice of wood.

 

-      Barry Lopez, “The Whaleboat,” in About This Life: Journeys on the Threshold of Memory

 

Carried away as I had been and still was by the writing, I felt a shock of recognition (a happy shock) when I came upon these lines in the Barry Lopez essay. This must be, I thought, the seed that Jim Harrison found and nurtured into a tree, his poem “The Theory and Practice of Rivers,” and then into the forest of his collection carrying the same name. Jim himself was a walker of rivers—the Sucker River that flowed by his U.P. cabin, the Santa Cruz (or was it a tributary?) outside the place he and Linda lived in Patagonia, Arizona, and others I don’t know at all in Montana. Somehow I feel closer to Barry Lopez through this bridge Jim built between us, and of course the Artist is there, too, with us, as one of the Artist's images along with a stanza from Jim's river poem appeared on the poster and wine label from the 1991 vendange Leelanau Cellars called Vis-à-Vis. 

(The Artist and I walked the Crystal River many times....)

 

***

 

But now, breaking news, sent by a friend in Tucson: There is a new threat to the Santa Cruz River, in the form of a 30-ft.- tall stretch of new border wall between the U.S. and Mexico, 25 miles of it, through the grasslands of the San Rafael Valley, where cameras placed along that section of the border have recorded an average of five pedestrian crossings a month, including Border Patrol agents, hunters, and hikers. Estimates are that there is one illegal border crossing in the area every 20 months.

 

Read those numbers again. Now once more. 

 

An article in the Arizona Daily Star by Emily Bregel reports that conservationists forecast “devastating” effects for migrating animals, along with a disruption of the hydrology of the Santa Cruz River. “‘Wall construction will bulldoze into a steep cliffside at the [Coronado National] memorial, which already acts as a natural barrier,’ said Eamon Harrity, wildlife program manager for the Sky Island Alliance. ‘The cliff where they're going to place new wall will be twice as tall as the wall itself,’ he said. ‘It really highlights how disconnected from logic this wall is.’”

 

Some pork barrel projects are simply a waste of money. This one qualifies on that count: “The $309 million contract for the border-wall project went to Fisher Sand and Gravel, a North Dakota-based company with a record of thousands of environmental violations and legal problems including a 2019 lawsuit, filed by the U.S. Department of Justice, alleging poor workmanship on a 3.5-mile border-wall segment in Texas, which was privately funded by Trump supporters.”

 

But other kinds of pork barrel—and this one qualifies also on the second count—seem calculated not only to make money for a private construction company but also to set the stage for environmental tragedy and, no doubt intentionally, to spit in the faces of those who care.

 

In sum, the current U.S. administration has given a $309 million contract to a company with a record number of violations and lawsuits against it to build an environmentally destructive, unnecessary wall, accomplishing nothing of value. Hello, DOGE? Anyone home?

 

Oh, rivers, rivers! How the human race continues to desecrate you!

 

***

 

Back to my little corner of the world --  

 

(Not its permanent location)

The Artist and I moved from Leland out to our Leelanau Township farmhouse 24 years ago, and only now, inspired by having grandson Jack and his crew camping here recently, have I finally taken the plunge and gotten a fire ring for the yard. Sunny and I did not have our agility session this morning, due to rain and wet grass, so a trip to the hardware store fit in nicely, and I was also able to score some jar lids for the next round of rhubarb chutney, having made the first batch on Sunday.

 

My bedside reading stacks had gotten out of control, so it was good to finish three books in the last couple of days—Zeitoun, by Dave Eggers, a mesmerizing post-Katrina true story; The Forest for the Trees: An Editor’s Advice to Writers, by Betsy Lerner, a reality check for all would-be published authors; and, finally, the book of Barry Lopez essays quoted at the beginning of this post. I had gotten about 1/3 of the way through a biography of Judge Learned Hand before other books tempted me away from it. Will I ever read all of To the Finland Station: A Study in the Writing and Acting of History, by Edmund Wilson? Fascinating as it is, I find myself skipping around in the chapters…. And then there is Wilma Dykeman’s The French Broad from the “Rivers of America” series. I’ve only just begun that one and should really not have started it, with the others still waiting to be finished, but—no reading rules in my life! Taking classes, required reading, even teaching are all behind me now, and I can browse the endless buffet to my heart’s desire.

 

It's almost the 4^th of July! And the day after the 4^th (the 5^th, right?) is the annual Friends of Leelanau Township Library book sale in Northport, beginning at 9 a.m. Last year I was so busy and had so much on my mind that I completely forgot the sale, and the organizers were exclaiming to each other over my absence, as I am one of their best customers every year (if not the best). In the coming week the FOLTL summer author series kicks off with Karen Mulvahill and her historical novel, The Lost Woman, on Tuesday evening. I’ve taken a picture of the poster, since I didn’t see the list on the FOLTL website:

Planning an August bookstore guest

And sometime in August I’ll have as my bookstore guest author Tim Mulherin. (Note to self: We really need to set a date for that!) Tim’s book, The Magnetic North, addresses the idea that, as I put it, “Everyone wants to be here!” If you grew up in Leelanau County, do you regard newcomers as an invading force or grist for your make-a-living mill? If you’ve been coming up for summers all your life, are you dismayed or heartened by changes you see? Maybe you have just “discovered” Leelanau (I know it feels like that to a lot of people, some of whom have never been in Michigan before) and dream about living here someday. We are not the only area in the country experiencing growing pains, either, so Tim’s exploration of the issues will be of interest to just about everyone.

 

Before leaving the subject of books, I’ll mention that I’ve started carrying a few bilingual board books for little ones. So far I have English-French and English-Spanish but will look into other languages if anyone is interested. 

Now, breaking news, local—and good!

 

Saw this sign when I walked by today! Hooray!

More ice cream! Now there is Buster’s on Nagonaba, Barb’s Bakery on Mill Street for frozen custard, and Deep’s at the corner of Waukazoo and Nagonaba for your Moomer’s fix!

I wrote a four-page letter to a friend this morning, and almost all of it was about trees and wildflowers, appearances and disappearances of same in my little world. Will the purple coneflowers that failed to show up last year get back to me this summer? Time will tell. In the meantime, I’m enjoying every blooming thing in its time. 

 

Lately, the letters I write are less and less like chatty “newsletters” and more and more like rambling meditations, occasionally on a single theme. Do you ever read collections of some famous person’s letters? If you do, what interests you most in them? Their daily activities, family and social interactions, their reflections on contemporary events, or something else entirely? What do you most appreciate and enjoy in a letter you receive in the mail?

It occurred to me this morning that I may never write a book for publication—my doing so isn’t unthinkable, but neither is it highly probable after so many decades—and so my writing is of a very ephemeral nature, mostly letters and blog posts. Ephemeral and unremunerative, not to put too fine a point on it. But that takes a lot of pressure off. Metaphorically, I am scrawling messages and corking them up in bottles flung out onto the waves, in hopes someone will be entertained or someone's heart warmed, if only briefly. Sending a letter says, I hope, “I’ve been thinking of you. You were on my mind. Wish we could sit together in the shade and visit in person. If we could, here is some of what I would have to say.” Of course, if my friend were here, there would be no telling where our conversation would go. Even a reply to a letter isn’t always a response but the correspondent’s own rambling thoughts shared in turn. And that’s just fine! 

 

Last thought for the day: One of my recent customers thanked me for having the Ukranian flag in the window, telling me he was born and raised in Ukraine and showing me his tattoo (you can read about the symbol here), which he allowed me to photograph. Here is a statement today from Johann Walter David Rudolf "Jo" Wadephul , member of the German parliament and current Federal Minister of Foreign Affairs, pledging European support to Ukraine. Why? Because all men are brothers. And because theory of freedom is nothing without practice. Will we Americans hold onto our freedom? That remains to be seen.

A Lot Has Been Happening Around Here

From across Waukazoo Street (in my doorway) --

If you haven’t been to Northport in a while, you’ll notice some changes the next time you visit. The “big store,” current home of the Northport Inn, the restaurant called Faro, and a stylish new antique shop that goes by the name of Pernette’s, is getting an exterior makeover. Everyone is eager to see their new look.

Back of the building houses Pernette's.

The new look at Barb’s Bakery on Mill Street is already here. Pink! Also new at Barb’s is frozen custard, a very welcome treat on some of the hot days we’ve had recently. 

 

Does this color make you think of ice cream? At Barb's, it's frozen custard!

The New Bohemian Café folks have expanded their hours and are now open until 5 p.m. Good news! And while artist Deborah Ebbers, one of my neighbors here at 106, is away from her studio for a few days (gone to explore further the exciting world of carving sculpture from marble), she will be back early in July, never fear. Over on Mill Street, the Wright Gallery is open for the season on Wednesday through Saturday, 10 to 5, Sundays by chance.

Reflections of window letters with painting as backdrop --

In the nearby unincorporated village of Lake Leelanau, NJ's Grocery (since 1912!) remains closed at present while owners and crew clean up after a fire. No one was injured, and they hope to be back in business in about a month. I hope so! I miss my morning trips to NJ's.

Hope NJ's can re-open before too long!

What was happening at my bookshop on Tuesday was a visit from Kalamazoo poet Jennifer Clark, and, as is always the case with Jennifer, we had a great time and a lot of laughs. Those who do not associate either poetry or saints with happy hoots need to make the acquaintance of Jennifer Clark. I had her sign extra copies of her latest collection of poems, Intercede: Saints for Concerning Occasions, and will be stocking her volume of memoir essays next week when I do another new book order. Kissing the World Goodbye might not sound like a humorous title, but I was laughing out loud reading it. What a delight!

Jennifer Clark is a wonderful bookstore guest! 

To satisfy popular demand, I have restocked Mary Kay Zuravleff’s American Ending (I wrote about it here) and also have a new Michigan novel, My Pirate Summer, by C. J. Hagstrom of Traverse City. Hagstrom’s story, from the old days of the “tall ships,” was inspired by the “nefarious activities” of Captain Seavey, a name familiar to Great Lakes history readers.

 

Here's more new fiction from Michigan writers:

 

Viola Shipman, you ask? Yes, several titles from Viola Shipman, nom de plume of Michigan writer Wade Rouse, who writes gentle romance stories under his grandmother’s name. 

If mysteries are your thing, I have books by Leelanau author Aaron Stander (he calls our home ground “Cedar County”), U.P. mysteries from Joseph Heywood and Steve Hamilton, and exciting stories featuring fictional Sheriff Jules Clement of Blue Deer, Montana, by Michigan-native-gone-to-Montana Jamie Harrison. Karen Mulvahill’s historical fiction novel, The Lost Woman, continues to leap off the table, along with Marilyn Zimmerman’s legal suspense novel, In Defense of Good Women (review here). 

 

Under new nonfiction offerings, This Magnetic North: Candid Conversations on a Changing Northern Michigan is guaranteed to start many more conversations since it seems that everyone wants to be here! Climate change, migration, and tourism (I would add growing world population) are affecting places Up North, as they have elsewhere. Is northern Michigan’s tourism industry “too robust”? Poet Michael Delp, co-editor emeritus of the Made in Michigan Writers Series, calls this book “essential reading for anyone who claims to love northern Michigan for its beauty.”

What changes will we see in years to come?

Also for locals and visitors alike,“Perfect Omena Day!”: Selections from the Summer Diaries of Rebecca L. Richmond, 1907-1920 is going to be a sure-fire winner. What was daily life in Omena like over 100 years ago? Marsha Buehler, Omena's Putnam-Cloud Tower House Museum Director, calls the diary entries Christine Byron chose and transcribed “gentle lessons in cultural anthropology blended with a bit of archeology.” The book is also generously illustrated with old photographs and postcards – a perfect recipe for summer dreaming and time travel.

Sometimes it's comforting to look backward, isn't it?

Field guides to birds, board books for pre-readers, 100 Things to Do in Michigan [and in the Upper Peninsula] Before You Die (always, I think, the best time to do anything), and other books you didn’t know you needed until you saw them in Dog Ears Books – all are here for your summer reading pleasure, along with, always, an ever-changing inventory of used books, some quite recent and others from very long ago.

There are always lots of pre-loved volumes on my shelves.

The summer solstice has come and gone, St. John’s Eve has come and gone, and the 4^th of July is coming at us fast. Along the roadsides and in the meadows, milkweed prepares to bloom, and St. Johnswort is just getting underway. It is also the week of the strawberry – and strawberry pie – and strawberry-rhubarb pie – and maybe rhubarb chutney, if I can squeeze in that project….

Milkweed

Cinquefoil

St. Johnswort

Goatsbeard

"Can I help, momma?" (I just couldn't leave her out entirely!)

Not Yet the Solstice, But—the Race Is On!

Reminder First, Right Up Front

Next Tuesday, June 24, at 4 p.m., Dog Ears Books in Northport will host a poetry reading featuring Jennifer Clark from Kalamazoo. Jennifer will read from her new book, Intercede: Saints for Concerning Occasions, and visit with audience members following her reading. She is the author of three previous poetry collections, author of a children’s book, and co-editor of the anthology, Immigration & Justice for Our Neighbors. She is so much fun that this is her third appearance at Dog Ears Books, so do yourself a favor and don't miss her!

Poet Jennifer Clark

Racing Season

Not a season of races, that is, but a season racing by, as summer always does. (Yes, even before it officially arrives!) Overnight, it seems, the rivers of gold that were the blooming cowslips (marsh marigolds) turn to wet-footed, narrow meadows of lacquer-yellow buttercups; sweeping white hills of woodland trillium fade and disappear; the tree canopy grows dense; and yellow-eyed white daisies (the happy days’ eyes) dance along roadsides in sun or in rain. Forget-me-nots have gone to seed for another year, and so has the first round of dandelion blossoms, but cheery little English daisies enliven otherwise monochrome green lawns, and now—coreopsis already!!!

Coreopsis here before the longest day!

Gardening

 

My fall bulb catalogs arrived in May, and I am determined to order early this year, because if I wait too long I will forget again … or decide not to bother … even knowing what pure delight those flowers that bloom in the spring (“tra-la!”) will give.

 

Meanwhile, there is always “just one more” trip to a garden center or nursery, “just one more” plant that my garden must have! Oh, yes, borage! 

Magical borage --

Books

Did you ever read this one?

Do you remember some of your favorite books from grade school? One of mine was Oliver Butterworth’s The Enormous Egg. I was reminded of that favorite story when a little boy visited my bookshop wearing a striped t-shirt with a line of Triceratops dinosaurs marching along every other stripe. In the book, young Nate Twitchell is almost as faithful as the family hen in taking care of the unusually large, leathery egg in hopes it will hatch—and it does! But the little dinosaur does not stay little for long. 

 

I didn’t remember the ending, so I had to order and reread the whole book. Thus I traveled with Nate and Dr. Ziemer and Uncle Beazley (the triceratops) from New Hampshire to Washington, D.C., and then right into the halls of Congress, where a United States senator proposed legislation that would outlaw Uncle B. and have him killed and stuffed! Given the expense of housing a dinosaur over the course of its lifetime, there is support in the Senate for the bill. Uh-oh! What hope does young Nate have of saving his rapidly growing pal? Wonderful story!

 

A much older book that went home with me for bedtime reading was a falling-apart copy of Rudyard Kipling’s Second Jungle Book, in which we meet again Mowgli and his animal friends. 

There are also other stories in the book, including one that takes place in the high Arctic, but Mowgli and friends are the center. As captivating as the stories, once I stopped to look at them more closely, are illustrations by the author’s father, John Lockwood Kipling, the smallest seeming at first glance only decorative. But no! Each one clearly depicts something in that particular story.

John Lockwood Kipling deserves a new paragraph. Although his career was overshadowed by that of his famous son, Lockwood was an astonishingly accomplished polymathic artist in his own right, producing drawings, furniture, sculpture, pottery, and more. During his 25 years in India, as teacher and later museum curator in Lahore, he was also active in a revival of traditional Indian arts and crafts.

 

And let me say right here that wonderful as much of Walt Disney’s work was (and his "Jungle Book" film was the last for Walt), Disney’s Mowgli is not Kipling’s Mowgli, and people need to read the books to learn the Law of the Jungle as the man-cub learned it. 

Alongside these deep and deeper dives into the past, I read also a novel published only two years ago, inspired because the author came to Northport. Mary Kay Zuravleff gave a reading and presentation following the business portion of the annual meeting of the Friends of Leelanau Township Library (FOLTL) on Saturday, June 14. When she and local author Karen Mulvahill stopped by the bookstore ahead of her FOLTL appearance, they took a couple extra books from my stock, in case they ran short. And they would have! Note: I am ordering more and will be restocked by this Friday.

 

The title of Zuravleff’s novek, American Ending, comes from the fictional narrator’s mother, a Russian immigrant. When telling her children bedtime stories, she would ask, “Russian ending or American ending?” In the Russian ending of a fairy tale, the wolf eats the bride who wanted a ride on his back to her wedding, while the American ending has the groom slicing open the wolf’s belly and the bride leaping out unharmed.  But even as a child Yeleni doesn’t fully trust American endings, suspecting that good luck isn’t necessarily permanent and that life can take sorrowful turns. 

 

The setting is a coal-mining town in Pennsylvania, and the story opens in 1908. It is a complicated family saga, with a large cast of characters, but American-born Yeleni’s voice, steadily throughout the book, keeps us oriented. This is a world where girls are married as early as 13 years old to grooms chosen by their parents, young boys taken from school and sentenced to dangerous lives underground, and adults too often seek solace from poverty’s troubles in alcohol. Yet, for all that, it is also a life of tradition and memory and feasting and celebration. When Yeleni’s mother invites the schoolteacher to Thanksgiving dinner, the whole neighborhood contributes.

 

It was a miracle the way people pitched in when they weren’t even invited, and not with a shriveled turnip or the stringy end of a roast either. Here came a sturgeon turnover to fatten up the schoolteacher, poppyseed bubliks for the single men, cherries in a jar if Lethia wanted to bake pie. Lethia collected candle stubs at church and polished the table with beeswax and beef tallow, another miracle. Robert and Pa captured two wild turkeys. Really, Kostia did. The birds were always in the meadow nipping at him, and Kostia led them into a trap….

 

-      Mary Kay Zuravleff, American Ending

 

 

Despite being a story set in the America of over a century ago, the novel is also very much a story of today. Late in the novel, when Yeleni urges her husband to apply for U.S. citizenship, he answers, 

 

“I’ll need a witness willing to swear I’m not a phut.”

 

“English, please,” I said, “or they’ll send you back on the next boat, crook or not.” 

 

It was one of my fears, though Erie Russians scoffed at the idea of anyone being sent back. Who would make the town’s streetcars, engines, or boilers; their boots and buttons; their paint, paper, or pickles? Who would slaughter the meat or tan the leather if Russians were sent back?

 

Sound familiar? Since summer is my heaviest work season, both at home and in my bookshop, reading time is at a premium, but I still manage to squeeze it in. (Not having TV helps!) American Ending is Mary Kay Zuravleff’s fourth novel and the first of her work I have read, but it certainly will not be the last.

 

And then one night I turn to an old favorite, Harlan Hubbard’s Payne Hollow: Life on the Fringe of Society, a sequel to Shantyboat, the story of Harlan and Anna’s river adventure years. 

I love Harlan's sketches in the book

Returning at last to the Ohio River as to an old friend, the Hubbards settled down and built a house on the river bank (shades of Rat and Mole), put in a garden, raised goats, and continued their evening practice of reading aloud to each other and playing duets. Their “bijou riverside residence” (as the Mole called Rat’s hole in the bank) was larger than their old shantyboat but, like it, lit by fireplace and oil lamps and complete with cunning cupboards for the storage of food and a bed that slid away out of sight when morning came. Harlan and Anna kept to old, simple ways. 

 

…So many times have the advantages of a garden tractor or tiller been pointed ot to me that I half believe the argument myself…. My strength returns when I am alone in the garden, working with some beloved tool, the birds whistling overhead. Even on a sultry July morning, when not a breath of air stirs, when the sun’s heat is magnified by the encircling trees, and weeds are sprouting everywhere, not even then could I welcome one of those nondescript, unlovable gadgets, brightly painted and streamlined, which make an intolerable noise and smell bad. They get the work done, you say? I say they are expensive and insidiously destructive. I will get the work done in my own way. Save time? The best use of time is to enjoy it, as I do when working in peaceful silence. 

 

-      Harlan Hubbard, Payne Hollow

 

Oh, that is exactly how I feel about working outdoors! No string trimmers or leaf blowers for me, please!

 

How economically he captures chickadee and woodpecker!

 

Agility work

 

Sunny Juliet and I had our first session of the year with Coach Mike, who is very enthusiastic and encouraging and genuinely loves the sport and all his doggie pupils. He is an excellent teacher!

 

Agility work is as challenging—maybe even more so—for the human member of the team as it is for the dog. The sport was inspired by equestrian show jumping, and more and more I realize the strong parallels between work with horses (which I must admit, sadly, I know about almost exclusively from reading) and work with dogs. We humans are a talky species, and we are usually so busy talking and listening to each other and thinking about what we want to say next that we lack awareness of what our bodies are telling us and telling others. 

 

Anyone knows that riders “tell horses what to do” by applying reins and knee pressure, but horses also respond to much more subtle signals, whether or not the rider intends the signaling. How one sits and every little shift of the seat is information to the horse. A well-trained dog responds to voice commands, but any dog is also, and much more continually, paying attention to physical cues. 

 

In our agility work Sunny is aware of every little move or gesture I make, intentional or inadvertent, although I am not physically in contact with her. If I shift my shoulders slightly or vary the height of my hand from the ground or speed up or slow down or merely glance off to the side—all that is telling her something, which means that I too have to be aware of my body in order to give her the proper signals. 

 

And have you ever thought about the difference in peripheral vision between humans and canines? (Don’t feel bad. I never had.) We see about 180 degrees, or half of the circle of which we are the center, but dogs’ eyes are spaced more widely apart than ours, so their peripheral vision is much wider, 250 to 270 degrees (depending, I guess, on the shape of a particular dog’s head, which would vary from one breed to another), which means Sunny is still seeing me after she runs past, so if I stop and turn around, she thinks she needs to do that, too! 

 

It’s a lot to think about. It’s also impossible, as you can imagine, for me to get video or even still footage in the middle of our demanding work!

 

But now—oh, dear! Sunny has developed a limp that seems to come and go, as if maybe she pulled a muscle or something (it started with that porcupine chase), so for now my girl needs to rest from strenuous activity. She’s to be on-leash for a week, with aspirin or Tylenol twice a day, the vet says. Poor Sunshine! She thinks “taking it easy” is a great big bore!

Tenting Tonight

 

My birth family went on our first camping trip when I was 12 years old, five of us sleeping in a borrowed tent, a heavy canvas umbrella tent. It rained all week. And we all wanted to do it again! 

 

Jack and his crew

Now grandson Jack from St. Paul, Minnesota, a newly graduated art student from Kalamazoo College, is here this week, rain and/or shine, with his ten senior-year classmate/housemates, the whole crew camping in the yard and eagerly exploring Leelanau. (I know the kids would love to play Frisbee with Sunny, and ordinarily I’d have been all for it, but not right now, as she needs to rest her jumping muscles. If only she would rest her barking muscles, too!) What a happy scene the tents and hammocks and everything else make in our usually empty yard! At last it felt as if there had been a point to all that grass mowing! 

Fog rolled in, but the campers are happy.

While all of the young people are delightful, naturally grandson Jack is very special to me. When I look at a closeup of Jackson examining a camera I found for him, I see his grandfather, alive and young again.