Sometimes I Am at a Loss for Words

Sarah in Arizona, 2019

Does this ever happen to you? Someone says something, and you’re absolutely dumbstruck? Only by sheer force of will do you keep your jaw from dropping to the floor! A few hours later (or maybe a day or two later), it occurs to you what you might have said, could have said, should have said, but of course the moment (along with many others) has passed.

 

Here’s a question that knocked me sideways the other day. A local woman who follows my blog in the winter and has for years (but hadn’t visited the bookstore since 2016 or earlier) asked me, “Do you write the blog when you’re here, too?” Huh?

 

-- Do I write “Books in Northport” when I’m here in Northport? Do I write about books and my bookstore during the months my bookstore is open for business, the months I’m working fulltime to make a living as an independent bookseller? Astonished, I could only answer, stupidly, “Yes." If you can believe my witlessness, it did not even occur to me to redirect by asking my questioner if she remembered the name of the blog! To be painfully honest, my mind was far too busy dwelling on the absence of any connection made by this winter blog reader between “Books in Northport” and Dog Ears Books. 

Wall behind my bookstore desk, Northport, Michigan

If I had never had a bookstore, I would not have started a blog. If I didn’t still have a bookstore, I might be writing a book by now instead of blog posts. Having at last achieved the dream of seasonal retirement, I write my winter posts from faraway, nowhere near my bookstore in the little village of Northport, but they still fall under the established "Books in Northport" umbrella because, well, this is all still my life, wherever I am. Sometimes I can’t help wondering, though, if people might not like me better when I’m not here! 

 

Book authors can bury themselves in their book-lined studies and close out the world, but booksellers, many (if not most) of us introverts by nature, do not have that luxury. Independent retail booksellers, that is. Booksellers with “Main Street” presences, curated collections, and community commitment. We have to keep putting ourselves out there, blowing our own horns and shaking our money-makers. It's part of the price we pay for being independent, but make no mistake -- it is a price we pay!

 

Crank, crank, crank! Yes, yes, I hear myself! And yes, I know just how it sounds!

 

Don’t worry, I do not wish for some other life. The Artist and I have been very fortunate in being able to make a good life for ourselves doing work we love, and I am deeply, deeply grateful to my loyal customers, locals and visitors, for staying with me all these years! It’s just – and you must have an occasional moment like this, don’t you? – sometimes you kind of want to bang your head against the wall and yell, “What more can I say to get my message across?”

 

Thanks for listening (reading). I feel better. I’m laughing at myself now. You're probably laughing at me, too, and that's okay.

 

Now don’t forget: Saturday is the last day of our 2020 season! And you can continue to follow our pack's adventures here on Books in Northport!!!

Ghost town mountains, Cochise County, Arizona

 

Book Review: HARD CIDER

Barbara Stark-Nemon’s new book, Hard Cider, is quite different from her debut novel, Even in Darkness. Both novels present characters based on members of the author’s family, and Hard Cider will undoubtedly hold readers’ attention, as did Even in Darkness, from start to finish, but the differences are at least as numerous as the similarities. The earlier novel was set in the 20th century. The new work, its story unfolding in the present, is much closer to home.

Most of the action in Hard Cider, except for a brief New England section, takes place in Michigan, primarily in Leelanau County around Northport. The new novel is closer to home in a figurative sense, as well, with much of the material coming from the author’s personal experience. Marriage, family, heartache, and dreams. When you get beneath the surface, none of it is as simple as it first appears.

Abbie Rose Stone, first-person narrator, retired from a dual career in teaching and speech therapy, dreams of launching a commercial hard cider business from the family vacation home outside Northport. Locals, summer people, and repeat visitors to the area will recognize many familiar village and township scenes. Knitters, quilters, and craftspeople will be especially charmed to find their favorite Northport shop, Dolls and More, prominently featured, proprietor Sally appearing under her own name. Other names have been changed, and a few characters may be imaginary. Nevertheless, the novel’s locale and cast will be presently vividly to any reader’s mind, including those readers who have never set foot in northern Michigan. As for readers who know the territory — well, if I were far from home — say, in Paris — reading Hard Cider, I would be transported to northern Michigan.

Sally at her shop, Dolls and More, with beautiful yarn

Retirement and an unexpected inheritance have given Abbie Rose Stone an enviable freedom. While her husband’s law career still keeps him tied closely to Ann Arbor, Abbie Rose spends as much time as possible in Northport — its beaches, woodsy trails, and orchards (apples, though, not cherries). Her children grown, she’s ready to make her next dream come true.

Whenever I could, I haunted Charlie Aiken’s orchard — first in May, when the young trees burst into blossom, their sweet scent drawing bees to pollinate, and then as fruit set and the schedule of spraying and fertilizing marched into June and July. I helped out frequently, especially on a day after a vicious thunderstorm damaged orchards in a swath across the whole peninsula. The youth of the trees and ou solid spring pruning kept the danger to a minimum, but Charles, James, and I spent a whole day trimming and clearing. 

But Abbie Rose loves the Leelanau peninsula in all its seasons, even savage winter.

The lake no longer pounded out rhythms to the falling snow, and the softened fields, laced tree branches, and muffled sounds combined to create a winter wonderland that never failed to thrill me. No snowbird behavior for me; I loved northern Michigan in the winter precisely for its harsh beauty and isolation. Short days and long nights brought me inward, forcing a welcome shift to indoor work with my hands....

Winter orchard

Parents' worries do not end when children grow up and leave home, however, and her sons still give Abbie Rose cause for concern, especially Alex, the boy whose growing-up years were the most difficult. Whenever she hears his voice on the phone, Abbie’s heart gives a lurch. She can’t help wishing to have this son living nearby again, pursuing his own physician assistant career, of course, but also serving as consultant to her cider business. Steven, her husband, given his already strong reservations about Abbie’s dream project, is even more dubious about his son becoming involved, i.e., “dragged into it.” This, then, is the Stone family. Close, loving, happy, and successful, but with undercurrents of tension and worry. 

The novel opens with a scene from the family past: the Stones return from vacation, the youngest child only a babe in arms, to find their Ann Arbor home burned to the ground, the work of an arsonist, everything in it lost. Other significant pieces of the past emerge gradually, in bits and pieces. Happy families are not all the same. Each family has its particular complicated history, and this is certainly true for the Stones. 

Neither do all complications lie in the past. Like so many downstaters who come to know Leelanau as their vacation “happy place,” Abbie Rose comes to Northport for peace and quiet, for a chance to unleash her creativity but also to “get away from it all.” While Steven is in Ann Arbor and the boys off leading their own lives, she cherishes her winter lakeshore solitude. Who, then, is this young woman appearing one day on the road? Where did she come from, and what is she doing here? Abbie is curious but can’t help feeling a bit irritated, too, by the stranger’s presence.

Antique apples at John and Phyllis Kilcherman's farm

Hard Cider steers clear of murder but provides plenty of mystery. Moreover, since this is not a formula genre novel, “solving” the mystery does not end the questions to be faced by the book’s sympathetic cast of characters. Instead, as life throws them curve balls, old decisions have a long reach, as new knowledge makes new demands on Abbie and her family, challenges we realize will continue long after the novel’s final page.

If you’re like me, you read a variety of books for a variety of reasons: to learn about the world or to escape it; to find characters like yourself and/or  unlike yourself; to stimulate your mind, calm your soul, challenge your preconceptions, and/or calm your fears; to immerse yourself in a place or to take you far from where you are. Barbara Stark-Nemon’s new novel will satisfy booklovers’ needs and desires in these and other directions, I’m sure, depending on individual starting points. 

Besides, don’t you love being Up North? Or wish you were? Or wonder what it’s like? There’s that delight, too.

Looking toward Lake Michigan

So, So, SO Much to See!

My eyes were wide open from the day's start, when Sarah and I took a walk around Carefree, and I took note of blooming saguaro. Then my friend wanted to take us on a tour of Stagecoach Pass, where the houses are built right into the rocky side of Black Mountain. Holy cow! It’s as if people set about building houses in Cochise County’s Texas Canyon! The architects and builders must really know what they’re doing to do these jobs that look, on the surface, close to impossible. When we said good-bye to my dear friend (our lovely hostess), we left on the Carefree Highway west and then north on expressway in the direction of Flagstaff. 

Although on I-17 we found ourselves at elevations of between 4,000 and 5,000 feet above sea level -- a little scary -- we elected to stay on that road rather than leave it for Sedona and Oak Creek Canyon. The latter is a beautiful drive, but we had already enjoyed it three years ago. Also, it’s so popular that there’s almost nowhere to slow down, let alone stop, on the winding two-lane road. And anyway, the views along the faster road were still spectacular, in a different way, in every direction. 

One thing we’d forgotten was snow-covered mountains north of Flagstaff, so when they appeared in front of us, we were as amazed as if we’d never seen them before. 

Flagstaff is at over 6,000 feet in elevation, and the San Francisco Peaks to the north top 12,000 feet.We were so mentally exhausted from the drive and the eye-popping views that it didn’t seem at all crazy to stop and get a motel at 2 p.m., and the view from our very reasonably priced motel room, as it turned out, was dramatic, too. 

After a little rest break, we set out to explore, because downtown Flagstaff is fascinating, too, with stunning old buildings and lively sidewalks and alleys.

 We peeked into galleries, perused restaurant menus posted on windows, and then --

Bingo! Old books! And the door (left) was open!

Proprietor Hugh Fogel, whose business card calls him 'Creative Director,' has owned Starrlight books only since September. (I didn't ask and haven't investigated but wonder if the former owner was named Starr) He has been told that summertime is "the season" in Flagstaff, but now in early May, Flagstaff is like Northport, Michigan, with chilly air wafting through fragrant pines and junipers, a time of anticipation for tourist town small business. Well I know that feeling!

Our book ardor, however, had not been cooled by the weather. The cool, high-altitude air was stimulating -- as I say, it felt like Michigan -- and we were stimulated as well by shelves and shelves of old books, with a few new ones mixed in. I bought half a dozen volumes, and the Artist and I will definitely return to Starrlight whenever we are back in Flagstaff. Which inspires me to inaugurate something I should have done in this blog years ago. Here it is:

Booklovers' Travel Tip: Starrlight Books, 14 N. Leroux St., Flagstaff, AZ

Hugh & Carrie -- tell them Dog Ears Books sent you!

Don't Go to Bisbee on Monday!

I love this photo of the Artist clinging to the chainlink fence next to his friend as the two of them peer down into the open mine pit. Bisbee is not like anywhere else in Cochise County. Some aspects of it -- the galleries and new restaurants and visiting tourists -- are like Jerome, Arizona, but Jerome (up north of Phoenix) doesn't have a huge open pit like this, so maybe Bisbee is not like anywhere else at all. We made the trip there on Monday of last week.

I'm not nuts about the scary, man-made hole in the ground, but the colors of the exposed rock please me. They remind me of the soft and varied colors of cows.

Colors and materials of Bisbee's old historic buildings blend harmoniously with the surrounding rock. Some buildings are imposing, others modest. 

But smaller details also catch the eye, too. I was admiring some of the season's first flowers (it's almost spring!) with a woman from Iowa when a local man passing by stopped to tell us it was Indian tobacco, a member of the nightshade family. I also noticed chinaberry trees all over Bisbee neighborhoods. Isn't that a lovely name, chinaberry?

Our visiting friend eagerly posed in the doorway of the brightly painted remains of a former building, a site I remembered from visiting Bisbee three years earlier, though if I compare these photos with my old ones I would probably see that the painting itself has changed in the intervening time. 

There are distinctive features everywhere one looks in Bisbee -- walls hung with art or turned into art, a door decorated with bottlecaps, a stone wall with wooden doors that have pickaxes for handles. While I was gazing at the wall hung with paintings, the man who had identified the Indian tobacco appeared with three canvases under his arm. "The botanist!" I exclaimed, and he smiled and said he wasn't really but had learned a lot from friends. I wanted to photograph him from the back as he proceeded up the stone steps but could not get my camera on and focused and the subject framed in time. The picture I saw with my eye, however, is still in my mind. If you use your imagination, maybe you can see him there, too. 

Bisbee engages other senses besides vision. Wafting barbecue smoke drifted over a wall to tease us with its tantalizing aroma as we passed by ... 

... while smoothly polished examples of different rocks and minerals outside the historical museum invited stroking. 

Had we brought checkers or chessmen, we could have sat down for a game, but the Artist was intent on a visit to the Copper Queen Hotel, where the son of an old friend can sometimes be found in his lobby jewelry shop. No, not that day. 

Many businesses, we had discovered, are closed on Mondays in Bisbee -- as is also true in Benson and Willcox, which was one reason we had decided to make Bisbee our destination that day. The bar side of the porch of the Copper Queen was open, though, and we were happy to find a table in the fresh air and order drinks and "starters" (which made our light lunch that day). Following a chilly, windy weekend, sitting outdoors in warm air, without jackets, enjoying cold drinks felt like heaven.

Over on a busier street, we found a few shops and galleries open and even managed to get in a little shopping. Well, mostly looking. I looked at boots and looked at scarves but in the end bought only -- what else? -- a book! St. Patrick's Battalion, by James Alexander Thom, is a historical novel that takes its story from an incident of the Mexican-American War of 1846, when an Irish-American soldier and hundreds of his comrades defected to the Mexican side of the conflict. As Catholics coming from poor peasant stock who had seen their own native land invaded and seized by the English, their sympathy was with the Mexicans. I've only heard tiny bits of this part of American history and look forward to reading the novel.

One good thing about being in a tourist town on a day when many businesses are closed is that the streets are not as crowded as they would be otherwise, so I would not say absolutely that you should not go to Bisbee on a Monday, and, after all, it worked out for us. We were not able to have bowls of pho at the Vietnamese restaurant, but cups of beer-and-bean chili at the CQ filled in nicely. So, sure, go to Bisbee on a Monday! Just know ahead of time that you will not have the full selection of restaurants and shops.

I'll close today's post with a store sign that caught my eye and made me smile. Customers of Dog Ears Books (and readers of Walter Mosley) will instantly catch the double reference.

Memory's Garden

Given a benevolent fortune that lets us keep them, the older we get, the more memories we have. And so I have to confess to laying up treasures on earth – not gold or gems or even a stock portfolio, but memories of family and friends, attached to particular places on earth. When I hear anyone say, by way of condolence, that the deceased is “in a better place,” I have to make an effort not to shake my head. This imperfect world of ours, with all its often tragic flaws (most of them our own creation, I’d say), still strikes me as infinitely miraculous.

Even if I limit my review of memories to a couple of years in the village of Northport, there is plenty of treasure to gladden my heart – for instance, the little building on the corner of Mill and Nagonaba was the second Northport home of Dog Ears Books. A simple, seasonal abode, it had neither plumbing nor heat. Insulation? Nope. Storm windows? Ha! It did have electricity, however, and I had a phone line put in.

Closer to my heart’s memories was the garden I created there on the corner, first digging out sod and grass and weeds, then installing plants (with a narrow pinestraw path so I could get in to weed and prune and deadhead), and finally commissioning David Chrobak to build a trellis against the side of the building.

The trellis lasted for years, though not forever. My beloved viburnum was not beloved of the most recent occupant, so it was cut down (but I notice it struggles to reassert itself). What I always called my “lipstick” roses -- rescued from a garden whose owner wanted to replace them with hybrid teas – those are still blooming.

One summer on the corner I found myself growing increasingly impatient with the public, and anyone who has worked in retail or waited tables or tended bar will be familiar with the phenomenon I called hitting the wall. I hit the wall hard that summer. The impact itself is not a happy memory. I do, however, feel good about what came next, because I gave myself a stern talking-to. Self, I said, you either need to turn this around or get out of the business! You can’t keep going in this direction. Since then, while I am occasionally annoyed by a prying question or a cheapskate who wants a treasure for nothing, such occasions are relatively rare. More importantly, I have learned in general to enjoy people more and more as time goes by.

Owning a small, independent bookstore in a seasonal town at the end of a peninsula is not the easiest way to make a living. Turns out, though, it’s been a good path to making a satisfying life.

It Took a Village

Our Tuesday evening Dog Ears Books event at Spice World Cafe was a very Northport kind of story. Officially, it was a book launch. Unofficially, it was much more. The themes, as I reconstruct them now, the next day, were friendship, community, and welcome. 

Sarah Shoemaker wrote the novel, Mr. Rochester (destined for an international audience, in my opinion), and also made brownies for the reception following dinner (because, like any serious, dedicated writer, she has had to practice versatility), while Angela Dhami prepared dinner for sixty in her Spice World Cafe (Tuesday's crowd could never have squeezed into Dog Ears Books) and her crew did yeoman service getting it on the tables. Trudy Carpenter put together fruit punch and brought her deservedly famous lemon bars. The cake was a delicious David Chrobak creation. I know it was delicious, because someone brought me a piece, but I didn't get to see it before it was cut.

Bill Coohon and Patty Noftz helped me out with fliers to publicize the event ahead of time, Pat Scott brought fresh flowers for the tables on Tuesday, and David Grath took charge of microphone and camera. Getting the books here from the publisher in New York--that was my part, but when it came to sales, I was helped at the event by my loyal, longtime bookstore volunteer, Bruce Balas. Barbara Stark-Nemon (another local author) also brought a camera, and besides serving as backup photographer she pitched in repeatedly whenever she saw something that needed to be done, as did David and Trudy and Bruce and many others. Northport people don't sit around on their hands: they get up and get things done!

Northport people? Of all those mentioned above, only one is native to Northport, with a second coming originally from down the road in Leland. The rest of us started out at distant points, moving along meandering life routes to get where we are today. But where we're "from" doesn't matter. We're here, now, and we came together with our fellow townspeople to mark a very special occasion, the launch--in Northport!--of a book simultaneously released on May 9 in the U.S., England, and Australia--let me say it again!--Mr. Rochester, by Sarah Shoemaker.

Already reviewed in "USA Today"

Northport may be considered "off the beaten path," but it is very much a part of the larger, "real" world. We are not only affected by what goes on elsewhere: once in a while something we do here sends ripples outward. The novel we celebrated on Tuesday evening began as an idea in Sarah Shoemaker's mind five years ago, thanks to a book club discussion at our little Leelanau Township Library in Northport. The author was aided in her research by the Michigan Electronic Library, accessible from our little local library. And now we in Northport will be watching, proudly, as Mr. Rochester makes its way around the world--and we will be cheering our friend Sarah every step of the way!

When I was invited to give a brief spiel for the event on a Traverse City radio station four days prior, the radio host commented that not many towns the size of Northport can boast a local bookstore. Well, there were times in the 24 years since Dog Ears Books was born (back in 1993, right on Waukazoo Street a short walk from its present location) when I didn't think we would be around much longer. Northport, like the country in general, has known times of struggle. And yet, here we are, my little bookstore and I, nearly a quarter-century later, still going strong, and now introducing to my local community a book I read and loved in manuscript three years ago. 

What does it take for a small independent bookstore to survive? It takes hard work, perseverance, sacrifice -- and it takes a village of friends who love books and are eager and willing to support a bookstore. 

My heart overflows with gratitude for my book-loving village friends! You are the secret to my success!