Bits And Pieces

Lake Namekegon

     Is it possible to live without television?  Yes, it can be done.  All you need are a few miscellaneous things like a boat, place to fish, water skis, and a place to swim.  A batch of sunny weather and you can manage nicely without that large one-eyed monster.

     Not that I'm against television, heck it's probably the eight wonder of the world and a marvelous waster of time.  But it is fun to discover that there are really things to do without TV or radio.

     Suddenly the family plays games together of an evening, reads, fishes and you don't know or care a thing about what is going on in the world.  For a real change of pace it is wonderful.

     Up here in Northern Wisconsin nestled back in a deep forest on a big Lake dotted with small islands, you can almost feel that brown Indian in full feathers paddling his canoe silently beside your metal boat.

     Standing on the shores of hidden lakes among white birch trees and deer and bear in abundance, you feel a flash of the old pioneer spirit.

     The air is soft and cool filtered through hundreds of pine trees, it's so cool and fresh you can't seem to breathe it deep enough.  And it is so quiet.  Have you forgotten how wonderful it is to just be sitting someplace that is noiseless?

     Your nerves unwind in the stillness and with the only sounds the ones of wind through trees or water lapping at sandy beaches, your own voice lowers at least an octave when you yell at the kids.

     Up here there's one grocery store where the manager slices off meat just the way you want it fresh from sides of beef aging in his cooler.  There is even sawdust on the floor and no problem over selection of frozen foods, there aren't many.

     No planes, no trains, no jets, just chipmunks to feed and train--humming birds and wrens to watch at close range.

     People smile--speak--and have a certain friendliness forgotten in city suburbs.  They all have time to help me catch up on all the news that has happened during the past year.  Where the fishing is good and what sons and daughters are married or have new babies.

     Our worm woman, a steady vendor of this necessary bit of fishing equipment for our five years here, never changes.  Her little house with its general assemblage of assorted woodsheds looks like some giant witch swept the whole thing together with her broom into a tidy pile.  She's plump and friendly and she always remembers our names and where we are from.

     She remarks on the growth of the kids and shows us her new giant sized rabbits while we rub the ears and get swatted with the tails of two, black, hunting dogs that share her one room cottage.

     She's explicit in her instructions about caring for her worms and proud as punch when she has the report that we managed to snare some big ones with her squirming, juicy fish bait.

     "Keep them covered tight now, or all the big ones will get out and poof goes your best bait."

     Seems to be a special comradeship between fishermen.  Maybe they can smell out each other--like the little sign in our favorite eating place states, "old fishermen never die, they just smell that way."  But strangers are friends as sizes and varieties of fish are compared.

     Being city born and bred and coming from a long line of non-fishing folk I was a mite doubtful of the sitting paralyzed in a boat clutching a fish pole.  That was five years ago.  A cottage on a lake?  Not for me.  But I've changed.  There is something about sitting still out in a boat with a big glob of blue sky above you and birds singing fit to slit their throats and just water and trees all around that is mighty quieting to the spirit.

     Once you've had the pull of an inquisitive fish on the end of your line and finally landed a big one all by yourself, you not only hooked the fish you got hooked yourself.  You're a goner--you'll get up at dawn or hate to come in after dark if you can be enticed by just one more bite.

     If you enjoy good food there are places which serve home cooking better than mother ever made and at reasonable prices.  Places where the cook herself comes out of the kitchen to smilingly accept your compliments on her cooking.  Places where you must never be in  hurry as your order is cooked for you.

     Where Smorgasbord means ham, chicken, beef, Swedish meatballs, at least ten kinds of salads with special dressings, large tureens of sliced fresh fruits blended with sauces handed down from mother to daughter and pastries with crusts that break at a touch, and home baked rolls and bread--where the cook herself urges three or four helpings.

     Brisk, cool air and outdoor sports builds good appetites so leave calorie counters at home.  A cottage doesn't have to mean toil for Mom.  Suppers out can give her a vacation too.

     So I'm for every family whether the children are big or small to find themselves a cottage some Summer on an almost forgotten bit of civilization on a lake and do a little roughing around the edges.  Like getting along without TV or radio, discovering quiet, getting the chance to sort out your thoughts and dreams while you hold a fishing pole in your hands.

     Try it at least one, even though you never eat fish or have always spent a vacation sightseeing from one spot to another.  Just try slackening your pace for once and waste a little time for a change.  I just betcha you'll like it.

Written August 2, 1962