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Faster. Better. Cheaper.

Little known fact: The US military is the largest supply chain in the world.

My supply chain management education will always color the way I view things.  At times, I wish it didn’t.  In education, I like to believe that most students will find their way, eventually.  Most will find their purpose.  I feel for those who don’t, but it is a reality of life.  There are always those who remain lost, and sadly, I’ve known a few.  I can help, but I can’t be everything to everyone.

With supply chain issues, there is a solution.  There is always a solution.  We just need the resolve to follow through and make necessary changes.  We learned so many supply chain and economic lessons from the Greatest Generation and World War II, but as that generation passed away, I fear that we have lost those lessons or even ignored them completely.

Let me start at the beginning.  I am deeply proud to come from a long line of entrepreneurs.  I long idolized my dad and Grandpa Buttrick.  Both owned and ran their own companies and were self-employed, as different as their companies were and still are.  My dad developed Russell Canoe Livery around our family and our lifestyle.  He had no desire to build it beyond what it is now, even if we had the opportunity.  

Grandpa, on the other hand, loved to build.  He expanded his convenience store business into screen printing, Subway franchises, propane, hotels, and more.  He even loved to compete against himself from time to time.  As a child who loved to build, I took notice.  In having the opportunity to manage one of his convenience stores for a few years, I am grateful to have learned just why Grandpa loved the c-store business so much.  Ultimately, it helped me become a better manager at the canoe livery and a more empathetic boss.

While this cover is exactly how I remember it, it must be an updated version!
No WI-Fi in the 80s and 90s!

As a child, one of the most fascinating books I owned was The Way Things Work by David Macaulay.  I wanted to know how and why things worked.  Looking back, this helps explain why I chose supply chain.  It fit the bill.  I knew I didn’t want to study management.  I wanted to know exactly how value was added, and not just become increasingly removed from day-to-day operations that actually pay the bills.  Accounting and finance never even entered the picture.  In fact, my mom and I joke that we would starve if we had to try and make a living as accountants.  I am decent at math, but I make errors far too often, and it is not my thing.

I do have two older cousins who earned supply chain degrees from Michigan State and blazed the trail, but as my older cousin Emily tried to sell me on supply chain, it made me look at the program more critically.  Instead, my experiences at the Broad Business Student Camp (BBSC) after my junior year of high school sold me on Michigan State and supply chain management.  During that week attending BBSC, I had the opportunity to explore State’s incomparable campus, everything the Eli Broad College of Business had to offer, as well as all things supply chain.  In short, I had the opportunity to preview what my life would be like as a Michigan State business student with one of my best friends.  What was not to like?  By the time my parents dropped me off at MSU in August of 1999, I had to kick them out of my dorm room as I had already connected with student groups in the business school, and I was not going to be late for the first meeting.

Now you know why I never wavered in my pursuit of my supply chain degree, in spite of the fact that, deep down, I knew that I wanted to be a teacher as well.  As for the deeper lessons that stayed with me and kept me up at night, it all started with a business history class I took during the winter of 2000, the very heights of the dot.com bubble.  In fact, the bubble burst that consumed that spring forced me to pay attention.  My history professor, in fact, predicted the fall of the stock market (the dot.com bubble) publicly almost as soon as classes started in January.  When it finally happened in March, as a 19 year old, it left a deep impression.  However, as memorable as that experience was, this is not primarily why I remember this class 25 years later.

Instead, my professor’s description and explanation of how Detroit became the “arsenal of democracy” still sends shivers down my spine.  He made the case that the United States and the Allies would not have won World War II without Detroit.  While I knew Detroit played an important part in the war, I didn’t realize just how important.  Supposedly, when Hitler received intelligence of manufacturing totals coming out of Detroit, he didn’t believe it.  Those who had gained manufacturing experience in cities like Detroit, especially Detroit, would turn their focus to the war effort.

When you think of the manufacturing capability we had during that time, the early 20th century, it makes sense. We were able to help supply Great Britain long before we officially entered the war after Pearl Harbor.  Thanks to FDR, we switched from manufacturing consumer goods to munitions.  We went from cars and refrigerators to tanks and aircraft.  This is the question that keeps me up at night:  Would we be able to do so again if faced with such a crisis?  I don’t know.

Actually, I doubt it, as the way things are now.  Born at the end of 1980, I’ve watched my entire life as Michigan lived up to its “rust belt” image.  Most of the business professionals I graduated with in 2004, me included, had to relocate to states such as Texas and California to find jobs.  When my parents graduated from college in the late 70s, there were still good manufacturing jobs to be had right out of high school, although that would soon come to an end.  I grew up hearing of plant closures, manufacturing outsourcing, and general loss of manufacturing capability in the United States.  It is all I knew. By the time I sought to start my career, little remained.  Instead, less secure positions with multinationals outsourcing much of their labor to places like China, Mexico, and India took their place, particularly in the shadow of the first dot.com bust.

By the time I interned with IBM out in Rochester, Minnesota during the summer of 2001, not only did they not have enough for their interns to do, their full-time, permanent employees didn’t either.  Instead, they were focusing on their garage bands and updating their resumes.  In 2003, as part of a tour of a GM factory in Mexico near the border, I vividly remember seeing rows upon rows upon rows of brand new Pontiac Azteks and Buick Rendezvous awaiting shipment as our chartered bus slowly approached the plant.  Looking back, it foreshadowed Pontiacs epic downfall several years later. Tragically, Pontiac would never recover from the monstrosity that was the Pontiac Aztek.

My last semester at Michigan State in 2004 brought the Eli Broad College of Business’s first Chinese Supply Chain Symposium.  Of course, it focused on all of the wonderful benefits of outsourcing manufacturing to China.  I left wondering if I was the only one asking just how long before we were outsourcing our own jobs?  Where and when would it end?  Was I the only one seeing the connection between outsourcing and both unemployment and underemployment in the United States?

Even Russell Canoe Livery has a supply chain,
one with its own set of challenges and setbacks.

I will leave you with this summary.  We desperately need to bring manufacturing back to this country.  If you think the supply chain interruptions during the COVID 19 pandemic were bad (and I followed them closely), what would happen in the case of an even worse global crisis?  Good manufacturing jobs helped finance the growth of the middle class throughout most of the 20th century, particularly after World War II.  Why can’t we get back there?  We’ve learned so much during that time, and we have the workforce, if given a chance.  I hope I live to see it.  By the way, this doesn’t mean becoming isolationist.  It is simply expanding beyond the pharmaceutical, technology, and service industries.  Supporting local farms wouldn’t hurt either!  Cheap is good, but it is not always best in the long-run.  We’ve remained far too short-sighted and complacent for far too long.

Mom, Dad, and I – Spring 2001
Tower Guard Induction – Beaumont Tower, Michigan State University
In honor of Grandma Reid, who worked as a riveter in both Hamtramck, MI and Fort Worth, TX during the World War II era, all before the age of 20.

Becoming Ms. Russell

I did not set out to become a teacher, I left that to my younger sister Erica.  As her older sister, I’ve never known her to want to be anything other than a teacher and a mother.  I envied the fact that she was so certain about her desired profession, not to mention her dedication to her love of children.  When we played school – and we did often – I ended up being the school librarian while she insisted on being the teacher.  Until our younger brother was born when I was age 10 and Erica age 7, we didn’t have a single pupil.  By the time he was two, Erica made our toddler brother a series of report cards, grading him on things like “listening” and “sitting still.”  But, this isn’t my sister’s story.  It is mine.

My story of pursuing a career as a secondary teacher is by no means conventional.  In fact, it is so unconventional and challenging that I would recommend it to no one.  If it weren’t for the facts that teaching is in my DNA and I am meant to be a teacher, I would have given up long, long ago.  Instead, I doubled-down when I was faced with what at the time seemed to be insurmountable obstacles.  I even went back to substitute teaching when needed while deciding what my next step would be.  I am a better person, and teacher, for it.

Every story needs to start somewhere, and mine starts with the statement that teaching is in my blood.  It truly is.  As a genealogist, as far as I can tell, the teaching tradition goes back at least five generations on my mom’s side of the family.  It likely goes back even further.  Both of Mom’s grandmothers taught, and one of her grandfathers served as principal of his daughters’ elementary school, as well as coach.   

Interestingly, the teaching careers of my great-grandmothers could not have been more different.  I knew both Grammy Bea (Beatrice Williams), who taught kindergarten and first grade for decades at the height of the baby boom, and Great (Leona Buttrick), who taught in a one-room schoolhouse and quit teaching once she married my great-grandfather Hatley.  Although these are stories for another time, their careers illustrate massive changes in public education.

Funnily enough, the teaching tradition isn’t exactly confined to mom’s side of the family.  Even though neither of my dad’s parents had the opportunity to further their education, they highly encouraged their children to do so.  Both did, and even though my dad and his sister didn’t necessarily see eye-to-eye on much of anything, I find it telling that they both married teachers.  On the Suszko side of Dad’s family, there are several special education and agricultural teachers.  In fact, my cousin Kristy, a woman with whom I attended school at all levels from kindergarten to college, now teaches dairy science at the university level.

As much as I did not want to admit it, I am a teacher.  It took me far too long to make peace with that fact.  Something inside me would not let it go.  As soon as I graduated from Michigan State in 2004 with degrees in supply chain management and Spanish, my entire world shifted.  It would not be made right again until I went back to school in 2013.

It all started during the Great Recession with a casual conversation with my ex’s mom Cindy.  We were invited to dinner as usual, and Cindy and I struck up a conversation.  She told me that she wished that she’d gone back to school to become a nurse.  All I could think at the time was that I did not want to be in my 50s and regret not pursuing an interest.  During the Christmas shopping season of 2008, I worked at Best Buy in   Saginaw.  As I lived in the South End of Bay City at the time, I drove by Saginaw Valley State University (SVSU) every day on my way to work.  Slowly, I started to wonder what would happen if I did decide to go back to school to become a teacher.  The idea excited me and fed my imagination. How could I make it happen?  How would I adjust?  Online classes, in their infancy back in 2004, intimidated me.

Eventually, I had the ability to make it happen in 2013.  I largely enjoyed my time at Saginaw Valley State University (SVSU), although I would advise commuter students to do their homework.  For example, if I had not followed up with my advisor, I would have stressed out about the math portion of the general MTTC exam necessary to even apply to the College of Education.  I didn’t necessarily doubt my ability to do higher-level math likely trigonometry and low-level calculus, but I had not remotely touched those subjects in well over a decade.  The thought terrified me. Much to my relief, my counselor informed me that I scored high enough on the ACT test I took in high school that I did not need to take the general MTTC at all.  I then questioned why I wasn’t informed earlier.  She simply stated that it likely stemmed from the fact that I was a commuter and a non-traditional student.  While I would highly recommend SVSU to traditional college students coming right from high school, I’m not so sure in other situations.

I enjoyed most of my classes and professors at both Delta College and SVSU, but I can’t say that I didn’t have any bad experiences.  In fact, one professor and class at SVSU stands out for all of the wrong reasons.  This particular professor taught a class that focused on diversity.  However, somehow, throughout the entire semester, he managed to offend nearly everyone in the class.  Horribly.  He supposedly hated coaches.  When I ran into a former classmate in a school setting years later, we naturally discussed this infamous class and professor.  This man, who happened to coach as well as teach, informed me that this professor tried to get him removed from the College of Education program, likely because he planned to coach.

Somehow, this professor appeared to have no issue with me or one of my good friends, even though he had long ago deeply offended us both.  As we paired up to complete our main teaching project for the course, things fell apart.  When it came time to “teach” our project, our professor respected my teaching time and even seemed pleased.  Then, he proceeded to continually interrupt my friend and teaching partner for her entire portion of the project.  He made it exceedingly difficult for her to even finish.  Already extraordinarily introverted, I have no idea how she made it through.  Disrespectful doesn’t even begin to cover it.  Unfortunately, she never did become a teacher, although she would have been wonderful.  Instead, she became a librarian.  To this day, I still believe that the world needs introverted teachers too.  There are too many people like this professor that discourage future teachers every step of the way before they even get started.

Stay tuned … There is much more to this story.

Not just my favorite TED Talk on education and teaching, my favorite TED Talk period.

Rita Pierson’s famous Ted Talk on Education – Well worth watching!

Book Review: Prairie Man by Dean Butler

Dean Butler as Almanzo Wilder
in Little House on the Priarie

This year, the TV show Little House on the Prairie celebrates 50 years since its television debut.  Oh, and does that show still have a following.  To celebrate, several events were held at various locations throughout the country, including most of the homesites of the Ingalls and Wilder families.  They even recreated several of the sets at Big Sky Movie Ranch in Simi Valley, California, where most of the series was filmed.  Infamously, the last installment of the series saw the original set of the town literally destroyed as part of the plot.  Under the terms of filming, the producers of Little House on the Prairie contractually had to return the land to its original condition.

So, where does Prairie Man by Dean Butler come in?  First, the book debuted this summer in the midst of all of the events.  Second, and most importantly, Dean Butler, who played Almanzo Wilder in the last years of the series, and Alison Arngrim, the one and only Nellie Oleson, who famously penned Confessions of a Prairie B*tch, have worked tirelessly to keep the legacy of the TV show alive.  In fact, this entire year, they decided to host a podcast dedicated to all things relating to the 50th anniversary of the Little House on the Prairie TV show.

Prairie Man stands out for a couple of reasons.  First, I may not be technically correct on this, but I believe that Dean Butler is the oldest surviving male cast member.  Several actors that played young boys on the series survive, but the grown men, including Michael Landon, Victor French, Richard Bull, and Dabs Greer, just to name a few, are long gone.  While there are several memoirs written by female cast members, including two alone written by Melissa Gilbert, Prairie Man is the only one written by a man. 

While I’ve only read Confessions of a Prairie B*tch by Alison Arngrim (you can read my review here) and Prairie Man by Dean Butler, they could not be more different.  I loved both, but I enjoyed Butler’s sense of history, not to mention his diplomatic handling of tensions between fans of the books and fans of the TV show.  He addressed all of the controversies surrounding both series well.

I learned a lot.  While I knew that Rose Wilder Lane’s “adopted” grandson, Roger Lea McBride, ended up with the television rights to the novels, I did not know the full story.  The real story is included in Prairie Man.  In the early 70s, Ed Friendly purchased the rights from McBride due to his wife’s and daughter’s love of the books.  Only when Michael Landon became involved as executive producer, taking the TV show further and further from the original books, did trouble occur.  According to Butler, Roger Lea McBride became horrified when realized what he had done.  Like Friendly, he envisioned a TV series much more faithful to the books.

The real Almanzo Wilder, subject of Farmer Boy by Laura Ingalls Wilder

Eventually, all of this grew tension between Landon and Friendly.  Landon’s vision, of course, ultimately prevailed.  It may have been for the best.  Ask yourself, how many children and adults were introduced to the books via the TV show?  Alison Arngrim even admitted that she didn’t read the books until after being cast as quite possibly the best child villain ever portrayed on television, Nellie Oleson.  Michael Landon may have taken extreme creative license, but love it or hate it, Little House on the Prairie, the television show, is still shown all over the world in syndication 50 years later.  It will not die.

The funny thing is that I used to blame Roger Lea McBride for selling the rights to the television series and Michael Landon for what it became.  I used to view the Little House series of books as a cautionary tale as to what can happen if an author’s legacy isn’t well-guarded or just ends up in the hands of attorneys.  For those who don’t know, Rose Wilder Lane never had children (she never formally adopted Lea), and thus, with her death in 1968, Laura Ingalls Wilder and Almanzo Wilder no longer had any direct descendents.  I see it differently today.  I suppose I now subscribe to the old saying “any publicity is good publicity.”

While I probably would have discovered all of the books on my own, especially after my 2nd grade teacher, Mrs. Butz, read Little House in the Big Woods to our class, I doubt any of it would have left such a lasting impression without the TV show.  Early elementary school would not have been the same without it.  I distinctly remember jumping off the bus after school, pigtails flying behind me, eager to catch the 4 PM reruns.  Funny note:  Due to the fact that I grew up on the reruns, I thought Dean Butler was significantly younger, by at least a decade, than he actually is.  His book, of course, made this clear.

Today, I am not necessarily a fan of the TV show, although I do greatly admire what Dean Butler and Alison Arngrim have done for all Little House on the Prairie fans.  I suppose I am not a typical fan.  Normally, most people are devoted fans of the books or the TV show, not necessarily both.  More than anything, I am a huge fan of the real person, the writer herself, the real Laura.  Her true story is far more fascinating than just the books.  She lived an incredibly full additional 70 years after the life she described in all of her books.  When you add in all of the drama surrounding her only daughter, Rose Wilder Lane, it justifies all of the relatively new scholarly work surrounding the Ingalls and Wilder families.  There are still so many questions left to answer.

If you are interested in the Little House series at all, whether book or TV show, Prairie Man is well worth reading.  Butler makes the case that he feels he was born to play Almanzo.  Growing up on a ranch in California, he describes in detail how his entire career has been shaped by that one role.  As he grew older, he decided to lean into it and run with it, much as Alison Arngrim has over the last few decades.  Fortunately for Little House fans, its incredible legacy is in good hands for the time being.

You can also check my review of Prairie Fires by Caroline Fraser here.

Goodbye, November

Where did November go?  Seriously?  It seems as though we just went back to school, and now, we are well past the halfway mark for first semester.  I have to say, my November was packed with lots of fun.  So many new memories made!

At the beginning of the month, I attended a Saginaw Valley State University (SVSU) game with my siblings and their families.  Go Cards!  After the game, we all spent time hanging out at my parents’ house watching even more football and eating pizza.  I think it has to become a new tradition.  Even though I don’t hunt, I enjoyed everyone else discussing and making plans for opening day (November 15th for firearm deer season here in Michigan).  I love that the tradition continues, even if Camp Russell is long gone.

The following Friday night, John and I attended the Barenaked Ladies (BNL) concert at Soaring Eagle Casino in Mt. Pleasant, Michigan.  It did not go as planned, to say the least.  Somehow, we did not have the seats we thought we had.  I still have no idea how, why, where, or when the mixup happened, but it did.  First, let me start with the opening band, Toad the Wet Sprocket.  While not quite a one-hit wonder, Toad the Wet Sprocket had a couple of hits with “All I Want” and “Walk on the Ocean” in the 90s.  Honestly, pretty forgettable and comparable to dad yacht rock of the late 70s and early 80s.  Way, way too mellow, even for me.  The aesthetic of the set worked well, but if things were going to start off this slow, we were in for a long night.

Now before I discuss BNL, you have to understand that I waited 20 years to see them in concert.  BNL is a huge part of the soundtrack of both my high school and college years.  In 2004, during my senior year at Michigan State, I had the opportunity to see them at the Breslin Center.  Unfortunately, my firstborn intuitive sense of responsibility kicked in.  I had too much to do.  I shouldn’t spend the money.  It goes on and on.  As I have proven time and time again, I am my own worst enemy.  Buy the damn concert tickets!  Just go!

As much as I tried to lower my expectations for the BNL concert, it didn’t work.  Instead, I left disappointed.  In fact, we left after the first song.  It just wasn’t what we were expecting at all.  We’d looked up set lists from earlier concerts on the tour, and it looked great.  As one would expect, they opened with one of their monster hits and continued to mix their hits with their new, super mellow album “In Flight.”  I’d listened to the new album before the concert and enjoyed it for what it was.  Looking at the supposed setlist, I thought it would work well.  Wrong!

Mt. Pleasant happened to be the last concert on their tour, and for whatever reason, they completely changed up the set list.  They started with the new songs and continued the dad yacht rock vibe with a vengeance.  No telling when they would get to their back catalog.  Also, what really worried me is the fact that their hits could have been played in a more mellow, stripped down, acoustic version a la MTV Unplugged.  I enjoy that type of music at times, but that is the exact opposite reason why I wanted to see BNL.  I wanted the crazy energy of “One Week,” “The Old Apartment,” and the “Big Bang Theory Theme.”  Add in a BNL superfan who insisted on talking to me throughout the entire break between acts, in addition to continually bumping her purse in John’s side, we were over it.  We left.  Again, lesson learned.

Fortunately, the weekend wasn’t ruined.  We spent time at Michigan State on Saturday.  I showed John all my old favorite haunts.  It is surreal though.  In East Lansing, I constantly felt simultaneously back at home and flabbergasted on how much had changed.  I’m just glad that Crunchies, the Peanut Barrel, and the Pita Pit are still there.  Fun note:  Barstool Sports sponsored a pub crawl throughout East Lansing that Saturday.  We were trying to figure out why we were seeing groups of students dressed up as bananas all over campus and East Lansing.  At first, we thought it might be some crazy type of protest.

Now that Thanksgiving and deer season are behind us, bring on Christmas!  December, of course, never disappoints.  Advent starts tomorrow.  I hope to slow down and enjoy it!

For This, I Am Thankful

Over this long Thanksgiving weekend, I am grateful for all of the wonderful people in my life – family, friends, coworkers, students, customers, and more.  I am truly blessed.  If I started a list of all the blessings in my life, it would take me hours to complete.

I hope this post finds everyone well enjoying time with family and friends.

Until then …  Now, let the Christmas season begin!

Thirty-One – The One Where We Say Goodbye

I found out that direct sales company Thirty-One, named after the Bible passage in Proverbs 31 that describes a virtuous wife, is closing at the end of the year.  Approximately a decade ago, I sold for a handful of direct sales companies hoping that one would stick and that I had inherited a few of the skills that led to Grandma Reid’s successful 40 year direct sales career.  She only stopped when she could no longer find a quality women’s clothing direct sales company to carry.  In fact, she outlasted several companies, namely Minnesota Woolen, Queensway, and Beeline.  I still happen to have an adorable small stained glass plaque advertising Beeline, bees and all.  I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it.  I had to at least try.

At the time, I tried selling Avon, PartyLite, and of course, Thirty-One.  Handsdown, Thirty-One is the one that captured my heart.  If it hadn’t become so oversaturated, I would probably still be selling it.  Avon needed no introduction and offered high quality products.  The problem became that they ran new catalog campaigns every two weeks.  If you are doing anything else, and I mean anything else, it quickly becomes unsustainable.  PartyLite offered great products too – I had done my homework – but nothing ever stood out as special to me.  As much as I personally loved burning candles, I stopped years ago due to the damage constant candle use can do to walls and ceilings.  Even candle and wax warmers can be extremely messy when you want to change scents.

That left Thirty-One.  By the time I decided to stop carrying PartyLite and Avon, I became undecided with Thirty-One.  I still loved the company and the products.  At the time, I also started substitute teaching several days a week while earning my teaching certificate.  Every single teacher’s lounge contained the latest Thirty-One catalogs, an open party, and the business card of a consultant.  How can you compete against that?  Not easily.  I knew I had to move on, not matter how much I loved and believed in the product.

Speaking of Thirty-One products, I have quite the collection.  After ten years of constant use, most of my items are still in near perfect condition.  I’ll have them for years to come.  I may have spent a chunk of change upfront, but in my case, I have no regrets.  I use them daily.  Thirty-One bags may have been at a fairly high pricepoint, but they were worth the money.  Oh, and adorable too!

They’re the same thing, right?

Here’s the thing:  Thirty-One knew – and still knows – their audience.  Their bags are functional and stylish.  They targeted busy moms of faith who needed the right tools to haul all the gear everywhere.  Of course, they wanted to look good doing it, too.  No wonder I saw teachers heavily targeted!  In the future, when I look back at the 2010s, Thirty-One bags will certainly be a part of the aesthetic.  In other words, if I were responsible for designing an American Girl doll representing the decade of the 2010s, she would certainly have Thirty-One bags as go-to accessories.  By the way, American Girl absolutely slayed their dolls representing the 80s and 90s, but that is another story entirely.  I could not have done a better job myself.

Sadly, I doubt that there will ever be another Thirty-One.  They knew their target market because it was created by a busy mom on the go for other busy moms of faith.  Whether we like it or not, women carry the mental load in our society – married, single, with or without children; it doesn’t matter.  Women are tasked for making a house a home, remembering all the things for everyone, not to mention organizing life in general.  As a woman and teacher, it is just true, and it is the reason why my Thirty-One bags have come in so damned handy over the years.  If I were still in business school, I’d love to do a case study on Thirty-One to see where it all went wrong. By the way, if you are under the impression that business is dull and boring, think again.

A Summer Full of Memories

Summer 2024 – Rifle River – Omer, Michigan

I’m always conflicted Labor Day Weekend.  On one hand, I am happy for summer and the canoe livery to be over for the time being.  Fall is my favorite season.  I’m eager to get back to the classroom.  On the other hand, I love 10 PM sunsets and the very idea of the endless summers of my childhood.  I vividly remember my dad taking my sister and me home to put us to bed while it was still light out, begging him to take the backway home (Jose Rd.), Erica and I exhausted from a full day swimming in the river.  We lived the river all summer long.  At 10, I distinctly remember walking downtown Omer during Suckerfest in early April, fixated on how unfair it was that it would be close to two months before I could swim in the Rifle again.

As of late, I watch and notice how my niece and nephew enjoy being kids growing up at the canoe livery.  Each year brings forth more long-forgotten childhood memories.  This weekend, my niece and a friend took tubes to the end of the road and floated around the entire campground back to our dock.  My friends and I did this countless times at their age.  To be 10 again without a care in the world!

Earlier this summer, I overheard kids discussing what I grew up calling “rocky.”  It is a simple game.  All one needs is two people, a tube, and a body of water.  Two kids sit across from one another on the tube and lock legs, bouncing as hard as possible to knock the other kid off into the river.  Our river version required a short walk upstream and had a natural time limit.  We would walk the short, sandy straightaway upstream leading to the dock, the object being to knock the other person off before we reached the dock.  My sister Erica, our cousin Abby, and I spent countless hours playing various versions of this game, leaving the river waterlogged with suits and hair full of sand.  I am grateful that, in spite of all that has changed in the last 30 plus years, I still live in a world where children are still allowed carefree summers.

Russell Canoe Livery and Campgrounds Promo Video

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.

For the Love of Baseball

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.

Mom, Dad, and I ~ 1983

Dad sporting his lucky #3 hat.
Some of my earliest memories are of watching the Detroit Tigers on TV with my dad.

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.

My youngest nephew, Owen, sporting lucky #3 and keeping the tradition alive, even if it is his basketball jersey. Dad always seemed to end up as #3.

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!

Ernie Harwell ~ The voice of Tigers’ Baseball for decades, narrating many summer road trips, especially with Grandma Reid.

The Ides of March

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.

Canoeing near the park in Omer ~ early 20th century.  The site of the former Omer park is just downriver from our main location in Omer.

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!