Late to the party, I discovered Nelly Furtado’s incredible album “Whoa, Nelly!” nearly a year after it dropped. It became a huge part of the soundtrack to my semester in Quito, Ecuador during the fall of 2001. If I was traveling across Ecuador, I had “Whoa, Nelly!” with me. “I’m Like a Bird” happens to be the breakout single and the most well-known song on the album, but the entire album is incredible. “Trynna Find a Way” and “Turn Off the Lights” stand out as well, but it remains one of the rare albums I can still listen to in its entirety.
Why did I like it so much? Wanderlust, probably. The entire album is about making your way in the world, figuring out what you want out of life, and every other 90s inspirational/motivational cliche one can imagine. Nelly just did it a bit better than others. What always struck me about this album, the song themselves, the music videos, and Nelly herself is the originality of it all. “Whoa, Nelly!” as a whole definitely fit the late 1990s/early 2000s aesthetic perfectly. Yet, something unique about Nelly herself stands out and shines. And then there is the uniqueness of her voice. There is no mistaking it.
Originality always resonates with me, and I think that is why I love this song and the entire album so much. I can’t help but think of all of the adventures I had across Ecuador, including the bio research station Tiputini (in the Amazon), Otovalo, the Galapagos Islands, and more each time I listen to Nelly. There is nothing quite like being 20 and having the entire world before you. “Whoa, Nelly!” captures it well.
One of the highlights of my semester at la Universidad San Franciso del Quito, an epic trip to biological research station Tiputini in the heart of the Amazon (la selva)!
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.
On Friday evening March 31st, 2023, I joined scores of others to attend “Madonna 40” at the Delta College Planetarium. A sold out show, it was incredible – and a lot of fun! Designed to honor Madonna’s 40th anniversary of her first hit single “Holiday” and her always controversial place in Bay City history, it did not disappoint. My only wish: I would have thoroughly enjoyed another hour of her classic music videos and would have gladly paid accordingly. There is nothing quite like watching the music videos that made Madonna a superstar and an inspiration to a generation of girls and women, for better or worse, on the big screen. It is an experience I will never forget. Her early music will always be a part of the soundtrack to my early childhood memories. In designing the program, the following original, unedited music videos were shown in all of their ‘80s and early ‘90s glory:
A still from arguably Madonna’s most iconic music video, Material Girl (1984).
Frankly, the music video portion of the program outshone everything else. The videos have held up over nearly four decades. What struck me most in the vintage videos was Madonna herself. Definitely not model thin or “fat,” she exuded old-school glamor in “Material Girl,” “Vogue,” and “Like A Prayer” with the dance moves that made her famous. As for “Papa Don’t Preach,” she looks like any fresh-faced midwestern high school or college girl.
Personally, I felt that the organizers/designers missed a huge opportunity by not including at least the videos for both “Promise to Try” (1989), which was largely filmed at her mother’s gravesite in Kawkawlin, Michigan (just north of Bay City), and “This Used to Be My Playground” (1992), which was included on the A League of Their Own soundtrack and supposedly written about Bay City becoming her refuge after her mother’s untimely death. The only actual footage of Madonna in or near Bay City was not included in the program. How?
The next segment of the program, “Smelly Little Town,” is originally why I wanted to attend the event and even moved around my schedule to do so. Debuting as part of the Hell’s Half Mile Film and Music Festival in Bay City in 2021, I doubted I would ever have another opportunity to see it. Growing up with the controversy, knowing Bay City a little too well, and having been born in Bay City myself, I had to check it out.
First and foremost, it is quite possibly the most Bay City thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Let me just say this: It began and ended with scenes of people polka dancing at the St. Stan’s Polish festival to the Steve Drzewicki Band, both Bay City institutions. I half expected to see my ex’s parents go dancing on by. In general, the film did a decent job describing Bay City, covering all aspects of the “smelly little town” controversy with Madonna, and explaining how ever-corrupt Bay City small town politics is the answer as to why Bay City has never really been able to capitalize on the fact that it is the birthplace of Madonna.
This mural in downtown Bay City was privately funded and tucked away on a small side street.
For those who don’t know, Madonna Louise Ciccone was born at the former Mercy Hospital in Bay City, Michigan on August 16th, 1958. Madonna is her actual given name as she was named after her mother. Upon her mother’s tragic death in 1963, Madonna spent time in Bay City with her grandmother, who lived in the Banks area, then home to a nearby oil refinery (hence the “smelly little town” comment that caused such an uproar). To this day, there is very little commemorating Madonna in Bay City. Then again, this is the same city that passed on becoming home to a casino and a minor league ballpark, both of which went to nearby communities.
If something wonderful is planning on coming to Bay City, one can be sure that public outrage will ensue in some way, shape, or form. I am speaking from experience. When I moved back to Michigan with my ex, a Bay City native, in 2005, the controversy over the then new Wirt Public Library – a gorgeous new anchor for downtown Bay City – had yet to wane. While I agree it doesn’t have the history of the historic Sage Library in Bay City, people were genuinely upset over a beautiful new library downtown. I will never understand the mentality.
Then again, back in 2005, Michigan experienced a one-state recession which was about to turn into the Great Recession. 2008 is covered well in the documentary. It is rightfully called one of the darkest times in Bay City history, and frankly, I consider my life in Bay City (2005-2012) one of the darkest periods in my life as well. Yet, while Bay City is almost unrecognizable from that dark hour, there is still nothing formal honoring Madonna in the city.
As much as I wanted to see “Smelly Little Town,” I doubt it would have been half as entertaining if not for my own experiences with Bay City and my early love of Madonna’s music. In fact, much of it is forgettable. However, it did a good job highlighting the ridiculousness of the entire situation and Bay City politics. I actually understand the controversy now. A little explanation and context behind Madonna’s comments would have changed everything. In the same infamous 1985 interview with Jane Pauly, Madonna goes on to say that she has “great affection” for Bay City.
By the way, Bay City still is a “smelly little town.” In a hilarious coincidence, I happened to drive by the Michigan Sugar plant on Friday on my way to see “Madonna 40.” For those who don’t know, processing sugar beets can smell like hot garbage on a good day. Friday, as I drove by, it never smelled worse.
Clearly, Madonna’s relationship with Bay City remains complicated. I fully understand why. My love/hate relationship with Madonna – I will always love Madonna’s music, but question her methods of self-promotion – mirrors my love/hate relationship with Bay City itself. I do hope that she is commemorated in Bay City at some point. Not every small town can claim to be the birthplace of the best-selling female musical artist of all time.
By the way, if you want a quick, accurate outline of Madonna’s complex history with Bay City, the article below does a wonderful job of doing just that.
Recently, I realized that I mention my hometown extensively without providing many details. Unfortunately, many readers – even seasoned Michiganders – might have no idea where Omer, Michigan is. It is just under an hour north of Bay City. If you take the 188 Standish exit off of I-75, you will likely end up on US 23 north in Standish. Omer is the next small town, approximately 7 miles north on US 23. A bridge over the Rifle River, a caution light, and a set of railroad tracks are all landmarks to let you know that you have traveled through the city.
Being from Omer, Michigan isn’t for the faint of heart. For decades, the city of Omer has held the distinction of being Michigan’s smallest city, boasting a population just shy of 300 souls. Living in a small town does not come without its hazards. Nothing remains private for long. Both of my parents grew up in the area as well, with both of their families having ties to the area going back generations. Growing up attending Standish-Sterling Community Schools, not only was I a teacher’s kid as my mom spent most of her teaching career at Standish Elementary, our family business, Russell Canoe Livery, meant that my family was well-known in both Omer and Standish. In fact, Omer has no school, aside from a Head Start program aimed at preschoolers. When Omer’s school burned down in the early days of the 20th century, it was never rebuilt.
Sadly, despite its location in the heart of Arenac County and its one-time status as the county seat, little remains of a once thriving city. Today, the Arenac Country Historical Society works to preserve the Old Courthouse, the lone remaining structure to tell Omer’s cautionary tale. During the early part of the 20th century, roughly 1905-1918, Omer experienced a series of natural disasters (namely fires, floods, and tornadoes) that nearly destroyed the city. Throughout the 80s and 90s, the local diner, first known as Cody’s and later Ziggy’s (now a Dollar General), had disposable placemats outlining Omer’s history, including the natural disasters.
Originally named Rifle River Mills, Omer’s identity has always depended on the Rifle River. In the late 19th century, lumber from dense northern Michigan forests traveled rivers such as the Rifle to the sawmills in the south, namely in Bay City and Saginaw. In fact, our main location in Omer, our smaller campground, is the remains of an old mill pond. In fact, it becomes easy to imagine the pond if you look at the current topography of the campground. Today, the Rifle River is used exclusively for recreational purposes – fishing, canoeing, kayaking, rafting, tubing, and more. One day last summer, I saw two young girls in bathing suits walking down Carrington St. carrying their canoe. It is forever frozen in my mind as the most “Omer” thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
Today, Omer is home to three campgrounds, two of which are also canoe liveries, Russell Canoe Livery and Campgrounds, Inc., being the largest. In addition, Omer is home to Meihls Mechanical, a self-storage business that is continually growing, Dollar General, the Sunrise Side Senior Center, a library attached to city hall, a post office, a small park with basketball hoops and playground, the Old Courthouse, and not much else. While not exactly thriving, the city itself looks better than it has in decades, closed Rob’s Auto and Greg’s Market aside.
Today, Omer is relatively well known for two things: the local sucker run and witchy wolves. The sucker run deserves it own post. As it will be starting soon, stay tuned. My piece on the witchy wolf legend, dating back to right after the US Civil War, can be found here. Omer will never be perfect, but it will always home.
There are one hit wonders, and then there are one hit wonders that reside on Grammy nominated albums. While I’ve never been a fan of award shows, even the Grammys, I did pay some attention to the Grammy albums that came out each February as a teen – just in case there was something I’d missed the year before.
I don’t remember when I first heard One of Us, but I immediately fell in love with the song. It was the perfect song to belt by yourself in your car when you think no one is watching. Half the fun of getting your driver’s license as a teen is the anticipation. I couldn’t wait to be the one behind the wheel, belting whatever I pleased.
Growing up, the only thing better than waiting to get my license was waiting for my older cousin Abby to get hers. We are only ten months apart in age and grew up together. We shared a first Christmas at Grandma Buttrick’s house in 1980 – and every one thereafter until Grandma passed away in 2014. Now, at Christmas, we bring the party to Abby, even in the middle of blizzards. We did elementary school, junior high and high school, and even college together. We, along with her older sister Emily, studied supply chain management at Michigan State. Freshman year, she was my ride home. Safe to say, my childhood would have been much different without Abby J. She was very much the older sister I never had.
In February 1996, the Grammys were over, we were celebrating all of the February birthdays at Aunt Robin’s house, and Abby was just about to turn 16. Her first car was similar to mine. I ended up with my beloved ‘89 red Grand Prix and hers was a white ‘88. Both of those cars ended up saving our lives.
I don’t remember specifically what Abby received for her birthday, aside from the car, but we ended up listening to One of Us on the CD player she had had installed in her car. There is nothing to compare to giggling in the back seat of a car with your older cousin and younger sister singing along to a great song at top volume. This image of the three of us singing One of Us with as much emotion as we could muster continues to haunt me. In a few months, everything would change.
The day started out normal enough. A typical beautiful early June day not long after school ended for the year, it was to be my first day of driver’s ed. I had just enough time to down a bowl of Honey Bunches of Oats before Mom was to return from the gym and drop me off at the high school.
I met Mom in the kitchen after I heard the door to the garage open. I knew immediately something awful had happened. Mom couldn’t stop crying, and generally, Mom wasn’t a crier. On the way home from the gym, she had heard that Abby had been involved in a tragic car accident. I don’t know for sure, but I have the idea that she heard it on the radio on her way home. However it was reported on the radio, it made it sound as though Abby was at fault. That certainly wasn’t the case. In reality, Abby was hit head on by a drunk driver. Another car had been immediately in front of Abby and swerved out of the way of the drunk driver, leaving Abby with no time to react. Tragically, the other driver died.
Abby was OK but certainly not unscathed. Once she was home from the hospital, I remember visiting her with my mom, sister, and brother. My younger brother Garrett, 5 at the time, made her laugh so hard that he had to stop. It made her stitches hurt. He still has that effect on people.
My intention here isn’t to tell Abby’s story as I could never do it justice and it isn’t mine to tell. Instead, it is to finally admit just how deeply Abby’s accident affected me. Keep in mind that her accident happened on my first day of driver’s ed. Shortly after learning the true story of the accident and that Abby would be OK, I was sitting in a classroom listening to the driver’s ed instructor talk about her accident. I wouldn’t feel comfortable behind the wheel for years. It would take two road trips well into college – one to Minnesota and one to Texas – to make that happen.
In the end, Abby and I joined SADD (Students Against Drunk Driving) the following school year. She went on to suffer braces all over again and became class president her senior year. Eventually, we both ended up at Michigan State. It is thanks to Abby, who still didn’t feel completely comfortable driving the expressway, I learned the back roads home from State.
Everyone always seemed to chalk up my issues behind the wheel – fear, basically – to Turner Syndrome (TS). Most women with TS do not get their license on time due to depth perception/spatial issues. Fortunately, I’ve learned how to deal with those. No, it was my fear and anxiety after Abby’s accident. One of Us will always take me back to a much simpler time.
Fun sign on Grove Road, just before Crystal Creek Campground Photo Credit: Lindsey Russell
These last few weeks have been eventful, and frankly, fun. While my parents were in Ireland, I house sat for them. First, I love my parents’ house. It is comfortable and, next to my own house, is a space where I can just be myself. Housesitting for my parents during the early part of the fall means checking our Crystal Creek Campground as well. Crystal Creek is adjacent to my parents’ house. In fact, the house – my home from ages 3 to 18 – sits behind our store. It is hard to separate the two.
My favorite part of Crystal Creek Campground Photo Credit: Lindsey Russell
There is something about the empty campground, with the promise of fall in the air, that gets me every time. It is gorgeous and my favorite time of year. I can’t help but think of all the time I spent playing in the campground as a child after the campers left for the season. The land itself is forever a part of me.
Another view of my favorite part of Crystal Creek Campground Photo Credit: Lindsey Russell
During the great shutdown of 2020, I lived with my parents. It didn’t make sense for me to live alone at a time when no one knew how long it would last. Those days were largely a challenge for a variety of reasons, but the campground helped. Even though we had no idea when would be able to open up for Summer 2020, my parents and I spent time getting the campground ready. It was something tangible we could do. Mom and I picked up sticks and garbage daily while my dad and brother took care of most of the brush. It gave me a new appreciation for the land and the river, especially after we had the 500 year flood in May 2020 and rebuilt to open in mid-June.
Crystal Creek Landing Photo Credit: Lindsey Russell
But, home is so much more than just my parents’ or my home. Last weekend, I had the opportunity to return to Michigan State’s unrivaled campus – the home of some of my best memories. My brother, sister, sister-in-law, and I made sure my nephews and niece had a great first experience at Spartan Stadium. While wonderful in many ways, unfortunately my niblings didn’t get to see the Spartans win. Still, just being on campus brought back so many memories – the kind of memories that can only be relived when you’re home.
The view from Spartan Staduium, Saturday, September 24th, 2022 Photo Credit: Lindsey Russell
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.
By mid-June, things were starting to come together at the canoe livery … but would our customers return? Boy, did they! We had a wedding at our main location in Omer towards the end of June. After the wedding, with one more weekend in June left, we became increasingly busy, experiencing volume rivaling what we normally experience mid-to-late July or even early August. True to form, we remained busy right up until the mid-August.
Normally, this would be welcomed and wouldn’t have been an issue. However, this year, thanks to COVID, we didn’t have adequate time to properly prepare. During a “normal” year, we have much of June to prepare for the crowds. Things ramp up during June until it becomes crazy from the 4th of July until mid-August. Well, we lost that time to hire and train. We had a week, maybe two, before we started to become that busy. Add in the pressure of new safety precautions, difficulty in getting merchandise, and rebuilding from the flood, and one gets a sense of why it became so stressful. I feel as though I have been running a marathon since May.
Please don’t get me wrong. I am eternally grateful that our business not only survived but grew during COVID. I refrain from saving thrive because it would not be sustainable long-term. Simply too many hours and too much work in such a short period of time. Still, it haunts me that so many small businesses didn’t survive or are in danger of closing permanently. All I could think of this spring is the decades of work the canoe livery represents – my family history and my personal history. It would not exist if not for the hard work, dedication, foresight, and planning of my parents, my grandparents, and now my brother and I, along with countless others over the years. So much in my life simply would not have been possible without the canoe livery. In it, I see my future. Whether I like it or not, the canoe livery and the Rifle River is a part of me. The very idea of it no longer existing is unimaginable.
If nothing else, I do hope that I have turned the corner and truly have a fresh start this fall. It feels that way. I could use some routine and consistency in my life – along with a healthy dose of “normal” – whatever that is now. It is time to figure out exactly what it is that I want. I know that I have returned to that theme dozens of times here over the years. Yet, I still don’t know.
Who is to say that I will be content to spend the rest of my life alone? If I met the right man – and I repeat here, the right man – I can see myself in a relationship again. Yet, I have a difficult time seeing how I would meet him. Same goes for children. I would love to be a mother. I know I would nail it. Yet just the mere thought of the foster and/or adoption processes is enough to make me want to break out in hives. I know what can go wrong all too well. Maybe it will be time to “jump” sooner rather than later. I do know that I do not want to regret what I didn’t do in my life. Until then …
I’ve always loved fall, but somehow, this time of year just means more this year. I’ve been on an emotional rollercoaster (more on that in a minute, and not all entirely COVID related) since mid-March. I want OFF! NOW. I never dreamed that I would help run a business and teach middle school during a pandemic, but here I am. Something I never wanted to add to my bucket list.
As I am smack-dab in the middle of returning to in-person classes for the first time since mid-March, it is SO nice to have some normalcy, particularly after a summer and spring that was anything but “normal.” I missed my students deeply, and I enjoy just observing kids being kids.
So, about this spring and summer … Well, of course, it all started mid-March – that ill-fated Friday the 13th to be exact. As the shutdown deepened, I began to worry about opening the canoe livery for the season. Worry about the survivability of the family business #1. Frankly, it didn’t look good. Just as we, along with pretty much everyone else on the Rifle River, made the decision to open for self-contained camping only during Memorial Weekend, the other shoe dropped.
May 18th-20th, we received close to 7 inches of rain. Dams in nearby Gladwin and Midland counties failed. Fortunately, we did have a little warning thanks to another livery on the river. My parents, brother, and I were able to save much of our technology and merchandise in our store in Omer. Good thing we had that warning. We ended up with 3 feet of water in the store. That wasn’t even the worst part.
During the shutdown, I made the decision to stay with my mom. I don’t think either of us wanted to be alone in our own homes for an extended period of time. My dad was at their cabin in Canada when the shutdown happened, and he didn’t come home immediately. I was over at my parents’ house when the stay-at-home order dropped. Then, it just became habit. What was I supposed to do at home by myself that entire time? Normally, I am rarely at home. I am usually at work, running errands – all kinds of things – none of which I could do during the lockdown.
Anyway, my parents and I watched in May as the Rifle River filled our Crystal Creek Campground near my parents’ home. It nearly reached Pinnacle Bridge, which is amazing in and of itself. Then it happened. I read a Facebook post that stated that the Forest Lake Dam broke. We evacuated my parents’ home. While the Forest Lake Dam isn’t directly on the Rifle River, it would feed into the nearby river if it did break. There simply was no way to predict what would happen if the dam broke. My parents feared losing their home of nearly 40 years, not to mention their business of nearly 45 years. I can still hear the panic in both of my parents’ voices. I hope to never experience anything like again it in my life. Same can be said for most of March through August.
Fortunately, the dam held. We returned to my parents’ home later that day when we received word that the immediate danger had passed. While I haven’t made a habit of watching the local news in decades, I did watch that evening as local affiliates reported as the Edenville and Sanford dams collapsed, devastating Gladwin and Midland counties. I know the area. I used to manage a convenience store in Sanford. I traveled M-30 across the Edenville dam many times. Wixom and Sanford Lakes are no more, and the Tittabawassee River reclaimed its original path. It so easily could have been my family. My parents could have easily lost their home – MY childhood home – and their business that day. So many in Midland and the surrounding area did.
When we were finally able to survey the damage, we were lucky. The flood mainly damaged our main location in Omer this time. Keep in mind that we suffered devastating flood/ice damage – along with tornado damage later that summer – at our Crystal Creek Campground in 2018. In Omer, we lost our propane tank, our ice chest, fencing, and a campsite. Yes, you read that correctly. When our campground – a former mill pond – flooded, the water drained in one area, completely eroding one of our campsites. We had to get excavation work done in order to rebuild. All of this on top of 3 feet of water in our store, bathrooms, and pole barns. The cleanup took nearly a month, delaying our opening. When we were finally able to reopen in mid-June, we didn’t know what to expect.
I will leave off here for now. There is so much more to the story. While I will discuss some aspects of what happened after we reopened another day, there is much more that will have to be left unsaid. So much of what made this summer truly horrendous isn’t even my story to tell.
In my family’s experience with the flood, I watched my parents, my brother, and I come together to make things happen under unprecedented circumstances. COVID made things much more difficult than they needed to be. Something as simple as ordering merchandise for the summer became a nightmare. Yet, it worked. We somehow made it work. That is precisely why I wanted to tell this story.
Above all, I hope all of us – every last person affected by COVID, which is the entire planet – finally get some semblance of normal. We deserve it!
I will never forget Friday, March 13th, 2020. I teach middle school at a small, rural Catholic school, and we had just had an unexpected day off due to a boiler issue. Late in the day on Thursday, Michigan Governor Gretchen Whitmer mandated all schools closed as of Monday, March 16th. Suddenly we were all faced with an undetermined amount of time off. Not only did teachers and administrators not quite know what to expect, students looked to us for answers and we had none.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way. After school on that Friday, we were supposed to have an after school event for March is reading month, Prime Time Live Friday Night. Games, dinner, and prizes all cancelled. Our once full March calendar suddenly free. Now, our last Stations of the Cross is the last school memory I will have for a while.
I can’t help but think of all my 6th through 8th graders through all of this. Are they OK? How do I help make sure they are still learning? What can I do when I can’t assign any graded work as not everyone has internet access? I’ve worked my way through a crash-course on creating Google Classrooms, learning by doing.
Oh, the events! I so looked forward to so many events this spring! We had one field trip planned to Lansing in May, and I was in the process of booking another to the Michigan Science Center and the Detroit Institute of Art. We were just beginning the novel Esperanza Rising as a middle school. Oh, and the poetry unit I wanted to do. Then there were the professional development opportunities now cancelled. I looked forward to learning to become the best possible middle school teacher I can be. I am hoping that I have the same opportunities next year.
Then there are the longer-term questions. When will we return to school? What to expect when we do? When will society return to “normal’? How will things work with our seasonal family business, which is due to start Memorial Weekend? In fact, I’ve been splitting my time between trying to round up resources for my students and using this opportunity to get some business done.
Watching and observing how we have all come together as a profession (teachers are the best!), a church, a community, a state, and a country is heartwarming. Ultimately, we will all become stronger through this adversity.
Ramblings of a Misguided Blonde 