/care/

to feel concern or interest.

Caring for what we love isn’t just a feeling, it’s an action—a series of actions that benefit each of us individually and all of us collectively. And Care for Door County is the sum total of all of our cultural, quality-of-life and eco-focused initiatives and the actions we can take to protect and care for the place we love.

It’s a call for those who love and live to travel and for those who are proud to call Door County home. It’s for those who live for new and unexpected experiences that broaden their horizons and afford a deeper connection with their communities and environment.

It’s also for those who live to savor local flavors handcrafted with care and authenticity and for those who live for knowledge and whose curiosity drives them to uncover hidden gems and historical treasures. It’s for those who live to connect on a different level, not just as an adventurer, but as a fellow steward of the land, the culture and the community for now and in years to come.

It’s for those who live for a pristine shoreline, a perfectly groomed trail, a rolling orchard or a breathtaking sunset, and for those who live without being constrained by a single idea of when, where or how to explore, but an openness to take the road less traveled while preserving that road for others.

It’s a call for those ready to feel and to act—please, take the pledge to preserve, protect and care for Door County, always.

Door County League baseball games draw as many as 500 people to ball fields to watch town teams compete, catch up with their neighbors and enjoy a cheap beer and brat. But that tradition isn’t new. Baseball’s roots run deep in Door County, as these early images demonstrate. Get a taste of the modern scene at ballparks every Sunday afternoon through August.

Joe Lowshick of Sister Bay slides into home plate as the catcher waits for the throw at an unidentified ball field. The image shows just how much of the county was clearcut by the early days of the 20th century.

The mismatched uniforms of an early Sister Bay baseball team.

A batter waits for the pitch in a game against Sister Bay.

Story and photos by Myles Dannhausen Jr.

meet Kit Butz, manager of sales at Al Johnson’s, down at the warehouse behind the restaurant. Rolf Johnson has slipped out of the kitchen for a moment – cook’s shirt and apron still on – to tinker with something in the garage. A little before 9 am, his brother Lars rolls in, followed shortly by Lars’ wife, Jill.

Jill is here to take me on a goat run. She hops in the back of the old, white pickup truck, and Kit takes the wheel as we head to the farm where Jill and Lars live, about a mile outside town.

Jill has broken up four boxes of crackers and scattered them on the bed of the truck to lure and satisfy the four goats that will go up on the roof today. The first – Floppy – will come easily, and Snowflake follows in short order. Snickerdoodle takes a little more effort, but she’s pretty amenable. That leaves Harry, and she (yes, she is named Harry) makes Jill chase her around the pasture, giving the other goats their morning entertainment.

IToday is sunny, but not too hot: perfect for a day of grazing on the roof’s lush grass. If temperatures climb much beyond 75 degrees, the goats stay home or come down. (There isn’t much shade on a rooftop, after all.)