EDITOR’S NOTE
Friends Season The first time I heard the term “Friends Season” was
Photo: Myles Dannhausen Jr.
during the early days of winter in 2017. Kendall Johnson was prepping my wife for her first winter in Door County, and I thought at first that Kendall was simply putting my wife through the peninsula spin cycle to make sure she stuck around. Certainly, we do have to play certain mind games with ourselves to convince our brains that we’re not crazy for living near the tip of a remote thumb of a northern state that prides itself on the quality of its skillful snow-removal techniques. But it’s not all sugarcoating. For those of us who count people in the tourism industry as a hefty percentage of our circle – as my wife and I do –
the slow, desolate days of winter fill a void in our relationships. Yes, we see Kendall (the wine encyclopedia and perfectionist behind the bar at The Waterfront) and our other industry friends during the peak season, but most of those visits are brief exchanges over a bar top, through a kitchen pass or elbowing in on their shift drink. Then winter comes, and though the hours of light are short and many of our favorite places have long since closed, I’ve come to understand why so many people used to tell a younger, dumbstruck version of me, “I love the winter up here.” It’s the season we get largely to ourselves. When the waterfront comes tax free (page 18) and the crowds are gone. When we see the lake in a whole new way (page
62) and have time to discover the other creatures around us (page 22) or dive into our projects (page 50). Or we simply slow down and make time to be with the friends we’ve been too busy for, or who’ve been too busy for us. As Jess Farley writes on page 72, there’s no better place for this than in a cozy kitchen, full of faces that feel like home. Here’s to those kitchens. To having time. To winter. To Friends Season.
Myles Dannhausen Jr. Editor
Winter 2021/2022
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