THE DOOR COUNTY GRANARY

When I was a little boy, my parents bought a couple cottages near the Sturgeon Bay Coast Guard Station. The rst time they drove my brother and sisters and me up here — to see the amazing place they had told us about — our rst stop on arrival was a bank located downtown on the city’s west side. My folks had to sign nal papers before they drove us out to see our new (old!) family cottages.

I remember my rst glimpse of the city of Sturgeon Bay. I’m not sure what I had been place very special. Farmers from all over brought grain here to be stored and used to

I remember my rst glimpse of the city of Sturgeon Bay. I’m not sure what I had been expecting but, to my childhood eyes, it didn’t look much di erent from Oshkosh where we lived. Heck, it even had a steel bridge (which at the time Oshkosh had, too!). My dad said, “What do you think, kid? Pretty neat, huh?” I murmured something like, “Nothing special.” system or family court system – it’s very, very difficult.”

“Really, kid?” he asked. “Well maybe you didn’t see that ‘castle’ over there.” He pointed towards a huge wooden structure that, from where we stood, dominated the Sturgeon Bay skyline. I had never seen anything like it and my dad said that this tower made the place very special. Farmers from all over brought grain here to be stored and used to feed cattle ... and us!

From that moment on, Sturgeon Bay was a magical place to me because it had this waterfront ‘castle,’ this Granary! I gazed at it with wonder every time we came to town. I still do.

I still do.

The financial and emotional obstacles can quickly seem insurmountable. That’s where HELP comes in: assisting clients to start safety planning, connecting them to options, defining barriers and outlining the help available to get past those barriers.

Each day in their offices on the west side of Sturgeon Bay, Gonzales and her staff members counsel residents who have been the victims of domestic abuse about options and resources. Some are victims of physical or emotional abuse at the hands of a spouse or partner; others are seniors taken advantage of by caregivers; some have suffered financial abuse. All are in crisis of some form or another. All are our neighbors.

“When you have the picture of who we are as a community, Door County has so many amazing things about it,” Gonzales says. “So sometimes we forget that there are people unseen here and isolated.”

In 2021, she saw 369 different clients. She views her role in part as someone who can pull them out of that isolation, who can make them seen. And Gonzales takes care to include diverse images and language on the walls of her offices so that someone in the midst of crisis feels welcome and safe in at least one place.

She’s hoping to do more. For example, right inside the entry is a counter at adult height.

“I’d love to lower this,” she explains. “We often get mothers coming in here with their young children, and

I’d like them to be able to see over this [counter] and see a face here to help them.”

Gonzales’ job isn’t easy. The people who visit are struggling to navigate a bad relationship – a process that often leads them to separate from their abuser. That means Gonzales is sometimes blamed by the abuser, and in a small community, it’s impossible not to cross paths with those people.

It’s uncomfortable, heavy and sometimes scary. But it’s what she found she was meant to do.

“I’m lucky and blessed to be in a field that I am deeply passionate about and love doing,” Gonzales says. “Seeing that healing is possible and that this does turn into resiliency, that’s what I’m proud of.”

DIFFERENCE MAKERS