Tough People

I always knew folks up here were tough. You have the long cold winter to contend with, and in the spring massive swarms of various bugs, and even in the summer some pretty ferocious winds and storms have to be met. However, nothing prepared me for the life stories I am privileged to hear these past two weeks. First, there is the lady who lives on the same dairy farm she was literally born on. She came into the world about 78 years ago on an early cold morning and her father delivered her. She came out cyanotic (blue) with the cord wrapped around her neck three times. Dad, who had delivered other children and many cows, reduced the cord, delivered her and tried to revive her. Despite his best efforts, she remained blue and breathing intermittently. Thus, he cut the cord and left her with mother, as he hitched up the wagon to the team and drove into town to get the local doctor---who fortunately was only about 7 miles away that week. The doctor rotated towns back then, and news of his arrival spread and folks would come in to see him during his itinerant week. The doctor came back with him, and working thru the night, kept the wee baby alive enough to meet me 78 years later. She said until this day she occasionally has trouble breathing and when she does, her feet turn blue. She relates that she is sure this is due to her mother’s prolonged labor, and her own near death. I really can’t dispute that—in any case, she is truly the product of a miracle birth. Obviously, God intended her to survive, and go on to run the dairy farm and produce numerous offspring of her own. All of which she too delivered in the same farmhouse. As if this wasn’t enough, I met a man in his 80’s, or maybe 90’s (he’s not sure) today, who was the 6th child of 12. His mother in fact had over 20 pregnancies, while she raised the family, milked the cows and took care of her husband, a logger. They lived in what my patient calls a “one room shack”. He says all the boys served in some capacity in WWII. He says he can’t understand how his mother waited for news from the war and did all this while the husband was away for months at a time, and still lived to be 80 something herself. She perhaps defines the phrase “barefoot and pregnant”. She was pregnant most of the time he can remember living at home in the shack. He said when a stillborn came, they would bury the infant out back, with the others. There was no fanfare, coroner’s inquiry, etc. They dried their tears, cleaned up, buried, and went on to tend to the cows, the garden the other children in their subsistence existence. Note that this is not 1776---this is life in the Upper Peninsula a mere 60 or 70 years ago. There were few paved roads---mostly logging trails. The land was filled with rich soil, but plagued with rocks in the soil. It would take years to till the land, dig up the rocks, and get the grass to grow for the dairy cows. Back breaking, incessant work before Tylenol or Motrin were common household items. Before in fact, the doctor was only 7 miles away. They are Fins and Swedes and Germans and Poles who still speak both languages. People who even today enter the doctor’s room with near reverence, to think that maybe I am the one who would stay up with that blue baby, getting her to turn pink by morning. Someone so rare that 7 miles away by horse and buggy is actually “pretty close, purt near next door.” Wow, I say, what an amazing people, what an amazing Peninsula, what an amazing County. These horse and buggy dairy farmers were or produced our greatest generation. Now, I am less surprised that they could hit that beach in Normandy, and dig into and spit up sand and bullets and keep on going all the way to Berlin. Is it any surprise? That is America, they are America, they are God’s Gift. Sad to think that there will never be another people like this. But what a joy to get to meet them still!!! Go out today and find one and give them a hug!!!

Inevitably you will eat a bug someday. Living on the shores of Lake Michigan, in the Northern Wood, is a privilege. Indeed, I am sitting here looking at the Lake in a southerly blow, watching white-caps form or a turquoise sea. It is cloudless, except for the swarms of this black gnat that form above the tree lines. You can see these swarms from miles away. It is amazing. If it’s not windy in the morning you can hear them buzzing overhead. The mass of gnats makes that humming sound you hear from one of those big mercury lamps that humm in the night. The columns of bugs rise in a tornado like pattern above the trees as much as 300 feet long and 50 feet wide. You have to be careful when they are hatching and you are outside because they will find their way into your ears, nose, mouth and yes, I’ve swallowed or inhaled them. Now if you’re a trout this is a pretty good thing. It’s the feast time of year for fish following the long winter fast. In fact, I just finished catching 5 very feisty rainbow trout today. They were 10 to 15 inches. The largest fish I had on today was the first one I hooked, but he obtained his freedom by spitting the hook before I could get him near the bank. He had a rather large girth to him, I think he must have been 3 pounds. Pretty nice for a cold pond Michigan rainbow. I used a variety of bugs, trout candy, but alas the wooly bugger outperformed them all. This is typical of course. So anyway, it occurred to me that dealing with these relatively harmless, non-biting swarms of gnats is just one price I must pay to be surrounded by one of the most beautiful places on earth. Sometimes you have to swallow your pride in life. Sometimes you have to swallow food somebody prepared that tastes awful, because you are polite. And sometimes, we must even eat a bug. Even bugs are good, they fatten the fish in advance of when the long, cold nights come to the land. They are good in that they give me something to write about. They are good because somebody gets paid to study them. Yeah, for me, up here in the Nook in the North, I’ve come to even like the bugs too.

Do you remember the Maytag Repairman commercials? The middle-aged gentleman sitting in the Maytag Office with his Maytag uniform on and sleeping most of the time? The phone would ring and it would wake him up and startle him. Most of the time it was a wrong number or a salesman. The premise was Maytag’s are so reliable that you never needed to call the repairman. I have to say that my experience with Maytag’s really is close to that. In any case, I was sitting in my office today about 3 p.m. after seeing 9 patients for the day. I had already paid my bills, took a short refresher in reading EKG’s, surfed e-bay looking for a pellet stove, talked to about 9 hospital employees about the weather. I had my feet up on my desk and was drifting off when my nurse came in to tell me a patient was ready. She startled me and I was a bit embarrassed as my feet fell off the desk. I rather quickly apologized and said I feel like I am the Maytag Repairman today. My very capable and most pleasant nurse looked at me rather puzzled and said: “well I’m not sure what that means but ok, if you say so.” It occurred to me that she had never heard of the Maytag Repairman commercials. I asked her when was she born and she told me 1976. Ahh, I said, yes, those commercials were mostly before then. In addition, I reflected, that’s when I graduated from High School. Of course, it shook me up a bit, realizing my age, but I went on to earn my keep. On my way home I reflected on the fact that I took care of two hospital patients and saw a few complicated ones in the office with extensive medical histories and really did earn my keep after all. Rather than let my age awareness bother me, I was thankful for it as I watched the streams and cedar trees go by. I was thankful that I have lived long enough to tell my nurse about the Maytag Repairman commercials. I am sad, yet also thankful that I have already out-lived many special friends. Why God has allowed me this I don’t know, but I thank him for it. I am thankful that I am back home in the country of my youth. I am thankful for the smile and the laugh that comes over me as I get home by 4 or 4:30 and still have so much time left in the day to enjoy the lake, and the swans, and the gulls, and the eagles and the hawks that go overhead. To think that I would still be buried in a mountain of charts and traffic and go go go if fate hadn’t yanked me from the darkness. I can appreciate Eddy Albert more in Green Acres when in the opening song he reflected thus, about thanking God for the country life, the chores, etc. I am thankful that I don’t have a wife like Zza Zza Gabor who thinks more of stores than God’s beautiful country. There is a fog over Lake Michigan, but there is no fog in my head.

The Nine Pound Small-Mouth Bass

To say I like my new job is rather an understatement. Today I had the pleasure and joy of meeting a very good father and his 12 year-old boy. I had already taken care of the medical problem at hand and we commenced to discuss the main issue of the day, the best spring fishing. This very intelligent, animated boy, proceeded to tell me about all his best fishing spots and the large small-mouth bass that he caught last fall. They had been fishing at their favorite inland lake for a while, from shore, and didn’t catch anything. This young man all of sudden yelled that he had a big one on, and his pole was waving madly in the wind. Father, brother and even mother ran to the shore to see what all the commotion was about. The young man played it up for a minute, and then said he was “just kidding”, there wasn’t a real fish on, he is just a joker you see. Well, about 15 minutes later this “NINE” pound small-mouth bass really did take his bait and soon the fight was on. He screamed to his family, “fish on, fish on, help, get the net”. Of course, they ignored him. It wasn’t long when the “NINE” pound bass jumped into a fury of frothy splashes and they started to take him seriously. Mother had already started cleaning up and had taken the net back to the van. Father ran furiously toward the van, but couldn’t find the net. Mother all the while was screaming directions to the net to Father while the bass took out line. Dad finally found the net on the dashboard and hurried back to the beach. Dad goes into the water and the line promptly winds around his legs as he missed the bass on the first scoop. Despite the tangles the bass takes out line again but eventually Dad becomes untangled and they proceed to land this very large small-mouth. Now, I have never seen a “NINE” pound small-mouth myself, but the boy swears by it. Dad said it was more like four, but like all good fishermen the boy earned his literary license that all good boys deserve when it comes to fishing. I suspect that that fish will continue to grow over the years, and this is my favorite type of “growth”. I am reminded me of my own son’s 12 pound salmon caught two autumn salmon fishing trips ago. You see, that fish is now over 20 pounds when he describes it and re-tells the story. Of course, the fish had two more years to grow and probably is 20 pounds by now, out there somewhere. Somewhere, maybe, there’s a “NINE” pound small-mouth bass out there for you or me. In any case, someday soon I am going to go fishing with that very good father and his very bright boy.

Tick Season

What a year for Ticks!!! I’ve treated several people now for Tick related problems. Most of these include local infections or allergic reactions at the site of attachment. I have not seen a single “Deer Tick”, the vector for Lyme Disease, nor have I seen in case of Lyme Disease yet. In fact, there are no reports of patients with Lyme Disease in my Counties (Mackinac and Luce) in many years. I had the fortune to meet a forester today and I asked him why he thought Ticks were so prevalent this year. I’ve brushed off several, and while Erica was visiting here she discovered they really love her! He said they have a cycle of about every three years here and this is their time. I didn’t remember that from microbiology, but in fact did confirm that tonight. They do go thru a life cycle that can result in some heavy tick years. Fortunately, only a few ticks are lucky enough to find a host---which they need to complete their life cycle. Most are actually found in grassy areas, more so than in wooded ones. They lay in wait in the grass, for you or me to walk by. Anyway, they are relatively harmless around here. My Forester Friend put it best, “I’m more afraid of getting struck by lightning outdoors than I am about getting Lyme Disease!” Most importantly, my new friend is going to take me brook trout fishing to some of his favorite spots soon. He said that last year by his “rough” count, he caught over 800 brook trout. One day alone he caught and released over 80. I am developing quite a resource of fishing friends. I certainly hope that these wonderful streams will become part of my fishing repertoire soon! I will keep exploring. This weekend I am going to fish the Upper Millicoquins, but also want to start working in my Big Garage. I am going to take the kayak racks out of the east end, take out the shelves, and get my shop together. That way to tools will be ready for re-doing our master closet, closing in the front porch, and eventually finishing the new addition. Then I’ll insulate it and put a pellet stove out there. It will be cozy enough for my fishing buddies to hang out in there. Heck, you’ll even be able to crash out there. My very active life here is great for me, my pants are all getting too big as I thin down again! Wishing you the best, saying Ya from Da U.P. Ay!

My New Friend Fred. I have made a new friend here, his name is Fred. Fred and I met due to the simplest of things, an apple core. I was outside admiring the view of Lake Michigan, eating a Michigan grown red delicious apple, and watching a squirrel opening acorns atop a stump of a tree I cut down last year. I finished the apple and threw the core into the wood about 25 feet behind the squirrel. All of sudden he stopped eating the acorn, stood up, ran into the wood and immediately retrieved the apple core from the brush. I was rather amazed that he could find it in the briar and raspberry bushes, but he did. He came back to his perch on the stump and proceeded to continuously rotate the core and completely nibble it down to nothing. I don't know why, but he reminded me of an intelligent, very fast friend I had up here years ago named "Fast Freddie". Given this squirrels obvious inteligence and prowess and speed, he now is named Fred. I put a whole apple on Fred's stump yesterday morn and went off to work. When I came home the apple was gone of course. Now you may think that a deer got it, or a coon. But I'm putting my money on Fred. I'm reminded of my Grandfather Walter by this---and his pet chipmunk. In those marvelous summers I spent with him on Douglas Lake in Northern Michigan, he befriended a chipmunk. He had a Polish name for the chipmunk that I can't remember, but I'd like to think it was "Fred". It started innocently enough, with both the chipmunk and my Grandfather being startled one day by each other in the garage. Grandfather used to sit out in the garage and eat peanuts and the shells would drop to the floor. He'd just sit there enjoying the summer Northern Michigan day, eating peanuts or just rocking in the chair, out in the garage, for hours. Now I realize that was his man cave, his respite away from the much more beautiful, fairer and intelligent sex. It wasn't long until the chipmunk started watching him from about 12 foot away, just watching Grandpa eating those peanuts. Then it was 6 feet, then he'd scurry underneath Grandfather's chair and scoop up the remnants. By the time I entered this story Grandfather's "Fred" was on his shoulder, on his knee, and he even allowed Fred to take a peanut from his shirt pocket while I watched. But I could only get within about 5 or 6 feet and Fred would run away. He learned to trust my Grandfather, but no other human being. There were a lot of us who trusted Grandfather like that, he was just that kind of guy. A man's man, firm, but allowing you to see the tender side enough that just mesmerized you. You just wanted to be around him, like I'm heard was Walt Whitman, or Abraham Lincoln. Grandfather loved that little chipmunk. But I know he loved me so much more, and as I sit here with tears in my eyes, I am thankful for my Fred. I am thankful of how he reminded me of my Grandfather, and how wonderful it is to be here in Northern Michigan, watching the sky go by, maybe eat some peanuts. I'm watching life go by slowly again. I am, alive again, and I know, I know Grandpa had these same feelings of joy and thankfulness to be here. Well, I know my Grandfather now lives in an even greater place, but I betcha there he has a friend named Fred.

Howdy Friends. I've been asked why I haven't been posting pics of the deer, the brook trout streams, etc. Fact is I'm still posting from dial-up, too time consuming to upload. However, I have ordered Hughes Satellite Internet and should have it in a couple weeks if I can coordinate with the installer. I also have high speed now at work and have a new Toshiba Lap Top the Hospital has supplied me with. I will be going to Findlay this weekend and get the cables I need to connect my camera phone to the computer so I can start posting photos of the beautiful Northland. It is sad to report that my friends Dan and Erica had to depart early this morn for the sunny state of Florida---they had quite an adventure in the U.P.---made it all the over to Wisconsin and back and still found time to hang out with me and dine at Chamberlain's on Big Manistique Lake, fish for brookies and pike, hike, bicycle, kayak and have a marvelously "awesome" time as Erica would say! This is my first call weekend here and I am still trying to adjust to a very different call system. I don't get outside pages from patients, that's all handled thru the E.R. and walk-in clinic on the weekend---so the pager is strangely quiet for hours and hours. When it beeps its from the E.R. or nurses station it is generally benign. There were a few hours yesterday where I had to help a critically ill patient get transferred out---but even that was relatively painless. Presently I'm looking at Lake Michigan and thinking about my Lorhel in a concert tonight in Cinci---Jomay, Sarah, Jeffy, Julie and Lindsey went down to partake in the joy of a live orchestra---a treat I have come to hear often in our musical life. I am looking forward to seeing them of course, and dream of the day we are all together up here. However, I do not miss life otherwise below the Mackinac Bridge. The circle of life here is you are raised in Northern Michigan---and can't wait to get out when you are in High School. Then, many years are spent trying to get back. Once you return, and grow acustomed to the continual view of cedars against the ephemeral, evervescent sky and water, you never want to leave. My home is open to visitors and over the next year is supposed to get bigger with the new addition. I would love to share this with you, maybe even a couple new fishing spots if you're nice! Blessings, signed, Northern Exposed, Jeff.