from Door County: the peace before the storm

Such a calm beginning to the week-end! Wake up, look out the window, see this:





The clouds disperse, the sky's blue, that blue that makes you not hate February quite so much. It's a fleeting moment of winter love.

It’s a perfect day.

We have skis with us. We have enthusiasm. We have a state park across the road, on the Green Bay side of the peninsula. We glide quietly through a winter forest.















Magnificent. That alone was worth the drive. We watch others love this day equally energetically.










And, we climb a lookout tower to get a different view of the coastline as it dips into the village of Ephriam.





I tell Ed – this is the tower I climbed with daughters when they were little. It taught me to get my fear of heights under control.
It’s under control? – the man knows my weaknesses.


Our innkeeper suggested that I stop in and say hi to Joel, over at the basement café of the Ecology Store. It’s in the old meeting house in Sister Bay.

Joel is from one my favorite spots in France -- Brittany. He’s been in Door County for about a dozen years – oh, what one doesn’t do for one’s sweetie! - but he speaks enthusiastically about the village of his kid years. And, remarkably, it is the village where I’m expecting to get to this spring. He’s thrilled. I always want to tell people to go there – it’s so beautiful, but it’s so far! Oh, I know. It’s at the very western tip of France. For me, that’s the attraction.

Joel makes a fantastic curried cauliflower bisque and a hot cheese and tomato sandwich. The coffee is best of best. Or, maybe it’s the setting – by a warm stove, after several hours on the trails.





It’s late afternoon, but I still want a look at the Michigan Lake side of Door County. Newport State Park is a place I used to go to with daughters and I want to see it now, in the winter cold of a February sunset.

We give up on skis and hike along the coast, then through the forest, then out again until we see the islands around the northern bend.















The wind is sharp now and the sun is almost gone. Ed leads me out onto the iced-over beach.

How do you know we’re not over water? – I ask. It’s no secret that my adventuring quotient is far lower than his.
There are grass clumps here.
They could be underwater. Or sporadic islands.

But we forge ahead, because the waves, breaking against the ice are so loud, so beautiful, so harsh, that you want to get closer, just for that one spray, caught on your shivering camera (okay – shivering hand; the camera doesn't care).





We better hurry back, Ed warns. He has this way of being calm, indifferent really, and then suddenly infusing an urgent note, making me think that we are in imminent danger.

But we’re not. The wind is strong, but the path is marked by snowshoes and we make our way through the darkening forest to the beach as the sun fades, throwing its inevitable red streaks everywhere.





We’re exhausted. We eat dinner at a place just around the corner from our Inn. Solid Door County supper club fare. Our appetites are huge. But still no room for anything sweet.


I’ve been tracking the approaching storm system all week long and it looks pretty certain that it'll hit us hard enough, so that we will not make it out of Door County Sunday.

No matter. I have my books, my work materials, my chocolates and a half bottle of rosé from Cassis. And so another tempest begins. With pellets and fat wet flakes and most everything inbetween.

from Door County: snowed in!

Fading Internet, disappearing roads, disappearing world!

More later. Maybe much later.

en route to Door County: sweet trails

It’s cold. The car steams up inside, freezes on the outside. So we head north.

Ed asks: we’re stopping at Oshkosh for chocolates, right?

This is a puzzler to me. I associate Oshkosh with kid overalls and experimental aircraft shows. A working town with no particular culinary traditions.

You don’t remember the article I read you from the NYT?
I don’t remember the article you read me from the NYT.

In case you, too, missed it, the article describes the old fashioned chocolate and candy shops in Wisconsin’s Fox River Valley (that would include the towns of Oshkosh and Appleton, with Green Bay thrown in for good measure). You wouldn’t think there would be such a high demand here for homemade chocolate. But there is.

And everyone knows where to find them. We pull up to a drive-through Starbucks in Oshkosh.

We’re looking for Oaks Candies. Know where they are?
Of course! Follow 9th to Oregon!




Inside, it looks…oldfashioned. I’m trying to understand candy labels – there are creams and clusters, but I’m beginning to see that Wisconsin has its own faves:




Anglefood, meltaways, oysters.

We buy a little bag of 6 candies for $3.26. We eat several. Very sweet. Fresh.

Where’s Doty Street? – we ask.
She knows we’re looking for the competition. But, she’s Oshkosh friendly. Down the street, turn right at the gas station except it’s not really a gas station it’s like a car dealer, and then right on Doty.

We follow the trail. Just a breath away from Lake Winnebago.




In a residential neighborhood, a house, with barely a sign announcing it’s business there in the basement.





Hughes Home Maid (pun intended) Chocolate Shop. You want authentic? You want friendlier than you could possibly imagine? You want an invitation into the kitchen? Free samples? Oysters? Easter Bunnies? The best English toffee? Here, put yourself in my shoes for the moment:






















We leave with a pound box of milk chocolates (Ed and I share a love for quality milk chocolate – we search out the stuff in all food stores) for $9.50.





I’m thinking we should stop now while the sugar is still under control. But we’re so close to the others! Shouldn’t one compare?

In Appleton, the gas attendant gives us directions to Vande Walle’s. It’s on Mall Drive. Easy.





Here, the samples are flowing at us fast and furious. Try this, try that. We do. And we take the self-guided little tour of the kitchens. More samples there.




When it comes time to buy, I am drawn to the garlic pistachios. You can understand that, can’t you? When the nice nice super nice saleslady describes the center of an aglefood chocolate, I’m starting to perspire. Still, I pick up a bag of toffees and chocolate covered jellies. I love those! Memories of Poland!

You need a bag to carry all that, don't you? Sheepishly -- yes. And where is...
Two miles down on Wisconsin, you’ll come to Superior. It’s there. – they tell us. They know what we’re up to. Our next stop on the candymaking tour. Wilmar Chocolates.





Would you like a sample of anglefood? No! I mean, yes, sure, thank you. I’ll pass. How about a cinnamon spice fennel piece? Yes, of course. No, I’ll pass. Mmmm… delicious.






Wilmar’s is different. At Wilmar’s, it’s criminal to pass on the dark chocolate stuff.

The clerk asks an older man who comes in. Would you like a piece of the cinnamon spice fennel… No thanks. I’m not into that newfangled stuff.

Wilmar’s is breaking new ground here.

In the back, one chocolatier is finishing up his work. You’re taking pictures? Yes… you know. Came here because of the article. Yes yes, well, hope you like our chocolates.





I can hardly stand the sight of another. And yet..

We have chocolate macadamia turtles. They’re very seasonal. Sure, throw in that. Three half pound boxes, $27. For small gifts, no? I'm still smiling. Must be all that chocolate covered anglefood.



Ed asks about the next stop, but I am sugared out. You can’t enter a chocolate making place and exhibit no enthusiasm for the free samples. It’s just not polite.

We listen to the radio as we make our way up north, into the Door County peninsula – the pinkie finger of our state, surrounded by the waters of Lake Michigan.

It’s cold, the sun is long gone, the snow layer around us is significant. It’s quiet.





Juniper Inn is off the road a bit, just past Fish Creek. The innkeeper is waiting for us. The fire downstairs is blazing. Cookies in a jar, a sherry decanter on the nightstand. Our “Sunflower” room looks over a forest of birch and fir.

We unload the car and head out for a seafood dinner at Kristofer’s. 20% off, all seafood on Fridays.

It is, as I remember it from previous trips many many years ago. Twinkling. Subtle. Nice.





We pass on dessert. Nothing sweet tonight, please.

the north

I have to put off writing ‘til tomorrow. I am done for the day. Too much sugar. Or something.

Say, can you tell where I am? A Wisconsin reader will know. I think.









Goodnight.

valentine's day

Hi, Happy Valentine’s Day!
Mmmm, I just had a dream…
(I’m smiling…what a sweetie…) about?
I was rebuilding a machine and I got a call telling me of a mafia connection…
(oh.)
Well, Happy Valentine’s Day to you anyway…
It’s just a Hallmark holiday!

Clarification: Hallmark was founded in 1910; according to Wikipedia, St. Valentine’s Day was first described much earlier:

The first recorded association of Valentine's Day with romantic love is in 1382, by Geoffrey Chaucer:
For this was on seynt Volantynys day
Whan euery bryd comyth there to chese [choose] his make [mate].

..written to honor the first anniversary of the engagement of King Richard II of England to Anne of Bohemia. They were married in 1381. He was 13. She was 14.


True, these days, I understand that one billion Valentine’s Day cards are indeed sent out to (one hopes) loved ones worldwide.
And guess who is not getting one?

OVERHEARD (later):

Richard, hi, this is Ed. I need that instructional video on repairing a spindle…Yes, great. Tried to call you last Friday. Oh, you took the afternoon off? To be with her? So what are you doing for Valentine’s Day? You got her a card? And body oil?
(how nice!)
Me? Oh, I did nothing. (big grin)
(and proud of it)
And proud of it!

(LATER)
Okay, okay, we’ll go to the mall and pick out a card.
(forget it! who wants to pick her own card?! and support Hallmark in the process?!)

(LATER)
I ask my students: how many of you think Valentine’s Day is silly?
I count hands. Half the class.


(LATER)
I note in the front office at 11 a.m. three staff members are receiving dozens of roses from their husbands. Wonderful.


But then:

(LATER)
I promise you, it’s okay. I rented a romantic comedy from the video store. I do not mind watching it alone tonight so that you can spend time with your cats.

(Why this incredibly conciliatory tone on my part? Because in exchange for not celebrating St. Valentine’s, my occasional, indeed, these days VERY occasional traveling companion offered to head up north tomorrow. For the hell of it. To embrace the outdoors. Soooo sweet! And yes, we're mindful of the snowstrom predictions. Oh, Wisconsin!)

(LATER)
You want to go to the mall and buy t-shirts?
(I’m charmed. My occasional traveling companion hates malls, hates shopping, clothes acquisition, spending money, using fuel… He must be thinking: it’s Valentine’s Day!)

At the mall we encounter men looking (belatedly? desperately?) for something to give to their (deserving!) sweetie.


chocolate?




lace? lotion?


Victoria’s Secret and Godiva chocolates are doing well.
Elsewhere, we buy the t-shirts and are almost ready to head back…

Say, do you mind if we stop at Sears?
(Really?)
I want to see if they have their computer operated wood milling machine…

They do.
Five minutes, okay?
At least it’s next to the exercise equipment. I go through an entire upper body work out program before he finishes studying the details.



machines


We head toward the Great Dane Pub. He eats a salad, I eat a hunk of meat. Sometimes, just sometimes, we don’t conform to gender stereotypes.

seeing red

An overactive imagination, I'm told.

Really? You mean, to the average person, these two are not 1. Russian 2. spies 3. enjoying the fruits of prosperity in the state of bucky badger?

Okay, okay, if you say so...

flakes

The snowiest winter ever! -- our local paper claims this about Madison. Maybe. But it doesn’t feel like Colorado, or Buffalo (my images of big snow places). It feels like it’s winter in a very cold place.

A student comes to my office and tells me – nice view, but my, it’s cold here! I know. A Scrooge corridor of cold.

The view? Well, you know it well. I post it now and then. Oh, you want to see it again now that you know it’s the snowiest winter ever? Here we are:





Wisconsinites know how to defend themselves from the cold. Note these two, photographed on my way to the bus stop.





I timed my walk to the bus so that I would not have to stand in the cold for long. The bus came early. Oh, thank you, thank you. One minute less of waiting.

You should know that I have a flex parking spot near campus. I pay only if I use it. I have used it only once this academic year.

Tonight, I contemplated using it a second time. Obama is speaking two blocks from where I park. An opportunity!

But, I received a threatening message from campus parking telling all of us with nearby parking that we should not use the lots unless we are there to work! Uff! You guys cut me no breaks.

I don’t really want to hear Obama anyway. Nothing that he can say will convince me that he is more electable or more capable of effectuating change (than she is). Nothing that she can say can convince me that she is more skilled at winning or accomplishing policy dreams (than he is). One of them. But which one? Who can tell? I worry about people who think they know. Really? I worry that they may have superior predictive visions. Because me, I just cannot tell.

But I’m straying.

Outside, snow is falling again. It looks like a Jackson Pollock painting, doesn’t it?





Confusion. An apt ending to a cold day where heated passion is about to take over downtown.

UPDATE: Oh! The beagle won! The world does know how to pick the best of the best! I am delighted!

return

It was a long trip home. The last bit of food on a Sunday morning…





…and then the usual catch this, catch that, wait for the storms to blow over and the winds to settle and the passengers to get on, get off – the usual.

There isn’t much to photograph on a day like that, though you can look like a first time flyer easily by taking out the camera on the plane and shooting the landscape out your window. And I do this, most often because it is a final wave, an act of parting and leaving behind that beautiful world, the one with the Boston skyline…





…and all those neighborhoods that we walked all day long.





At home, the thermometer outside never made it to the positive digits. But my heater is working and the orchid continues to bloom and, importantly – Valentine’s Day will mark movement into the last weeks of February.

Yay.

from Boston: wealth, art and the real beauty of a February walk

The early afternoon is set aside for the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston. It is at once a uniquely splendid place and, at least to me, slightly disconcerting. It’s the brainchild and private collection of the irreverent, the prominent, the wealthy Isabella Stewart Gardner (she lived at the turn of the century; the previous turn). And it is packed with great art. Top of the line stuff.

How can one person have acquired so many of the world’s treasures??

It is also a photographer’s dream – there is a beautiful courtyard that throws light in all directions from the skylight (her idea!). And there are arches and sculptures and jasmine plants and blooming orchids. But you’re not allowed to take pictures.

You’re not allowed a lot of things: to use cell phones, to take photos, to carry a coat, to sit, to stand, to touch, to use ballpoint pens (only pencils!) – museum behavior, sure, but in this place, somehow these small pieces of life should not be so completely locked out.

Still, my eyes are trained to look at everything but the “no camera” signs and so I take out my clunky guy and begin to snap. Of one little hallway corner, where a Matisse is hung simply, above a door, stuck between other canvases.





…of the courtyard with Venetian Palace ornamentations and the winter array of plants…





…only to have angry men run up and scold me for my wrongdoings. And of course, I deserve it. But it makes me grumpy and so I start to notice other things besides the art. For example, I notice that the people who work here do not smile at you (and there are many, many guards; not surprising, given the fact that this was the site of the biggest art heist ever, back in 1990, when a Vermeer, three Rembrandts, several Degas prints and a Manet piece were easily taken out of their frames in the middle of the night).

And there is an aura of pretention, including at the information table where I encounter a condescending attitude from the ladies there when I stop to chat about some quirky museum details.

And I want to say – calm down. Isabella was born rich, she married even richer and so you at least have to temper your protective admiration by one degree, because spending money well was what she did best and though it’s commendable, you have to keep it all in perspective, no?

For a number of reasons, I linger for many, many hours at the Gardner home and so I feel myself to be immersed in the details of her life. I even borrow and read all the books on her, on the construction of her home, on the courtyard. Cover to cover.

And I leave wondering what it would be like to have to figure out a game plan on how to spend a fortune. (It’s good to occasionally mull over the problems of another.)


In the late afternoon, my little one and I walk the ever eclectic and always fascinating streets and neighborhoods of Boston.





And even though it’s a cold and somewhat wet February day, the walk is splendid. We make our way to the South End, where the brownstones are so gloriously Bostonian it hurts. And they are without the Beacon Hill aura of generational wealth. As the snow swirls and drizzles, we walk forever and occasionally, but not often, I remembered to take a photo.











There are a number of fresh and honest bakery/cafes in the area (ah, gentrification! Thank you for the fresh Vermont mozzarella and basil and tomato on a crispy baguette. And the cupcake!). We linger and watch people walk their dogs and come in for a warm bite and beverage.





It is a good moment.

We continue over at Newbury, with my own feeble attempt at spending money well (just two little shirts – one for her, one for me; no, not matching. I am more than twice her age).

It’s dark now. The snow showers are kicking up.





And still, we want to walk. Across the Boston Public Gardens…





Past the well tended and so very pretty blocks along Charles Street, all the way to the river, where we catch the T back to Cambridge.

And we have energy for one last hike, over to what is becoming a family favorite – EVOO. Roasted squash salad and a superb steak frites and a lemon tart, capped with an espresso macchiato and a final invigorating walk home.





I leave today, Sunday and that’s the tough part. Tough not only, not even principally because it is a high of -1 F today in my home town.

Sigh...