After watching Reagan (amazing movie, by the way) on Sunday, realizing that we as a nation have argued over the exact same issues for at least 60 years, and the passing of James Earl Jones on Monday, I’m in the mood for nostalgia. When I learned the news that he had passed away, Jones’ speech in Field of Dreams (1989) came to mind immediately. After well over 30 years, it still holds up. It remains one of my favorite movies, and quite possibly the ultimate baseball movie, aside from Ken Burns’ epic documentary Baseball (1994). Enjoy!
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.
My friend Brenna and I outside of King Mountain Ranch in Estes Park, Colorado. The 2nd Annual National Turner Syndrome Camp 1996.
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.
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.
Late 90s at Russell Canoe Livery. Hard at work!
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.
I started this journey just over 10 years ago, and with all of the setbacks and triumphs along the way, every last step led to where I am now: Exactly where I belong. Actually, it started earlier than that. It all started with a conversation.
On an average evening well over a decade ago, I found myself deep in a conversation with my ex’s mom that changed my perspective, and my life, for the better. As she was making dinner, she brought up the fact that she wished she’d gone back to school to become a nurse. All I could think at the time is that I would do everything in my power to prevent having such a regret later on in life. Somewhere along the line, as I drove by Saginaw Valley State University’s beautiful campus, it hit me: As much as I wanted to deny it, I am a teacher.
In fact, that fact became a bone of contention. When my ex, our relationship already in shambles, found out that I planned to go back to school to become a teacher, he knew exactly which buttons to push, exactly the wrong thing to say. He felt that I wanted to become a teacher simply because my mom and sister are teachers. He had it exactly wrong. I wanted to become a teacher in spite of that fact. I knew intimately the challenges teachers face and have faced for decades. I know how little respect teachers get within our society. I grew up hearing how ineffective teacher preparation programs were and can be. I know how the sausage is made, and yet, I still wanted to be a teacher.
Above all, I am not my mother or my sister. My interest in education is not the same as theirs. Both were meant to be elementary school teachers. Me? Never! I adore young children, but I much prefer to work with teenagers, particularly older teenagers getting ready for the next step in their lives. My mom fell into the profession, and fortunately for her, it suited her well and worked out. Even though she’s been retired for well over a decade, I know what a wonderful teaching legacy she leaves behind. In fact, I am proud to be a part of it. I landed in her 6th grade social studies class.
My sister Erica, on the other hand, knew that she wanted to be a teacher her entire life. We’d play school frequently. With my love of books, I’d be the school librarian. Erica would be the teacher, of course, while our much younger brother Garrett would be the one and only student. Erica may still have some of those early report cards that she made for Garrett.
It is certainly true that teaching is in my blood. My sister and I come from a long line of teachers on our mother’s side going back at least five generations. As interesting as that is, it doesn’t stop there. Both of my mom’s grandmothers taught. My mom’s older sister Tara taught for her entire career. Grandma B. earned her teaching certificate, even though she never taught, choosing instead to stay home and raise her five daughters. Her younger sister, Joyce, taught for decades in the earliest grades. I could go on.
My dad’s family valued education as well. Both my dad and his sister married teachers. He has several cousins who work (and worked) in agricultural education and special education in various capacities. Even though my paternal grandparents never had the opportunity to pursue college educations, they encouraged their children to do so. In fact, my grandma valued her education so much that her school memories were some of the last to go in the face of dementia. Stories I will never forget. In fact, I doubt I would have had the opportunity to go back to school to earn my teaching certificate without Grandma Reid’s influence.
So, why did I go back to school to earn my teaching certificate? It is quite simple. I knew that if I didn’t, I would regret it for the rest of my life. My life would be unfulfilled. It has not been an easy journey, to say the least, but I am now exactly where I am supposed to be. Stay turned. This is just the beginning.
A journal full of blogging topics and ideas and here I am at a loss as to what to write. Nothing feels right – and it hasn’t for months. That in and of itself is the reason for the silence. It needs to end.
A few months ago, I joined an active Facebook group focused on Xennials, those of us born between 1977 and 1983. I am smackdab in the middle, and I definitely belong to that micro generation. I mention it because there is one recurring theme in this particular group that resonates deeply with me at this point in my life: When did we become the adults? I imagine that particular thought crosses everyone’s mind once they hit 40. Frankly, it sucks.
On a brighter note, I’ve really enjoyed the Xennial Facebook group. After working with teeneagers day in, day out, it is nice to chat online with a crazy group of people who actually get your cultural references. It is reassurance that it isn’t just you, the world is incredibly different from the one in which you grew up. That brings me to tech.
As I’ve been working from home as a long-term online substitute teacher over the last few months, I rediscovered my love of tech. At one time, I thought that I would have a corporate career in the semiconductor industry. I interned at IBM and completed a co-op position with Applied Materials as an undergrad. Applied Materials, a leading manufacturer of capital equipment for the semiconductor industry, still fascinates me. It wasn’t meant to be; however, tech still runs deep in my soul.
Of course, as Xennials, one thing that completely separates us from Gen X and Millennials – we are both and neither – is technology. Gen X learned most modern technology as adults, while Millennials are digital natives. Xennials grew up right along with tech and adapted as we grew. We had an analog childhood (praise God!) and a digital adulthood. That is what makes us unique, and frankly, it is at least in part why I feel our experiences need to be preserved.
No one else experienced the growth of tech quite like Xennials. Our parents, mainly Boomers, turned to us as their personal tech support. We could program VCRs, set up gaming system and computers, and recommend a good cell phone without batting an eye. Growing up, my sister and I were the first to navigate the internet in our household, not our parents. I could feel just as at home on an old Apple II as with a 2023 Acer with the latest 2 TB solid state AMD harddrive. By some accident of history, I witnessed unprecedented changes in technology that have fundamentally changed the way we live, work, and play. Eerily, I believe it is just getting started. AI is next.
What can I say about Don McLean’s American Pie that hasn’t already been said? Not much, actually. Yet, that song is so ingrained in my love of music, my childhood, and more. It can safely be called Americana at this point – a modern American folk song in the best sense of the term.
I couldn’t tell you the first time I heard the song, but I have always loved it and could deeply visualize the lyrics. For whatever reason, I imagined the high school gym as the same high school gym where I’d watched my dad play old man basketball countless times as a preschooler – his alma mater – Arenac Eastern High School in Twining, MI. I think it has something to do with how rural the setting appears to be in the song. Sadly, Arenac Eastern High School no longer exists. The building, now a community center, still sits among acres of farm land and a tiny village. When I think of the quintessential rural American high school, Arenac Eastern immediately comes to mind. It has always felt like stepping back in time and into my family history.
Whatever the case may be, I do know that I had the lyrics practically memorized by 4th grade. Mrs. Currie, my 4th grade teacher and my first teacher at Standish Elementary, used the lyrics to teach us the terms “levee” and “dirge.” In fact, at this point, I can’t listen to the song without thinking about 4th grade and Mrs. Currie. None of the kids were getting it. She then began to sing the song, basically saying “Come on! You know the song.” Except, they didn’t. As I remember it, I was the only kid who knew the song and lyrics – at least well enough for the purposes of her vocabulary lesson. It was funny, irrelevant, and frankly, kind of summed up that school year.
Years later, as a substitute teacher, I had the opportunity, with a bit of caution and specific directions from the regular classroom teacher, to show high school Spanish students the movie La Bamba. After the movie, I had just enough time to explain the term “the day the music died” and the lyrics to American Pie. They left singing Oh Donna, moved by the true story, which completely took me by surprise. It also happened to cement it in my memory.
February 3rd, 1959 – “The day the music died” – (L to R) Buddy Holly, JP Richardson (the Big Bopper), and Ritchie Valens died in an airplane accident, traveling over Iowa as part of the Winter Dance Party Tour.
I’m glad that I had the opportunity to explain the lyrics to American Pie and help them make the connection. I may have known the song longer than I care to remember, but it wasn’t all that long ago that I learned that the lyrics referenced a true tragedy, much less the death of Buddy Holly, JP Richardson (the Big Bopper), and Ritchie Valens. I suppose that is the true tragedy of American Pie: What if they had lived?
The musical legacy of Buddy Holly, of course, is staggering. Modern pop and rock music would not have evolved in quite the same way without him and the Crickets. He inspired the Beatles to write their own music, among countless others. In fact, it could be said that Buddy Holly was one of the main influences of what became known as the British invasion. JP Richardson (the Big Bopper) and Ritchie Valens were just getting started. Again, what if?
If nothing else, American Pie taught me that lyrics can indeed be a form of poetry.
Lou Diamond Phillips (Ritchie Valens) and Danielle von Zerneck (Donna Ludwig) in a car in a scene from the film ‘La Bamba’, 1987. (Photo by Columbia Pictures/Getty Images)
My grandparents are never far from my mind (or heart), but over the last several days, they’ve been on my mind even more. As my parents were preparing for a trip to Ireland, my dad asked me a little about the Irish ancestry on the Russell side of his family. It is fascinating! I didn’t realize that his grandfather (my great grandfather), Elijah (EC) Russell, was the son of Irish immigrants. As Grandpa Russell passed away long before I was born, I happen to know the history of the Suszko and Buttrick/Hoffman sides of my family better. Realizing that my ancestors on the Russell side made sacrifices for their descendants by leaving their homeland in search of a better life is humbling.
Grandpa Russell’s parents – Mary Jennie and Elijah (EC) Russell
Today also happens to be Grandparents Day. My grandparents may no longer be with us, but I simply would not be the same person without their influence. As a child, I somehow won the grandparent lottery. Both my Buttrick and Reid grandparents lived close by and played a huge role in my life. I spent my summers spending time and working with Grandma and Grandpa Reid. They both taught me so much about life in general. I’ve written extensively about their influence.
Grandma and Grandpa Buttrick’s house was always open to us grand kids and our friends. They lived close to Standish Elementary, and we often visited after school. As an adult, trips to Standish were not complete if I didn’t visit Grandma and Grandpa. Even today, when I am running errands in Standish, I think of how nice it would be to be able to stop in for a quick visit. I still miss the book club for two that I had with Grandma B. I also think of all of those August trips to hunting camp in Kenton, piling in Grandpa’s station wagon or Suburban with our cousins.
There is so much more I could say. I didn’t even discuss our “adopted” grandparents, our neighbors Joyce and Carl. That is all together another subject for another day. By the way, I didn’t post a picture of Grandma Buttrick for a specific reason. She was a private person, and even though she is no longer here, she would hate having her picture here.
Even though I never knew him, Grandpa Russell’s legacy lives on in the canoe livery. Grandma and Dad may have kept the canoe livery running after he passed away, but it was Grandpa Russell who started it all over 60 years ago. In fact, all of my grandfathers were entrepreneurs in their own way – a fact I love.
So, to all of my grandparents, thank you! Thank you for your love, guidance, memories, and so much more.
Mother’s Day will never not be emotional for me. I am continuously torn between celebrating the wonderful women in my life who made me who I am today – not just Mom, but both my grandmas and Joyce, my childhood neighbor, babysitter, and essentially adopted grandmother – and struggling with my own path to motherhood. All those women helped shape me morally, spiritually, and intellectually.
Mom, of course, continues to do so. I still crave her advice. I am so grateful for her friendship; her example, not only as a mother, but as a teacher, business woman, Christian; and her unconditional love. All of it. Somewhere along the path to adulthood, she also became my best friend.
Mom, Dad, and I ~ 1983
In the past, I dreaded Mother’s Day. Working retail in my 20s, strangers wishing me a “Happy Mother’s Day!” broke my heart and left me feeling empty. They all meant well. That’s the problem: One never knows who is struggling with infertility, pregnancy, strained relationships, loss, etc. For the longest time, I felt the same way at church on Mother’s Day, until I no longer did. A simple acknowledgement that some struggle with a whole variety of issues relating to motherhood made all the difference. Watching others grieve and acknowledge the loss of their own mothers made me realize that I am far from alone.
If I am completely honest with myself, recent events have made me question whether I do want to adopt, my only path to motherhood. In fact, it is part of the reason why I have been so silent here lately. Fortunately, my parents support me no matter what I decide, but what I wouldn’t give to be able to talk to my grandmas and Joyce right now. I could use their advice and wisdom now more than ever. All three would have something to say – all different – and force me to think of something I had overlooked.
Grandma Reid and I ~ 1985
If I do decide not to adopt, the hardest part will be having to change my perception of myself. I do not remember just how young I was at the time, but the first thing I remember wanting out of life is to be a mother. Fortunately, that is the beautiful thing about all of this. If I decide not to adopt, in many ways, I am still a mother. I have a great relationship with my nephews and niece. Spending time with my niece the other evening, she randomly told me that she wanted to come spend the night at my house. It didn’t work out that evening, but a sleepover is in the works once school is out. I want to be that aunt. My niblings are finally reaching the ages where I can be that aunt.
As a teacher, I influence children every day. I truly care for all my students, even if I am just their substitute teacher for a day or two. It doesn’t matter. So many students do not have much support at home. As a teacher, I can put my maternal instincts to good use. I can be the teacher that cheers them on at school. I know for a fact that I have already made a difference. I just need to step it up as I truly start my teaching career.
I may yet decide to adopt, but I need to give myself time and space to make that decision. I finally concluded that it isn’t the end of the world if I do not. When and if I do decide to adopt, I can say with certainty that I have thought of all possibilities and outcomes. If it is meant to be, I know that my son or daughter is out there waiting for me.
Ramblings of a Misguided Blonde 