"A sense of place results gradually and unconsciously from inhabiting a landscape over time, becoming familiar with its physical properties, accruing history within its confines" Kent Rydon
The recent debate over the possible addition of another hospital in Wisconsin Rapids struck a cord within me. It actually struck a lot of cords in me and not solely because I am a proud employee of one of the few truly locally owned hospitals, Riverview (YEAH BLUE) but because this hospital would be built on the land where I grew up wild on the edge of town. The helipad would be on top of my father's garden, the ER entrance would be where the old hives used to buzz with life and the tower would undoubtedly be above the dugout fort my older brother made and next to the tree with the old mattress beneath we used to jump on over and over despite our probably questionable tetanus immunization status. I took a meaningful walk with my youngest daughter Aida Lynne, named after her grandmothers, and thought about my sense of place in this world.
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| one of my mother's amazing photographs |
It all starts in the garden. My family actually has 2 gardens. Even having one is probably an anomaly for most. The "front" garden was actually in the back yard and got larger and larger every year. We picked potato bugs and beans until both were coming out of our ears (my dad wanted them smashed but I just couldn't so I put them in a bucket where 50% probably escaped). We ate from the garden year round. My mother canned in a hot kitchen and piled our plates high with zucchini pizza and fresh tomatoes whether we liked it or not. As the 3 of us grew older and moved out, the garden didn't shrink...quite the contrary. The front garden actually became larger and larger every year with more and more flowers and perennials. The rhubarb, mint and horseradish patch is something to gawk at and the volunteer sunflowers return every year with gusto. Many nights, children with flashlights harvested monster night crawlers from the compost pile and fished the nearby Wisconsin River. You can still hear my father on the local AM station offering free perennials to anyone who will stop by.
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| the path behind the front garden |
The reason that the garden in the backyard is called the front garden is because there is another garden behind that one but you have to follow the path through the woods, cross a road and follow another path to get there-it is well worth the trip! The wooded area before the road has been managed by my father as long as he has lived here. You can see his wood pile and shed in the picture which now replace an old fort that was brought to out home when I was a young child. It had 4 stilts with a room above you could climb a ladder to. I spent SO many days playing for hours in this area, pretending I was an indian and living off the land-that summer I caught Lyme's disease for the first time and suffered through summer on photophobic medication. My two closest childhood friends played with me there. We are a few of the last from the"see you at suppertime" generation and I think we turned out just fine. Now the fort is gone and replaced by a shed which holds my father's many fine treasures and stuff he frequently cleans out of the garage or hides from my mother's sight :)
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| onto the other side |
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| and then...the road |
The path isn't long by any means, it is probably 100 feet or so but you feel as though you are in a different place until you look back and see the house there. I always feel a slight rise in my heart rate when I come to this spot where the branches open up and the road is there. I am not sure if it is because of the cars that sometimes speed past (to get to or from the bar that is just a few hundred feet to the south) or that I never wanted people to see me coming out and going down the path on the other side. The road is paved now and marks the boundary between city and country living though that line is now changing with the new hospital hoolabaloo.
After scooting quickly across the road, you can duck into another path. This one was made by our families feet over 40ish years and is covered by fallen needles and pine cones. My dad once stumbled upon a pair of young lovers taking advantage of natures bedding :) He was appalled to discover them using the "open zipper method" as young rushed lovers have sometimes used. We all have stories of what we have stumbled upon here-Eric found pornographic magazines and marijuana, Katie and I found an old mattress (gross) that we played on for days before my mother found out. She probably vomited a little in her mouth at the thought of her 2 innocent, young girls rolling around on a mattress with God only knows what kind of history. Many deer were disturbed upon this path, and snakes and birds and insects.
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| looking for snakes |
One of the BEST things to do out here is look for snakes. My dad would place random objects along the path in the sunlight so snakes and other things could find a place to hang out-then we could find them. Even this year we found many snake egg nests. Some of the boards are beginning to crumble and I am sure they won't be replaced. This very well could be the last summer children explore this path.
Some pieces of the wood that are lying about are from an old farmhouse where Ms Preissler lived. She was an old woman who lived alone. She never married and grew to be almost 100 in the house built by her father. That house has since been moved by the city to make way for the new HWY 54 that cuts right though the land you could walk through all the way from 20th street to 32nd where Midstate Technical College is now. There was also a creek that ran through that area as well which is now another dried up memory.
This section of land used to be large enough for my father and brother to hunt deer. My sister never wanted anything to do with hunting. I believed killing animals was a crime. There was a while during high school where I was a subscriber to the magazine Animals Agenda. I would read the newest edition and cry in my closet...then sneak back to my father's tree stand and pee beneath it so that the deer would stay far, far away. My mother would hem and haw about "how are you going to get enough protein" when I decided I would become a vegetarian. I learned early on that if I didn't hunt, I would be left out of a lot of adventures my dad and brother went on so I took Hunter's Safety class and dropped out much to my father's dismay-he is still an instructor. I even tried to go with my them to track a blood trail behind the house only to secretly cry the entire time and then faked an injury just so I could go home. I just wasn't cut out for it so I stuck to fishing and got my fill of those types of adventures that way, but could never watch my dad clean them, all flopping and bloody on the kitchen table.
I am not sure when it was that my father decided to open up this spot and plant a garden. It was quite large and a real challenge to water. My dad would sometimes fill up his truck with containers and a few times we even ran a hose across the road which I am sure is not legal but you have to do what you have to do.
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| The back garden |
I talked to my dad a few times about building a rainwater capturing system but he never really jumped at the brilliance of my idea...now I know what he already knew: the days for this garden were numbered. He didn't plant it this year. Somehow last years' leeks survived the winter, and of course there is an incredible horseradish patch that is thriving well. The rhubarb was all transplanted to our garden this year -and my dad caught a fish to plant under each one which is just about right.
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| bee site |
My dad was taught by my grandpa Leonard on how to tend bees. As long as I remember, we had bees right in our backyard. I was pretty amazed at how my father could take care of them. My fall recollections are warmed with the the smell of honey cooking down in the kitchen. There wasn't much more satisfying then peeling back the layer of wax on top and seeing a pot full of warm, golden honey beneath. Even the dead bees didn't stop you from dipping a finger right in there. After a while, my dad developed an allergy to honey bees so they were moved to this location near the back garden. It wasn't far from the tree stand but that didn't matter because with the addition of HWY 54, my dad found other places to hunt. Soon, the bees just didn't happen anymore. We rekindled the bee operation a couple years back and put some boxes on our farm but they still haven't survived a winter there. My brother bought land in Dane county that suits bees that live year after year. It seems to be a haven from colony collapse disorder and the bees are vicious but the honey is to die for.
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| oooh Marty, my young crush |
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| My love |
So it appears that this land has formed me in ways through my youth upon it. I feel sad when I see the changes that have come, and are inevitable because change is such a normal part of everything. I am a farmer, wife, mother, nurse now. Not too far removed from the wildlife biologist/veterinarian or National Geographic photographer I thought I'd be. I married a man who is the spitting image of Marty Stouffer who I had a really weird crush on as a young girl. Themes from my childhood resurface in ways I couldn't have made up on my own. As I watch my 3 young ones grow up, creating their own sense of place on our farm, I can't help but wonder how that will shape their future and those around them. Maybe someday one of them will feel a sentiment looking at the footprint of our farm with a tear of change.
