Doubled Up Backwards

It probably sounds fishy to tell a story backwards while reviewing through the events and details that develop its skeletal structure.  But that’s exactly what transpired within this tale!  The script itself ended within the early fall days of 2024.  That particular week we had a partial lunar eclipse on September 17th while in the midst of the Harvest (Full) Moon, which ironically coincided with the Super Moon.  You know, that time when the moon circles closest to Earth and appears larger than usual.  It was then that Cindy and I cooked up the pike I had caught at the end of August.  The tasty fish and pleasant evening was comforting as we ate out on our deck; belying internal stress and sadness.  The following afternoon, after a day with family in the healthcare center, Cindy’s Mom passed away.

A Partial Eclipse Of
The Super-Full-Harvest Moon

A Pike Fillet & Vegetable Stir-Fry Dinner
Out On The Deck

Three weeks prior to that, up beside one of the many lakes straddling the Oneida-Vilas County line in Northern Wisconsin, I tried practicing what my Uncle Bob preaches for filleting a pike.  The meat is sweet, flavorful, and oh so delicious when cooked in original Shore Lunch Breading and Batter Mix.  Some people don’t like to fish for pike because you risk losing expensive lures and tackle with their vicious strikes if you don't prepare with quality equipment.  Others don’t like to fish for pike due to the skeletal Y-bone along each side of their backbone when trying to fillet them out.  I’ve often kept a pike and simply filleted them out - leaving the Y-bones in them.  I don’t mind digging through the bones to experience the taste.  But on that date, with that pike, I watched and re-watched a video I had recorded of my uncle cleaning a pike enough times to make an attempt at cleaning it correctly while removing the Y-bone.

(Click here to watch my Uncle Bob filleting a Northern Pike)

I graded the first side of the pike I filleted with an “A”, but the second side received a self assessed “C”.  I still managed to harvest all of the edible meat on that second side, but it came off in several scrap pieces.  After cleaning the pike I packaged the meat in a zip-lock and packed it in ice for my trip back home and the dinner I mentioned out on the deck a few weeks later.

I had caught that particular pike while drifting in the northeast corner of a lake on which my parents have rented a cabin a couple of times each year since 2009.  They say it's so they can continue to get their “Northwoods Fix” after having moved to Southern Wisconsin from Northern Lower Michigan back in 2001.  As a rule, Dad keeps a detailed fishing journal and wrote about the events from that morning as we fished together.

Captain’s Log:

Wed. 8/28/24

Up at 6:45.  Cool, cloudy morning.  Temp. 60° Dew pt. 54°. Light NE wind.  We got ready.  Mike & I were on the water by 8:00.  We are still using Josh’s bigger, wider 16’ boat with the 25 hp. Motor.  Nice : )  We went to the far NE end of the main lake.  It was calm water, maybe 5 mph wind allowing us to drift and cast along the whole shoreline.  We made 3 or 4 passes of drifting and casting for pike or bass without a strike.  We both used gold #5 Mepps.  Finally I tried a Dardevle, then a #5 silver Vibrax with a red blade.  Nothing.  So we drifted closer to shore [under the watchful eye of an osprey] and went to casting worms and a bobber for panfish.

We caught a few “gills” and I caught a few crappies.  As I was bringing in a bluegill, a big pike zipped in and grabbed it.  Excellent!  The pike must be starting to feed.  Mike grabbed his Mepps and I my Vibrax.  He cast North and I cast South.  Within a couple of casts we both had a pike on at the same time [known as being “Doubled Up”].  Mine made 3 jumps on the way to the boat.  His stayed down.  Both pike ended up coming into the same side of the boat at the same time. 

Mike got a video of them beside the boat.  Then he took our big net and netted them both at the same time.  Mike’s pike had a big head, and measured at 29.5” and 5#.  My pike was 24.5” and 3#.  We dispatched them both, put them on a stringer, made a couple more casts for good measure, and headed back to the cabin.  We were back by 10:30.

CLICK BELOW FOR A QUICK VIDEO OF

DAD AND I DOUBLING UP ON PIKE:

With those two pike on our lines, it made for a fun but hectic few moments.  For that reason, we were relieved when they both threw their lure off while thrashing together in the net.  We removed the lures and untangled the lines before hoisting the fish for a couple of pictures.

Having us each catch a big fish at the same time was the climax to a quick trip Up North to see my parents.  They had the cabin rented for several days, and since I had time available, retirement allowed me the opportunity to join them for two of those nights.  It was the kind of spontaneous autumn get-a-way that keeps you dreaming of time on the water and time with family - especially as the colder months creep closer.

The first night after I had arrived, my parents fixed some hamburgers.  We struck out fishing afterwards, but were able to enjoy a great sunset over still water in a nearby cove.  It took a while to fall asleep that evening with hot humid temperatures; fans in the bedrooms saved the night!

The second day of my visit was a mixture of activities such as solo fishing in the rain, having a hearty breakfast with Mom & Dad, sitting in the back seat while heading to town for a quick shopping trip, and then after a little lunch, Dad and I fished again.  We both caught bluegills and I managed a large mouthed bass that measured just shy of 15 inches before it started raining again.

We fixed the fish for dinner that evening and topped it off with some ice cream at Cathy’s in Saint Germain.  It’s a tradition to go there at least once per visit as it’s hard to beat a night-cap of Moose Tracks or Mackinac Island Fudge.

We all hunkered down that night with chilly temperatures outside that were a 180 degree turn from the evening prior to that when we needed the fans to survive.  The following morning, unbeknownst to us at the time, we’d be busy and doubled up with those pair of pike.

Before I had even headed North to meet my parents, the story actually began with a teacher retiree breakfast.  For years I had pleaded with my former colleagues to keep it going until I could join them for their “Beginning of the School Year Gathering.”  One of the past educators had once commented to my plea by saying, “It’s really not that big of a deal Mike.  It’s just a bunch of old people getting together to eat.”  Ha Ha, That was funny!  I replied that it was important to me, because it meant that I’d finally rejoined the colleagues I had originally taught with back when I had first started my career at Prairie Hill School.

To show their appreciation, they put me in charge of organizing the shin-dig since I had the contact information for the retirees.  There’s nothing quite like being baptized into the fold with a rookie initiation like that!  Regardless, the breakfast food, coupled with a reunion among good friends, gave me the energy needed to drive North and meet my parents at a rented log cabin.  Who knew that 48 hours from that retiree breakfast, Dad and I would be doubled up with a couple of rambunctious pike on a favorite lake!

See you along The Way…

A Few Colleagues After A Prairie Hill School
District#133 Retiree Breakfast

First Day Of School

First Day Of School Picture - 2024

Since as long as I can remember I’ve had a “First Day Of School” (often with a picture); dating back to the fall of 1971 when I started attending.  I can recall waiting in our driveway for the school bus as a kindergartner - at the top of the hill, on an unnamed road North of Sparr (known at that time simply as “Rural Route #1”), waiting to travel the seemingly long way to Johannesburg Elementary on the north-side of a small Kindergarten-12th grade building.  I had attended preschool the year before that with my teacher Mrs. Driscoll.  The preschool met in the basement of Gaylord’s small St. Andrew's Episcopal Church with the unique chalet style roof; a good deterrent for our heavy snowfall in Northern Michigan.  Mom was the one who drove me into town that year, and although foundational, it was only a couple of times a week.

I started at Joburg Elementary School a month after turning 5; the birthday when I received my blue scooter that I’d ride down the grassy hill off our backyard - dragging it by the handle back to the top or leaving it at the bottom until someone helped me.  Over the next few years a couple of the neighbor kids would congregate at our driveway before school because my Dad had put in a tetherball court just back from the road.  That meant that the pole was a maple tree cut from the woods, fixed at the top with an eye bolt that the rope and ball hung from, which was a perfect remedy to while away the time as us kids waited to be picked up by the bus.

First Day Of School Picture - 1971

As I reflect back, I guess I’ve had a first day of school for most of my life; 54 years to be exact.  I’m not sure how the years slipped by like that!  It feels monumental, and yet overwhelming at the same time.  It’s kind of John Henry-esque.  I love John’s fortitude, his style, and the legacy he left.  He’s outright my favorite folk tale hero.  And while he wins against the machine in the well known ballad, he dies from that contest with his hammer in his hand.  I suppose I feel something like that.  For 18 of those 54 years I was a student; preschool through college.  And after a year of student teaching, getting married, and working for a lawn service (the last while sending out resumes with a cover letter), I was hired and taught in a 5th grade classroom for 35 years; all in the same K-8 district.

Right this minute the kids and teachers of that district are putting the final touches on their first week of school.  They’ve been using these first few days to reacquaint themselves with routines, introduce expectations, and begin to build healthy relationships that will catapult them into next week’s full 5 days and the school year ahead.  I know this because it’s ingrained in my make-up and DNA.  I could teach with my eyes blind folded and one arm tied behind my back, because I have done it for so long, I was good at it, and loved it to boot!

As for me right now?  I’m sitting on our back deck, under the eaves and close to the house, journaling my thoughts into this worn composition book.  Not because it’s in the shade, although that’s a plus even with the unseasonably cool weather we’re having right now, but because a spider has spun an intricate web between the other chairs, table, and collapsed umbrella.  For 35 years I’ve taught science, and today will not be the day I break one of my many mottos which stated, “Don’t kill it unless you plan on eating it.  If you don’t plan on eating it, don’t kill it!”  Those were words to live by as a teacher instructing 10 and 11 year olds, and especially when it’s a cross orbweaver spider!  So the arachnid is getting free reign of the table area right now, and I’m writing with this journal in my lap.  Good luck little fella.  May you snare a big juicy arthropod.  From the bits of dried exoskeletons on the tabletop, you’ve done just that over the last couple of days!

So yes, I’m retired now; whatever that means.  Those I began teaching with (the same teachers that started soon after the 3 one-room school houses combined) have been retired for some time now.  I’m simply joining them.  Again, I’m not sure how the years slipped by like that, but they have.  I consider myself a link between those who established our district and those who are now teaching and setting new standards to match the changing times.  I don’t mean that I’m stuck between the past and present.   I see myself as a combination of both; having started with chalkboards & the occasional use of calculators, and then moving to whiteboards & a computer lab, before settling on Smart Boards & one-to-one student Chromebooks.  There has always been a past that goes further back than whatever we can recall, and there will always be a present going forward beyond what we can imagine; for all of us.  The jump in technology in the span of years that I taught, however, has been astronomical.

If I gained a millimeter of jumping ability for everyone who has asked me how retirement is treating me (insert Mr. Rhines’ metric system speech number #124.8b), then I could easily tomahawk dunk by now!  I get it, you need a standard question to start a conversation.  It’s like asking an 18 year old, “How’s college going?”  Assuming they are going that route over entering the trades, signing up for the military, or diving into the job force.  My standard answer this summer has been, “I don’t know yet…”  I spent all of June dismantling my museum of a classroom.  The first part of July was time to travel; with my wife to visit family, and then camping in Northern Michigan with my cousins, before settling into jobs around the house.  I’m not sure where August went, other than writing thank you cards for retirement gifts.  I guess I was simply trying to search for a routine while getting regrounded in running and biking.  Part of that time was dealing with the guilt that rises from knowing that teachers were preparing for school and I wasn’t.  Or that I’m retired but, “still so young” - as if the sacrifices or “sell my soul” attitude I’ve had all these years while teaching, coaching, being the athletic director, working intramurals, mentoring, or co-leading our environmental club wasn’t enough of a reason.  Not to mention the preparation for the annual creek walk day, 5th grade camp, summer camps, or any number of various activities.  These were choices, not chores in the sense of obligations.  I grew up on a small farm, so I know what chores are, and I loved 95% of those too!  Minus weeding the garden in the hot sun, although it often had its rewards with a trip to the lake to cool off once my sisters and I stopped whining and finished the task.  It’s where I learned firsthand the whole idea of delayed gratification.  What I did at school was what I loved to do because I chose to do it; it provided some of my identity and purpose, as many people feel who have connected with their careers.  Whatever task I had decided to do at school involved everything I had; sometimes spread over the many activities, but something I could always hang my hat on with pride at the end of the day.

About now school is letting out and the staff is talking in the hallways; themselves excited about the coming weekend, and I have to wonder, “What now?”  I recently saw a sit down conversation between Oprah Winfrey and NBC’s meteorologist, Al Roker, who was about to turn 70 years old.  When contemplating time, getting older, and next steps, her advice to him was, “When you don’t know what to do, do nothing.” In other words, “Be still.”  Al replied as a network spokesperson by saying, “We don’t like dead air!”  Personally, that bell rang loud and true; right upside my head.

Colleagues from yesteryear suggested that I go do something last week as the students returned to school.  Since my wife was working and enjoying her job in the library at a nearby college, I took a solo trip Up North into Wisconsin to camp and fish; a couple of other passions I have.  For me, trips like that don’t lead to being still and doing nothing.  It seemed I was constantly moving, while burning energy.  That’s often how I like to relax.  Don’t get me wrong, there were times when I would sit and either observe nature around me or read from the two books I have going right now; Gathering Moss by Robin Wall Kimmerer, and The Backyard Adventurer by Beau Miles.  The first book I bought at a cool, quaint, shop in Waco, Texas while visiting our daughter and son-in-law, and the second was given to me by my kids upon my retirement.  I guess I also relaxed the first night after setting up camp, when I woke up from only two hours of sleep to the light of a nearly full moon; listening to the barred owls calling in the hollow, coyotes laughing up on the ridges, and a family of raccoons trooping around my tent and picnic table foraging for anything I may have forgotten to store away back up in my Jeep - which fortunately I had not.  The second night of my stay I slept like the dead.

When I burned energy I was often cooking over an open fire (cutting and prepping food), trout fishing in a creek that bounces between bluffs of exposed Cambrian sandstone (in waders against the current), or running beautiful dirt trails (in what would otherwise be known as rugged terrain).  I wanted to journal while sitting outside my tent, but the process of what I deem as camping kept me from doing that this particular time, until I could return home and reflect.

I took my obligatory “First Day Of School” picture this year, but I’m standing on a gravel bar in the shade of a hemlock covered bluff (as opposed to standing beside the flag hanging on our home, or in front of the school).  At least I remembered to smile with my eyes open this year.  In 1989, my first year teaching, the photographer captured a picture of me with my eyes closed.  I didn’t care or know any better, so I didn’t participate in “retakes.”  Plus, those were the days when you waited for the film to be developed before we knew what digital photography really meant.  Consequently, I was not in that year’s class picture or school yearbook, except for one or two random shots and the one where I’m standing next to my first basketball team as their coach.  Suddenly I cared!  From then on, I always made sure my eyes were open; and I mean that literally and figuratively - as an awareness to what’s going on around me.

School, teaching, and living your passions in general, are meant to be relational.  It’s one way that we associate directly and make connections.  When I watch my favorite TV show, Alone, it’s what the contestants are always whittled down to…regardless of whether they are starving, injured, or pushing themselves to the utmost in order to win the whole shebang.  They eventually desire some degree of human contact; be it friends or family, past or present.  That applies to the most introverted hermit, to the most outgoing life of the party.  We all need relationships of some kind, which is why I love the irony in the multi-layer title Alone.  It’s also why I like the stories behind those first day of school pictures.

While I myself am going to miss many of the connections I have at school, I am looking forward to maintaining them, albeit under slightly different circumstances.  After a healthy break, I would entertain being a guest speaker or storybook reader at school, baking treats for the staff, attending an after school activity, or coming in for an occasional lunch simply to visit.  One of the retirees from the past used to come back to eat lunch with the staff in the teacher’s lounge whenever we had, “Government Chicken Day” (as he called it).  I always found that hilarious, but it made sense as well to periodically reconnect.

In the meantime, and as I’m redefining myself, I’ll follow the advice written by the authors in the books that I mentioned.  Kimmerer stated, “Mosses have a covenant with change; their destiny is linked to the vagaries of rain.  They shrink and shrivel while carefully laying the groundwork for their renewal.  They give me faith.” (37)  Maybe it’s because I taught science for 35 years, but I love that whole idea of preparing now for the unknown of the future.  We all do that, knowingly or unknowingly, because even NOT making a decision is a decision.  She simply chose to convey that through the idea of mosses.  And from Miles’ book, he wrote, “To slow down ever so slightly, realising that a story needs purpose, and purpose is built on the everyday and ordinary, is harder than it sounds given there’s so much of it… [This means that] smaller tales build within the bigger picture like muscle supported by bone.” (14)

All in all, the takeaways for this are to find something that can be therapeutic.  I chose reflecting in a journal to put some of the thoughts and feelings of my own education and years of educating into words; while contrasting that with my time in the outdoors.  Events and experiences that you have lived through are not the end all, but they are building blocks - in all their facets of being good, bad, or indifferent.

Oh, and remember to smile with your eyes open for that “First Day Of School” picture; wherever that may be and no matter what particular moment you are actually capturing.  There’s a story behind that snapshot.  I’ll remember that next week when I gather with my colleague-friends at the retiree breakfast.  Say Cheese!

See you along The Way…

Life Of A Prairie

“A people without history,

is like wind on the buffalo grass.”

-An old Lakota saying

This is a blog entry that will be pretty self explanatory.  Pictures and captions will tell the story beyond what I write.  The prairie on the hill was reestablished in the summer of 2009.  It’s a prairie next to (and a part of) Willowbrook Middle School, which is one of two schools in the Prairie Hill School District - and just off of Prairie Hill Road.  That part makes sense.  Of course there is a story behind a few of those names, as there are to most names, that might not seem to make sense; but I’ll refrain from going into detail on all of that just now to protect the (semi) innocent.  Let's just say that Prairie Hill School is on Willowbrook Road and Willowbrook Middle School is on Prairie Hill Road.  The prairie on the hill, however, is legitimate, noteworthy, and fitting.  Two hundred years ago this seven acre, tall grass prairie was the norm of the Midwest and Central Plains, before it was plowed under for agricultural use. 

In the fall of 2011 my teaching colleague, Cindy Froman, and I started Willowbrook Middle School’s environmental club.  The name of the club became Servo Terra (Protect the Earth).  One of the first endeavors for Cindy and I was to have the fledgling club name a few of the surrounding areas.  The prairie was put to a vote and named “Bird’s Grove Prairie.”  “Bird’s Grove” came from the name of a trading post built by Stephen Mack.  He was one of our area's first pioneers.  In the early 1830’s his original trading post was located at the mouth of Dry Run Creek as it entered the Rock River.  Dry Run Creek winds through our very own school district, albeit several miles upstream from the mouth.  Later, Stephen Mack would have to move to what would become Pecatonic/Macktown (across from present day Rockton), due to an attack that burned down his trading post at Bird’s Grove.  That attack, which was at the beginning of the Black Hawk War, nearly cost him his life.  For those who live in Northern Winnebago County, you know that Stephen Mack’s wife was Hononegah; a Winnebago/Ho-Chunk Native American whose name became that of our local high school.

The second area that our club named was the seasonal pond that lies up on the top of Bird’s Grove Prairie next to our school.  It was voted on to be named “Odonata Pond.”  Odonata is a taxonomy grouping for insects that are carnivorous, such as the dragonfly.  Several species of dragonflies are a common site throughout the warmer months, as they zip over the grasses catching and eating various flies and mosquitoes.

An 1827 Oil Painting by American Artist Alvin Fisher
Entitled "The Prairie On Fire"
Picture taken at the Chicago Art Institute Dec 2016

            Our prairie was mowed for the first couple of years as the plants threw down their long roots.  Native plants grow down into the soil 15 feet or more.  It’s no wonder that we have erosion problems in our present day and age when you compare this to our blue grass lawns that only grow roots about 4 inches in depth.  Once the native plants began taking hold, we planned our first fire burn during the spring of 2014.  The South Beloit Fire Department rose to the occasion, using the controlled burn for a training exercise.  As Mrs. Froman and I watched that first year, one local neighbor and one school family joined us.  Two years later in 2016 we burned again, and a few more from the community came to watch.  This year, 2017, saw families with children of all ages attend the prairie burn (some kids complete in their firemen costumes).  Many people even brought their chairs and blankets to watch the burn while eating their dinner picnic style.

Bird’s Grove Prairie is still in its infancy, but compared to the prairies that once covered our region, its history goes back to a time that is now only a whisper.  That whisper, barely audible, is carried on the winds that sway the grasses of the prairie; those same grasses that once supported the vast herds of bison that called this area home long before us.  It’s a history that now can be set to pictures and videos.

See you along The Way…

2014

Cindy Froman and I after the First Burn

2016

Window Reflection

Panorama

Odonata Pond

After the Burn

A Video of the 2016 Burn

The sunset on the prairie during a Servo Terra cookout

Late May 2016

A deer running into the prairie - July 2016

An October 2016 sunrise

November 2016

Sunlight through the Bluestem

2017

February 2017

April 12, 2017 - Before the Burn

End of the Line

The Smoldering Remains

A Video of the 2017 Burn