Wisconsin People & Ideas – Summer 2021

Mussel Murder Mystery Eric Leis works to unravel unexplained deaths

Flying Hamburgers • William Weege • Vulnerable Bodies

e t a r b e l e C

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LEARN! At the Wisconsin Academy of Sciences,

Arts & Letters, we believe that Wisconsin ideas move the world forward. We’re a place to celebrate Wisconsin ideas, connect with experts, and learn from each other.

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WISCONSIN ACADEMY STAFF Jane Elder • Executive Director Jody Clowes • Director, James Watrous Gallery John Greenler • Director, Wisconsin Strategy Initiatives Jessica James • Program Coordinator, Wisconsin Strategy Initiatives Matt Rezin • Building Manager & Outreach Coordinator Amanda E. Shilling • Director of Development Jason A. Smith • Associate Director and Editor, Wisconsin People & Ideas Nikita Werner • Administrative & Strategic Projects Coordinator Ann Wilson • Business Manager OFFICERS OF THE BOARD Tom Luljak • President Tina Abert • President-elect Patricia Brady • Immediate Past President Richard Donkle • Treasurer Roberta Filicky-Peneski • Secretary Steven A. Ackerman • Vice President of Sciences Malcolm Brett • Vice President of Arts L. Jane Hamblen • Vice President of Letters Andrew Richards • Foundation President STATEWIDE BOARD OF DIRECTORS Kimberly M. Blaeser, Burlington Frank D. Byrne, Monona Jane Elder, Madison Joe Heim, La Crosse B.J. Hollars, Eau Claire Catherine Gunther Kodat, Appleton Robert D. Mathieu, Madison Michael Morgan, Milwaukee Dipesh Navsaria, Madison Kevin Reilly, Verona Rafael Salas, Ripon Thomas W. Still, Madison Chan Stroman, Madison OFFICERS OF THE ACADEMY FOUNDATION Foundation Founder: Ira Baldwin (1895–1999) Andrew Richards • Foundation President Freda Harris • Foundation Vice President Richard Donkle • Foundation Treasurer Arjun Sanga • Foundation Secretary FOUNDATION DIRECTORS Tina Abert Mark J. Bradley Patricia Brady Kristen E. Carreira Jane Elder Jack Kussmaul Tom Luljak

Editor’s Note From time-to-time I pick up the phone and call Bill Berry. Most readers will know Bill, who lives in Stevens Point, from his long-running role as a journalist and author. For over thirty years Bill has covered the issues and ideas that affect our rural communities, from CAFOs to high-capacity wells, DDT, climate change, and beyond.

I got to know Bill in the late 2000s, right around the time the Academy was putting its Future of Farming and Rural Life in Wisconsin project out to pasture. The project had taken Bill across the state to listen to the hopes and fears of rural residents at a time when the consolidation of the dairy industry, overdevelopment of farmland, and severe shortages in labor, healthcare, and education were putting the squeeze on their communities. Working with project staff— co-chairs Stan Gruszynski and Tom Lyon, and project director Wilda Nilsestuen—Bill captured and distilled these rural hopes and fears, as well as a series of recommended remedies, and wrangled them into a comprehensive 2007 report. After the Future of Farming report was issued and the wine and cheese served at the culminating event, the Academy shifted its priorities away from rural areas in the hope that the work we did was enough to advance key policies and practices.

Of course, even though the Academy’s work on the project was “done,” these rural communities were still there—still asking not for help but for a voice in the decisions that affect their future. Enter Bill Berry. Or, rather, re-enter Bill, who came into my office in 2010 to talk about a four-part, print/audio hybrid project he was kicking around. Titled Voices of Rural Wisconsin, the project was a way for the Academy to check back in with some of the families invested in the Future of Farming project to see how they were faring. I agreed, and Bill, no stranger to the back roads of Wisconsin, threw his notebook and tape recorder in his car and again got to work.

Over the course of a year we rolled out five or six interviews per issue and posted the audio recordings online at Portal Wisconsin in the hopes of reaching urban, creative types who might want to better understand their rural neighbors (some of whom are hip and creative, too). Since then, new challenges have arisen, such as the extreme weather events and drought brought on by our rapidly warming planet. Other challenges, such as the lack of rural broadband, have been exposed by the COVID-19 pandemic. Still, we’ve learned a lot since 2007 about how to support our rural communities: teacher incentives, comprehensive healthcare, fair immigration policies, access to broadband. However, whether it is political retribution or some other reason, it seems that many of us in the urban areas of the state can’t muster the will to speak up for our rural neighbors.

On a related note, I would like to acknowledge the passing of Tom Lyon, a rural leader who was deeply involved in the Academy’s Future of Farming and Rural Life in Wisconsin project. Tom was a mentor to many in the state, and he will be missed.

Patrick Stutz Photography

WISCONSIN ACADEMY

OF SCIENCES, ARTS & LETTERS

Jason A. Smith, Editor On the cover: La Crosse Fish Health Center biologist Eric Leis in Lake Onalaska.

Photo by Michael Lieurance/UW–La Crosse.

SUMMER 2021

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CONTENTS 34

01 Editor’s Note 04 From the Director

rtesy of the artist .

05 Letters 06 Happenings Wisconsin Table

Cou

10 The Flying Hamburger Social Candice Wagener

Essay Yevgeniya Kaganovich, double mouth pieces 16, 17, 2010. Cast rubber, 4 by 6½ by 4 inches each.

16 William Weege: Unfinished Work Angela Woodward

Report

26 Mussel Murder Mystery Kyle Farris

@ Watrous Gallery

34 Vulnerable Bodies

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William Weege, Burning Down the House #32 “Ballin’ the Jack,” 2014. Relief, hand painting, collage, and handmade paper on canvas. Monoprint; 46 x 90 inches.

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Courtesy of the artist and Tandem Press.

Jody Clowes

VOLUME 67 · NUMBER 3 SUMMER • 2021

Wisconsin People & Ideas (ISSN 15589633) is the quarterly magazine of the nonprofit Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters. Wisconsin Academy members receive an annual subscription to this magazine.

Jason A. Smith

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Since 1954, the Wisconsin Academy has published a magazine for people who are curious about our world and proud of Wisconsin ideas. Wisconsin People & Ideas features thoughtful stories about our people and culture, original creative writing and artwork, and informative articles about Wisconsin innovation. The magazine also hosts annual fiction and poetry contests that provide opportunity and encouragement for Wisconsin writers.

Copyright © 2021 by the Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters.

All rights reserved. Reproduction in whole or in part without written permission is prohibited. Postage is paid in Madison, Wisconsin.

Fiction

42 “Without Provisions” • 3rd-Place Contest Winner Barbara Kriegsmann

WISCONSIN PEOPLE & IDEAS

Poetry

50 Poems • 2020 Contest Honorable Mentions

JASON A. SMITH editor

Rachel Durfee, Jackie Langetieg, Jill Madden Melchoir, Melaney Poli, and Guy Thorvaldsen

JEAN LANG copy editor CHARLOTTE FRASCONA cold reader

Book Reviews

55 The Blondes of Wisconsin, by Anthony Bukoski

JODY CLOWES arts editor

Reviewed by Christopher Chambers

HUSTON DESIGN design & layout

56 Send for Me, by Lauren Fox Reviewed by Gary Jones

facebook.com/WisconsinAcademy twitter.com/WASAL instagram.com/WatrousGallery

Ideas that move the world forward Join the Wisconsin Academy and help us create a brighter future inspired by Wisconsin people and ideas.

Visit wisconsinacademy.org/brighter to learn how.

Wisconsin Academy Offices 1922 University Avenue • Madison, WI 53726 ph 608-733-6633 • wisconsinacademy.org

SUMMER 2021

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From the Director

I’ve spent much of my career working for positive change, from advancing environmental policy to championing the value of the arts in our lives. At some point along the way, I was introduced to the now classic (at least in the field of systems theory) 1997 work

by Donnella Meadows, “Leverage Points: Places to Intervene in a System.” In the essay, Meadows outlines twelve important “leverage points” within most complex systems that can be influenced to drive change. I found Meadows’ analysis a powerful tool for understanding why change is so hard—and also why finding the right lever to pull at the right time can result in big change.

At the Academy, we’re a small organization seeking to make positive social change at a time when our state, nation, and world are reckoning with complex systems and their limitations, whether we’re talking about economic and social systems that perpetuate racism or those that pose barriers to rapid responses to climate change.

I recently watched a webinar that explored the concept of approaching complex problems as a “systems entrepreneur.” One of the webinar speakers, Tulaine Montgomery of NewProfit (a venture philanthropy organization), was urging philanthropists to invest in these systems entrepreneurs—leaders, experts, and actors—who know how to pull the levers that lead to transformative systems change.

Montgomery then went on to describe three ways of supporting these systems entrepreneurs. The first was to create collaborative spaces where change agents can come together to build relationships that increase their capacity, spaces from which new ideas and partnerships can emerge. Montgomery’s description sounded a lot like what the Academy has been doing for decades through our Wisconsin Strategy Initiatives. We find leading thinkers and actors across relevant fields and bring them together to wrestle with

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Wisconsin’s biggest challenges, from ensuring a healthy future for our farms and rural residents, to safeguarding our freshwater, to responding to climate change.

Montgomery’s second suggestion was to support the innovators who bring fresh solutions to the forefront. Innovative ideas have certainly been a product of our Wisconsin Strategy Initiatives, but we also showcase a wide range of emerging ideas in the sciences, technology, and the arts in Wisconsin People & Ideas, as well as through our public talks and other forums. Many of these emerging ideas have been shared beyond the borders of our state through the 150 videos and over 600 articles we’ve posted online.

The third area of support she suggested was for the agitators— the people who push us to see things in a new light or imagine other possibilities. The provocative and challenging writing we’ve presented in our magazine does this, as does the work of the many artists we’ve shown at our James Watrous Gallery. From the poems and projects of Wisconsin Poet Laureate Dasha Kelly Hamilton— who describes herself as a “creative change agent”—to the powerful works of the women artists in our Vulnerable Bodies exhibition (on view through July 24 at Garver Feed Mill in Madison), the Academy is stirring things up through showcasing cutting-edge creative arts.

The Academy is committed to continue to use our systems entrepreneur capacities to shape a better Wisconsin—and a better world.

At the same time, we’re working hard to ensure the Academy values the diversity of Wisconsin’s people and their many powerful ideas.

Jane Elder, Executive Director

Letters

News for Members YEAR-END THANKS This past year has not been easy. Yet, thanks to you, we reached our year-end fundraising goal, we launched our new Academy Courses program, and we were able to stay connected to you and others around the state (and beyond) and who believe Wisconsin ideas move the world forward.

Thank you!

FALL ACADEMY COURSES Academy Courses provide opportunities for lifelong learning and personal enrichment in subjects across creative writing and the visual arts.

Registration for fall semester courses is now open.

Academy members receive a 10% discount on all course registration fees. More information at wisconsinacademy.org/courses.

JAMES WATROUS GALLERY REOPENING We’re pleased to announce the September 10, 2021, re-opening of our James Watrous Gallery in Overture Center for the Arts in Madison. Join us for a retrospective exhibition of works by renowned printmaker Jack Damer. See back cover for exhibition details or visit wisconsinacademy. org/gallery.

FULL CIRCLE LEGACY PROGRAM Have you considered adding the Wisconsin Academy to your will or estate plans? Leaving a legacy to the Wisconsin Academy is easy for you to do and beneficial for future generations. Legacy gifts provide the financial cornerstone for building a better world inspired by Wisconsin ideas. Learn how you can help at wisconsinacademy.org/ legacy.

LETTERS TO THE EDITOR We want to hear from our members. Please send feedback and comments about Academy programs and publications to editor@ wisconsinacademy.org.

Thank you wholeheartedly for the enormous amounts of generous work you put into the Wisconsin People & Ideas fiction and poetry issue each year. I’m so grateful for your thoughtful kindness. What a delight to be in print—especially in such a luxe vessel.

Jacquelyn Thomas, Dodgeville 1st-place winner of the 2020 fiction contest

Regarding the Wisconsin People & Ideas 150th anniversary issue: ✔ a grounding in science—the stuff of our physical existence ✔ a rt that looks and comments ✔ thorough, interesting, and varied fiction and poetry ✔ d esign that is complex but not overdone Marvelous!

William Schuele, Muskego

For many decades, I have received your excellent magazine, Wisconsin People & Ideas. While a student at Washington High School in Milwaukee, I had the privilege of presenting papers at the Wisconsin Junior Academy of Sciences meeting at Marquette University. In fact, I won third place for a paper delivered at the annual Wisconsin Academy conference on May 5, 1956, and was awarded honorary membership.

This magazine (then Wisconsin Academy Review) published an abstract of my experiment—A Continuous Cloud Chamber—and the award was mentioned in the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel.

The reason for this letter is, first, to express my very deep appreciation for the magazine. But I’d also like inquire as to whether or not the Academy has continued to sponsor encouraging forums for students to participate, such as the Junior Academy. If not, I strongly suggest such an activity might be resumed. Finally, I’d like to note that of late Wisconsin People & Ideas has focused on graphic art, poetry, and essays, with an almost complete absence of science. Please note that our organization is the Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts & Letters—and that “sciences” appear first in the name.

Rev. Ray W. Stubbe, Wauwatosa

The Editor Responds My thanks to you, Reverend Stubbe, for your continued interest in, and support of, the Wisconsin Academy and Wisconsin People & Ideas. From time to time we receive inquiries such as yours regarding the Junior Academy. While we recently launched a new noncredit program for adult learners called Academy Courses, we currently have no plans to revivify the Junior Academy or other formal learning opportunities for K–12 students. As for ensuring equal coverage for sciences in the magazine, we do attempt a balance. For instance, this issue’s article on freshwater mussel research reflects our work to develop more and deeper relationships with science writers across the state to ensure we are covering the ideas that matter in both science and technology.

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HAPPENINGS

Jimmy Gutierrez

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PO D CAST

PO ETRY ANTH O LO GY

A new podcast by Wisconsin Humanities and Love Wisconsin called Human Powered shines light on Wisconsin people who are working to create positive change in their communities.

Hosted by Jimmy Gutierrez, a Milwaukee-based journalist and storyteller, the podcast digs deep into stories of humanity and resiliency and the ways in which people come together to reimagine their communities in the face of change. We hear—through their own words—about the places they call home, what motivates them, how they bring people together, and their struggles and triumphs along the way.

In the first episode, Gutierrez introduces us to Arijit Sen, a professor of architecture who runs a “field school” to encourage students to work to improve Milwaukee communities. The work of Sen and his students empowered the city’s Sherman Park residents, a few of whom we meet in the episode, to improve their neighborhood—through green spaces and parks—but also asked them to care for each other, both student and resident.

In subsequent episodes, which are posted each month, listeners learn about a storytelling collaboration called “Stories from the Flood” that helps residents of the Driftless Area cope with flood-related loss and grief, and the ways in which Rachel Monaco-Wilcox uses art and storytelling to help victims of human trafficking cope with trauma.

“This is what happens when people use the humanities to make profound changes in their communities,” says Dena Wortzel, executive director of Wisconsin Humanities. “There are so many mind-blowing people doing extraordinary work in our state, that a podcast seemed like a wonderful way to share their stories in their own voices—and we need to hear Wisconsin stories in our own state.”

Human Powered podcasts are available anywhere you can download podcasts and at the Wisconsin Humanities website.

For those of us who have been taking shelter among words during the Covid-19 pandemic, a new collection of Wisconsin poetry created just for the occasion has arrived. Published by the Wisconsin Fellowship of Poets and Middleton-based Bent Paddle Press, Sheltering with Poems: Community & Connection During COVID offers up 89 poems on life under shelter-athome orders by 74 poets from throughout the state. The poems, written mostly during the early months of the pandemic, reflect our efforts as humans to come to grips with social distancing, isolation, and the constant threat of illness and death.

“In those days / we floated on the sea of life / in separate boats,” writes Eileen Mattmann of West Bend in her poem “In Those Days.” The poem concludes with our shared desire to hold another’s “warm, strong hands” even though doing so might mean we “inadvertently /pull them in and under.”

But it’s not just a bleak and fraught world depicted in these poems, there is also humor, love, and resilience. There is an ode to soap and a meditation on quarantine hair, as well as a couple of reflections on the scarcity of toilet paper. A handful of poems also provide glimpses of the cultural and racial disparities that have been laid bare by the virus. In “This Month,” Milwaukee poet Ae Hee Lee wonders aloud how toilet paper could be in such short supply in a firstworld country like America. To which her husband gently replies: “This is a third-world country / with a few who are very, very rich.”

“Part of the purpose [of the anthology] was to capture those early days,” says co-editor Kathleen Serley. “We wanted to contribute to the historical record and thought there should be some different kinds of voices documenting this time.”

Editors Bruce Dethlefsen, Kathleen Serley, and Angela Voras-Hills, along with managing editor Christina Kubasta and artist Wendy Vardaman—all WFOP members—came up with the idea for the anthology as a way of keeping members connected after the cancellation of their 2020 conference.

All proceeds from sale of the book, which reflects the poetic diversity and creativity our state has to offer, support WFOP.

WISCONSIN PEOPLE & IDEAS

2021 ACADEMY COURSES

n r a e L Academy Courses are designed to bring people together for lifelong learning and personal enrichment. Our expert instructors cultivate an intimate atmosphere for learning and discussion for creative people at all levels of experience. Join us for one or more of our Fall 2021 courses.

THE ART OF THE LETTER Instructor: Jacki Whisenant Mondays, Sept 20–Nov 8 6:00 pm–8:30 pm WRITING VISUAL POETRY Instructor: Amanda Ngoho Reavey Tuesdays, Sept 21–Nov 19 6:00 pm–8:00 pm WRITING TRUE STORIES Instructor: Marja Mills Wednesdays, Sept 22–Nov 10 6:00 pm–8:00 pm

Join us!

WRITING YOUR NOVEL IN EIGHT WEEKS Instructor: Kelly Dwyer Wednesdays, Sept 22–Nov 10 6:00 pm–8:00 pm SCIENTIFIC ILLUSTRATION: AUTUMN SKETCHBOOK Instructor: Jacki Whisenant Saturdays, Sept 25–Nov 13 9:00 am–11:30 am

WRITING FROM & ABOUT PLACE Instructor: Catherine Young Thursday, Sept 30–Nov 4 6:00 pm–8:00 pm PAPERMAKING: CREATIVE EXPERIMENTATION AT HOME Instructor: Maria Amalia Wood Sundays, Oct 3–Nov 21 9:00 am–11:30 am

ANCIENT ART OF EBRU: TURKISH PAPER-MARBLING Instructor: Vesile Yilmaz Sundays, Sept 26–Nov 14 12:30 pm–3:00 pm

Learn more and register at wisconsinacademy.org/courses

happenings

Joua (Joe) Bee Xiong

O R AL H ISTO RI ES On Memorial Day 2021, Recollection Wisconsin announced the release of a new collection: Listening to War: Wisconsin’s Wartime Oral Histories. Available online, the searchable audio and video collection brings together almost 500 firsthand accounts of everyday life during wartime from men and women who served on the battlefront and at home, as well as those displaced by war.

The recordings, which date from the 1970s to the 2010s, are the result of hundreds of hours of work by curators, archivists, historians, and community volunteers to capture the wartime experiences of the people of Wisconsin. Most of these oral history interviews were recorded on analog formats—including reel-to-reel tape and videocassette—and are made available digitally through this collection for the first time. Although the quality and completeness of the interviews vary, each one represents a unique voice and an important story.

Some highlights include the story of Eleanor Pyle of Superior, who delivered planes to airfields across the country as a pilot with the Women Airforce Service Pilots during World War II. Joua (Joe) Bee Xiong, who came to Wisconsin from Laos in 1979, talks about how he helped U.S. forces during the Vietnam War and later became an Eau Claire City Council member. Bud McBain of Seymour recalls his time as a war correspondent in Europe during World War II, including encounters with Winston Churchill and Dwight D. Eisenhower. Jill Fortin of Superior describes her extensive military service, first as a combat medic in Serbia and the Middle East and later as a captain in the U.S. Army.

“Our goal was to bring to light some hidden histories, especially stories that were collected or created by smaller organizations in the state, and give them a bigger platform and more visibility,” says Emily Pfotenhauer, program manager for Recollection Wisconsin. The Listening to War project is coordinated by Recollection Wisconsin, in partnership with the Wisconsin Historical Society and the Wisconsin Veterans Museum, and supported by grants from the National Endowment for the Humanities. Recollection Wisconsin brings together digital collections from Wisconsin libraries, archives, museums, and historical societies and shares them with the world in partnership with the Digital Public Library of America.

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Kimberly Blaeser (2020 Fellow) has been awarded the 2021 Lifetime Achievement Award from the Native Writers’ Circle of the Americas. A highly recognized poet, scholar, and photographer, Blaeser served as the Wisconsin Poet Laureate for 2015–2016 and is the author of five poetry collections, including the award-winning Copper Yearning (2019). Native Writers’ Circle of the Americas, which recognized Blaeser’s literary contributions as well as her efforts to mentor Indigenous poets, provides the Lifetime Achievement Award and other awards to outstanding Indigenous creatives and allies during its annual Returning the Gift Conference.

David Mickelson (2018 Fellow), Professor Emeritus of Geoscience, Geological Engineering, and Water Resources Management at the University of Wisconsin–Madison, was named Environmental Educator of the Year by the Superior Lobe Chapter of the Ice Age Trail Alliance (IATA). The award recognizes Mickelson’s writings, presentations, and creative efforts—such as the IATA ColdCache treasure hunt and Road Scholar programs on the Great Wisconsin Glacier—that cultivate awareness of and appreciation for the Ice Age National Scenic Trail.

Four University of Wisconsin–Madison faculty recently have been named Hilldale Professors for their distinguished contributions to research, teaching, and service, including Michael Fiore (2004 Fellow) and Robert Mathieu (2016 Fellow). Fiore, the Hilldale Professor of Medicine, has spent his career fighting to end the use of tobacco, the leading cause of preventable death in the United States. As the founding director of the UW Center for Tobacco Research and Intervention, Fiore has combined scientific research with public policy interventions to change how the medical system cares for tobacco users. Mathieu, the Albert E. Whitford and Vilas Distinguished Achievement Professor of Astronomy, has helped refine and expand our understanding of how stars evolve. During his more than three decades on campus, he has been a leader in science education, founding the Center for the Integration of Research, Teaching, and Learning to train 500 future faculty.

John Fisher

Jeff Thompson/ Eau Claire Leader Telegram

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SUMMER 2021

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Wisconsin Table

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THE FLYING HAMBURGER SOCIAL

BY CAN D I CE WAG EN ER

I

t’s a steamy summer evening at KC37, which is what pilots call the small airport just south

of Brodhead, Wisconsin. Surrounded by miles of farmland and sheltered from the sun under a striped awning, a group of pilots and small-plane enthusiasts talk about the latest trends in general aviation while kids play tag between rows of picnic tables. The familiar scent of grilled meat hangs in the still air.

It’s a scene that repeats itself all summer long as the Wisconsin Flying Hamburger Social makes its rounds to community airports across the state.

Food and family fun abounds at the Kelch Aviation Museum at Brodhead Airport, which hosted its first Wisconsin Flying Hamburger Social in June 2021.

Jason A. Smith

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Jeff Gaier

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Two of the founders of the Wisconsin Flying Hamburger Social, Jeff Gaier of Marshfield and John Chmiel of Wausau.

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The Brodhead Airport, which has been hosting socials for the last four years, is just one of around 128 public-access airports in Wisconsin. Generally operated by individuals or municipalities, these community airports (as they are known) cater to privately owned, single-engine airplanes and don’t provide regularly scheduled passenger service. People who are used to flying on big, commercial airlines might not even know about the 5,100 small, public-use airports like KC37 that dot the American landscape.

Tonight’s social is an opportunity for the people who appreciate community airports and light aircraft to share a burger and some camaraderie, to ogle each other’s planes and talk shop, and to catch up on how life is going. It’s also a good excuse to get in some flying time for these pilots and their families.

The social began as the Putt Putt Patrol, a regular hamburger night hosted by Rick Coe, Merrill McMahan, and a few other pilots at the Wausau Downtown Airport. In 2012, Bob Mohr and John Chmiel asked a few other airports in the immediate area if they would be interested in hosting their own “Hamburger Night.” Jeff Gaier, who runs the Marshfield Municipal Airport, was one of the first people to volunteer to host. Soon Gaier became an enthusiastic recruiter, signing up other small airports such as those in Wisconsin Rapids, Stevens Point, Medford, Merrill, and Antigo. The Wisconsin Flying Hamburger Social was born.

After just one season, Gaier and Chmiel found that the demand for the weeknight cookouts was so great that they had to organize the state into branches in order to ensure an equitable distribution of events. On any given Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday during the summer months you can find a Wisconsin Flying Hamburger Social somewhere in the state. Each host airport adds its own flair to the social, providing and cooking a main dish like chicken or brats, with local pilots and their families and friends bringing a dish to pass like potato salad or a fruit plate.

“Not every airport does grilling,” notes Gaier, pointing out how “Juneau has Taco Tuesday and Mauston usually has a seafood deep fry.”

According to Gaier, around 200 people and upwards of 40 aircraft show up at a typical social—that is, with good weather. Less ideal weather usually means that just the locals come out, bringing the crowd down to about 35 people. While the majority of participants are pilots and their families, friends and people associated with the airport often show up, too, along with a few curious onlookers.

“The whole idea of aviation is to travel somewhere,” says Gaier.

“We are feeding that. We’re encouraging people to … go out, get their airplane out of the hangar, and go somewhere.”

And, of course, it’s a chance for pilots to showcase their airplanes.

Social attendees will see a wide variety of aircraft on display, even restored aircraft from the 1940s and earlier, many of which don’t have electrical systems (which is why all socials end before dark).

“We’ll see normal aircraft, ultralight aircraft, sometimes there’s brand-spanking-new aircraft. Every now and then you might see what’s considered an antique,” says Gaier. “The oldest ones I’ve seen are some 1940s Piper Cubs.”

For aviation students or those interested in learning to fly, each social is also a great opportunity to see a wide variety of airplanes, get familiar with airport services, and meet experienced pilots.

Wisconsin Table

For Gaier, whose parents were pilots, the socials remind him of the fly-in events he enjoyed as a kid. “I was born into aviation, literally,” he quips, adding that he was flying in utero and took his first “official” plane ride at two weeks old. “When I was younger, my parents took me all over. The Flying Hamburger Social kind of stems back to something similar called Wisconsin Flying Farmers.”

Launched in 1947, the Wisconsin Flying Farmers was a chapter in a larger Flying Farmers organization that originated at Oklahoma A&M University. In its heyday, the international organization was a social hub that offered member services and perks, and even lobbied on national issues affecting farmers and rural pilots. However, over the decades, membership in the Flying Farmers has fallen off, and the numbers in state chapters like Wisconsin’s are dwindling.

Gaier says his dad, Harold “Duffy” Gaier, encouraged him to get the Flying Hamburger Social up and running. Duffy Gaier, who was inducted into the Wisconsin Aviation Hall of Fame in 2004, flew as a pilot for the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources and the U.S. Farm Service, and he was responsible for major improvements—such as better lighting and runway extensions—at the Neillsville and Marshfield airports. A designated pilot examiner responsible for granting new pilots their licenses, Duffy has conducted over 3,500 FAA flight checks. His grandson, Jeff ’s son, was the last pilot he did a flight check with before retiring in 2017.

Duffy’s influence clearly rubbed off on his son. Nowadays, you can find Jeff Gaier at the Marshfield Municipal Airport, Monday through Saturday, where he operates Duffy’s Aircraft Sales, a business named after his father. When he’s not working or hosting his own social, Gaier flies his prized, green 1947 Piper Cub—called Sweet Pea—around the state to other socials. This summer, he’s especially looking forward to getting back into the groove, since (like most everything else) last year’s social season was cancelled due to Covid-19.

Both Gaier and Chmiel are glad the social is back this year. The Wausau Municipal Airport, which Chmiel and his wife Angela have operated for 30 years, hosted one of the first 2021 socials in early June. Nearly 300 people and 25 planes showed up. Chmiel believes the “pent-up frustration” from the closed socials last year will lead to record numbers this year. “You can just see it on the faces of the people that attend,” he says. “They’re just so happy to be there.”

Chmiel likens the events to a car club meetup, where everyone drives down Main Street, showing off their rides. While most people

Jim Koepnick/Kelch Aviation Museum

For Gaier and Chmiel, hosting socials has become a rite of summer; they could almost do it in their sleep.

They’re always encouraging other airport owners to take the plunge and host an event.

ALFRED & LOIS KELCH AVIATION MUSEUM

Located at Brodhead Airport, the Alfred & Lois Kelch Aviation Museum contains a unique collection of nearly two dozen aircraft and an extensive array of engines from the 1920s and 1930s. While some are one-of-a-kind or sole surviving examples, all of the aircraft are fully restored and most are flyable. The museum is also home to 10,000 aviation books, photo collections, and dozens of airplane models and works of art—all from the Golden Age of Aviation.

The museum takes its name from the couple who donated the airplanes and memorabilia that form the foundation of its collection: Alfred and Lois Kelch. Alfred was the founder of Kelch Manufacturing, a company responsible for injection-molded plastic innovations such as the orange traffic cone. He was an avid sports pilot, the founder of the Vintage Division of the EAA (Experimental Aircraft Association), and a major restorer and collector of antique aircraft. Over the course of his life, Alfred restored more than a dozen airplanes, most of which he flew from his home and airstrip in rural Mequon, where he and wife Lois hosted many years of antique airplane fly-ins. After Alfred’s death in 2004, the Kelchs’ entire aviation collection was placed into a trust, along with funds to establish a permanent home for the vintage aircraft at the Brodhead Airport.

After nearly two decades and a $1.4 million capital campaign, museum supporters will realize the Kelchs’ vision for a space that celebrates the Golden Age of Aviation and cultivates an appreciation of its powerful impact on science, engineering, and design, as well as humanity’s understanding of its own limitless potential. On July 23, 2021, the new Kelch Aviation Museum will open in a 23,000-square-foot facility on the grounds of the Brodhead Airport. The new facility will house the museum’s main collections as well as new interpretive displays and other interactive activities for visitors.

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All photos by Jason A. Smith

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fly common airplanes like Cessna 172s or Cirrus SR22s, “sometimes you get lucky enough to see a warbird,” comments Chmiel. “It’s nice to see the unique ones, but I just like to see that the airplanes come out to do it.”

Much like Gaier, Chmiel has been involved in general aviation since childhood. His dad was an airplane mechanic who took his son to work with him in the summertime, and Chmiel’s own kids grew up at the airport. Both still work there.

Chmiel’s favorite airplane to fly is the Stearman, a Boeing-built biplane that was used to train pilots in World War II. It requires special training to fly, which Chmiel is licensed to provide. “There’s nothing like open-cockpit biplane flying,” he says with a smile.

Waxing nostalgic about how the aviation world looked when he was growing up, Chmiel comments that, during the 1960s and 1970s, small airports like his were social centers. Pilots would hang out at the airport, inviting others to fly along with them for fun, and people would come by just to watch the airplanes take off and land.

“Today’s pilots are a lot more mission-oriented,” says Chmiel.

“They don’t embrace the idea of just going up and flying and having fun. ... People go to a Flying Hamburger Social and they figure out more ways to use their airplane than just the socials.”

According to Chmiel, the socials are also a great opportunity for host airports to showcase their unique services, whether it’s flight training, aircraft rental, fuel-ups, hangar space, or plane maintenance.

Gaier also enjoys checking out new spots, one of the highlights of having the socials all around the state. “As a pilot, it’s definitely an excuse to get out of my comfort zone and fly to an airport that I haven’t been to before,” says Gaier. “And it’s certainly a good way to see other people I know in aviation.”

For Gaier and Chmiel, hosting socials has become a rite of summer; they could almost do it in their sleep. They’re always encouraging other airport owners to take the plunge and host an event—owners like Elliot Eiden, who, at just 25 years old, is one of the youngest in the state. Eiden began managing Camp Lake Airport, which is located just north of the Illinois-Wisconsin border near Trevor, in August 2020. The small airport is home to one of the few remaining grass runways in the area.

Eiden is an aircraft mechanic who specializes in the Gulfstream G550, a business jet with a 94-foot wingspan and a top speed of 585 mph. Even though Eiden recently earned his pilot’s license in 2017, he has always been an aviation enthusiast. He says his interest in planes was most likely sparked when he watched his dad build a 1983 Ultralight in their apartment in Libertyville, Illinois. Once the aircraft was complete, Eiden’s dad brought the plane north to a good friend’s airport for its first flight. That airport was Camp Lake.

While nostalgia might have brought Eiden back to Camp Lake, his desire “to make it a vibrant location for events and camaraderie” keeps him working on repairs and cleanup. He recently launched a GoFundMe campaign in the hope of raising $15,000 to fix the runway and clear brush that threatens to overtake the hangars. It’s a lot of work, he says, noting that he has already put in 700 hours, on his own.

Yet there is something special here that Eiden believes is worth keeping. He only recently heard of the Wisconsin Flying Hamburger Social, and immediately jumped at the opportunity to host. He’s enthusiastic about his first social in mid-July and hopes that, with the help of Gaier and Chmiel, many pilots and their families will visit his airport. “It’s easier to get the word out [about us] than doing it on my own,” says Eiden. “I’m hoping that a decent amount of people show up. Anyone’s welcome.”

Eiden’s enthusiastic and optimistic attitude reflects what Gaier, Chmiel, and all of the others involved in the Wisconsin Flying Hamburger Social are hoping to convey: Anyone’s welcome. They are certainly on to something, as their socials have already spread to Minnesota and Michigan.

Picking up on the popularity of the socials, in 2017 the Wisconsin Department of Transportation, Bureau of Aeronautics, and the Wisconsin Airport Management Association collaborated to create the Fly Wisconsin Airport Passport Program to encourage more hobby flying in (and to) the state. Pilots and their passengers earn a stamp at each airport they fly into, which add up to rewards such as a Fly Wisconsin t-shirt or a leather jacket.

Overall, the forecast for general aviation looks promising: It’s in the midst of a mini-boom right now, with small aircraft flights as well as fuel sales up 10% to 15%. More people are opting to travel privately, if they can afford to, and advances in battery-powered and hybrid engines could make light aircraft travel much more economical and commonplace in the coming years.

How often do any of us pause to consider the thousands of factors—from the design of a propeller to the skill of a pilot—that come together to propel a vehicle (and all its inhabitants) into the air, so high above it all, only to land in an entirely different place?

The Wisconsin Flying Hamburger Social provides a unique opportunity to learn about flying, and to explore the airplanes that conjure feelings of awe and wonder. For the pilots who come to show off their airplanes and talk shop, these socials are a chance “to rediscover why they learned to fly in the first place,” says Chmiel.

Candice Wagener is a freelance writer who loves talking about everything and anyone involved with food. Wagener lives in Middleton with her husband and two boys, whose energy and humor make every day an adventure.

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Essay

William Weege: Unfinished Work

BY AN G ELA WO O DWARD

S

tacks of artwork, both finished and unfinished, overflow William Weege’s printmaking studio in

rural Arena. Piles of coarse paper clutter the tables on either side of an imposing printing press, while prints from the many decades of Weege’s career rest in drawers or hang on racks. Some are framed and hung, others lean against the walls. The artist worked in an accretive process, and many pieces have been printed, painted on, and further built up with wooden or cardboard shapes attached to their surfaces. The prints seem to wait for more to be done to them, or maybe for something to be taken away. Perhaps even if the artist were still here to finish them, these prints wouldn’t be perfected but simply halted at a stage where the eye hangs on them best. There’s a sense of mutability about Weege’s art, as if the form we see might still be on its way to something else.

Wisconsin printmaker William Weege’s legacy lies with the artists he worked with and the land he restored, as well as in his own groundbreaking creations.

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Essay

Richard Graves

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Weege was a world-class artist, but he didn’t feel the need to live in New York or Los Angeles. The art world happily came to him.

Weege, who died in 2020, was a groundbreaking printmaker. His early work, made during the tumult of the Vietnam War, expressed overt political themes through strong layers of graphic imagery.

Weege’s work after the 1970s, however, moved through several phases of abstraction. Created with bold exuberance, this later work is so far from what you might think of as traditional printmaking that it’s hard to know what it is or how to take it in.

At Weege’s studio I’m drawn to a white shadow box leaning against the wall, where silver thumbtacks lightly hold together an assemblage of small paper constructions. The collage/sculpture looks casually made, as if it’s ready to be rearranged or even torn apart. “That’s one of Sam’s,” Weege’s widow, Sue Steinmann, tells me, referring to the artist’s longtime collaborator, the painter Sam Gilliam. But when we look closer, we see that in fact both artists have signed the piece.

It seems unusual to see two names on a work of art, but it’s a marker of how deeply entwined Weege was with the artists he worked with. He collaborated with Gilliam, one of America’s premiere living abstract painters, for over fifty years. Weege had a similarly close working relationship with abstract painter Alan Shields. Gilliam, Shields, and many other artists flocked to Weege’s Jones Road Print Shop and Stable in rural Barneveld during the 1970s. In the mid-1980s, Weege moved to a hilly, secluded property in Arena, another small town outside of Madison, and a few years later he founded Tandem Press at the University of Wisconsin– Madison. Tandem took up Weege’s vision of printmaking as a closely collaborative art form, and today the press brings artists from all over the world to Wisconsin to explore and expand the art of printmaking.

Weege was a world-class artist, but he didn’t feel the need to live in New York or Los Angeles. The art world happily came to him. Weege’s deep, lifelong engagement with the Wisconsin landscape also kept him here. He not only worked outdoors, inviting the elements to transform his art, but he spent over thirty years restoring the native prairie and oak barrens at his and Steinmann’s Arena property, Rattlesnake Ridge. This is no coincidental setting, but a particular landscape that infused his abstractions and, in turn, benefited from the same vision and technique Weege brought to his art.

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illiam Frederick Weege was born in Milwaukee in 1935 and grew up in Port Washington, where his father was a mechanical engineer. Weege, too, studied engineering, first at the University of Wisconsin–Milwaukee and then at UW–Madison, where he later switched to city planning. While he mastered advanced photo printing through a job at a commercial printing firm, Weege became increasingly drawn towards drawing and painting. When he returned to UW–Madison to study printmaking and joined the MFA program, Weege was already in some ways more capable than those who would teach him.

In the complex mechanics of printmaking, images on the plates are reversed and each color application requires a different plate.

Printmakers consider how each layer affects the others, and the combination of pressure, ink, and plate creates many variables to be mastered or exploited. During his MFA studies at UW– Madison, Weege continually pushed at the technical limits of

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William Weege, Nixon Makes it Crystal Clean, 1969. Serigraph-lithograph on paper, nine panels; 20¼ by 20¼ inches (each).

Courtesy of the artist and Corbett vs. Dempsey, Chicago.

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Sue Steinmann

Essay

Scott Sauer

The area around William Weege and Sue Steinmann’s home near Arena supports a variety of unique ecosystems. Wild lupine emerges through Pennsylvania sedge on the oak barrens (above). Sand puccoon on recently burned prairie (left).

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printmaking, striving to create something completely new out of the notion of layer.

During the late 1960s, massive demonstrations against the Vietnam War shook the UW–Madison campus. Weege drew on his political passion and artistic skill to create posters for these protests. His posters became so popular that people often stole them as soon as he put them up.

Weege drew on themes explored in these posters for his MFA thesis, a series of 25 provocative prints titled Peace Is Patriotic.

These deeply political works embedded photos of nude women, body parts, guns, and skulls into brightly colored geometric patterns.

The Peace Is Patriotic series was hailed as an instant sensation.

On a class trip to New York with his major professor, Warrington Colescott, Weege sold the entire Peace Is Patriotic portfolio—all 25 prints—to the Brooklyn Museum, the New York Public Library, and the Museum of Modern Art. The acquisition of his portfolio by these institutions was major recognition for an artist just at the start of his career.

In 1970 Weege was selected to represent the United States at the Venice Biennale, a renowned international art exhibition, where he headed an experimental printing workshop. When he returned from Italy after a year of working with artists from all over the world, Weege could have gone almost anywhere. Yet he chose to stay in Wisconsin. He became an art professor at UW–Madison and lived for the rest of his life in rural Iowa County, first in Barneveld and later in Arena.

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eege and Steinmann, his second wife, bought their land in Arena in October 1984. They wanted enough space for Weege’s printing studio and for Steinmann, a horticulturist, to set up her nursery business, Sand City Gardens. Because they’d seen the property only in the dormant season, they had no idea what surprises it held. When spring came, one field was “purple with birdsfoot violet,” recalls Steinmann. Native grasses and flowers prospered, as much of the hilly area had not been entirely altered by agriculture.

At this point, she and Weege didn’t yet own the stretch of remnant prairie higher up on the hilltop, but the owners allowed Steinmann to pick flowers there for the bouquets she sold at the Dane County Farmers Market. At the market, her bouquets caught the attention of Rich Henderson, a research botanist at the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources and leader in prairie conservation and restoration through his work with The Prairie Enthusiasts. He stared in consternation at a flower in one of her arrangements and asked Steinmann where she’d gotten it. She told him this plant, rattlesnake master, grew in Arena. “No,” she remembers him saying.

“It doesn’t grow there.” Steinmann invited Henderson to come and see for himself.

After meeting Henderson, Weege and Steinmann became deeply involved in prairie restoration work around Iowa County. Through The Prairie Enthusiasts and other conservation groups, the couple learned about the needs of various prairie ecosystems and how acreage that had been plowed and farmed, or that had become overgrown with trees and shrubs, could be brought back to an open state. With regular seasonal burns and removal of woody plants, the endangered native grasses, flowers, insects, and birds could return.

Weege and Steinmann discovered that Rattlesnake Ridge was home to many rare plant species, as well as snakes, foxes, deer, and even bobcats. They felt an obligation to foster the native plants and wildlife that flourished in the region, and the only way to do this was to learn to manage and protect the land. When land adjacent to their original parcel became available for sale, Weege and Steinmann bought it to keep it from being developed for housing or cattle grazing. They then gave around 50 acres in trust to The Prairie Enthusiasts. The ridgetop prairie where the rattlesnake master grows is today a public-access nature preserve of almost 100 acres.

Weege and Steinmann found that they had more than remnant prairie on their property. Opening out of Weege’s studio and Steinmann’s greenhouse is one of the rarest ecosystems on earth: an oak barrens. Formed on a layer of windblown sand that’s in some places 80-feet deep, the barrens’ dune-like soil retains very little moisture and holds scant organic matter. It’s almost pure silica. Nevertheless, some two-hundred species of native plants are able to thrive in these demanding conditions.

While there are oak and pine barrens in Michigan and Indiana, Wisconsin is home to several barrens in the unglaciated soils of the Driftless and along the lower Wisconsin River. Still, the one that Weege’s studio looks out on is exceptional, dominated by one massive, clonal Pennsylvania sedge. This weeping grasslike plant flows like waves across the beachy soil in a long, low repeating pattern. In most environments, Pennsylvania sedge peeks out at ground level, with showier flowering plants rising above it. But in the barrens on the Weege property, Pennsylvania sedge is the star attraction, its undulations drawing you on as you follow the path up to the ridgetop.

Like prairies, barrens are dependent on fire and must be burned regularly. And, like prairies, barrens in Wisconsin have been severely reduced by plowing and grazing since the 19th century.

Steinmann remembers some prairie restoration consultants coming to their property and viewing the barrens with dismay. She and Weege were advised to try to reseed it with prairie plants. Ecological thinking seems to have shifted, though, and today the barrens are recognized as distinct from prairie, and worthy of preservation in its own right.

“Bill and I always loved the barrens,” Steinmann says. “It’s a more subtle beauty.”

W

eege’s art changed considerably over the 1970s, when he discontinued working in the graphic style that made Peace Is Patriotic so provocative. While these prints gained him much acclaim, Weege endured sharp criticism as well for his use of nude photos of women. Once, a viewer took a razor to one of his prints on display at the Whitney Museum in New York, presumably because of its title: Fuck the CIA. “I got tired of it,” Weege recalled in Progressive Printmakers: Wisconsin Artists and the Print Renaissance, a chronicle of the early days of printmaking at UW–Madison by Warrington Colescott and Arthur O. Hove. The negative attention wore on Weege. He began making his own paper and moved into abstract work that was still provocative, but in a less identifiable way.

Whether the work was abstract or figurative, Weege pushed at printmaking’s cutting edge. John Corbett, an art scholar who

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William Weege, Burning Down the House #34 “Do the Do,” 2014. Relief, archival inkjet, hand painting, collage, handmade paper. Monoprint, 13 by 19½ inches. Courtesy of the artist and Tandem Press.

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runs the Chicago gallery Corbett vs. Dempsey, describes the Peace Is Patriotic series as “impossible, impossible prints” due to their technical bravura. Robert Cozzolino, a curator at the Minneapolis Museum of Art, explains how in his abstract work Weege “used all of the technical tools available to conventional printmakers” and then broke boundaries by deliberately “doing what printmakers are not supposed to do.” The dense two-dimensional layers of Weege’s early work evolved into collage, assemblages, and riffs on paper itself.

Weege made massive pieces, almost too big to hang, in the 1980s.

He also made small woodcuts in the 1990s with explicit environmental themes. Though the prints of this era took a sharp turn from the sprawling pieces he’d done earlier, the same spirit of play infused all his work. “A lot of it, I don’t know what’s going to happen,” Weege told the Milwaukee Journal in 1994. “I create situations where you can have a happy accident.”

An outstanding example of Weege’s abstract work is easily accessible in the Hamel Music Center, the new music school auditorium on the UW–Madison campus. Malcolm Holzman, the New Yorkbased architect of the Hamel, had known Weege since the Jones Road days in the 1970s. After running into Weege at an exhibition of his work at the Pace Gallery in New York in 2016, Holzman hit on

Essay

H

e was always outside,” Steinmann says, showing me the deck outside the studio where Weege and Sam Gilliam worked every summer. “The elements were always really important,” she explains. Weege would set his homemade paper outside to dry and “sometimes it got rained on, or the dogs would run through it. He always said, ‘It doesn’t matter, it’ll dry.’ ” The elements were vital to Weege’s work. Art scholar John Corbett sees a planar quality in both his Peace Is Patriotic series and Weege’s later abstractions: his prints tend to lack a central focal point and are spread across the visual field. Architect Holzman, too, sees an aspect of landscape in Weege’s work. His prints are “full of pattern and texture and flowing forms,” he says. Though you won’t see representations of plants in the abstract prints, the spreading multiplicity of elements, with repetition and variation, competing shapes and colors rhythmically contained, are reminiscent of the vitality of the rural lands where Weege chose to live for the majority of his life.

Weege brought his sense of joyful experiment into his land preservation as well as his art. Jeb Barzen was director of field ecology at the International Crane Foundation in Baraboo for almost 30 years and worked closely with Weege and Steinmann on conservation in the Arena area. Barzen saw in Weege’s approach a willingness to live with uncertainty. To restore the land, you have to commit to “a process where you don’t know what the endpoint is,” says Barzen. It requires the balancing of thousands of interconnected species, as well as other complicating factors. “Bill rarely talked about his art with me,” Barzen says, recalling their conservation work. “Yet I realized I was experiencing it.”

It’s also clear how much Weege loved the land he lived on. He traveled all over the world, for his art and in the pursuit of his other passion, fly fishing. Weege had been as far as Siberia and Patagonia, and he took frequent trips to the Caribbean. Nevertheless, Steinmann says, “he preferred walking on our own property to anything else.” He took joy in what they’d accomplished, and hiked or skied the land in all seasons. Steinmann likes to visit different natural areas, and she would sometimes drive to try out a new trail. Weege

A B O U T TA N D E M P R E S S

Tandem Press

the idea of transforming a Weege print into wallpaper that would cover the interior walls of the recital hall. It took several years, and a lot of back and forth between Weege and the architectural team to finalize the pattern, which was taken from one section of a 1987 print called Like a Rolling Stone. The result is a rich red ground pulsing with layered colors and black geometric shapes.

Holzman joked with Weege that the wallpaper would be “his biggest installation,” as if that might be a let-down for an artist of his stature. In fact the Hamel wallpaper is stunning, and a wonderful public legacy for Weege. Some of the same qualities that made Weege’s Peace Is Patriotic prints so evocative are here as well: the strong colors, the depth and complexity of the layers, and the rhythmic repetition of forms. It’s also possible to see this as a version of the dramatic landscape of the barrens: the repeated waves of the Pennsylvania sedge against the light-colored soil, the criss-cross of other shapes and blooms as plants come in and out of season. This is what Weege looked out on over his decades of creation in Arena.

Tandem Press Collaborative Printmaker Patrick Smyczek and Visiting Artist Jeffrey Gibson working in the Tandem Press studio, January 2020.

Tandem Press was born in 1987 out of William Weege’s desire for a place to bring visiting artists together with UW– Madison students and interns to make fine art prints in a spirit of collaborative investigation. He had been facilitating similar collaborations with great success at his Jones Road Print Shop in Barneveld and eventually persuaded the university to underwrite a similar venture through the School of Education. Tandem Press quickly began drawing practicing artists of national and international reputation to do short-term residencies at its facilities near the UW–Madison campus by providing a collegial atmosphere and the largest, most advanced presses available.

Between its founding and 2021, close to 100 artists—Robert Stackhouse and Julian Schnabel, among them—have come to Tandem to make prints, and some 350 UW–Madison students have greatly benefitted from working with these artists.

Weege stepped away from administering Tandem in the early 1990s, but the press has continued his vision of printmaking as experimentation done in good company.

Tandem has grown into one of the leading fine art presses in the United States under the leadership of Paula Panczenko, who became director in 1994.

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William Weege, A Bird Sings #65 “Sugar Foot Stomp,” 2009. Relief, archival inkjet, acrylic paint, wood veneer, collage, and sewn thread on handmade paper. Monoprint, 14½ by 15½ inches. Courtesy of the artist and Tandem Press.

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Scott Sauer

Essay

The view from Rattlesnake Ridge.

didn’t understand it. “Why don’t you walk here?” he’d ask her.

“There are plenty of places to walk.”

Weege, along with his collaborators at Jones Road and Tandem Press, pushed American printmaking into new realms. A writer for ARTnews once described Weege’s Jones Road as “a workshop in which anything is possible, at least until it has been attempted.”

Steinmann says he approached everything in this spirit, whether it was printmaking or a prescribed burn. He went into any project with vast enthusiasm and continuous delight in solving problems.

She remembers a recurring pattern when Sam Gilliam came to work with Weege in the summer: “They took everything too far.” The two of them would go past where they intended, “then they’d figure out how to bring it back, and they’d laugh about it. That was how he did everything.”

Weege’s daughter Jenny says of the artists who came to Jones Road when she was young, “People wanted to work with my dad because he was such a great technician. He could always come up with different ways to do things. Sometimes the artists wouldn’t know how to do what they wanted, and he could help them.” Jeb Barzen explains that Weege’s contributions to conservation followed suit. “It’s important for people to do this work, even if you don’t know how.” Inspiration and collaboration, uncertainty and imperfection: for Weege the process was more important than the result.

Weege was diagnosed with brain cancer in August 2019. Though he saw his wallpaper installed in the recital hall, when the Hamel Music Center had its grand opening in fall 2019, Weege was too ill to attend. In September 2020, when it became clear Weege’s cancer would take him, hospice care set up a bed for him in the living space of his studio. Though there’s a house on the property, the living room of the studio was Weege’s favorite spot to relax, Steinmann

told me. She and I sat there talking, two months after he died. Birds never stopped their flapping and chattering outside the window.

Inside, several six-foot snakeskins, shed by local bull snakes, hung in the light.

With Weege confined to bed and in decline, Steinmann had continued to manage the land. She still had a lot to do. Since she retired from her nursery business in 2016, Steinmann felt like she was finally getting going on Rattlesnake Ridge. While Weege lay in bed, weakening from his disease, she organized a volunteer work party to prepare the prairie for winter rest. “The day he died, we were burning,” she told me. “The last thing he would have smelled was smoke.”

Madison-based writer Angela Woodward is the author of two short fiction collections and the novels End of the Fire Cult and Natural Wonders.

Natural Wonders won the Fiction Collective Two Doctorow Innovative Fiction Prize. You can find her essays, book reviews, and short fiction in many journals, including the Kenyon Review, American Chordata, Bomb, and the LA Review of Books.

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Report

MUSSEL MURDER MYSTERY

BY KYLE FARRIS

O

n a cool, sunny morning, Eric Leis trudges through the glassy water of Lake Onalaska

and stops about fifteen feet from shore. He dips a large, flat rake into the water and sweeps it along the bottom. A parasitologist and fish biologist at the La Crosse Fish Health Center, Leis studies mussel populations in the Driftless Area of Wisconsin and around the world, paying special attention to ecological threats.

Based at the La Crosse Fish Health Center, which is part of the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, biologist Eric Leis investigates unexplained mussel deaths around the world.

Michael Lieurance/UW–La Crosse

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“My job is like a real-life game of Clue,” says Leis, pulling a few mussels from the mud and lake weeds on his rake. “But instead of Colonel Mustard with a lead pipe, you have bacteria and changing environmental conditions. This is something everyone should care about. If mussels are dying in large numbers—and they are—we need to know why.”

Freshwater mussels come in a variety of shapes and sizes and are characterized by a brown-black ovate shell that hinges on one side and closes tightly when touched. If you pick up a mussel and its shell remains open, it is likely dead or dying, Leis explains.

There are about 40 mussel species in Wisconsin and about 300 in North America, many with colorful names: pocketbooks, pigtoes, wartybacks.

The average person may not feel an affection for something called a wartyback, but perhaps they should. Mussels are keystone species, critically important to aquatic ecosystems. Mussels act as Nature’s Brita filter.

If you place a dozen or so mussels in a ten-gallon tank of muddy water, the tank will be clear in less than an hour. A single adult mussel filters up to fifteen gallons of water each day through an inhalant aperture that draws water and fine particles into its gill chambers. Algae, small zooplankton, and bacteria and viruses are digested while filtered water and undigestible particles are released through an exhalent aperture back into the environment as harmless sediment. By anchoring themselves to lake and river bottoms, mussels also fortify sediment against erosion and scouring caused by floods.

According to Leis, wherever there’s a thriving mussel population, there are going to be healthy fish, a stable ecosystem, and clean water. “There aren’t many absolutes in aquatic ecosystems, but that’s one of them,” he says. “Mussels are like the canaries in the coal mine. They tell you if something is wrong.”

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entral to Leis’ current research is a mass mussel die-off in Tennessee’s Clinch River. No one knows why, but a specific species of large mussel, the pheasantshell, is dying at an alarming rate. From 2016 to 2019, the pheasantshell population on a 200-meter stretch of the Clinch River dropped from 94,000 to 14,000. In the rest of the river, it’s likely that hundreds of thou-

ussels are like the canaries in M the coal mine. They tell you if something is wrong.

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sands, maybe even millions, of pheasantshells have died. Leis is part of the team trying to pinpoint the cause of these deaths in hopes of restoring the pheasantshell population and ensuring that other species of mussels avoid a similar fate.

Because the fist-sized pheasantshells are the only mussel species dying in large numbers in the Clinch River, biologists believe they can rule out pollutants and other common, indiscriminate killers as the primary threat (though they may be complicating factors). A virus, they say, is much more likely to target just one species.

The challenge, of course, is proving it.

To do this, Leis and his team are attempting to culture a densovirus, a genus of virus known to affect mussels. Since viruses tend to infect only specific cells, and since mussel cell lines have yet to be cultured and established for research purposes, they’re attempting to grow the virus in fish, snail, and mosquito cells.

“It’s kind of a guessing game to figure it out,” Leis explains. “You just pick species you think will work and see what happens.”

If they succeed in growing the virus in the lab, the team will inoculate healthy mussels with the virus and watch for a reaction—most likely gaping of the shell and non-responsiveness. Mussels inoculated with water will serve as the control group. If the mussels exposed to the virus show signs of disease, and if the team can confirm the presence of the virus in infected tissues, then they’ll have found their pheasantshell killer.

Meanwhile, Leis and his team are keeping an eye on Yokenella regensburgei, bacteria that have been linked to other mass mussel deaths. Yokenella regensburgei appears in the Clinch River in the fall, the same time pheasantshell populations typically fall off. After that, the bacteria disappear, as if they hopped in a getaway car and took off.

“Very little is known about [the bacterium], so it’s hard to say,” Leis says. “We know it’s connected in some way. We just don’t know how or why it’s associated with mussel mortality events yet.”

According to Leis, the La Crosse Fish Health Center and its partners on the investigation—UW–Madison, the U.S. Geological Survey Upper Midwest Environmental Sciences Center in La Crosse, and the U.S. Geological Survey National Wildlife Health Center in Madison—are the only labs in the world doing mussel health research with this level of analysis. The team gets questions from all over the world, most recently Spain and Nova Scotia. Last September, their research on mussels was featured in the New York Times and WNYC Studio’s Science Friday, which is broadcast by over 400 public radio stations.

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he search for clues to the mussel die offs isn’t easy work. It’s riddled with complications, dead ends, and questions that only years of research can answer. But, for Leis, it stimulates the same curiosity and fascination with the natural world—especially the microscopic world—that first inspired him to become a scientist.

Growing up on a dairy farm in the Driftless Area near Cashton, Leis marveled less at the family’s cows and more at the parasites that took up residence in the cowhides. He combed the countryside for anything that crawled, slithered, or scurried. He would ask his parents to record science programs such as Nature on their VCR so he could watch them later. Leis says he even read textbooks just for fun.

Michael Lieurance/UW–La Crosse

Report

Eric Leis removes several species of mussel from Lake Onalaska so he can collect bacteriological samples. Note the much smaller, invasive zebra mussels attached to the shell of the native mussels.

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Eric Leis/USFWS

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Discovered and named by Eric Leis, Ligictaluridus michaelalicea is a flatworm parasite that lives on catfish gills.

Leis’ parents—Mike and Alice—say they were happy to enable their son’s obsession. One Christmas, they got him a gift that turned his spark for the sciences into a full-blown fire: a Tasco 1200X microscope kit. For Leis, putting his eye to the lens was like gazing into a new world. Leis examined anything he could get his hands on: from the intricate latticework of a snowflake to the spindly legs and gossamer wings of a house fly.

“It completely opened my eyes,” he says. “It showed me how cool things are at a microscopic level. There’s so much complexity in the world that we just can’t see.” It wasn’t until Leis attended UW–La Crosse that he realized he could turn his childhood hobbies into a lifelong career.

Through an aquatic animal health class taught by the late professor Dan Sutherland, Leis learned of a part-time job at the La Crosse Fish Health Center. He began working there as a student, a job that turned full time after graduation. Leis has been there ever since.

“Growing up, if I could have created my dream job, this would have been it,” he says.

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A few years ago, working in the lab, Leis made a discovery that provided a unique opportunity to give back to his parents. He found a previously undiscovered parasite on the gills of a Mississippi River catfish and named it in their honor: Ligictaluridus michaelalicea, for Mike and Alice.

“All the little things they did for me—recording shows, helping me with science fair projects—made a huge difference in my life,” Leis says. “Most people don’t have the chance to name a new species after their parents. It was really neat to be able to do that.”

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or Leis and his team, the most troubling aspect of the pheasantshell investigation is the lack of answers and simple solutions.

Limiting stressors, such as pollutants and invasive species, is easier said than done. Once these things are in the environment, mitigating their effects is like fighting an uphill battle—but underwater. Even if a virus is killing pheasantshell mussels, it might just be the final blow, the last in a series of punches from various environmental factors.

“There are so many different possibilities—from the potential for pollutants, to habitat degradation and sedimentation, to invasive species,” Leis says. “Any of these could stress mussels, potentially making them more sensitive to the virus.”

It’s not clear if or when the pheasantshell population will reach a breaking point, but time is of the essence. While the pheasantshell die-offs have been contained, for now, to the Clinch River, there are mortality events involving other mussel species happening all over the country, with little to no explanation.

According to the Nature Conservancy in Arlington County, Virginia, 70% of mussel species in North America are extinct, endangered or otherwise imperiled—compared to 16.5% of mammals and 14.6% of birds. In the Midwest, more than half of the region’s 78 mussel species are endangered, threatened, or require special concern. This isn’t new; mussels have been under appreciated— even under attack—for centuries.

During the Industrial Revolution, factories dumped such large amounts of pollutants directly into waterways that it overwhelmed mussels, the very organisms best equipped to handle those pollutants. The development of dams was another blow. Dams restrict the movement of fish that host mussel larvae—a critical step in mussel reproduction and development.

Much like their saltwater cousin, the clam, some mussels create pearls through a natural defense mechanism. When a foreign object enters a mussel’s shell, it will sometimes coat the object in a pearly sac to reduce irritation. During the 19th and 20th centuries, mussels in the Mississippi River were overharvested for their pearls, used for jewelry, and iridescent shells that were made into buttons.

Mussel harvesting and manufacturing was once a roaring industry in La Crosse, where the Wisconsin Pearl Button Company was one of the city’s biggest employers.

More recently, invasive zebra mussels have put pressure on local mussel populations, attaching themselves to the shells of native mussels and hindering their movement, feeding, and respiration.

Even boaters and beachgoers have put a dent in the mussel population, quite literally.

For Leis and his team, the most troubling aspect of the pheasantshell investigation is the lack of answers and simple solutions.

“Occasionally, you’ll find a mussel that’s been stepped on or hit by a boat,” Leis explains. “But mussels are tough—amazingly tough.

They can survive that, and they’ll actually heal.”

Climate change also has the potential to affect mussel populations—not only through events like droughts and floods, but through a disruption of mussels’ reproduction process. Even in ideal conditions, gravid mussels have a small window during which they can find the right species of fish to serve as hosts for their larvae. Phenological changes affecting mussel development or the seasonal movement of fish could tighten this window even more, stifling reproduction.

Generally speaking, however, scientists have yet to draw a direct line between climate change and large-scale mussel death.

Ultimately, Leis and his team hope to clearly establish the cause, or causes, and gain a better understanding of the conditions associated with mussel mortality events. They’re also developing diagnostic assays to identify the potential pathogens, allowing for deeper investigations of future mortality events. Hopefully, with hard work and a little luck, a selection of healthy populations can be used in restoration efforts that help mussels—and the aquatic ecosystems they protect—survive and thrive into the future.

Kyle Farris is a writer, editor, and public information officer at the University of Wisconsin–La Crosse. Previously, he covered education and a variety of other topics for the La Crosse Tribune.

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CLAIMING SPACE A NEW CENTURY OF VISIONARY WOMEN A 60th anniversary exhibition showcasing 30 contemporary Wisconsin artists OPENING PARTY SATURDAY, JULY 24 ON VIEW JULY 24–OCTOBER 3 WEST BEND WISCONSINART.ORG

Demitra Copoulos, American Hair (Detail), 2013

Support for 60th Anniversary Year exhibitions is generously provided by James and Karen Hyde, Thomas J. Rolfs Family Foundation, Pick Heaters, Horicon Bank, Beth Ramsthal, Bob Ramsthal, and the RDK Foundation.

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Now Open!

Explore the World’s Largest Collection of Art Environments.

There’s No Other Place Like It.

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The Art Preserve of the John Michael Kohler Arts Center, Sheboygan, WI. Photo by Durston Saylor.

2 Emery Blagdon’s “The Healing Machine” at the Art Preserve, 2021. Photo: Rich Maciejewski.

3 Installation view of works by Eugene Von Bruenchenhein at the Art Preserve, 2021.

Photo: Rich Maciejewski.

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3636 Lower Falls Rd Sheboygan, WI 53081 +1 920 453 0346 artpreserve.org

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@ Watrous GALLERY

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@ Watrous GALLERY

VULNERABLE BODIES

BY J O DY CLOWES

O

ur bodies map the fissures of this cultural moment. Fear of a deadly virus is compounded by the tangible dangers of economic uncertainty, political division, and the emboldened expression of racism, xenophobia, transphobia, and other forms of othering. As the cracks in our system are laid bare, we feel them in our bones.

Although the James Watrous Gallery in Overture Center remains closed due to the Covid-19 pandemic, another space provided me with the opportunity to bring together six Wisconsin artists for a large pop-up exhibition titled Vulnerable Bodies. Held from April 15 to July 24, 2021, at Garver Canvas, a large gallery space in Madison’s historic Garver Feed Mill, Vulnerable Bodies features work that draws on metaphor and proxies from everyday life to address vulnerability and the body.

Erica Hess and Masako Onodera examine aging, disability, and mortality through surrogates such as antique dishes, balloons, and packing blankets.

J Myszka Lewis’s mixed-media Bricks and Access Covers toy with our assumptions about strength, weakness, and the value of labor. Works by Demitra Copoulos isolate the hair, organs, and bones of the human body, emphasizing their fragility while reminding the viewer of our shared humanity.

Yevgeniya Kaganovich’s sculptural “mouth pieces” evoke the psychology and risk of touch and shared breath. Valaria Tatera’s work challenges us to respond to the twin crises of Indigenous suicide and the murder of Indigenous women, girls, and two-spirit people (two-spirit is a term used to describe First Nations people who have both a male and female spirit within them).

We hope this exhibition inspires you to reflect on fragility, resilience, and all of the vulnerable bodies in our community and the wider world.

Jody Clowes

The James Watrous Gallery’s pop-up Vulnerable Bodies exhibition in the gallery space at Garver Feed Mill.

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@ Watrous GALLERY

Erica Hess, Fear of losing shape, 2018. Bronze, plywood, pine; size variable.

ERICA HESS Appleton

My sculptures are a physical attempt to understand the mutable, continually changing landscape of our emotions by taking seemingly ordinary and universal aspects of life—memory, daily activities— and transforming them into art objects. I use everyday materials and images to consider the passage of time, abandonment, preciousness, loss, and failure. By presenting objects packed into boxes, padded with foam, and wrapped in blankets, I am asking us to consider what is valuable enough to transport and protect, and why.

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@ Watrous GALLERY

Masako Onodera, Eruption Necklace, 2007. Plastic grapes, wool, brass; 57 by 7 by 4 inches.

MASAKO ONODERA Menominee

My work is a means to awaken the viewers and wearers of the objects, to make them conscious of their own bodies and the evanescence of time. In this way, the art object becomes a theater for the indelible physical and emotional memories of the everyday. Both sensual and peculiar, they suggest an experience of the body that is altered by the tactile and visual characteristics of the article itself.

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@ Watrous GALLERY

J Myszka Lewis, Access Cover 16, 2019. Dye sublimation print on velvet, mounted to carved wood panel, with flocking; 10 by 10 by 3/4 inches.

J MYSZKA LEWIS Madison

I build images of hard objects such as bricks and access (manhole) covers out of velvet, and craft text-based work in which words and phrases slip and sway. My working processes often mimic craft and construction techniques, probing the distinctions between what it means “to make” and “to build” as well as the traditionally gendered connotations of these distinct modes of production and their inherent fiscal, cultural, and social values. My subject matter, material choices, and tedious working processes combine to expose the tension between the industrial and the individual.

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@ Watrous GALLERY

Demitra Copoulos, Square Hair, 2013. Fired ceramic, orange and lavender oil; 15 by 16 by 15 inches.

DEMITRA COPOULOS Milwaukee

I have explored a wide range of ways to express the human figure. My series of sculpted hairstyles uses hair as a means of portraiture. While typically viewed as personal adornment, hair can also define one’s gender and social status and reflect a historic time. In these works, hair is removed from the context of the body, transforming into an object that distills the essence of a person’s appearance. For what we can’t see, our minds make up a story to fill in the blank.

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@ Watrous GALLERY

Yevgeniya Kaganovich, double mouth piece 23, 2010. Porcelain, 3¾ by 6 by 3¾ inches each.

YEVGENIYA KAGANOVICH Milwaukee

I make objects that through their use comment on aspects of our existence, our experiences, our interactions, our bodies. It’s important to me that these pieces are not read as sculpture to be observed, but that they invite the viewer’s participation, whether actual or imagined. It’s through this engagement that the meaning of the work is revealed. I strive to create objects that are ambiguous in their nature, their function hindered, their use frustrated, and their origin unclear. The objects in turn create fictions that precipitate out of our own reality and experiences, rendering them as uncertain and unreliable as life itself.

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@ Watrous GALLERY

Valaria Tatera, Processed: Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women, Girls, and 2S, 2020. Ceramic, thread, glass, steel; dimensions variable.

VALARIA TATERA Milwaukee

My Processed series addresses the ongoing crisis of missing and murdered Indigenous women, girls, and two-spirits. All too often the judicial system erases the identities of these people and instead memorializes the crime. But these people were mothers, grandmothers, aunts, sisters, and cousins. They held important roles in their communities. They made decisions, held spots on tribal councils, worked to revitalize our languages, carried our cultural knowledge and memory. Their disappearance goes hand in hand with the commodification and exploitation of Indigenous lands and resources.

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Fiction

2020

WITHOUT PROVISIONS

BY BARBARA KRI EGSMAN N

E

va would tell her father about the proposal herself.

For her mother had kielbasy to make for the Pope

and could think of nothing else, the request coming as it did from the Cardinal, and his courier coming to pick up the sausage by evening. And then, thought Eva as she sniffed the air, it’s here, false spring, that inevitable day in February when a scented breeze teased the lakeshore, scarves were unwound, overcoats unbuttoned. And waves of thaw spread west across the city.

Read more award-winning fiction from Wisconsin writers at wisconsinacademy.org/fiction.

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It seemed to her as she crossed Damen Avenue, swinging her canvas book bag, that no other place on earth could enjoy such brilliance, that the melt of harsh winter made the warmth penetrating, made jewels of every stick and stone: diamonds hung from the bare elms along the parkway, holly leaves sprung like shiny emeralds beneath the retreating snow.

Weekday wash was pinned to backyard lines; bright flags of relief, they decorated their boxy bungalows. The windows of the Kirschener’s three-flat were thrown open, so wide, passersby could hear the hissing rhythm of water through the pipes of their radiators.

Eva paused before the door to the butcher shop under the sign Teddy’s Provisions, feeling as she did that she was on the brink of losing something. She imagined the tinkling silver of the bell she would hear at its opening.

Hugo Houck, her father’s apprentice, hurried from the shop at that moment, exciting the bell. There it was, that clear and flutey sound. Hugo’s chapped hands were full of paint cans, but he managed to hold the door for her, using his work boot as a stop. Three horsehair brushes were tucked in his apron, their speckled handles lined up beneath the narrow linen ties, neatly like soldiers.

“Even the trash cans will get a coating for the Holy Father,” Hugo mumbled hastily. He was surprised to see her midweek, home during her first year at the Jesuit university ninety miles north of Chicago. She looked different since her last visit; it must be the long braid that had given way to a sleek bob that let her mahogany hair shine red in the sun. But she was still the slight girl who barely reached his breastbone.

Just weeks ago Eva had delivered boxes of Christmas kolaches, fat cookie pillows crowned with dollops of fruit, half with prune paste, half with apricot jam, dusted neatly with powdery sugar. Presents for him and the clerks. The paper pleated cups looked like little red and green skirts placed upside-down to hold their prizes. He allowed himself one as a reward on each of the twelve days of Christmas, until, on the feast of the Three Kings, the lonely last one tasted only of the tin.

He looked relieved when Eva smiled and the familiar grin peeked slowly through her grown-up face. The grin that dimpled her cheeks and turned up her mouth in a lopsided way that made her seem shy. Then her blue eyes danced. And he realized how good it was to see those dimples and dancing eyes, how nice it was to see her.

She was greeting him, but he hardly heard her for he felt uneasy, recognizing as he did his own pleasure at her visit. Hugo stared down at her shoes. And it was then he noticed her tasseled loafers, always buffed to a fine cordovan shine, were rimmed this day with gray waves from the salty slush. Somehow this made him more flustered, and losing his grip on the cans, they clanged clumsily against each other.

Eva was used to bashful Hugo. To spare him the effort of conversation, she quickly stepped into the gleam of stainless steel and glass that was her father’s shop. The thick sloping panes of the display cases reflected fluorescent light; for a moment the brightness obscured her focus, then she saw, off to the side of the shop, the distinctive carmine color of organ meats—kidneys, livers and hearts cradled in trays. Was there anything in the world so deeply red?

She remembered once being frightened by this sight, by its stinging smell, and huddling behind her father, clutching the hem of his starched jacket. Her father’s bottomless laugh, his bellow: “You don’t know what you’re missing, rabbit. But that’s all right, mm’m mm’m, there’ll be more for me and my neighbors.”

This day there was a wall of women, heads covered with babushkas, purses slung from the crooks of their arms and held tightly against their hips, clucking at the front counter. These matrons were like an order of nuns in their own strict habits that kept any but the most observant from distinguishing them, one from another. They seemed all to be of the same middle age, with broad foreheads framed by the small bands of colorless hair left uncov-

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ered by the riotous silk or chiffon scarves. For the first time, Eva was conscious of how different they looked compared to the women outside this small neighborhood. She felt a vague discomfort standing among these Polish women, the ones she had seen hurrying to the shops or to the church every day of her childhood. The ones who bought liver for their dumplings in this shop every week. The ones who wore house dresses just like her mother’s.

Then one of them stepped back from the pork section, and Eva could see thick pearly chops laid out like brickwork, each one framed with an inch of ivory fat. But she still couldn’t see her father.

She felt a familiar queasiness about the back room full of blades and mallets. Where large cleavers were mounted on the wall after Hugo’s meticulous cleaning and Teddy’s painstaking sharpening, where the saw whined and growled.

“A band saw has no friends, Evie,” her father often teased her, holding up his left forefinger with only one knuckle. As a little girl, she would look away before he waved his maimed hand. Then it became a gruesome CH LO E BENJAM I N game they practiced together. Eva would giggle, then hide her thumb in her palm and wiggle her four fingers at him with a devilish squeal.

“Without Provisions” is a clever and Though she came to joke with Teddy and the others in the shop about moving homage to Virginia Woolf. It’s his long-ago misfortune, she never lost the dread of her father being a story with its own cultural landscape, injured again. culminating in a well-observed, coming“Pop!” she couldn’t help herself. “Poppa!” she called again, her voice alarmingly shrill. The women who had been arranged in rows dispersed of-age epiphany. like chickadees at a clap of thunder.

His ruddy face appeared suddenly, popping up and among the customers who faced him, and Eva laughed at his expression, so full of delight. But she wished she could reach to her father’s height and straighten the white paper cap, for its pinched front and back peaks were perched ridiculously askew on his giant head. Probably no one else noticed, and if they did, well, it was just the butcher’s way.

“Teddy, look who’s here!” Mrs. Gerbing retrieved a white waxy package with one hand and change with the other from the smooth tray proffered toward her.

“College girl, to what do we owe the honor?” the butcher winked at Mrs. Kist and nodded in his daughter’s direction. “We’re lucky she still speaks to us, she knows so much.”

Eva averted her glance as the women chuckled and clucked, this time about her. In that moment she thought how right she had been to make this trip alone. It was enough to face her father, to announce that she would marry Will. How much harder it would have been if Will himself had been with her as he wanted to be. And then she felt a wave of shame at wanting to shield the man she loved from the life she’d lived.

“Dad, stop,” she said to the floor.

“Well then, what are you waiting for. Step back here, there’s an apron on the hook.” He looked at Eva with so much affection, so much approval, she felt as though he hugged her.

“I can use an extra pair of hands,” he said, proudly. “Your mother, hell, the whole city, is in a tizzy over the Polish Pope.”

There was nothing to do but pitch in. It wouldn’t occur to her to insist her father interrupt his service to the customers of Teddy’s Provisions, even if she’d wanted to. Her news would have to wait.

J U D G E’S N OTES

I

t felt good to work in the shop again, Eva thought. Just like the old days before her father decided the hours were wasted, the experience was holding her back.

“A girl doesn’t learn anything working with her hands,” he had declared on his daughter’s twelfth birthday.

Teddy’s wife, Mrs. Postregna, had watched him toss a stained towel on the slate floor. Her eyes clouded. She thought of all the houses she had scrubbed clean, all the strangers’ chil-

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dren she had tended those many nights while, for twenty years, the couple toiled by day in a trade she thought was noble.

“I won’t have my girl carting carcasses like a common tradesman for one more day. No daughter of mine will break her back like you’ve had to.” His voice was gruff and full of disdain. “Eva deserves more.”

Mrs. Postregna pulled her daughter’s coat from the rack that day, knowing better than to argue. She saw Evie look up at her with an expression so confused and worried, she hurried to fasten the frogs on the girl’s navy coat and to smooth the velvet collar, hoping to reassure their little girl. But she wondered and wanted to ask what was shameful in providing food for friends and neighbors, in helping them take care of their families?

That day was the end of Eva’s connection to her parents’ life at work. Mr. and Mrs. Postregna rarely spoke of the shop over their black coffee at breakfast or over their dumplings at dinner. And Eva had piano lessons on Mondays, skating on Tuesdays, and practice in between to fill the time she would have been at the shop after school; voice lessons on Saturday mornings; gymnastics at Sokol Hall during every other free moment.

Sometimes, swinging between the parallel bars, she wondered if rabbits were being delivered, nestled like sleeping babies on the pallets Hugo pushed into the back room, or if he was carrying bleating lambs over his shoulder to the cellar, their eyes glassy with fear. For though she liked winning ribbons for her gym skills, she had often missed what was going on in the shop without her.

Now, after so much time, she was back working with her father. Eva pulled the apron over her head, feeling the exhilaration of old habits.

She only wished that the Cardinal hadn’t called, that her mother was scurrying around with trays of her sausages here instead of in her home kitchen. But the honor of the request, for the Pope to lunch on her mother’s lauded recipes made from her father’s butchering, why it was a thrill for her parents. Besides, if her mother were not preoccupied, she wouldn’t have this chance to work at the shop in her place.

Teddy handed Eva two heavy veal shanks, each bigger than his arm, for wrapping. She leaned against the metal sink to brace herself as she reached toward the familiar places for the roll of paper, the spool of cotton string fixed on its dowel, the flat wax pencil tied above her head, hanging by two lengths of twine. As with so many times in her past, Hugo appeared just in time to cut the string, blushing and turning away as she tried to thank him. Nothing seemed to have changed.

There was a lull in orders; Teddy stole a glance at Eva helping a customer. This girl, his daughter, a woman. In love with that young man, Will Dixon. That Will, he looked so like his name: lanky, strapping, American. The butcher shook his head and was glad when the counter bell demanded his attention again.

The stream of business continued until the Angelus bells rang out from St. Simeon’s, signaling the end of the workday. Mr. Postregna appeared from behind the swinging door in his insulated lumberjack shirt, hatless and carrying his domed lunch pail. Eva was surprised to see new patches of silver at the edges of her father’s thick wavy hair, to notice that his jet-black hair had changed in such a short time. Why this was just the beginning, it struck her, of other changes in her parents, in herself, that they would not share together.

“Now we talk,” Teddy said, unable to resist the urge to cover his daughter’s head with his rough hand, to smooth her neatly parted hair. Their child, this godsend. He did not know how to let her go, to send her on her way. It had been enough to see her off to college. This was different, so much bigger.

“What’s on your noggin?” He steered her head toward the door and onto the avenue.

Feeling his touch that way, it sent her back to her childhood. As her father fixed the shop bolt, Eva pulled away, annoyed. She wanted to tell him the news, face-to-face, like equals.

She reminded herself she wasn’t here for some old-fashioned blessing. She was here to start her own life, prepared to fight her father for it, expecting his demands, his conditions, levied

Teddy stole a glance at Eva helping a customer. This girl, his daughter, a woman. In love with that young man, Will Dixon. That Will, he looked so like his name: lanky, strapping, American.

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for any change she ever wanted to make in her life. Her mother called these Teddy’s Provisions, just like the shop. If you want this, you must do that.

“Poppa,” she started, her voice breaking a little. “Dad,” she corrected herself, “Will Dixon is leaving for California.”

“The mad scientist is now a wandering minstrel?” Teddy’s dark eyes began to dance. “And I should care, why?”

“He’ll be going to graduate school.”

Teddy Postregna smacked his lips, “I could sure use a tall lager about now, Evie. I have a thirst you could photograph.”

“Dad, listen.” Eva tugged on the handle of her father’s pail. “Will’s leaving in two weeks.”

“Jesus, I hear you, so does the whole neighborhood.” Teddy patted his daughter’s mitten.

“So, he’ll be a big man, this Will Dixon?”

“Oh, Dad, that’s not what I’m talking about.” She wanted to stamp her foot. She felt frustrated; the combination of her father’s teasing and the fact that she could soon be a married woman scared her. So much was uncertain. She wanted to finish school, knew her father expected it. He would disapprove, of that much she could be certain. She would have to fight him for the very thing that frightened her.

“Two thousand miles away. That’s a long way, for sure,” he said, tucking his upper lip and shaking his head from side to side. “A long, long way. Why, it took me a week to get to Frisco before I was shipped out to the Pacific!”

Eva thought of Will in a life apart from her, then thought of joining him so far from every other thing she loved. Both ideas choked her.

“I don’t know what to do, Poppa.” Her own words stunned her, sounding like a plea instead of the intended proclamation of her destiny. She looked at the ground and let out a deep sigh.

“Well, what should we make for your mother’s dinner?” Teddy looked across Damen Avenue as though he didn’t hear his daughter.

“She’ll have had no time to cook, what with the cardinal and his sausage frenzy. That Pope’s good fortune is my misfortune. The lucky old Polack, to be on the receiving end of her recipe.”

He slapped his thigh, enjoying his own irreverence.

“Stuffed cabbage, what you think? We’ll make it in the basement kitchen, escape the biddies upstairs slaving with your mother.”

“You’re not getting this, Dad,” Eva blurted. “Will wants to marry me.”

“So I’ve been told.” Teddy looked east, inhaling the soft breezes.

“You know already?”

“Even if this Will isn’t one of ours, I can tell he’s been raised a good boy. He called last night.” Teddy raised his chin, strained for his old authority before measuring his words.

“Called to ask for a father’s permission.”

Teddy turned to his daughter. She stood in the twilight, studying him with the crystal blue eyes of her mother.

“You’ve known all day? And you said nothing?” Eva’s expression was fierce, defiant.

Teddy thought to reprimand her for disrespect. Then he saw her striped muffler, the one his wife had knitted, dragging in the snow, and she seemed so like their little Evie, he wanted to tuck her under his arm like the old days and race for their flat.

Instead, he laid his bare hand across his barrel chest.

“Enough of this cat-and-mouse, Eva. I have just one question.” He looked at his daughter solemnly.

“Is this what you want?” he asked gently. ”Marriage to this Will Dixon?”

Eva stared at her father, amazed at the question between them. Always before it had been what he wanted, what he proclaimed was best. She held her breath, thinking how to answer him about what it was she wanted.

So much was uncertain. Eva wanted to finish school, knew her father expected it. He would disapprove, of that much she could be certain. She would have to fight him for the very thing that frightened her.

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Well, she wanted Will, that much she knew. Married, in California, those were different matters.

“Yes, Poppa,” she finally whispered. She scarcely breathed, feeling the fear of flinging herself into unknown space, but feeling, too, a kind of exhilaration she had never experienced.

“So, you go to your young man. You have plans to make. Two weeks is almost no time. Your mama and I, we’ll take care of the Pope.”

“This means I’ll be living two thousand miles away, you know,” Eva said in a voice that sounded to her suddenly desperate. “And leaving school. I won’t be in any classes for at least a term.”

Suddenly she realized that she wanted her father to turn the clock back to the family’s simple routines with one of his infuriating orders. To set the table, to darn the socks, to conjugate the Latin verbs he never had a chance to learn as a boy. Where was his annoying admonishment to appreciate her education and its opportunities, all lost to him as the oldest brother who sent his siblings through school?

She wanted to give her heart to Will but not at the cost of her parents’ dreams for her. The dreams they’d scrimped for, the dreams, she realized, that had become her own. She knew then that she’d expected her father would discuss all this, find a way to make it all work, as he always did.

But her father said nothing, placed no argument, no obstacle in her way. Eva covered her face with her mittened hands. She wondered why she wasn’t relieved.

Seeing her so, Teddy felt he should somehow lighten her anguish, make her smile. He took her chin in his hand.

“You think there’s a right time to get married? A perfect time that guarantees? This marriage to Will Dixon is what you say you want, Evie. Don’t make of it a tragedy.”

“But, Poppa …” Eva struggled to speak.

Teddy held his hand up to stop her.

“Who is it you’re arguing with, young woman? It can’t be me,” he smiled as he teased her.

“Maybe it’s young Mr. Dixon you need to debate.”

Teddy bent and kissed the part on his daughter’s head, then felt her lean to embrace him.

What a comfort it was to hold her, to cradle her head again! Every morning, noon and night of Eva’s life in their home, his arms, his wife’s, had encircled this girl. Why, it must have been ten times ten thousand hugs!

These four months of her college life had been long ones for him and Eva’s mother. Now he had to make a gift of the miles, thousands more of them, that stretched out like an ocean to separate them further from their daughter. He had to let her find her own way with this Will Dixon, just as he had done with his own wife, her mother. At least, he comforted himself, Evie and this Will didn’t need to cross the ocean, to leave their own country. He tried not to think of the distance.

“Life’s surprised you, that’s all,” Teddy whispered into his daughter’s ear. “Not such a bad thing this time, I think.” He breathed in the familiar smell of her, the girlish jumble of soap and lotion spiced with sweat from the day’s efforts, and he thought, not for the first time, how fearsome it was to love a child.

“You just let your mother know the day, we’ll arrange for the Mass. At least we can thank God this guy is Catholic. And we’ll have a supper where the aunts and uncles, our neighbors can all wish you and this Will Dixon well.”

Teddy stepped back and pinched and patted his daughter’s cheek in the way he had of sealing conspiracies between them. The habit made him a bit easier with this hard moment.

His gesture, so familiar and so dear, brought a lump to Eva’s throat and she could think of nothing to say.

“We’ll get the parish hall, you’ll see. No one wants to piss the butcher off.” Teddy was struggling for more words to fill the void between them, spending more than his usual day’s worth. “Be sorry for me. There’ll be no break in the baking between the Pope’s visit and your wedding—while I’ll be eating soup from the back of the stove for weeks again.”

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Fiction

He reached down for his daughter’s wrists, raised her fingers to his lips and kissed them before returning them firmly to her sides. “I can see them now, the butter cakes, the raspberry tarts crowding me out of my house.” He sighed in resignation.

Then Teddy started down the street.

Eva wanted to chase after him, to follow him up the stone stoop to their steamy kitchen where Mrs. Bartunek was salting the cabbage, her mother wrapping the kielbasy. Where neighbor ladies bustled, rolling pierogies with fervor. All for the glory of God and a blessing from the Pope who was one of their own.

But she stood shivering on Damen Avenue, knowing her father had said all he would. And she watched his silhouette shrinking in the half light, tears streaming down her cheeks.

When it seemed her father could get no smaller, just as Eva was thinking that this choice for Will asked too much of her, of her father and mother, the butcher turned. He stretched his arms, hoisting his lunch pail aloft, making of himself a scarecrow and cheered: “Smell the spring, Evie!”

Seeing his clowning shadow, hearing his boisterous order, Eva began to laugh, an improbable grin spreading across her face.

“California won’t have a spring like this,” she called back to him.

The way he hurried away on Damen Avenue, it didn’t seem her father had heard her.

Suddenly, it was important that he know she had called after him. Leaning forward, she began to run to him.

Propelled, she didn’t mind that her book bag was banging against her hip, didn’t care that her scarf was unraveling, didn’t notice that people along the street stared at her.

But after a few yards, she began to imagine her father’s look when she would reach him.

The bemused look that would say, We talked this all out, didn’t we?

Eva slowed her pace. Behind that look would be his worry that she wasn’t certain, after all, of the life she was choosing. Behind that look would be the helplessness of knowing that even if she asked him, he wouldn’t know a certain course for her, one free of regret.

She stopped then and squinted to make out her father’s figure. She could barely see him; it didn’t matter now. Eva reached into her pocket for a handkerchief, and with her free hand she blew a kiss into the night.

Barbara Kriegsmann is a former pharmaceutical executive. In the early 1990s, she was instrumental in the establishment of the Society for the Advancement of Women’s Health Research, which continues to be a crucial influence in studying and developing drugs to benefit women.

Kriegsmann and her husband have two sons who now have their own families and continue to make her proud. Home is now Washington Island, which provides great neighbors, treasured friends, and a beautiful refuge for writing.

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All Creatures Great and Small

Downton Abbey

Finding Your Roots

Nature

Now you can stream more of your favorite PBS shows including Masterpiece, Finding Your Roots, NOVA, Nature, Ken Burns, and many more — online and in the PBS Video app with PBS Wisconsin Passport.

Learn how to sign up or activate your membership at pbswisconsin.org/passport.

Poetry

New Wisconsin Poetry Honorable Mention Poems from our 2020 Poetry Contest

Of Many Wings I was Of a soul many with wings wings that of grace, ’til rain the sky in gravity’s per- shades of mist sistent pull on and sunset fire. space, tumbled me With shapes that helpless into finite frame to What speak of ancient times breathe in lessons of mortal if and shine a beacon pain. To learn what I have come there for future rhymes. The poetry of here for and plumb the depths were collective life in patterned wings of love and sorrow. To no lends hope to strife and lifts savor tastes of tender- walls, the faltering flight of those ness and wrap my no that follow us like arms round joy- doors, symphony bows fulness. Pouring no tracing melodies to treasured seeds on space sing—one note spills, earthen floor, tending be- blends into another, mystery; tween until our sacred us any- kites garden more run of ? out the of soul. string.

Rachel Durfee

Rachel Durfee is a visual artist and poet from Madison whose work has been featured in the collections of the Milwaukee Art Museum and the University of Wisconsin, as well as internationally.

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Poetry

He Screams A man on a bicycle.

Does he strain into his vocal cords because he is angry, wonder why he is riding on this track going around in circles as his life seems to veer off in jagged directions, no winding road home.

He screams.

Mouth open wide, throat thrust under his chin. He screams, but he is alone, no other riders beside or behind him—does he deserve to ride alone—but no, he wears tank and shorts of a country it seems can never be his.

He screams.

Tears carve themselves into his cheeks.

Maybe he is happy and yelling in joy to have made this ride, to have won the race, to have escaped the poverty and nothingness he’s had all his life. He screams in triumph in success, in fear he will end his youth.

Jackie Langetieg is a regular contributor to the Wisconsin Poets’ Calendar. She has written five books of poems, most recently, Letter to My Daughter, and also a memoir, Filling the Cracks with Gold. Her poem, “Tai Chi in Four Movements,” was selected Poem of the Year by the Wisconsin Academy in 1999. She lives in Verona with her son, Eric, and two cats.

Jackie Langetieg

Read more award-winning poetry from Wisconsin poets at wisconsinacademy.org/poetry.

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Poetry

In Which Woolly Mammoths Save the World, Starting with Siberia, Because Permafrost is Melt and Carbon is Release First, find the reliquary: Collect the bones of the mammoth, regurgitated onto the shore by the agitate cycle of thawing permafrost, rinse clean by the frigid lake’s lapping, swelled in a jumble of reeds on the pebbled shore.

Second, bioethics and cloning: Something, something DNA, scientists, test tubes, maybe a centrifuge and probably an elephant.

Wait ten years. A mammoth is not a velociraptor, so don’t worry about any of that.

Third, intermodal transit: Carefully place brand-new, sedated mammoths into canvas slings and hoist them high enough so their fur-fringed foot pads don’t drag along the tree line and bring the helicopter down.

Fourth, implied consent: Wake them gently with caresses as they lie on the tundra overgrown with saplings that hoard particles of heat like gold; coax them onto the spongy ground barely able to contain their weight.

Consider giant snowshoes to diffuse their ungainly mass?

Fifth, labor: After a good long drink at the lake through supple bristled trunks, when they peer out coquettishly from eyes curtained by long lashes against the snow; show them how to trample the trees, strip the leaves, leave the tundra bare, cooling the earth’s fevered brow.

Sixth, pray: Though it be zaprescheno, pray.

Jill Madden Melchoir

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Jill Madden Melchoir lives, works, and writes just north of Green Bay. By day, she’s an attorney in an online legal publishing company, which supports her biking and photography habits. She has three kids and spends as much time as possible on the Menominee River and Lake Michigan.

Poetry

Village Post Office There’s a truck double-parked in the only parking spot.

The guy at the counter owns a construction business, is telling the clerk all the things he’s built. “That bank in Eau Claire? I built that one, too. …” After a few more buildings he leaves. I’m the only customer now. The clerk knows me, we trade personal gossip, she shuffles through my mail.

It’s sacred, and made of the things we know won’t last: bits of paper, news, postage. They go away from here, arrive by some strange alchemy where we want them.

Nothing else quite works like this. Shopping was fine.

Two people in town told me more snow was coming: “Everyone in town says more snow is coming.”

It’s been a bad winter for old buildings and snow.

The annex of our barn fell under the snow.

The firehouse roof fell under the snow. They had to put the trucks in the school parking lot.

We agree it’s not the snow, it’s the other drivers.

She tells me to stay warm, drive safely.

Melaney Poli

Melaney Poli is an artist, writer, and Episcopalian nun.

She is the author of the accidental book of poetry You Teach Me Light: Slightly Dangerous Poems and an accidental novel, Playing a Part, both from Wipf & Stock.

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Poetry

Thermos There’s something to be said about standing on the center line of a bustling four-lane road, cars skimming by in front and behind me as I watch my stainless steel thermos bumble along toward the opposite curb like a rolling pin or pipe bomb.

I admire its resilience— ten years of service, three times forgotten, then dropped off the car roof.

Today it balanced for five or six blocks before taking the dive, striking the road with a loud enough ping for me to pull over, prepare for the worst.

And now I’m in the middle of the road, not, as I should be, prioritizing my life over a full thermos of coffee, but rather urging the thermos on as it cleverly avoids commuters’ tires.

When it bumps up against the far curb, I give a small fist pump.

I also wave at the good people in the cars who have kindly stopped, let the crazy old guy run across to retrieve his prize thermos, still full of coffee, which he will drink later at his desk.

Guy Thorvaldsen

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Guy Thorvaldsen’s poetry has appeared in various publications, including Alligator Juniper, Poet Lore, and Verse Wisconsin. His first book of poetry, Going to Miss Myself When I’m Gone, was published in 2017 by Aldrich Press. Thorvaldsen lives in Madison and is a journeyman carpenter, retired teacher, husband, father, and contributing poet/essayist for public radio.

REVIEWS

The Blondes of Wisconsin

by Anthony Bukoski University of Wisconsin Press, 151 pages, $16.95 Reviewed by Christopher Chambers

I don’t entirely judge a book by its cover, but I do appreciate a well-designed one. Anthony Bukoski’s The Blondes of Wisconsin is a good-looking book—though the image of the old red brick warehouse on the cover creates some dissonance. It turns out that the warehouse tells us more about the book than does the title, as setting looms large over this collection of sixteen stories. For example, in “Port of Milwaukee,” the narrator describes Superior as “a broken place of beat-up dreams, … [with] bad weather, a shipyard, a coal dock, and an oil refinery.”

Bukoski, a Professor Emeritus of English at the University of Wisconsin–Superior and an Academy Fellow, previously published four short story collections that demonstrate his mastery of the genre. Like these earlier works, The Blondes of Wisconsin provides an intimate look into the lives of the working-class Polish-Americans who live and love and work in northern Wisconsin.

Many of these stories follow three generations of the Bronkowski family and the people whose lives intersect with theirs. The stories are all interrelated, though the narrative point of view shifts from story to story. The stories vary in form, too, including two stories “written” by one of the book’s characters and another by the character’s translator. A collection as interconnected as this, with recurring characters, reads like a kind of fragmented novella, with Eddie Bronkowski, a punch-drunk boxer who works on a Great Lakes freighter, as the protagonist.

Eddie has more heart than skill, and the beatings he takes in the ring leave him cognitively impaired but no less heroic in his own way. Eddie’s father, Frank Bronkowski, a homesick immigrant haunted by the war, works the night shift in a flour mill, “not knowing if it was rainy, windy, or cold, in the old country he’d come from.” Frank’s other son, Alphonse, enlists in the Marines and returns home from Vietnam to work in the oil refinery. In the surprising final story, Eddie’s wife, Adele, reveals a shocking secret, and the book ends with an image of the Bronkowski house literally coming apart.

Andrew, Eddie’s teenage nephew, who narrates “The Vocabulary Lesson,” the penultimate story in the collection, aspires to be a writer, and any aspiring writer will find this collection an excellent guide to writing realistic short fiction. Casting about for ideas, Andrew observes his neighborhood and the writer who lives next door:

It struck me that Mr. Slinker had found someone or something to write about in the neighborhood. I thought nothing around here was worth it. Ms. Snowberg says that when I start my senior year writing project for AP English, I must appeal to the senses. I have to show how the places that are known to us can be mysterious.

Andrew concludes his musings wondering if “Bronislaw Slinker, the retired worker at the lime plant, the Polish author, is writing a story, a novel, an epic novel about ghost ships and inlets and how we live so close to the long, blue edge of Lake Superior.”

It is impossible not to see the author in the character of Bronislaw Slinker and to wonder if perhaps Bukoski is hinting that such a novel is in the works. After all, he has proven himself a master of the short form, and, in this collection, Bukoski has arguably already written a novel-in-stories.

The Blondes of Wisconsin is a book about the power of language, the way words can connect us to the past, to a place, and to each other. But it also plumbs the limitations of words and how tenuous our connections can be. The characters of these stories struggle to survive and to make meaningful connections. Their struggle is well articulated in this slim volume, regardless of where you shelve it.

Christopher Chambers is editor of Midwest Review and author of two short story collections, Delta 88 (Split Oak Press, 2015) and Best Western (forthcoming from Cornerstone Press, 2022).

He’s taught at the University of Alabama, Loyola University New Orleans, and UW–Madison, and he received a NEA Fellowship in 2008. He currently teaches for Madison Writers Studio and the Wisconsin Prison Humanities Project and tends bar at Working Draft Beer Company.

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REVIEWS

Send for Me

by Lauren Fox Alfred A. Knopf, 259 pages, $26.95 Reviewed by Gary Jones

A family’s history, like an old jigsaw puzzle, often has missing pieces, stories forgotten or kept secret. A present generation looks at old black-and-white photos, at miscellaneous mementos, or, sometimes, at a few hand written letters, and tries to piece together lives that have long passed. Such was the case with novelist Lauren Fox, who, during her early twenties, discovered a box of letters written between 1938 and 1941 by her German great-grandmother to her grandmother, who had emigrated to America along with her husband and small child. That small child grew up to be Fox’s mother.

Fox regarded the letters as a gift, a story that she wanted to tell others. But the letters didn’t provide enough information to record her family’s ordeal in Nazi Germany. Filled with longing and regret, the letters seemed to Fox “more like a song, a howl of grief.” Twenty years after their discovery, the letters inspired Fox—author of Days of Awe and Still Life with Husband—to write a historical novel.

In Send for Me, Fox tells the story of a woman named Clare who discovers a cache of letters from her great-grandmother Klara to her daughter Annelise, and what Clare learns about her history—and herself—from reading them. The multi-generational story, a fictionalized version of the experience her ancestors may have had, reflects the author’s conviction that children of immigrants are anthropologists of their own families.

Fox provides readers with a vivid depiction of daily life in late 1930s Feldenheim, Germany, and the relationship between bakery owners Klara and Julius and their beloved daughter, Annelise. The core of the novel explores not so much the mass atrocities that Jewish families such as Annelise’s experienced as the Nazis came to power, but, rather, the thousands of little cuts they endured just going about their daily lives, from the confiscation of typewriters to the devastating social rejections by long-time non-Jewish friends, an insidious cultural genocide that begins long before the bricks start coming through windows.

For instance, Annelise’s schoolgirl friend Sophie with whom she had shared not only Christmases but also adolescent confidences and, later, marriage and pregnancy issues, tearfully announces that they can no longer be friends. “It’s not you,” says Sophie, explaining her husband’s belief that “it’s bad for the family,” that Annelise is “not a good influence,” that he “likes you, but it’s in your blood.”

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When Annelise makes the painful decision to leave Klara and Julius behind to emigrate to the United States with her husband and toddler daughter Ruth, Fox uses to great effect her greatgrandmother’s letters to give insight into the crushing fear and depredation Klara and Julius endure as they wait for word of their passage to the U.S. Floated between chapters, these single sentences—An hour doesn’t pass that I don’t think about you—carry enough emotion to fill pages.

As the story of both young women—Clare and Annelise—unfolds, they each struggle with their identities as well as their relationships.

As a new American, Annelise experiences confusion and frustration with language and culture. Clare has similar feelings when her French boyfriend, Matthew, takes her to Paris to meet his young son from an earlier marriage. She tells Matthew that she could never leave her family for a life in France, a declaration that seems to echo Fox’s conviction that the children of immigrants often feel like participant-observers of a culture that never quite belongs to them.

Author and poet Gary Jones summers in Door County and winters in Platteville where for a time after his retirement he taught at UW–Platteville.

In 2019, the Wisconsin Historical Society Press published his book Ridge Stories, a work that earned first place in the 2020 Midwest Independent Publishers Association biography category.

Jones inherited the Civil War letters of his greatgreat grandfather, John Clark Davis. The letters inspired Jones’s Wisconsin Arts Board-funded play, Up from the Fields.

“Alexa, enable WPR.” Introducing the new WPR Skill Visit wpr.org/smart for more info.

Nonprofit Org. U.S. POSTAGE

P A I D

MADISON, WI Permit No. 1564

1922 University Ave Madison, WI 53726

E W I S C O N S I N A C A D E MY ’ S VISIT TH

UPCOMING EXHIBITION

JACK DAMER:

PRINTS, DRAWINGS & OBJECTS 1965–2021 ON VIEW SEPTEMBER 10–OCTOBER 31, 2021 A retrospective exhibit of the work of Jack Damer: master printmaker, brilliant draftsman, and beloved teacher. Damer’s prolific output ranges from densely layered images of engines and machine parts to poignant drawings of found objects and elaborate constructions made from his own prints. The cool, industrial look of Damer’s source material is transformed through his sensitive line, subtle use of tone and color and, often, a mordant humor that borders on moral outrage.

Jack Damer, Underworld 7, 2010 (detail).

Lithograph and collage, 28 by 42 inches.

James Watrous Gallery in Overture Center for the Arts – 3rd Floor 201 State Street · Madison, WI · 608-733-6633 x25 Admission is Free. For gallery hours and information, visit wisconsinacademy.org/gallery