I thought that I would share the latest version of our Russell Canoe Livery promo video. Put together by Garrett Russell, much, if not all, of the footage was created by him as well. I’d love for him to create more! Due to copyright and music editing issues, it is best to watch the video without sound.
How is it August already? I will soon start gearing up for the upcoming school year, and the canoe livery will be winding down for another year. By the time the school year is finished, I am eager for all of the craziness that is the canoe livery. By Labor Day, I am more than ready for the next school year. Right now, I am excited for the new school year to begin. The planning has indeed already begun!
On a historical note, MTV debuted with “Video Killed the Radio Star” by the Buggles on this date 43 years ago. I can’t imagine a more perfect first video, especially considering that the year was 1981. Campy and self-aware, it set the stage for a solid 15 year run of great music videos. That may be a joke, and even a meme, but it isn’t far from the truth. By 2000, the MTV we grew up with and loved – the MTV that took Madonna and Michael Jackson to new levels of stardom – turned primarily to reality TV never to return to its roots. Gen X and Xenniels remember …
Ah. Camp! Such a loaded small word. First and foremost, there is camping with family and friends. Even though my parents owned and operated two campgrounds and a canoe livery, I didn’t grow up camping much in the traditional sense. Even if we didn’t camp much, the overnight canoe trips we took with Dad (Mom was one and done!) were legendary. I think about the planning that went into our trips and how we broke the “rules” and threw a tube in with our gear – Erica and I taking turns tubing for a bit; Dad pretending to leave me in the dust when it was my turn, waiting for me around the next bend. Mrs. Taylor would be waiting for us at Cedar Springs with ice cream cones.
Over the years, I attended the National Turner Syndrome Camp, memorized Bible verses at church camp, spent endless hours playing with cousins at deer camp(s) (there were deer camps on each side of my family), helped run 4-H day camps for elementary students, and ended up with my picture in the paper participating in a local Vacation Bible School day camp. I also attended Camp Oak Hills as a Brownie, my first time away from home aside from spending the night at my grandparents’ house, and the Broad Business Student Camp (BBSC) at Michigan State, which led to my decision to attend the Eli Broad College of Business (hence the name) at Michigan State University to study supply chain management. Quite simply, much of my life as a child and young adult – indeed, some of my best memories – involved camp in some way, shape, or form. I would not be the same person without it.
Each August, Grandma and Grandpa Buttrick would take us grandkids to Kenton in the Upper Peninsula (almost to Watersmeet) for a week, the site of a hunting camp passed down on Grandpa’s side for generations, the land originally homesteaded by my Forward ancestors. We spent the week visiting waterfalls, riding the hills around camp, swimming in and hiking around Tippy Lake, traveling into the tiny village of Kenton itself to visit the grocery store/library/post office, and holding target practice with Grandpa using a pellet gun. At night, there were hot games of Uno and Spoons around the living room table. As a kid, there is nothing better than sharing a bunk room with your siblings and cousins!
So many camp memories stand out. As a child attending church camp at Bayshore Camp in Michigan’s Thumb, I first experienced tipping over in a canoe. As a tween, I paired up with a boy I didn’t know well. In spite of explaining that I had years of canoeing experience as my parents’ owned a campground and canoe livery, he insisted on steering. Inevitably, we ended up in the lake, the coolness of the lake hopefully camouflaging my rising anger. I have never forgotten.
Years later, as a teen, I attended the National Turner Syndrome Camp at King Mountain Ranch in Estes Park, Colorado. I met other teen girls who faced the same physical, emotional, and social challenges as me for the first time. Words fail me other than to say that those experiences at King Mountain Ranch filled me with a confidence that I would not have had otherwise. One of my favorite memories is of how my friends and I scared ourselves silly watching The Shining after learning that the movie was filmed nearby. It is still my favorite horror movie and my favorite Stephen King novel. Those two years attending the National Turner Syndrome Camp still mean so much decades later. Most of all, I hope children of all ages have the opportunity to experience camp in all its forms. Those varied experiences not only added to my education in invaluable ways, but they shaped the person I am today in countless ways.
Orginally posted on an earlier version of my blog, the post below still holds true.
Where do I even start? I don’t think another TV show ever meant as much to me as The Wonder Years. As I grew up watching the show as a child, I wanted to be Winnie Cooper. I loved her look. I wanted to have the same long brown hair and dark brown eyes. She even looked great when she pouted, which occurred just about any time she talked to Kevin. Something intangible about the show, and Winnie Cooper, stuck with me through the years.
That isn’t even to mention the star of the show, Kevin Arnold. How could any girl resist all of the attention and love he gave Winnie? I don’t think any adolescent girl has ever been as greatly admired and loved as Winnie Cooper. None of it seemed to matter to her. Of course, that is exactly what frustrated me with the show; it is also what made the show great. The audience never knew week to week whether or not Kevin and Winnie would be together. In the end, it wasn’t to be. Winnie went off to study art history in Paris and Kevin went on to start a family of his own, without her. Here is a link to a wonderful Top 10 of Winnie and Kevin together.
The post was originally published on an earlier version of my blog. I’ve slightly updated and modified the post. Anything in bold I added to the original post. Tigers’ opening day is April 5th at Comerica Park! GO Tigers!
I’ve tried writing this post several times over the last several years. Sometimes there is so much to say, no mere words can do the subject justice. Somewhere along the line, somewhere between childhood and adulthood, I forgot what baseball once meant to me. I also forgot just how intertwined baseball is with some of my favorite childhood memories.
Back in 2012, it all started with me getting the crazy idea that my baseball obsessed ex-boyfriend Brian and I should watch the Ken Burns’ documentary Baseball – all almost 20 hours of it. I checked it out from the library sometime early in September 2012. Brian and I then spent the next couple of weeks watching the entire documentary, including great interviews with Bob Costas, Yogi Berra, and Rachel Robinson, the widow of Jackie Robinson, among others.
For me, the most memorable part of the series had to be the clip of Bob Costas discussing his first experience at Yankee Stadium with his father. As a young child, he was awed by the sheer size of the stadium and the size of the pitching mound. After the game, fans back then could cross the field to a second exit. As Bob Costas and his father crossed the field, he became very upset. He loved baseball so much that somewhere during his childhood, he got the idea that Yankee greats such as Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig were buried on the field. He didn’t want to disturb what he believed to be their graves. The stories of baseball memories bringing together fathers and sons, as well as fathers and daughters, stayed with me.
I found myself asking why baseball is so different from football, hockey, or basketball. I’m not sure, but I do know this: there is something about baseball that transcends time. I have memories of watching the Red Wings win the Stanley Cup in 1996 and 1997 with Dad, as well as countless other games, but my most powerful memories all relate to baseball.
Many of my earliest memories of Dad involve baseball. As a very young child, I remember watching the Detroit Tigers with Dad and eating Schwann’s black cherry ice cream. Somehow, Dad ended up attending one of the 1984 World Series games at Tiger Stadium. At that game, he bought a signed baseball that sat on the roll-top desk in his office for years. In fact, it might still be there. I loved that baseball and thought that it was amazing that Dad attended one of the World Series games. I also remember rummaging through the top drawer of Dad’s desk and coming across his father’s Masonic ring. In the eyes of a young girl, the Masonic symbol was a baseball diamond. Above all, there were the games.
Throughout my early childhood, Dad, a former high school athlete who played football, basketball, and baseball, played on a men’s softball team. As a preschooler, I loved watching Dad play ball. I liked the entire experience. I was so proud to have Dad out there in his lucky #3 baseball hat with his well-worn glove. I loved watching him bat.
Of course, it wasn’t just about baseball. I also loved playing in the dirt next to the dugout, running around the poker straight pine trees behind the dugout, and playing with the old-fashioned water pump between the dugout and the pines. More than anything, I loved going to the bar with everyone after the games. As Dad and his friends, along with their wives and girlfriends, drank pitchers of beer and talked, I played pinball, foosball, Pac Man, and enjoyed pop and chips. It is no wonder I could relate to adults well as a child. I spent a lot of time around adults and enjoyed every minute of it.
I also loved spending time at my grandparents’ house. A trip to my dad’s parents’ home wouldn’t be complete without spending time with their neighbor’s son, Brian K. We were the same age, and he happened to have something I wanted desperately as a child, a tree house! I vividly remember one afternoon spent playing in his tree house. His dog somehow came off his lead, and I became scared as I really didn’t know his dog. Brian K. told me to hang out in the tree house until he chained up the dog.
That day, his mom invited me to attend one of Brian K.’s Little League game with his family – a big deal in the eyes of a six year-old! I felt honored to be sitting on the sidelines cheering on Brian K. along with his parents. At the time, of course, I wanted to be out there on the field too. While I did play softball for one season at age 11, I am no athlete. Grandpa Reid, who loved to watch me play, insisted he never saw anyone walk more than I did. As I’ve always been exceedingly short, no one ever learned how to pitch to me. Instead, I collected baseball cards.
I’m not exactly sure when and why I started collecting baseball cards, but my favorite will always be the Topps 1987 wood grain cards. They remind me of Grandpa B. My maternal great-grandparents owned a cottage on Sage Lake in northern Michigan. I spent many summer weekends there with my parents, my siblings, my grandparents, and much of my extended family. At the cottage, Grandpa loved to get all of us grandkids, all girls at the time, in his station wagon to take us to the pop shop. He let us pick out whatever we wanted. I picked out baseball cards to add to my collection, mainly ’87 Topps. I still have my baseball card collection and fond memories of Grandpa asking me if I was sure that is what I wanted.
I loved everything about collecting baseball cards: organizing them by team, deciding which packs of cards to purchase, and looking up prices. All fun! It is fitting that I lost interest in collecting cards as I became a teenager. My last full set dates to the strike-shortened 1994 season. Around that time, I lost interest in baseball. Coincidentally, it is also the same year the local IGA, my favorite place to purchase cards, closed.
That same year, Dad took Erica, Garrett, and me to a Tigers game at Tiger Stadium on the corner of Michigan and Trumbull. That day happened to be Little League Day. My Dad knew this, so he had my sister wear her softball shirt, my brother his t-ball shirt and hat, and me my old softball shirt. As a result, we had the opportunity to go out onto the field before the game. I’ll never forget looking back at the stands of old Tiger Stadium from the field. I’m grateful to Dad for ensuring his kids had that experience. There is nothing better than going to a baseball game with your dad. Having the opportunity to get out on the field of a historic stadium made it that much better. Somehow I lost interest in the game, but it is still there, was always there, waiting to be rediscovered.
I’m looking forward to cheering on the two below this spring!
What is it about being 18 that makes it so special? My best guess is that 18 represents a sweet spot. While childhood is largely behind you at 18, you are legally an adult. There are few things that one is not old enough to do at 18 – with the exception of legally drinking, renting a car, or reserving a hotel room. Yet, there are plenty of youthful years left. At the same time, high school is now behind you – or about to be. It is time to look ahead. Many 18 year olds have yet to figure out exactly what they want to do when it comes to a career or post-secondary education. The possibilities are endless.
I distinctly remember 18 and being so excited to move on from high school and my hometown. I could not get to Michigan State fast enough. A lot of time, preparation, and hard work made my years at Michigan State a success. My wish for all 18 year olds and all members of the class of 2024 is for them to experience that sense of wonder and endless possibility for themselves.
The middle of March will always bring memories of long family weekends in Grayling, MI. Every year, we would attend the annual Michigan Recreational Canoeing Association meeting. For my parents, it meant meetings, ordering merchandise for the summer ahead, and sharing ideas with other canoe livery owners. As a child, it meant a long weekend swimming in the hotel pool, interspersed with time in the arcade and ordering pizza at least once. Above all, I counted it as a sure sign of spring and the long summer to come. Throughout my childhood, I considered it the first sign of spring – right up there with the return of the robins,
I loved going to the Holidome for the weekend. My immediate family all attended, of course, but the entire conference took on the atmosphere of a family reunion at times. When my aunt married, she and her then husband Kevin purchased a canoe livery on the AuSable. We spent lots of time with Aunt Amy during RCA weekends. In fact, when Aunt Amy later helped my mom and I place orders for the upcoming summer during the pandemic – an experience I hope to never repeat – it sparked a bit of nostalgia between sisters. As Mom and Aunt Amy said, we were the association before the association. They reminisced about the old meetings and some of the more memorable owners. At one point, my dad even served as president.
Other liveries on the Rifle attended too. One of my dad’s best friends at the time, Phil, owned Cedar Springs. His wife and daughter, both named Connie, attended as well. Both were family favorites. Phil’s daughter taught with my mom for years, while his wife watched us while we were in the pool from time to time. Every time we passed Cedar Springs on our annual overnight canoe trips with our dad, my sister Erica and I were treated to ice cream cones as we headed home on the river.
The White family attended as well. White’s Canoe Livery happened to be the first canoe livery on the Rifle. In fact, there would be no Russell Canoe Livery without White’s. My grandfather got the idea from Don White and then started Russell Rent-a-Canoe out of what is now my home. It all started in 1959 with a Ford pickup and a six haul of canoes. To this day, the only person I know who knows the Rifle River as well as my dad is Ladd White, Don’s son and current owner. I hate to think of the knowledge that will be lost when my dad and Ladd are no longer around.
For some reason, I seem to remember that there would be a March canoe trip as part of the meetings. At one point, it may have been referred to as the Ides of March trip. As a child, that fascinated me. I could not understand why anyone would want to canoe in the winter. In my child’s mind, canoeing and tubing meant one thing and one thing only: swimming. What was the point of canoeing if you couldn’t get wet? That happened to be my biggest gripe about March. March supposedly brings spring, and yet, it would be months before I could swim the river again. It didn’t seem fair.
The Rifle River and Russell Canoe Livery will always be a part of me. My first home happened to be near our main location in Omer. One day, hopefully decades in the future, it will also be my last. March is when it all starts to spring to life once again. Reservations start rolling in, plans are made, and merchandise is ordered. I love it all, especially our customers. Here is to a wonderful summer 2024!
Vitamin C – Graduation (Friends Forever) (1999) (Video) (Lyrics)
(Written February 12, 2024)
I came across the video for “Graduation (Friends Forever)” by accident this past weekend. Sometimes nostalgia slaps you so hard in the face that it cannot be ignored. While I can’t say that “Graduation (Friends Forever)” was ever a favorite, it did leave an impression when it first came out during the spring of 1999. How could it not? I graduated from high school in 1999, and quite frankly, the target audience.
In the midst of watching classic videos from the 80s and 90s, YouTube saw fit to suggest “Graduation.” Thinking “why not?,” I found myself transported back 25 years. What struck me most about the video wasn’t the song at all. Frankly, I still find it way too saccharine. Instead, I thought about how I could have guessed the year from any still photo from the video. Not a cell phone in sight.
It cracked me up. The video definitely fit the late 90s aesthetic that we all thought so bleeding edge at the time. In fact, the girl’s outfit in the video, the layered yellow tank top with the orange/yellow slip skirt, reminded me of one of my go-to outfits in 2001. The only difference? I didn’t layer tank tops. Instead, I wore a jean jacket over a yellow tank top. I remember it vividly because I loved that outfit and that look so much at the time. Maybe it is time to bring it back.
While I can’t say that I loved or even liked high school (I couldn’t wait to graduate and move on), it is fun to look back from time to time. After watching the video, it hit me that this June will mark 25 years since I graduated from high school. How? Just how? Interestingly, “Wear Sunscreen,” a spoken-word release based upon an essay, became popular during the spring of 1999 as well, even though it dates to 1997. See below.
The advice still holds.
This year will mark my 12th year back working at Russell Canoe Livery. Each year, I love it even more and appreciate what my parents and grandparents built. Without the canoe livery, pursuing my teaching career, and student teaching in particular, would not have been possible. None of it would have been an option. Only when I returned to the family business in 2013 did I fully understand just how much my mom contributed to the canoe livery. After retiring from teaching in 2010, Mom became more involved in the business. Only in 2013 did I begin to take over some of her responsibilities. I had to reconsider what I wanted and the narrative I had created for myself.
Growing up, I always looked up to my dad and Grandpa Buttrick. Both businessmen, I saw how both had created a life for themselves using family businesses. In Dad’s case, the seasonal nature of the canoe livery allowed him to pursue other interests and provide us with a great quality of life. As his sidekick, I grew up watching Dad making decisions about the business. Prior to building the Crystal Creek shower house in 1992, I went with him to check out similar showerhouses. One of my earliest memories is going with Dad in his truck to unclog the artesian well across the road in Crystal Creek Campground. I used to argue with him when Erica and I would catch the bus from our house behind Crystal Creek to our main location in Omer. He, of course, wanted us to ride in his bus. Knowing that he wouldn’t let me bounce around in the back of the bus, I wanted to ride with anyone else. Dad often won.
Grandpa Buttrick, on other hand, moved his young family from Marshall, Michigan to Standish, Michigan to take over his grandfather’s business: Forward Corporation. On our yearly trip to the Upper Peninsula with my Buttrick grandparents and cousins, we always had to stop in Gaylord to check on his convenience stores. He loved the business, and due to a unique set of circumstances, I managed one of his convenience stores for a few years. Through that experience, I learned just why he loved that business so much. If I hadn’t moved back to Michigan in 2005, I would not have had the opportunity to get to know Grandpa Buttrick so well before he passed away in 2007. Like teaching, business runs deep in my blood.
When I graduated in 1999, I attended Michigan State University to pursue a business degree in supply chain management. I quickly decided to pursue a Spanish degree too. I couldn’t give it up. Both of my older cousins earned degrees in supply chain management from MSU as well. I knew the program, and frankly, the subject still fascinates me. Even though I didn’t end up with a long career in supply chain, those experiences during my years at MSU made a deep impression on me and still shape how I view the world.
The processes of working so closely with my parents on all things relating to the canoe livery and establishing my teaching career gave me a whole new appreciation for my mom. I will never understand how she taught kindergarten for 15 years. Two half-days substitute teaching in kindergarten were more than enough for me.
As time went on, I slowly realized that the canoe livery would not have been nearly as successful without Mom and Grandma Reid. Dad may have had the vision and made it happen, but it would not have been possible without great customer service provided by us all. I may have grown up wanting to follow in Dad and Grandpa Buttrick’s footsteps, but I followed in my mom’s instead. I just faced a different set of circumstances.
It never seems to fail. Come the first week in December, I get overwhelmed with everything that needs to get done before Christmas – decorating, shopping, cards, planning, and so much more. As a teacher, that doesn’t even include everything that needs to be wrapped up before winter break. December, and Christmas in particular, are such a whirlwind of emotion and activity. Don’t get me wrong, I love Christmas. In fact, I adore it. My December 18th birthday just adds to it all. The reality that I am another year older doesn’t always help. I am old enough to miss several people who are no longer with us, particularly my grandparents, all of whom loom large in my Christmas childhood memories. Somewhere in the first week of December, I hit a wall, and frankly, I don’t want Christmas to come at all. Yet, it always does, and somehow, everything gets done on time. New memories are made. I just wish that it wasn’t such a messy process.
As with anything else in my life, I have to get over my idea of “perfection.” Who cares if I decorate later? I am decorating just for myself. Who cares if I leave up my Christmas a little longer? I still want to enjoy it once the craziness is over. It is time to move on and continue not caring what others think. It will all work out in the end. I will get plenty of time to spend with family and friends over break, and maybe even a chance to rest.
What is it about the Christmases of our childhood that bring back such vivid memories that we long to recreate? The thing is, it is in my blood. My mom adores Christmas. When mom and dad were newlyweds, she started playing Christmas music in October. After spending nearly a week in the hospital after I was born (yes, I am that old, and my mom was sick when I was born), my parents brought me “home” on Christmas Eve. In fact, they didn’t take me home. They took me directly to Grandma Buttrick’s for the Christmas Eve festivities. I don’t believe we arrived home until the next day.
I often wonder what that Christmas Eve 1980 at Grandma and Grandpa Buttrick’s was like. The only evidence I have that I was there are pictures of my parents holding me as I was decked out as Santa in a Christmas sleeper with a Santa beard bib. I wasn’t even the only one celebrating her first Christmas. My cousin Abby would turn one year old a few months later. It is fitting that we shared a first Christmas, just as we shared so many other childhood memories and fears. Christmas would not be the same without cousins.
As if two babies at Christmas wasn’t enough, 1980 represented the first Christmas in Standish. Earlier that year, Great, my great grandma, moved from Marshall, Michigan to Standish in order to be closer to her sons, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. I grew up hearing about all of the epic Christmases in Marshall at Great’s house. My mom and her sisters still marvel at how their mother packed everything for Christmas for five girls and then hauled it all across half the state. I imagine I get the same look in my eyes when I talk about Christmas Eve at Grandma Buttrick’s – or our entire itinerary – that my mom and her sisters get when they talk about Christmas in Marshall.
I can envision a time when my nieces and nephews will reminisce about the Christmases in Omer at Grandma Lala’s and Papa Chocolate Mik’s house, the house in which I grew up. I love to see how much they enjoy spending time together, even if it is absolute chaos. I just hope that I help to create a little bit of Christmas magic for them all.
Ramblings of a Misguided Blonde 