Elisabeth Condon • Director of Science and Climate Programs
Jennifer Graham • Exhibitions and Outreach Coordinator
Jessica James • Climate & Energy Program Manager
Erika Monroe-Kane • Executive Director
Matthew Rezin • Operations Manager
Zack Robins • Director of Development
Madeline Schultz • Climate & Energy Intern
Julie Steinert • Administrative Assistant
Yong Cheng (Yong Cha) Yang • Visitor Services Associate, James Watrous Gallery
ACADEMY BOARD OF DIRECTORS
Roberta Filicky-Peneski • President
Frank D. Byrne • President-Elect
Thomas W. Still • Secretary
Richard Donkle • Treasurer
Amy Horst • Vice President of Arts
Kimberly Blaeser • Vice President of Letters
Robert D. Mathieu • Vice President of Sciences
Tom Luljak • Immediate Past President
Mark Bradley • Foundation President
Steve Ackerman, Madison
Ruben Anthony, Madison
Lillian Brown, Ripon
Jay Handy, Madison
BJ Hollars, Eau Claire
Nyra Jordan, Madison
Michael Morgan, Milwaukee
Kevin Reilly, Verona
Brent Smith, La Crosse
Jeff Rusinow, Grafton
Julia Taylor, Milwaukee
ACADEMY FOUNDATION
Ira Baldwin (1895–1999) • Foundation Founder
Mark Bradley • Foundation President
Jack Kussmaul • Foundation Vice-President
Arjun Sanga • Foundation Secretary
Richard Donkle • Foundation Treasurer
Roberta Filicky-Peneski • Academy President
Frank D. Byrne • Academy President-Elect
Tom Luljak • Academy Immediate-Past President
Kristen Carreira
Betty Custer
Andrew Richards
Steve Wildeck
Editor’s Note
It’s the time of year when I knew I would really miss Wisconsin. I moved away last August, acknowledging the fact that summers in Virginia would be a lot hotter, and easy access to the rich cultural life of music, ethnic, and arts festivals, food trucks, and outdoor adventures in lakes and rivers would become cherished memories of my three decades in the Midwest. There’s lots to do and see in my new home, but there really is something special about Wisconsin.
In the upper Midwest, snowy winters offer an abundance of recreational options. But there is also that natural urge to hibernate, to hunker down with a good book, or slow-cook a hearty bowl of soup accompanied by a warm and buttery hunk of fresh-baked bread. Then, when the daffodils bloom and the asparagus piles up at the farmers’ market, there’s a feeling of anticipation and knowing that the warmer weather, the bulging gardens, and the head-spinning number of goings-on are not simply expected: they are earned!
The summer issue you are reading offers a lovely reflection of this richness and diversity of Wisconsin life. The Wisconsin Idea is alive and well in the lab, the classroom, and the artistic endeavors of geneticist and cell biologist Ahna Skop, who leads our announcement of the Academy’s class of 2024 fellows with a cover profile of her life and work. We also remember the artistic legacy of the great Truman Lowe, as well as the contemporary impact of Latino/a/x artists organizing and engaging in communities throughout the state.
In addition, we learn about the economic impact of our horseradish industry (this was news to me!) and celebrate another wonderful batch of fiction and poetry from our award-winning writers. I was especially moved by Holly Hilliard’s story, “Zugunruhe,” a tale of a young ecologist who is dedicated to his conservation work at a Wisconsin nature preserve but comes to understand—like the butterflies and birds he is tending to—the natural urge to move on. Zugunruhe is a German word meaning migratory restlessness. Having recently experienced my own zugunruhe, I resonated with Hilliard’s story on a cellular level.
Happy reading, and I hope you are enjoying the heck out of another beautiful Wisconsin summer!
Brennan Nardi, Interim Editor
On the cover: UW–Madison Genetics Professor and 2024 Academy Fellow Ahna Skop Credit: Sharon Vanorny
Alice Traore
VOLUME 70 · NUMBER 2
SUMMER • 2024
Wisconsin People & Ideas is the quarterly magazine of the nonprofit Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters. Wisconsin Academy members receive an annual subscription to this magazine.
Since 1954, the Wisconsin Academy has published a magazine for people who are curious about the world and proud of Wisconsin ideas. Wisconsin People & Ideas features thoughtful stories about the state’s 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.
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
• Madison, WI 53726 ph 608-733-6633 • wisconsinacademy.org
Latino Arts, Inc.
From the Director
Bloom to Birds
I love how taking a moment to literally smell the flowers can be a simple joy, an existential experience—a way to boost your brain chemistry. I find it interesting and validating to learn how taking a moment to breathe is backed by science as a way not just to shift your immediate mental state, but prolong your life. In the heat of summer and the presidential election, this is useful to remember. Simple, wonderful experiences belie deeper, lasting shifts.
This summer, the Academy brings you Birds and Beyond, a series that not only reveals the lovely creatures that animate our yards, parks, and waterways, but also explores the night sky by which they navigate and investigates the environments they rely on. This series—and the birds themselves—connect communities across the state through shared appreciation. Scientifically and metaphorically, birds inspire us.
We are also delighted to announce the winning works of the WP&I Poetry and Fiction contest, which showcases not only the sparkling abilities of Wisconsin writers, but also provides views from other perspectives. These works are moving and well crafted, each year introducing magazine readers to new voices and visions,
possibly coming from a town or city readers have never visited. Exhibitions at the James Watrous Gallery provide this same opportunity—to connect and voyage.
How can watching birds, reading a poem, or looking at an artwork confront and tackle the divisions that are grabbing headlines in Wisconsin and nationwide? With the Academy, you are reminded of the talents and creative spirit within us all, and that you can find common ground and shared values, and experience joy with someone you might not otherwise meet. We are grateful to have you with us, and I look forward to exploring with you.
Erika Monroe-Kane, Executive Director
News for Members
MEMBERS UPDATE
As a member of the Wisconsin Academy, you are helping create opportunities for Wisconsinites to connect, learn, and collaborate. Your support is bringing us together across differences to increase our understanding of one another and the world we share.
You are among Wisconsin Academy members who reside in:
• 28 states
• 52 of Wisconsin’s 72 counties
• 223 cities and towns
Our 1,015 Wisconsin Academy members include:
• 938 Individual household members
• 271 Lifetime members (including 109 living Fellows)
• 77 Institutional members (including 58 libraries)
• 208 Annually renewing members
• 126 Three-year renewing members
• 54 New members as a result of gift memberships
Please consider using the QR-code below to share an Academy gift membership with family and friends and help more Wisconsinites find common ground through civil discourse and engaging programs—antidotes to our polarized times.
REGISTER NOW
Take an immersive journey that delves deep into the intricate world of birds and explores their connections to broader scientific topics, including water quality, conservation, climate change, and engineering. Starting in August, Birds & Beyond features talks and walks with experts around the state. Learn more and register at wisconsinacademy.org/events.
CLIMATE FAST FORWARD 2024
November 14-15, Rothschild, Wisconsin. Join changemakers, including climatologists, engineers, and biologists, plus new voices and a diverse audience representative of the people who are and will be most affected by climate change. Learn more and register at wisconsinacademy.org/events.
REMEMBERING JERRY MARRA
The Academy family recently lost long-serving volunteer archivist Jerry Marra. Jerry passed away unexpectedly on March 20, 2024. He was 68 years old.
Born in Freeport, New York, Jerry was a hard-working student and standout athlete who set high school records in track. After graduating from Grove City College in Pennsylvania, Jerry went on to earn his M.S. in Chemical Engineering at Clemson University in 1979. In 1990, Jerry, his wife Barb, and three children, moved to Madison, where he took a job at Kraft Foods/Oscar Mayer until he retired in 2012. A few years later, Jerry joined the Wisconsin Academy as volunteer archivist, often joking to Barb as he ran out the door for his part-time shift, “Gotta go to work!”
Emerging only to share a fascinating bit of correspondence with another state Academy or a late-Seventies era photograph of an Academy Fellow sporting a walrus mustache, Jerry spent much of the 2010s in the musty basement of the Academy’s Steenbock Building at 1922 University Avenue. Working in his tiny janitor’s closet of an office, Jerry diligently rifled through decades of financial records, researched the provenance of various Academy artifacts and artworks, and brought order to the haphazard stacks of Wisconsin Academy publications from across the ages.
Jerry loved sports and was the quintessential team player, accepting tasks with good humor and grace. He would even mow the Academy lawn with an antiquated push mower. All the staff loved Jerry, not only for his sunny disposition but also for his genuine interest in and knowledge of Academy history. These traits would all be put to the test in the run up to the Academy’s 150th anniversary in 2020. The Watrous Gallery’s “Collections & Connections,” the special double issue of Wisconsin People & Ideas, and the timeline of Academy history were all dependent on Jerry’s contributions, which were essential to helping people connect with the Academy, to understand what the Academy is and who we are.
Jerry Marra is one of us, and he will be missed.
—Jason Aaron Smith Former Academy Staff
GLOBALLY-INSPIRED ART EXHIBIT IN RHINELANDER
Nestled in the Northwoods city of Rhinelander is ArtStart, a community education and engagement nonprofit housed in the former post office on Stevens Street. From August 16 to October 27, ArtStart will feature Manitowish artist and master weaver Mary Burns and her work, “Women and Water: Woven Portraits from Around the World.”
This textile exhibit, which has traveled the country— including a recent stop at the Wisconsin Academy’s James Watrous Gallery—features 29 woven images of women water guardians and activists from countries around the world. These portraits of scientists, writers, teachers, farmers, tribal, and community leaders are made on Burns’ digital jacquard loom which allows fine detail. Made from cotton yarns in tones of black, white, gray, and sepia, the finished portraits have an almost lithographic quality. Current or historic photos provided most of the patterns for the portraits.
By celebrating these women’s stories of learning, perseverance, and triumph in protecting waterways, these works aim to inspire viewers to take action to protect vulnerable waters everywhere.
Learn more at https://artstartrhinelander.org
—Lizzie Condon
THE SAVANNA INSTITUTE’S PERENNIAL FARM GATHERING IS BACK IN SPRING GREEN AND MADISON
Spring Green’s Savanna Institute is a Wisconsin- and Illinois-grown organization having a national impact on climate-smart agriculture through research, education, and outreach, that connects farmers to technical assistance.
Taking inspiration from the native savanna ecosystems once prevalent in the Midwest, the Savanna Institute works with farmers on what’s known as agroforestry—the sustainable practice of adding tree and shrub plantings into traditional crop and animal farming systems. The many benefits of agroforestry include carbon sequestration, erosion control, soil and water health, biodiversity, and new product development.
After a five-year hiatus, the Institute’s signature event, the Perennial Farm Gathering, will be held from October 5 to 8 and features free farm tours followed by a conference at Monona Terrace in Madison. The Institute hopes to draw a diverse community of land stewards, farmers, and enthusiasts dedicated to perennial agriculture. Learn more at www.savannainstitute.org
—Lizzie Condon
Nancy Bundt
Indigenous food advocate and chef Sean Sherman will deliver the keynote address at the 2024 Perennial Farm Gathering.
Mary Burns, Donnata Alupot, Marie Claire Dusabe, Diane Umutoni, African Great Lakes. Scientists, 2017–2023. Hand-woven cotton jacquard, 42 x 31 in.
2024 Fiction and Poetry Contest Results
Congratulations to this year’s writing contest finalists, and thank you to all of the Wisconsin writers who entered the competition. The winners will be announced later this summer and will appear in upcoming issues of Wisconsin People & Ideas.
FICTION FINALISTS
“Complications from a Fall” by Linda Falkenstein, Madison
“The Cook” by Kate Maude, River Falls
“Baby Teeth” by C.E. Perry, Madison
“Underworld Party (with Goats)” by Eric Rasmussen, Eau Claire
“Balsam of Gilead” by Allison Slavick, Cable
“Keep the Cake? Keep the Cake?” by Victoria Lynn Smith, Superior
“Tempestas Memoriae” by Exeter Stevens, Hartford
“Meeting Martha Graham” by David Tabachnick, Madison
“Mending Ruth” by Bob Wake, Cambridge
POETRY FINALISTS
Diya Abbas, Madison
Nancy Bauer-King, Racine
Jenny Benjamin, Milwaukee
G.R. Collins, Sun Prairie
Thomas J. Erickson, Whitefish Bay
Scott Lowery, Milwaukee
C.E. Perry, Madison
Carolyn Pralle, Wisconsin Rapids
Han Raschka, Madison
Rita Mae Reese, Madison
Robert Russell, Madison
Lailah Shima, Madison
Lisa Vihos, Sheboygan
Angela Williamson Emmert, Manawa
Marilyn Windau, Sheboygan Falls
Huntsinger Farms, located in the Chippewa Valley in western Wisconsin, is the world’s largest grower and processor of horseradish.
WELCOME TO EAU CLAIRE
THE HOME OF HORSERADISH
BY B.J. HOLLARS
In 1929, as much of the country began to feel the pain of
The Great Depression, German emigrant Ellis Huntsinger—a traveling lightning-rod salesman—found a new fortune in the ground beneath his feet just south of Eau Claire. No, not corn or soybeans, but a more unexpected crop: horseradish. His halfacre of the spicy root vegetable provided enough supplemental income for his family to thrive during a difficult era.
Huntsinger Farms, founded in 1929 by German emigrant Ellis Huntsinger, is now run by Huntsinger’s great-grandson, Eric Rygg (pictured here with his family), who serves as president. The company is owned by Eric Rygg, his brother, and his mother (Ellis Huntsinger’s granddaughter).
Ninety-five years later, Huntsinger Farms—as it is known today—is still thriving, as I see firsthand on an unseasonably warm February day. The company farms 5,000 acres in and around western Wisconsin’s Chippewa Valley and processes eight to nine million pounds of horseradish each year, making it the largest grower and processor worldwide.
The land deserves much of the credit. Situated near the 45th parallel, smack dab between the equator and the North Pole, the fertile terrain is uniquely suited to growing horseradish. A few latitudinal degrees higher, the winters would be too cold for horseradish, and a few degrees lower, the summers would be too warm. The 45th parallel is the sweet spot: perfect for growing the hearty roots while providing natural cold storage in the ground.
However, the land can’t do it on its own. Huntsinger Farm’s continual expansion results from four generations of Huntsinger family members perfecting the process. Eric Rygg, Ellis Huntsinger’s great-grandson, has served as president of Huntsinger Farms and its subsidiary, Silver Springs Foods, since 2018.
“Can I get you anything?” Rygg asks as I enter the company’s headquarters, an historic red brick house in the southwest corner of the city of Eau Claire, and the former home of Ellis Huntsinger. Rygg opens the refrigerator door, revealing no food but rows upon rows of Silver Springs’ horseradish and mustard products.
“Nothing like a shot of straight horseradish to start the day,” I joke.
“I won’t stop you,” Rygg grins, though he quickly notes that it’s a pretty rare palate that enjoys horseradish straight from the jar.
“It’s all about what you pair it with,” he explains, “and how it makes your food taste better, which is essentially our purpose.”
Horseradish has traditional uses (from zesty sauces for roast beef and prime rib to the dollop in your Bloody Mary), though new culinary trends are always taking root. (Rygg recommends a wheat cracker topped with peanut butter and a smidge of horseradish; don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it.)
“Horseradish can be really versatile,” Rygg says, “but it can also be pretty polarizing. I’ve often found that people don’t always even know when they’re eating it.” As proof, he cites shrimp cocktail, salad dressing, and coleslaw—all of which regularly contain a dash or more of horseradish, whether we know it or not.
While there’s seemingly nothing subtle about horseradish, in the proper proportions, it can be. Science plays a vital role in managing the horseradish’s heat. In 2014, inspired by the Scoville scale (which rates the heat of peppers), Rygg and his team partnered with South Dakota State University to begin work on a new horseradish-specific heat index called the “Zing Factor.” Products are ranked on a scale from one to five, with one being “mild” and five being “knock your socks off hot.” The scale helps customers determine how much heat they want and helps Silver Springs determine how much of each product to produce.
Huntsinger Farms
in corn, soybeans and other forage crops; In addition
a subsidiary of
Farms, processes and sells a variety of mustards, sauces, and other food products.
Clockwise from top left: Huntsinger Homestead, 1915; An advertisement from the 1960s; Huntsinger Farms processes eight to nine million pounds of horseradish (between 700-800 acres) from its 5,000-acre farm each year. The rest of their land is planted
to horseradish, Silver Spring Foods,
Huntsinger
Huntsinger Farms
Rygg’s passion for the science of horseradish extends to the fields, where agricultural processes and techniques are continually reviewed to ensure environmentally friendly practices and more robust yields. “Sustainability has been important to our company since the beginning,” Rygg says, “but we’re really leaning into it now.” The company employs a multipronged approach to sustainable practices, from crop rotation and precision agriculture to a water retention pond and solar panels. The result is a healthier planet and a better bottom line.
While Huntsinger Farms has a long track record of horseradish success, Rygg remains committed to seeking out best practices for all facets of company life—from growing to production to company culture. In 2019, Rygg and his team created “The Huntsinger Way”—30 fundamental tenets to support its 250 employees, all compiled into a pocket-sized folding booklet. While some fundamentals align mainly with the workplace (“Be vigilant about safety,” “Provide legendary service,” “Be process-oriented”), many of the fundamentals apply to employees’ broader lives (“Do the right thing, always,” “Show meaningful appreciation,” “Invest in relationships.”)
Each week, the company focuses on a single fundamental, and together, employees explore how best to implement it. Employees
from all parts of the company are invited to take their turn composing a company-wide email on what that week’s fundamental means to them.
“And so, I get the perspectives from someone on the plant floor and someone on the farm,” Rygg explains. “We kind of walk in each other’s shoes.”
While their legendary horseradish brings the heat, Huntsinger Farms brings the heart to their product.
It is the perfect pairing, indeed.
B.J. Hollars is the author of several books, most recently Year of Plenty: A Family’s Season of Grief and Wisconsin for Kennedy: The Primary That Launched a President and Changed the Course of History.
Ellis Huntsinger (pictured above on the right in 1956) tends to the fields with a fellow farmer.
ARTFUL SCIENCE AND SCIENTIFIC ART
GENETICIST AND 2024 WISCONSIN
ACADEMY FELLOW AHNA SKOP
BRINGS CREATIVITY TO HER RESEARCH, TEACHING, ADVOCACY, AND OUTREACH
BY JACQUELINE HOUTMAN
When visitors enter the building where Ahna Skop works, the first thing they see is a large art installation on the lobby wall. Looming overhead are what appear to be leaves, bubbles, an enormous multicolored Easter egg, and a worm. But this building is not an art museum. It is the University of Wisconsin–Madison Biotechnology Center, and the person responsible for the art installation is Dr. Ahna Skop, a professor in the Department of Genetics. Skop studies how animal cells divide, a process that is quite complex. It is also quite beautiful. Skop has had the unique opportunity to combine her artistic sensibilities with her scientific skills in studying and communicating this beautiful complexity to others.
Sharon Vanorny
A rendering of the art installation Genetic Reflections, a project from the lab of UW–Madison genetics Professor Ahna Skop that debuted in the UW–Madison Biotechnology Center in the spring of 2018 and then traveled to the Wisconsin Science Museum and other venues.
A recipient of the prestigious Presidential Early Career Award for Scientists and Engineers (PECASE), Skop is also committed to excellence in teaching, advocacy, and outreach. Besides being a cell biologist, she is a firm believer in the power of art to communicate science; and as an affiliate faculty member in both Life Sciences Communication and the UW–Madison Arts Institute, she mentors students in all three areas of study.
Skop grew up in a family of artists with a house full of art. Her father was a sculptor and medical illustrator. Her mother was a ceramist and art educator. All of her siblings went into the arts. As an undergraduate student at Syracuse University, Skop bucked the family trend and majored in biology (although she did minor in ceramics). A work-study opportunity introduced her to the tiny nematode worm called Caenorhabditis elegans, which is a common research animal for the study of cell biology and genetics. While at Syracuse, an image of a dividing cell in a textbook fueled her interest in cell division. She circled the photo. “I really loved it visually,” she says. “That’s what drew me to the science as a student.”
As a graduate student in Cell and Molecular Biology at UW–Madison, she followed her passion and studied cell division. When cell division goes wrong, it can result in cancer, birth defects or neurodegenerative disease. Her mentor, John White (now an emeritus professor of Cell and Regenerative Biology), was an innovator in scientific imaging and invented a widely used microscope. Still
working with C. elegans, Skop took photographs of the dividing cells she saw under the microscope and was inspired to make “worm art.”
Since her days in graduate school, Skop has designed logos for the biennial International C. elegans Conference. In 1997 she proposed an art show featuring the worm at the conference. Some said, “Your career is going to be over if you do that,” but her mentor gave her the go-ahead. The “Worm Art Show” was a hit and is now a highlight of the conferences. Scientists in the “worm community” have used their creativity to celebrate their science. “It’s just a great community that allowed me to be myself,” she says. “It’s really supportive of all views and walks of life.”
While studying C. elegans in the White lab, Skop was fascinated by a structure formed during cell division, the midbody. It is a fascination that continues to this day.
When an animal cell gets ready to divide, it first duplicates all of its contents, which will be distributed equally between the two daughter cells. The cell membrane pinches in around the center, then the cell stretches out until it resembles a dumbbell. As the two new cells pull apart, the midbody appears as a small dense particle in the middle of the bridge between them.
First described by German biologist Walther Flemming in 1891, midbodies (or Flemming bodies, as they were first known) were generally dismissed as functionless vestiges of cell division. In the late 1970s, Michael Mullins and Ryoko Kuriyama were among the
very few scientists studying the midbody. “Those two people lost their careers over it,” said Skop. “They were booed out of meetings.” Mullins and Kuriyama moved on to other research topics.
As the tools used to study cells grew more sophisticated, it became possible to learn more about midbodies. During her postdoctoral work at the University of California–Berkeley, Skop consulted with Mullins and Kuriyama and used their protocols to isolate midbodies. Then, using new tools in genetics and protein biology, Skop discovered that many of the proteins in midbodies are necessary for successful cell division. That work was published in the prestigious journal, Science, with her image of dividing cells and midbodies gracing the journal’s cover in blue, purple, pink, green, and orange.
Having established the importance of the midbody proteins in cell division, Skop joined the faculty at UW–Madison, where she continues to study the midbody and the midbody remnant. As two dividing cells finally separate, the bridge between them is cut on either side of the midbody. The midbody remnant is then released into the intercellular space. For decades, this remnant was seen as the leftovers of the division process—the garbage can.
But the midbody remnant is not garbage being jettisoned from the cell, like an empty bottle destined for the recycling plant. Newer research instead reveals that there is a message in that bottle. That message is RNA.
In addition to proteins, the midbody and midbody remnant contain the RNA instructions for making more proteins. Midbody remnants can be engulfed by nearby cells, or they can travel via the bloodstream to distant cells. Whatever their route, they deliver the genetic information they carry into the recipient cell, influencing the cell’s fate. The RNA is “instructive material that tells the cell what to do,” says Skop. “You can divide out of control or you can just maintain the cell and not do anything or you could turn yourself into a neuron.”
All midbodies are not alike. Some RNA is common to all midbodies, but some RNA is unique to each cell type from which the midbody arises, whether it’s a stem cell, a nerve cell, or a cancer cell. “It’s like a signature,” says Skop.
Cancer cells proliferate out of control, causing tumors and spreading throughout the body. Cancer cells also release a lot of midbodies. In fact, research in Skop’s lab supports a role for midbodies in the spread of cancer. The overlooked midbody, once thought of as garbage, has turned out to be an important part of cell division and communication. Research on midbody biology has yielded information that might now have important biomedical applications. By identifying the unique RNA in midbodies originating from cancer cells, it may be possible to design drugs to block their action and thus inhibit cancer spread. Midbodies might also be used to deliver drugs more specifically to cancer cells, an advantage over current drugs that attack both cancer cells and healthy cells.
Skop began by studying the basic science of cell division. “In a million years, I never would have thought it would be that important,” she says. “I just love the process [of cell division], but now I recognize the massive biomedical side of this.”
Much of the science done in Skop’s lab involves visualization— looking through microscopes and taking photos or other images of observed cells. The beauty Skop sees in those images feeds her
scientific curiosity, but she doesn’t separate her artistic sensibility from her science. “They’re all about probing nature in my mind, because nature has to be understood and felt in lots of different ways,” says Skop. “I’m a cell biologist because of my upbringing in the arts, because, visually, that’s what I love.” She embraces her artistic side and integrates it into her scientific work.
On a practical level, Skop uses art to help make science accessible to the general public by communicating it visually. Scientific art draws people in, engages them, making them eager to learn more. It piques their curiosity, which can lead to discovery and understanding.
If there’s one thing an artistic person like Skop can’t stand it’s a blank wall. So the walls of her office are covered with art, as are the walls of the Biotech Center. The giant images at the entrance depict a mustard plant, budding yeast cells, a fruit fly larva, and her beloved C. elegans. Visitors to the building can get a sense of the research that goes on inside, since those four organisms are commonly studied in genetics labs. Skop also had a hand in both a 40-foot art installation in the Biotech Center called “Genetic Reflections” and a coloring book with the same title.
You don’t have to visit the Biotech Center to see “Genetic Reflections.” The coloring book inspired by the installation is widely available. Skop curated “TINY: Art from Microscopes,” an art exhibition at the Dane County Airport that showcased the work of UW–Madison scientists. The subject of scientific art needn’t be microscopic, however, to be beautiful. It can be as big as the universe. Skop helped start the annual Cool Science Image Contest and serves as one of its judges. The contest is open to all UW–Madison scientists, no matter what the size of their subjects.
Some of Skop’s science art is on display at the Wisconsin Science Museum on South Park Street in Madison, where she serves on the board of directors. When she first arrived in Wisconsin, Skop was impressed by the impact the state has had on scientific discovery. She hopes to bring more of Wisconsin’s science to the public. “We have so much biotech in town. I think over time it will evolve into something bigger, which I’m excited about.”
A self-described visual thinker and creative problem-solver, Skop herself is dyslexic, and she strives to make her teaching and mentoring accessible to students with different learning styles and disabilities. Her innovative teaching methods garnered her the Chancellor’s Inclusive Excellence Teaching Award at UW—Madison. In her upper-level undergraduate course called “Genomics and Proteomics,” she engages her students through active learning. Each student selects a gene or protein associated with a human disease that means something to them and creates a website about it. Instead of lectures and exams, Skop facilitates students teaching each other through presentations. Working from the scientific literature, they learn about genetics and the methods used to study genes and proteins, but they also learn about effective science communication. Students learn more than science. They learn confidence.
Skop has also received the American Society for Cell Biology Prize in Inclusivity, because she is a fierce advocate for students from underrepresented groups and women in science. She sees diversity as a source of creativity and innovation and strives to make sure that science is accessible to everyone. She is passionate
about increasing opportunities for the underrepresented students in her own lab, and—through service—for other students both within the university and beyond.
One way Skop celebrates diversity is through food. She has a cooking blog, “Lab Culture: A Recipe for Innovation in Science,” where scientists from diverse cultures share their love of food–and recipes. There is also a cookbook in the works. Sharing food is a way to “realize the commonality between us,” she says, “and to celebrate the differences.” Not surprisingly, she uses food to communicate science, too, decorating cakes with frosted images of dividing cells, for example.
Given that Ahna Skop grew up in a family of artists, it might seem surprising that she found herself doing genetic research— and loving it. She was even told, as a graduate student, that she was “too creative for science.” In other words, she didn’t belong. That was wrong. Instead of being an impediment, her creativity has proven to be an asset in her career as a scientist, as a teacher, as a mentor, and as an advocate. In fact, a 2008 study in the Journal of Psychology of Science and Technology reported that Nobel Prize-winning scientists were more likely than other scientists to have hobbies in the arts.
Art is more than a hobby to Skop. As astronaut, physician, engineer, and dancer Mae Jemison once said, “The difference between science and the arts is not that they are different sides of the same
coin, or even different parts of the same continuum, but rather, they are manifestations of the same thing.”
Skop embraces diversity and strives to look at her work—and the world—from many different viewpoints. She brings her own unique perspective to everything she does, opening doors that had been closed to her, and holding doors open for those who follow.
Jacqueline Houtman is a freelance science writer and editor who earned a Ph.D. in Medical Microbiology and Immunology from UW–Madison. As Science Editorial Lead for the Pandemic Tracking Collective, she created content for The Rockefeller Foundation’s Pandemic Prevention Initiative. She is also a dancer and an awardwinning children’s novelist.
Ahna R. Skop, Genetics, poses for a picture with the CALS Equity and Diversity Award and Dean Kate VandenBosch, right, during the 2018 CALS Awards at the Ebling Symposium Center at UW–Madison in Madison, Wis., Wednesday, May 2, 2018.
Michael P. King/UW–Madison
2024 WISCONSIN ACADEMY OF SCIENCES, ARTS & LETTERS FELLOWS AWARDED
SIXTEEN EXTRAORDINARY WISCONSINITES HONORED FOR THEIR CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE STATE
The Wisconsin Academy is honored to announce the names of the 2024 fellows—16 extraordinary Wisconsinites with high levels of accomplishment in their fields who have demonstrated a lifelong commitment to intellectual discourse and public service. Since 1982, the Wisconsin Academy Fellows Award has recognized educators, researchers, mentors, artists, and civic or business leaders from across Wisconsin who have made substantial contributions to the cultural life and welfare of our state and its people. Being selected as a Fellow is the highest recognition conferred by the Wisconsin Academy. Honorees will receive their award at a ceremony on September 16, 5:30—9:00 pm at Promega’s Kornberg Center, Fitchburg, Wisconsin.
“The Academy Fellows award honors Wisconsin citizens who through their creativity, their scholarship, and their commitment to the state have enriched all of our lives. By recognizing their contributions to Wisconsin and the world beyond, we seek to inspire others to follow in their footsteps,” says Robert Mathieu, Fellows Committee Chair.
In addition to Dr. Ahna Skop, profiled in this issue, these 15 Fellows are being honored for their profound contributions to the state of Wisconsin:
FAISAL ABDU’ALLAH
Faisal Abdu’Allah is an influential British and Afro-Caribbean artist and educator at the University of Wisconsin—Madison who enriches Wisconsin’s cultural landscape with thought-provoking art that bridges diverse communities. His work, deeply influenced by his Islamic faith and British upbringing, challenges and expands cultural narratives. His notable works like The Last Supper and Silent Witness showcase artistic brilliance and foster crucial dialogues on identity, faith, and race. In Wisconsin, Abdu’Allah has significantly contributed to the arts and academic community. His role as an educator has shaped the perspectives of numerous students, encouraging them to explore complex social themes through art. His exhibitions have served as vital platforms for cultural exchange and understanding, showcasing his commitment to inclusive art that speaks to diverse audiences.
AMY QUAN BARRY
Amy Quan Barry is the Lorraine Hansberry Professor of English at UW— Madison and author of eight books of fiction and poetry and a full-length staged theater production. She currently serves as Writer in Residence at Forward Theater in Madison. Born in Saigon and raised in Boston, Barry spent summers with her grandparents at the northern tip of Door County next to the ferry landing that serves Washington Island. Barry’s upbringing and travels spanning all seven continents metamorphose into literature that ranges wildly from one publication to the next, but all of her works involve complex journeys toward what it means to be human. While her work has garnered national and international audiences, Barry’s impact can be felt most acutely here in Wisconsin through her deep commitment to her students and community, helping to maintain the reputation of the MFA program in Creative Writing and Wisconsin Institute of Creative Writing as among the most well-regarded programs in the country.
ANNE BASTING
Anne Basting is an English professor at University of Wisconsin–Milwaukee and the university’s first MacArthur “Genius” Fellow. Basting is also the founder of the nonprofit TimeSlips, which has created a global movement to train, inspire, and support caregivers to infuse creativity into care. Her writing and large-scale public performances extend creative and meaningful expression from childhood, where it is expected, to late life, where it is too
often withheld. Basting’s work has impacted nearly every aging care system, including Meals on Wheels, libraries, home care companies, senior centers, memory cafes, adult day programs, and long-term care facilities. She is the author of four books, many articles, and over a dozen plays and public performances, including Beyond Memory, a large-scale production in which Basting and TimeSlips brought the Creative Community of Care organizational training to 50 nursing homes throughout Wisconsin.
DR. KENNETH BRADBURY
Kenneth Bradbury is a nationally recognized hydrogeologist, mentor, and coordinating force for bringing together diverse communities to advance better management of Wisconsin’s groundwater resources. His entire career was spent with the Wisconsin Geological and Natural History Survey (WGNHS) where he served as director and state geologist for seven years. At WGNHS, he conducted numerous research projects addressing groundwater issues of concern to the citizens of Wisconsin and has applied them to make substantial contributions to the science of hydrogeology. Bradbury’s contributions to science also extend to the scientific community, where he serves as a mentor for students, young professionals, and the overall hydrogeologic community of Wisconsin. Bradbury has made lasting contributions to the state and the nation’s knowledge of its essential groundwater resources.
DR. ANTHONY D’ALESSANDRO
Dr. Anthony D’Alessandro has dedicated nearly four decades to transplant surgery, education, and advocacy, profoundly impacting Wisconsin’s medical community. His tenure includes transformative roles such as director of the UW Health Adult and Pediatric Liver Transplant Programs and medical director for UW Organ and Tissue Donation. He has been instrumental in shaping national policies on organ donation, which have directly benefited the people of Wisconsin by improving organ donation systems and processes. His commitment to the field is exemplified by his receipt of the Association of Organ Procurement Organizations’ Lifetime Achievement Award, a testament to his far-reaching influence. D’Alessandro’s work has saved lives and heightened the quality of life for transplant recipients and their families. His legacy includes the cultivation of a robust organ donation culture in Wisconsin, which ensures ongoing support for those in need of life-saving transplants.
DR. BRADY FOUST
Brady Foust is a geographer and inventor who patented geographic information systems technology to understand how data could best support insurance coverage. His work at QMSoft helped spur the initial geospatial underwriting processes for the likes of State Farm, Travelers, and The Hartford, transforming the way geospatial databases update information to be near real-time. As a professor, Foust dedicated 37 years to the Department of Geography at the University of Wisconsin—Eau Claire, where he taught thousands of students—and later founded HazardHub—with two of them. As a patron of the arts, Foust played an instrumental role in the formation of the Pablo Center at the Confluence, where he served as board president during the COVID years. Foust has also championed the literary arts throughout the Eau Claire area, lending philanthropic support to Barstow & Grand literary journal, the Chippewa Valley Book Festival, and the expansion of the L.E. Phillips Memorial Public Library.
DR. HOWARD FULLER
Howard Fuller has committed his life to activism and educational reform. He grew up in Milwaukee, where he emerged as a gifted student, athlete, and leader. Fuller was the only Black student at Carroll College (now University) when he enrolled there in 1958, and the first Black male graduate. His experiences in his youth enabled him to “… see all races as equals, hate income disparity and choose civil and human rights activism as the only career” for him. Fuller has spent the past four decades in Wisconsin tirelessly committed to improving outcomes for the Black community, especially for children from low-income backgrounds. In 2011, the high school Dr. Fuller co-founded with eight Black faith leaders became a tuition-free, nonprofit, public charter high school open to all students in the city of Milwaukee. Since 2012, the Dr. Howard Fuller Collegiate Academy has had a 100-percent college acceptance rate for its graduating seniors.
MICHELLE GRABNER
Michelle Grabner is an internationally acclaimed artist, writer, and curator who has remained committed to her Wisconsin origins, nurturing local artistic communities and celebrating the state’s craft traditions. As an artist, she works in drawing, painting, video, and sculpture. She draws on the repetitive and meditative nature of patterns found in craft traditions and foregrounds domestic work and objects, honoring all of the unseen labor that attends everyday existence. She most recently curated an exhibition on painting for the Milwaukee Art Museum. Grabner runs two arts spaces in Wisconsin—The Suburban in Milwaukee and The Poor Farm in Waupaca—which act as regional, experimental incubators for contemporary art and artists and connect Wisconsin to a national art conversation. Grabner is a 2021 Guggenheim Fellow, a National Academician in the National Academy of Design, and is currently chair of the Painting and Drawing Department at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago.
KAREN ANN HOFFMAN
Karen Ann Hoffman is a Haudenosaunee-raised beader from Stevens Point. A citizen of the Oneida Nation of Wisconsin, Hoffman creates objects of great beauty and cultural significance that reflect Haudenosaunee understandings and honor generational legacies. She is the first beader to develop the beaded urn form. Her “Wampum Urn” is now in the permanent collection of the National Museum of the American Indian. Also unique to her beading is a deep infusion of narrative elements through which she shares her extensive cultural knowledge. Ten years ago, she began teaching Haudenosaunee beadwork through the Arts Board’s Folk Arts Apprenticeship program and has begun curating exhibitions of Native art to provide a platform for her fellow artists. Through her work, Hoffman is extending this art form in highly creative ways, reimagining existing forms to expand their meaning and significance while also building community and supporting other artists.
Faisal Abdu’Allah
Althea Dotzour/University of Wisconsin–Madison
DR. MRILL INGRAM
Mrill Ingram is an environmental geographer whose long-time work with Wisconsin farmers focuses on the social networks that build trust and support people in improving environmental practices. She currently serves as a participatory action research scientist for the Michael Fields Agricultural Institute, and a community restoration consultant for Madison’s BT Farms regenerative housing project, employing a strong public participation process to bring together neighborhood resilience, food sovereignty, ecological restoration, and environmental justice. The arc of Ingram’s career embraces sustainable agriculture, academic collaboration, progressive media, and community-based research. Across these diverse settings, she utilizes science and art to connect marginalized perspectives and empower all with high-quality information for making sound environmental decisions. Her book, Loving Orphaned Space: the art and science of belonging to earth (2022), won the J.B. Jackson Prize from the American Association of Geographers.
JUDGE JOANN F. JONES
The Honorable Judge JoAnn F. Jones is a champion of tribal sovereignty and a bridge builder in cross-cultural understanding. Through her leadership, the Winnebago tribe asserted its sovereignty and changed the tribal constitution to become formally known as Ho-Chunk Nation. As the first female president of Ho-Chunk Nation, Jones ushered in an exciting era of economic stability and prosperity, supporting the establishment of a new Social Services Department, as well as an expanded language preservation office. Jones has helped shape a tribal court system—the Traditional Court—which consists of male Clan leaders who provide counsel and guidance to all. Most recently, Jones led the process to create a Peacemakers Court composed of leaders from Traditional Court and Clan Mothers to further protect the rights of Ho-Chunk children and families. Through social justice campaigns, economic development, and social services initiatives, Jones deserves great credit for improving cultural relations throughout the lands.
MARIE KOHLER
Marie Kohler has significantly contributed to the theater arts in Wisconsin as an actor, playwright, director, artistic director, producer, and entrepreneur. Her passion for theater began as a child, attending Sheboygan’s Community Players’ productions with her mother and founding her high school theater club. At Harvard, she studied and performed theater, graduating Magna Cum Laude with a degree in English Literature. In 1993, Kohler co-founded Renaissance Theaterworks. Unparalleled in regional theater, the company’s mission, hiring patterns, and play selection created a theatrical ecosystem in Wisconsin that cultivates professional work for women both on stage and off. Renaissance is the second oldest theater company in the U.S. that focuses on gender parity. At Renaissance, Kohler’s playwriting career flourished, earning popular and critical acclaim for her plays, as well as nominations for multiple local and national awards. Her credits include three published plays, a production at Edinburgh’s Fringe Festival, and a sold-out Off-Broadway run.
STEVE PAULSON
Steve Paulson is a curious journalist and co-creator and executive producer of the Peabody Award-winning program, “To the Best of Our Knowledge.” “TTBOOK,” as it’s affectionately known, is a nationally syndicated radio show produced by Wisconsin Public Radio that has been a cornerstone of Wisconsin’s intellectual landscape for more than 30 years. Paulson recently launched a podcast series called “Luminous,” which explores the philosophical and cultural implications of psychedelics through conversations with scientists, healers, and religious scholars. He is an avid writer, contributing to Nautilus magazine, a New York-based science magazine that connects science to its impacts on culture and our daily lives. Paulson also contributes to the publicization of scientific research through his moderation of the International Forum on Consciousness, an annual conference focused on exploring dimensions of consciousness. He has served as a vanguard in public media, continually elevating the standards of discourse and understanding.
ANNE STRAINCHAMPS
Anne Strainchamps is an eminent media personality, co-creator and host of the Peabody Award-winning program, “To the Best of Our Knowledge.” TTBOOK is a nationally syndicated radio show produced by Wisconsin Public Radio that has been a cornerstone of Wisconsin’s intellectual landscape for more than 30 years. Through this program, Strainchamps shines while exploring a wide range of topics via a variety of in-depth interviews with thought-provoking guests. Her interviewing and moderation skills have taken her to many stages across the country, where she has had the opportunity to speak with key thought leaders from a variety of fields. Strainchamps has encouraged listeners to engage with ideas and issues critically and empathetically, shaping Wisconsin’s cultural fabric through her efforts.
DAVID ULLRICH
David Ullrich’s more than 50 years in public service, nonprofit leadership, and volunteer work has led to significant improvements in the Wisconsin environment. Throughout his career, Ullrich successfully integrated the personalities and skills of engineers, scientists, government agency staff, and elected officials into a cooperative and collaborative approach to addressing major environmental challenges. At the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency, Ullrich developed Clean Water Act permits for pollution reduction for 17 pulp and paper mills on the Wisconsin River. In 2003, he became the first executive director of The Great Lakes and St. Lawrence Cities Initiative, which quickly became a strong voice for 130 cities with a combined population of more than 17 million. Collaborating with Wisconsin mayors along the shores of Lake Michigan and Lake Superior, the Cities Initiative helped advance the Great Lakes Restoration Initiative, bringing millions of dollars to local communities to improve the economic well-being and quality of life for the people of his beloved state.
The Honorable Judge JoAnn F. Jones, who served as the Ho-Chunk Nation’s first female president.
A snapshot of the opening reception for Chicano Power at the MARN ART + CUTURE HUB in the Historic Third Ward in Milwaukee. Pictured works by: Alexia Jaso, Mi Salgado, Jovanny Hernandez Caballero, Rodrigo Santamaría, Amanda Kuehne, Angela Kingsawan, Sabrina Lombardo, Thomas Romero, Dulce Rosas Bucio
ON THE PATH TO BELONGING
BY FRANK JUÁREZ
Artist, Activist, and Educator Frank Juárez explores the impact of Latino/a/x artists and organizations on creativity and connections in a growing number of communities throughout the state.
Exhibiting Artist, Yesica Coria (middle right), stands in front of her artwork, a larger than life corn husk Catrina, as part of Latino Arts’ Celebrating our Shared Roots exhibit.
Last fall, I attended an opening reception for Chicano Power at the Milwaukee Artist Resource Network (MARN) in the Historic Third Ward in Milwaukee. At many exhibitions I attend, I stroll through the gallery, snap a few photos, reconnect with old friends, and then head to my next destination. This time was different. I was in a space that embraced inclusivity, accessibility, and opportunity. I happened to arrive a few minutes into a gallery talk by MARN’s President and CEO Mal Montoya. He explained the show’s focus, the work of his father, José Montoya, a famed Chicano activist, professor, and artist, and what it meant to be Chicano. Learning the history and intention of an exhibition such as this was important, but what caught my attention was something else, something even more profound. Toward the end of the discussion, Montoya asked the featured artists: “Is this your first time exhibiting your work? Is this your first visit to an art gallery?” Shockingly, about two-thirds of the artists raised their hands. What I saw that evening was emotional and concerning. But also, for the first time, I felt like I belonged.
As a Mexican American teenager growing up on the south side of Milwaukee, I never had a place where I felt I belonged. Like many teenagers, I lived life from one experience to the next. Perhaps, as an introvert, my cautious nature was an added barrier that prevented
me from connecting with others or from finding a community with common interests. After graduating from Bay View High School in 1993, I attended Carroll College (now Carroll University) just outside of Milwaukee. I remember being recruited as a freshman to join the Latin American Student Organization. Even then, I never felt like I belonged.
As I got older, my mindset began to change both personally and professionally. The root of this shift started inside the art room as a high school art educator. I have always strived to make art engaging for my students, showing them that creativity, originality, and self-expression are important for personal and artistic growth. Through my love for contemporary art, I introduced my students to varied processes, artistic explorations, and studio practices from local, regional, national, and international artists.
However, the more I thought about it, the more I began to realize that the content I was sharing was what I thought they would be interested in—not what they might like to learn, experience, and explore as young artists. I overlooked the bigger picture: creating a community where they felt supported, heard, and had a sense of belonging. I began to understand that I have the resources to create opportunities that can affect their lives and, hopefully, make a difference in how they see the world once they graduate
Members of the Latino Arts Strings Program Mariachi Juvenil
Martin Jenich
Martin Jenich
Martin Jenich
Mexican Folk Art Collective
Mexican Folk Art Collective
Mexican Folk Art Collective
Top row left to right: CumbiaCachaca performing at the Hispanic Hertiage Month Celebration at Overture Center for the Arts; Mexican Folk Art Collective’s Día de Muertos celebration; Altar Display, Día de Muertos Art Exhibition at Common Wealth Gallery Middle row left to right: Mexican Folk Art Collective’s Día de Muertos celebration; Altar to my father James “Jimmy” Placencia Castaneda (1928-2023) – Artist: Tony Castaneda, featured at Common Wealth Development and LOUD’s Día de Muertos Gallery Night; 2020 Latin Grammy nominee, singer Gina Chavez, performing for LOUD at North Street Cabaret in Madison Bottom row left to right: Artist Issis Macias standing in front of her collaboration piece with Artist Rodrigo Carapia, featured at Common Wealth Development and LOUD’s Día de Muertos Gallery Night; Mexican Folk Art Collective’s Día de Muertos celebration; Patrons viewing the collaborative painting by Issis Macias and Rodrigo Carapia at the Latino Art Fair, which featured the music of the Afro-Cuban All Stars at Overture Center.
Martin Jenich
Martin Jenich
Martin Jenich
from high school. In this way, I was able to give them what I had needed all those years ago. It was, and still is, a gratifying experience for us all.
Whether working in the art room or participating in an arts organization, we artists and art educators think about our audience and the type of programming that will engage, educate, and empower them, always with the hope that the people we serve will develop a sense of belonging and a meaningful connection. Observing these experiences in our communities and in those we teach and mentor can truly have an impact on us, reinforcing our efforts as teachers to create authentic experiences that build empathy, understanding, and community.
Inspired by my own experiences, I reached out to Latino/a/x directors, founders, and artists whose personal stories and missiondriven philosophies have shaped the work they do today to serve their Wisconsin communities. Their stories follow.
CULTURAL CONNECTIONS IN MILWAUKEE AND BEYOND
For Jacobo Lovo, Managing Artistic Director of Latino Arts, Inc., centered in Milwaukee, a sense of both gratitude and personal responsibility lies at the heart of his work. With a unique focus on programming that promotes integrity, cultural practice, and accessibility, Lovo and his staff design exhibitions that introduce and celebrate the history and voices of Latino/a/x artists. These exhibitions are accompanied by a variety of cultural experiences that deepen community engagement and connections. For example, in addition to workshops led by teaching artists, artist talks, and musical performances, Latino Arts, Inc. creates authentic culinary
experiences, such as cooking workshops with Milwaukee’s Mazorca Tacos Food Truck.
Latino Arts’ programming also integrates experiences from outside of Wisconsin, bringing regional, national, and international flavors to Milwaukee. Programming such as Mono Blanco from Veracruz, Mexico, presented Son Jarocho, a traditional Mexican folk music style, in all its authenticity, and shared with the local community the historic and cultural relevance of this beloved musical genre. Also, in the “Mama Said” exhibit, Latina artists from as far away as Brazil were featured alongside artists from California, Illinois, St. Louis, and Milwaukee. In selecting future programming, Lovo relies on audience feedback via surveys after a performance or event, as well as conversations with community members.
AN ARTIST’S FULL CIRCLE
Executive Director Xela Garcia, of Walker’s Point Center for the Arts (WPCA) in Milwaukee, recollects growing up in Walker’s Point and visiting WPCA as a child. Through its programming, she was introduced to various resources that let her experience her community and explore her identity. As a student at AllenField Elementary, she was selected to participate in the Milwaukee Ballet’s Cornerstone Community Engagement Program, “Relevé,” which provided her with ballet training from 3rd through 5th grade. Garcia was then offered a scholarship to continue with ballet training through her middle-school years.
She also took advantage of her school’s arts and music education programs, belonged to the after-school art club, and received formal training in piano through her elementary school years (complete
The Chicano Power exhibit at the MARN ART + CULTURE HUB in Milwaukee last year. Pictured works by: Paula Lovo , Mi Salgado, Jovanny Hernandez Caballero, Nati Rodriguez, Alondra Arteaga, Thomas Romero, Sabrina Lombardo, David Emmanuelle Castillo, Jonathan Vega, Rodrigo Santamaría, Angela Kingsawan, Dulce Rosas Bucio, Melissa Lombardo
Milwaukee Artist
with year-end recitals). She later graduated from UW—Madison with a degree in English Literature and a minor in Chicanx/ Latinx history.
“The ability to draw from such life experiences helped me build confidence as an adult,” says Garcia.
But after returning to Milwaukee, she felt disconnected from her community and sought to explore pressing issues, leadership, and the pathways she could connect to. She stumbled upon a program that has now lapsed but that was an important bridge for her. The Latino Nonprofit Leadership Program, led by Dr. Jeanette Mitchell and Dr. Enrique Figueroa, provided her with a sense of community and a platform for action. That program solidified her interest in the nonprofit sector and guided her to a community-centric career path that merged youth development, the arts, and leadership development.
Garcia’s leadership today at WPCA helps to uplift and amplify the voices of the underrepresented. Its bilingual staff and diverse offerings, such as cultural events, exhibitions, workshops, and educational programming, contribute to the identity and conversations of the community they serve. WPCA has developed three flagship exhibitions that highlight artistic voices and talent: the Youth Art Show, Community Artists Annual Membership Show, and Culture Bearers through the Día de Los Muertos exhibition.
In addition, it offers a free after-school art program for youth and artist development opportunities, such as art residencies and workshops in connection with community partnerships. As a result, WPCA is recognized by the community as a safe and healing space, especially important during the pandemic.
“Organizations need to be nimble and welcome change.” “How do we devote resources?” “How do we innovate?”, says Garcia.
PROGRAMMING IN A PANDEMIC
As the weight of the pandemic hung heavy over our lives, we navigated through the unknown with no end in sight. Programming—a complex process that involves vision, funding, months, and even years of planning and designing—became challenging as the physical spaces where we gathered were soon replaced by virtual meetings, events, and workshops.
For Oscar Mireles, Founder and Executive Director of the Madison-based Latinos Organizing for Understanding and Development (LOUD), the pandemic presented both challenges and opportunities. Harnessing his half-century of community building and leadership experiences, Mireles focused on building collaborations with others from the Madison community to spotlight the Latino arts and to develop Latino artists.
Through partnerships with non-Latino organizations, such as the Madison Symphony Orchestra and Overture Center for the Arts, LOUD has helped curate cultural events, gallery exhibitions, musical performances, lectures, and more. His art is bringing people together around the kitchen table to have conversations on how their collaborative efforts can put a spotlight on the amazing talent that exists within their communities.
INDIGENOUS TRADITIONS AND CULTURE FIND A NEW HOME
Gabriela Marván is the founder and director of Mexican Folk Art Collective, a consortium of Mexican artists from the United States and Mexico. Marván, who migrated to the small community of Viroqua, Wisconsin, from Mexico in 2019, struggled to find local spaces to sell her work.
Students work on a painting project during After School Art Class led by Oscar Quinto-Zamudio (center), the Director of Arts Education at Walker’s Point Center for the Arts in Milwaukee on March 8, 2024
Brian Huynh
“I had pieces in a couple of galleries then, but I didn’t have enough work to fill an exhibition,” says Marván.
The closest Mexican art shop was a four-hour drive to Minneapolis, and those she reached out to suggested that her artwork was priced too high and could be less expensively purchased in Mexico. At first, the Collective operated as an online community, fostering the traditional arts, reconnecting to Mexican traditions and culture, and advocating for a more culturally diverse community of arts.
Marván’s efforts paid off. In 2021, the Collective’s collaboration with the nonprofit Driftless Curiosity and the McIntosh Memorial Library presented an immersive and outdoors regional Día de Muertos (Day of the Dead) celebration at schools, libraries, and other community-wide gatherings in Viola. The annual event now attracts 600 attendees to the Driftless area. This year’s event is on October 5 and will feature 5,000 marigolds harvested from Keewaydin Farms in Richland County.
The Día de Muertos in Wisconsin has become an important community-building event in and of itself. Growing in prominence and popularity, Día de Muertos, typically held on November 1 and 2, is a holiday widely observed in Mexico and by people of Mexican heritage. Traditions include erecting home alters—ofrendas—to welcome back the souls of deceased relatives for a brief reunion. The holiday is a festive occasion featuring food, drinks, and celebrations. In addition to the Mexican Folk Art Collective, Latino Arts, Inc., LOUD, and WPCA all organize their own version of the holiday, engaging the public in authentic cultural experiences that celebrate themes such as Mexican heritage, identity, love and loss, connection, and community.
While there is still plenty of work to be done to educate, engage, and empower artists young and old and to inspire and connect them in ways that validate their cultural heritage and identities,
Latino/a/x arts organizations throughout the state are making an impact. The most effective engagement tools have often been those with the widest reach. Through collectives, collaborations, and partnerships, artists and arts organizations are generating authentic experiences, sharing resources, and broadening both audiences and opportunities. Most of all, these artists and the communities they serve are one step closer to feeling like they belong. It’s never too late to make a difference.
Frank Juárez brings over two decades of art education and arts management experience organizing local and regional art exhibitions, and community art events. He presents on art education at the state and national level, supports artists through grant programs, and offers professional development workshops for artists. Juárez is at the forefront of promoting Wisconsin artists, as well as attracting regional, national, and international artists to collaborate and exhibit in Wisconsin. Juárez is the art department chair at Sheboygan North High School, publisher of Artdose magazine, and editor-in-chief of SchoolArts magazine.
Patrons enjoying the Chicano Power exhibit at the MARN ART + CULTURE HUB in Milwaukee. Pictured works by: José Montoya, Thomas Romero
Imagine sitting by the side of a gently rushing creek, hearing how the babbling of water over round smooth stones can mimic the dance and shimmer of light, noticing the way it spills like lace over the wheeling surface and around the grasses and reeds growing up along the muddy banks. Imagine trying to capture that ephemeral physical reality in materials that are hard and breakable, materials like wood and stones and metal. How would it feel to be fixated on capturing that un-capturable thing, on re-creating a fleeting moment you witnessed, or a subtle shift of feeling you noticed, or a particular angle of shine you glimpsed from the corner of your eye while sitting by the water, patiently observing the world change around you?
Truman Lowe, Waterfall VIII
To do so would be to step into the life, mind, and artistic process of Truman Lowe, the renowned Ho-Chunk sculptor whose minimalist abstract style set him apart among his contemporaries, and whose passing in 2019 left a significant void in the landscape of visual artists—and in particular, Indigenous visual artists—in Wisconsin. Noted for his experimental uses of woodworking in combination with materials like metal and feathers, Lowe brought traditional Ho-Chunk cultural crafts and aesthetics into his modern minimalism and created pieces that evoked the feeling and beauty of water.
In fact, the opening moments of a recent short documentary are set over a recording of Lowe in which he discusses his love for water. In his deep, calm voice, he states, “I have an interest in trying to protect as much of the environment as possible. One can choose to be political about it, but I want to create enough interest in water through my work that others will begin to share the same beauty and the same understanding that I have of moving water.” The documentary, which was created by members of the Ho-Chunk nation in conjunction with the travel series TV program Discover Wisconsin, was titled “Exploring the Artistic Process of Truman Lowe: A Journey Through Native American Art & Education.” In November of 2023, the short film won a regional Emmy for outstanding achievement in the category of Arts/Entertainment Short Form Content at the 65th Chicago/Midwest Regional Emmy Awards.
The film highlights images and video clips of many of his sculptures and delves into the long-lasting impact he has had on the university and museum communities in which he worked for most of his career. It also features the 2022 unveiling of the new Truman T. Lowe Center for the Arts building on the University of Wisconsin—La Crosse campus, where Lowe was an undergraduate student and the place where his aspirations to be an artist in his adult life began to grow.
A simple search online is enough to confirm the magnitude of his portfolio and the legacy he leaves behind as a professor and mentor to countless Native students and art students at the University of Wisconsin—Madison for more than four decades, a curator of contemporary art at the National Museum of the American Indian, and former chair of both the UW—Madison Art Department and the Chancellor’s Scholarship Committee.
However, what intrigued me more than the titles and credentials was the fact that in the countless interviews, articles, and videos online that I explored when beginning my research, everything always came back to the idea of water. Some of Lowe’s best-known and well-regarded pieces take on the shapes of canoes or waterfalls, with many others being crafted from driftwood or willow, shaped while it was fresh-cut and then dried. It seemed an ongoing fascination for him, a deep wellspring of inspiration around which he built up the various elements of his life and work, and, as such, something I wanted to explore further.
“Well, he grew up near a creek where he would play with all the other kids all the time,” Truman’s wife, Nancy, told me while describing his childhood on Indian Mission near Black River Falls, Wisconsin. “He was drawing then, even as a kid, with chalky white stones on darker stones, though I don’t know that he ever thought about art as a career at that point,” she went on. “It wasn’t until he was in high school that he started drawing more seriously. His art
teacher really saw potential in him and gave him free use of the art supplies during his free time. He often told a story about trying to draw snow piled on tree branches. He tried over and over again to get the image just right, and it took a long time, but he finally got it. That’s how he was with all of his art later, too. He just had an idea in his head and tried and tried things until he got it just right.”
Most often, the point of fascination for Lowe had to do specifically with the movements of water—a particular way water had of rushing around something, or the angle of water falling over an edge, or the texture of its surface. “He especially loved the edges of the water, like the banks where the stems grow or the rocks are poking through,” said Nancy Lowe. “Anywhere we went, he wanted to go find the water—always moving water—and stand and look at it for a while. And when we went out in the canoe, which we did with our kids a lot, he would point out a specific thing to look at or notice. He made me more observant of nature in that way.”
That level of detailed analysis is evident when you sit down and actually look at any of Lowe’s work. Take, for instance, the series of waterfall pieces he created out of long, thin slats of unfinished and bendable lumber. Anchored on one end to a vertical wall or structure, these strips cascade down to the ground at particular angles, each slightly different from the next, and each overlapping the other, to create the overall effect of water falling over a jagged edge, how it doesn’t flow in a neat glassy surface, but rather weaves in and around itself, through itself. The art re-creates the mechanisms of turbulence that physicists have puzzled over for ages, even as it depicts the flow of water moving together as one current.
The strips also recall those of ash fibers Lowe watched his parents cut, process, boil, and then expertly weave into traditional baskets during his childhood, a narrative that Jo Ortel, art historian and author of Woodland Reflections: The Art of Truman Lowe, suggests was formative in Lowe’s early years and later influenced his art. She writes, “Although he was allowed to do some of the basket weaving, Truman Lowe did not help directly or regularly with basket preparations as a child. Nevertheless, he has stated, ‘The process is most vivid to me, because it involved a lot of activity!’ Through his exposure, he gained a familiarity with wood’s properties, limits, and possibilities. Surrounded by craftspeople who regularly worked with the material, he gained a sensitivity to its physical structure, to the circumstances under which its flexibility could be exploited, and to what extent.”
“As he always said, ‘Wood is liquid, ultimately,’” Ortel said while describing his working process. “It is made from liquid, carries liquid, and bends with liquid.” And indeed, one could look to Lowe’s many, many pieces that feature peeled willow sticks, connected to each other like sparse structures set in different angles and configurations and rising out of bases sometimes teeming with stones or other pieces of wood to see what he means. These extremely minimalist sculptures recall errant twigs floating downstream, woody stalks growing out of the shallows, and cross-sections of creek beds, but they also serve as a nod to the cross-woven structures of traditional Native American buildings that also fascinated Lowe. “He used to pore over books like this one and mark the pages where he saw something that interested him,” Nancy told me before handing me a copy of Native American Architecture by Peter Nabakov, which still has his sticky notes marking particular pages.
Despite the complex images and ideas that his pieces evoke, Lowe’s art is unmistakably minimalist, which is particularly significant when considering that he began creating work seriously during the 1970s, a time defined by loud art, loud music, loud literature, and loud politics. At the height of the Red Power movement, subtle nods to Indigenous culture and subversions of the expectations of “loudness”—which were often part of the political strategy of minority groups striving to be seen, heard, and acknowledged as equal—were very uncommon and avant-garde. But regardless of whether Lowe’s work fit the mold during that time, the aesthetic of his art is unmistakably Indigenous, and Great Lakes Indigenous at that.
For example, another of Lowe’s commonly used figures, the canoe, appears in many different forms throughout his body of work. In one of the most iconic, Feather Canoe, branches are woven and trussed together into the familiar canoe shape, with white feathers lining the inside of the structure. Ortel quotes Lowe in her book as saying, “Once when I stood by the Wisconsin River watching its movements, watching people pass by, I suddenly realized why I loved being in a canoe. First, its marvelous architecture is wonderful to be within. More important, I understood that canoeing gave me the feeling of being on the earth while being suspended
above it.” And, indeed, the piece, inspired by something he saw while eating lunch along the shore of Lake Mendota on the UW—Madison campus, evokes the feeling of weightlessly floating across the surface of water. But further, the image of the canoe is a well-known image associated with the stereotypical “Vanishing Indian” in American culture. As Ortel writes, “In this saturated visual climate, using the canoe as a motif carries risks as well as challenges for the visual artist—particularly if the artist is Native American. Its meanings and associations over-determined, can it be used in any way but paradoxically, ironically?”
On the Indian Mission, Truman grew up among a family that still spoke Ho-Chunk as their first language. Their community was still traditional in ways that most communities aren’t anymore. If one of them hunted a deer, they shared with other families that needed the food, and they looked after each other’s kids if the parents were otherwise occupied. That kind of upbringing instilled in Lowe a particularly Ho-Chunk worldview and sense of humor, which both his wife and daughter described to me as “clever” and “punny.”
“It’s part of why he used Ho-Chunk words for the titles of his pieces,” Ortel told me while we sat down for coffee together. “There are just some ideas that didn’t translate to English. Sometimes, he
Truman Lowe, Stream Segment #2, 1991, wood, watercolor, stones, 18 x 34 1/2 x 8 1/2 in.
Estate of Truman T. Lowe
would call up his siblings to help figure out the exact wording for the idea he was trying to convey. I remember sometimes I would go to his studio and I would just find him sitting there reading through a dictionary looking for interesting things.” And indeed, in the introduction of her book, Ortel writes, “Just as it is not always possible to interpret the intensity or direction of a stream’s current from its surface, the artist’s seeming simplicity conceals subtle layers of meaning. Philosophical musings, personal history, and tribal legend are woven into abstract, minimal sculptures. He once described how he conceives the creative process: “I believe each artist invents a personal language,” he wrote. “You assemble elements of a visual language shaped by your own perceptions and interpretations. Then you begin to tell a story...”
His deep interest in words, in moving water, and in those abstract and intangible things speaks more deeply to the inner mechanisms of Lowe’s mind and personality, to the cerebral and quiet man whom people often described as gentle, soft-spoken, and gently encouraging. “He had a real interest in and fascination with language,” recalls Dr. Patricia Marroquin Norby, associate curator of Native American Art at the Metropolitan Museum of Art and former mentee of Truman Lowe at UW—Madison. “I remember he would suddenly say out of nowhere, ‘Hey, did you know that there’s an Ojibwe word for the exact moment that a fish’s fin emerges out of water?’ And things like that that were very visual and poetic and beautiful.”
Dr. Norby’s words, which came from a recorded stage conversation titled Honoring Truman Lowe: Celebrating Indigenous Perspectives in Art (in which he sat down with UW—Madison Professor of Printmaking-Relief and Serigraphy and Associate Dean for the Arts John Hitchcock) highlighted another important aspect of Lowe’s teaching style. Said Norby, “He had a way of giving advice that wasn’t like pushing it onto you but rather encouraging you to relax and open up in a way that let you know that you didn’t always have to be perfect, that things could happen and unfold naturally, with the understanding that your creative process was always growing and changing.”
And indeed, it seems that that perspective and philosophy—of gently shaping the world while letting things unfold naturally—informed not only his teaching, but also the way in which he lived. “He had this kind of striking contrast to him,” said his daughter, Tonia Lowe, in a Zoom conversation from her California home. “He was really not an extrovert, and he didn’t talk excessively, but he was a really good listener. Then, when he did talk, it was super impactful, like he had been paying attention the whole time and said exactly what you needed to hear. And sometimes, you were surprised or blown away by what he said because it was like, ‘Where did that come from?’ But most of the time it was rooted in an idea that he was ruminating on. There was always something going on in his head, and he was very empathetic.”
Much like water himself in that way, Truman Lowe was always working to further the steady progression of much larger ideas. For instance, during his years as Assistant Dean and Coordinator of Multicultural Programming, or as Native American Studies coordinator back when the program was in its inception stages, or as a professor of art, it wasn’t uncommon to see him seeking out and making time to meet with Native students on campus. He would
check in on them and encourage their educational goals, all in the pursuit of furthering higher education for Native American communities, a motivation that was particularly personal because, as a child, he had always been told he would go to college, even though he was the first in his family to do so.
Or similarly, as Tonia said, “Because he was an idea guy, always trying to manifest all the ideas he had in his head into the world and supporting other peoples’ ideas, he felt the need to take advantage of being at the university, which is the home of the ‘Wisconsin Idea.’ He would go to different administrators or Deans and ask them who the Nobel Prize laureates were at the university, and make appointments to go meet them because he just wanted to know what they were thinking about.”
In many ways, the art was both the goal and the byproduct of Lowe’s thoughtful processing of the world around him. He would often finish a sculpture and then take it apart to use its various pieces in other works, something art collectors would be horrified to know. But like water, the art itself was transient for him, an accomplishment that, once finished, was no longer relevant to the next idea his mind had already moved onto. His motivation was less about selling his work, Nancy told me, and more about the process of creation itself. He was always concerned with getting his ideas out, operating out of concern that he wouldn’t be able to get through all the ideas in his head before he wasn’t able to do it anymore. And in so many ways, in the art he left behind, in the memories his loved ones cherish of him, in the careers of the countless students he mentored and artists he showcased, his legacy is just that: the slow working out of meaning and form, the flow of creativity, and, as such, the understanding of what it is to be a human interacting with nature in this world.
Alexandria Delcourt (Abenaki and Filipino) is a writer, editor, educator, and storyteller. Her work focuses on travel, generational trauma, and colonialism, and has appeared in Narrative, Poetry Quarterly , Cream City Review , Aster(ix) , Profane Journal , Kalyani Magazine , and many others. She lives in Madison with her husband, daughter, and two cats.
Guest curated by Brenda Baker and Bird Ross
AUGUST 23 – OCTOBER 20, 2024
Guest curated by Ann Sinfield
Visit wisconsinacademy.org/gallery to learn more!
Thanks to Wisconsin Academy donors, members, and the following sponsors:
Whether it’s a beloved print or family heirloom, give your piece an artful presentation that will stand the test of time.
Tues – Sat, 10am – 5pm
Schedule an appointment or drop by
“Skógafoss” photograph on canvas by Mark Weller
5-10-100 WOMEN ARTISTS FORWARD
In 2018, Madison artists Brenda Baker and Bird Ross set out to see if they could do their part to bring more financial equity to women visual artists right here at home. Their message that artists bring integrity, vitality, diversity, and joy to this community and improve the quality of life for everyone was heard, and the Women Artists Forward Fund was born.
With the support of generous souls in Dane County, Baker and Ross created the fund, held at the Madison Community Foundation, to address gender disparity affecting women artists locally. Through the annual Forward Art Prize, the Fund provides direct financial support to strengthen their practice and bring recognition and community support.
Annually and in perpetuity, the Forward Art Prize funds two unrestricted $10,000 awards to female-identifying visual artists living in Dane County who show exceptional creativity and compelling prospects for the future. The Prize is awarded through an independent jury and application process and recognizes artists who are deeply committed to their practice, inspiring new ways of thinking and making while engaging people throughout the region.
With this exhibition, on view at the James Watrous Gallery through August 4, 5-10-100: Women Artists Forward , we celebrate the first 5 years of prizes for l0 remarkable women with over l00 thousand dollars awarded in unrestricted funds supporting their professional practice.
The first 5 years of the Forward Art Prizes have been awarded to Jennifer Angus, Adriana Barrios, Mary Bero, Yeonhee Cheong, Angelica Contreras, Lilada Gee, Dakota Mace, Katherine Steichen Rosing, Alice Traore, and Babette Wainwright.
Beth Skogen Photography
Brenda Baker (left) and Bird Ross, founders of the Women Artists Forward Fund
Angelica Contreras, La Carga, 2023. Mixed media on canvas, 63 x 38 in.
Top: Alice Traore, If Fates Allow, 2023. Watercolor and colored pencil, 18 x 24 in. Bottom left: Yeonhee Cheong, Farewell My Bittersweet Glory, 2024. Cotton floss and metallic thread, 20.5 x 27.5 x 1.5 in. Bottom right: Katherine Steichen Rosing, Prophecy, 2021 India ink on archival Tyvek, pex tubing, wood dowels, h. 132 in., diam. 45 in.
Guest Curator
BRENDA LEIGH BAKER
Artist LILADA GEE
Artist MARY BERO
Artist ALICE TRAORE
Artist BABETTE WAINWRIGHT
Artist JENNIFER ANGUS
Artist DAKOTA MACE
Artist YEONHEE CHEONG
Artist ADRIANA BARRIOS
Artist KATHERINE STEICHEN ROSING
Guest Curator BIRD ROSS
Artist ANGELICA CONTRERAS
Holly Hilliard
A monarch butterfly perches on milkweed.
ZUGUNRUHE
BY HOLLY HILLIARD
It was the first day of seed collecting at Weber Marsh, and Andy was at the barn early to intercept any overeager volunteers. He had already crossed this mid-September day off his desk calendar; only eight more Saturdays to go, after this one. If an early snowfall struck before the last volunteer day, so much the better, though he didn’t count on it. He had learned over the last five years that if he so much as imagined the things he wanted—a return of normal water levels following months of drought, or the arrival of the snowy owl that sometimes hunkered down in Evans Prairie for the winter—the marsh wouldn’t give it to him. It had become a superstition: Don’t voice your desires aloud. Don’t let the marsh figure out what it is you’re after.
Andy was a man of science, but sometimes at his loneliest moments, he thought of the marsh as a powerful woman, one who liked to test his loyalty. She wanted him to prove his undying devotion to the land, and if his compass veered even a tiny bit off course, she would find a way to point him North again.
Ronald Schultz was one of those tests. A seventy-something retired arborist, Ronald now drove his Camry into the grass beside the barn where Andy waited with a stack of buckets. Ronald’s white mustache turned up in a grin as he killed the engine, honking obnoxiously before stepping out of the car. The sound was out of place here in the quiet; just over the ridge, the sandhill cranes bugled their morning hellos, and the Canada geese called out to each other as they flew in Vs over the water.
Andy checked his watch. Ronald was eighteen minutes early.
Ronald had been volunteering at Weber Marsh for nearly twenty years, and he didn’t let Andy forget it. He liked to offer little tidbits of information about the marsh as it “used to be” before Andy came to work here, and he often corrected Andy in front of the other volunteers.
As Ronald emerged from his car, he called out to Andy, “Prairie dropseed today?”
Andy had planned to collect prairie dropseed today, it was true, but now he decided to change the schedule. “Culver’s-root,” he corrected.
Both seed types were ready to be collected, though the volunteers tended to enjoy Culver’s-root collection much less. The thin, sparse plant could be difficult to see in the great ocean of blooming wildflowers, and it wasn’t as tactile as prairie dropseed, which you could run your hands through, filling your palms with brown seeds that smelled of butter and autumn.
Ronald made a sound like he was going to protest, but Andy busied himself with the volunteer sign-in sheet, writing today’s date at the top before passing it to Ronald to fill out.
A few more volunteers arrived, their cars kicking up dust on the gravel lane. Andy recognized the usual suspects—retirees, mostly—and even Janie had returned, though Andy had hoped she would finally throw in the towel this year. She was in her mid-eighties, and she didn’t do well walking through the high prairie grasses. She also tended to ask the same clarifying questions over and over, and he worried that she might contaminate their collected seeds by accidentally adding invasive species to the mix.
The morning was unseasonably warm, but this practiced group knew the drill: they wore long pants and tall boots, UPF shirts and sunglasses. The prairie at Weber Marsh was unforgiving, home to sneaky prairie thistle that could pierce your skin even through your pants, and there was no shade at all. Andy wore his usual long cargo pants and knee-high waders, a moisture-wicking long sleeve shirt, and a wide-brimmed green hat that his ex said made him look like Yogi Bear.
In the early days of their relationship, his ex claimed to appreciate the fact that he didn’t care about fashion. In college, she was the one who picketed with the Student Climate Action Coalition, and she was the one to sign them both up for the intro ecology course that led to Andy’s chosen career path. She was also the one who, after moving into their first apartment, bought a worm composting bin, which went awry and resulted in a maggot infestation as well as a rotten, blood-like smell in their kitchen that they could never completely get rid of.
And now she was a big-time lawyer at a commercial law firm, doing nothing to help the world as far as Andy could tell. She lived in Chicago, two hours away, which was too close for Andy’s liking.
A few more volunteers trickled in, and he busied himself distributing the buckets and scissors. It took him a moment to notice the unfamiliar Subaru Forester turning onto the lane. It moved slowly, and as it crested the small hill next to the barn, the glare on the windshield drew his eye like a flame. The reflection was too bright for him to see the driver.
“Anyone expecting a friend to join us?” he asked the group, but they denied it. It was unusual to have brand new volunteers. Weber Marsh was far from town, a good forty-minute drive down winding country roads.
The Subaru slowly eased into the grass where the others had parked. Andy’s stomach dropped as the driver’s side door opened.
A woman.
For a wild moment, Andy thought his ex had returned. But then he realized that this woman was younger, maybe in her mid-twenties, and she had dark, glossy hair, though she and his ex were about the same height and build: tall, lanky. He felt a spike of adrenaline that he tried to tamp down.
He didn’t mean to meet Ronald’s eyes, but when he did, Ronald gave him an exaggerated wink.
The woman approached them with some hesitancy. “Is this the seed collecting group?” she asked.
Her voice was huskier than he expected, and Andy’s stomach lurched again. But before he could formulate a response, Ronald replied, “Sure is. Welcome to the club!”
Andy’s face burned. Now she would think that Ronald was in charge.
Andy couldn’t figure out how to reassert himself as the leader. He also couldn’t remember how long it had been since he’d washed his hair. It was long now, down to his shoulders, and he hadn’t bothered tying it back. He was glad he had the hat.
The woman shifted from foot to foot. She was wearing sneakers and jeans and a cotton t-shirt, and Andy wondered if he should warn her. Even aside from prairie thistle, the tall grasses were soaked with dew at this time in the morning, and she was going to be very uncomfortable in those clothes. But he had never expressed concern over the other volunteers’ attire before, so he kept his mouth shut.
Janie handed over the sign-in sheet, and the new woman took it wordlessly and scratched down her name and contact information. Andy didn’t mean to look at her hands, but he couldn’t help himself. No ring.
She held the clipboard uncertainly, then made as if to pass it to Ronald. Finally Andy summoned his willpower and said, “I can take that.”
She looked at him with some surprise, and he worried that he’d been too brusque. She passed him the sheet, and he tried not to let his gaze linger on it. He didn’t want to express too much interest in her name, though he was dying to know it.
There it was: Lydia Stanhope. A flare of energy sizzled through his chest. It was like learning the scientific name of a new flower. No, becoming aware of a new flower. Here she was, right beside him—and maybe she’d been nearby all this time. Maybe they’d passed each other on the sidewalk in town, or stood in the same aisle at Woodman’s. Maybe they had simply never noticed each other.
Now, though, she had a name. Now he knew her.
This feeling was why he had fallen in love with his job. Working at the marsh had given him a brand new color palette, a sixth sense. He could name so many plants and birds and insects now, and he could tell you exactly how everything fit together.
When Andy visited his mom in North Carolina after his first year at Weber Pond, he saw his childhood home in a completely different light, all the native plants in the yard suddenly taking on new significance. Those pearlescent, pea-like flowers growing on tall stalks outside his bedroom window were white baptisia, a tumbleweed. That greenish caterpillar on the baptisia leaf would turn into a wild indigo duskywing. In fall, brown seed pods would emerge from the calyx tube, and they’d have tiny weevil grubs inside, adapted to eat the seeds.
And all along he’d thought his mom was the neighborhood eccentric, growing weeds in the yard while everyone else cut their grass and pruned their shrubs. Awareness, interconnectedness, unity. Andy was grateful to the marsh for giving him these gifts.
JUDGE’S NOTE
DEBRA MONROE
The protagonist of “Zugunruhe” is a solitary man of science who supervises the conservation of a marsh that seems to him like a mistress to whom he proves devotion. A volunteer from a nearby town appears like a once-unnoticed wildflower he’s now noticed and ignites a flare in his heart. His resulting inattention ushers in a state of emergency, then age-old “migratory restlessness,” or the evolutionary instinct to leave. This story is adroitly plotted with a beguiling and magisterial sense of place.
(“You really think you’re aware of things?” Andy’s ex said once, and he never did find out the thing he missed, the thing he hadn’t been aware of, that caused her to laugh like that.)
Andy checked his watch, then cleared his throat. “So, we’re collecting Culver’s-root today. Veronicastrum virginicum.” He flinched after saying the scientific name, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. Ronald snorted but thankfully didn’t comment. A hand shot up.
“Yes, Janie?” Andy asked politely.
She slowly lowered her hand. Her voice wobbled even more than it had last year. “What does Culver’s-root look like, again?”
He tried not to sigh. “I’ll show you once we get out there. Everyone have a bucket and scissors?”
He didn’t wait for their confirmation, instead striding straight into Evans Prairie through the tall grasses that came up to his chin. It all sprang back almost immediately; prairies were surprisingly resilient. He knew the group would follow—they always did, whether he wanted them to or not—but he felt a heightened sense of awareness today, a prick at the back of his neck. Lydia was behind him now, sizing him up.
He told himself to focus. He waded through New England aster and showy goldenrod, twining together in bright purple and yellow, buzzing with brown-belted bumble bees. (Somewhere behind him, Lydia introduced herself to Janie. She seemed friendly. Why was she here?) An American goldfinch perched on a sawtooth sunflower a few feet away, and a red-tailed hawk soared in loops above their heads. (Lydia was saying that she had just moved to the area for a teaching job at the elementary school.) Behind him, a pair of wood ducks whistled their high-pitched flight calls, catching his attention as they winged their way to the marsh on the other side of the ridge. (Janie asked if she was single; Lydia laughed and said she was.)
It didn’t matter that she was single. He wasn’t a land steward for the dating opportunities.
Andy felt himself turning red, and, seeing a brown seed head shaped almost like a devil’s pitchfork, he cut it off with an overzealous snip. Then he trudged back to show the group.
He refused to meet Lydia’s eyes as he held the Culver’s-root aloft, explaining what to look for, where to cut. He hoped his telepathic message to Weber Marsh was received: I am here for the land and nothing else. This is all I will ever need.
Thesecond weekend of seed collecting was something of a special time at Weber Marsh, as it was the peak of monarch migration. The butterflies roosted here in the thousands, drinking nectar from prairie plants in order to fuel their journey to Mexico.
It was Andy’s job to “tag” as many butterflies as he could. It wasn’t high-tech— he had thousands of tiny stickers, each with a 7-digit ID, that he would place on the butterflies’ wings and enter into a database online. In the late fall, around the Day of the Dead, the monarchs would appear in droves throughout the Sierra Madres, and volunteers there would go out to the roosts to look at the tags and report which butterflies survived. It was part of an international effort to better understand the movements of monarchs and assess how close they were to extinction.
When Andy started working at the marsh five years ago, this kind of work felt special—it had a global impact, and he was helping to save a whole species. But now even this seemed like drudgery. In his master’s program, his advisor often said that being a land steward was like being a bricklayer for a cathedral. You spent your life doing backbreaking labor, laying one brick after another, but at least you could take heart in the knowledge that you were building something beautiful.
It was true that the marsh was his cathedral, his church. But lately the sermons were all about hellfire. Temperatures were rising, the marsh was drying out, the
grassland birds were disappearing, and the community didn’t care enough. Though Andy lived on the land by himself, he was technically beholden to the nonprofit that had bought this land for conservation purposes—and the nonprofit never had enough money. The folks in the main office were underpaid and overworked, burnt out, ready to give up at any moment.
Which is why they needed so many volunteers, and also why Andy wasn’t allowed to complain about them.
So on that second Saturday, when his seed collectors had finished collecting dropseed, Andy asked if they could stay to tag monarchs. He would rather have done it all himself, but he was running out of time; the weather was starting to turn, and the butterflies would take off any day now.
He also wouldn’t mind the extra time with Lydia, though he told himself that it would be in his best interest if she went home and never volunteered again. He had a bad feeling that she was just like his ex, the kind of person who was here only to feel good about herself, to check a box and be done.
But when he asked the volunteers if they could help, Lydia seemed eager to tag the monarchs, saying, “There’s nothing else I’d rather do today.” It was noon, and they were back at the barn, dumping their individual buckets of dropseed into an empty blue kiddie pool.
Ronald gave Andy a wicked grin, his bushy white mustache dancing like a creature all its own. “I’ve got somewhere to be,” he told Andy.
Janie chose to stay. The others headed back to their cars.
And so Andy found himself leading two women—some fifty years apart in age— into the prairie across the street. There was a stand of pines at the corner where hundreds of monarchs roosted, though they’d all be out in the field now, nectaring on wildflowers in the sun.
He explained how to use the nets: wait until the butterfly perches on a flower, then swing the net gently from right to left, twisting the handle up so that the material of the net blocks the opening. Simple.
He looked at Lydia the whole time he was talking. Her dark hair was tied up today, high and airy, drawing more attention to her heart-shaped face.
She did a few practice swings, her net careening through the goldenrod, and he was tempted to stand behind her and correct her grip like in the movies. But then Janie took a swing and—accidentally or not, it wasn’t clear—hit him in the shoulder, causing him to lurch toward Lydia. He reached out and grabbed her elbow.
She laughed and stumbled back, and he immediately released her, then gave them both a thin smile. His face was burning. “It takes practice,” he said.
They spread out, and in the span of a few moments he had lost sight of both Lydia and Janie. The flora was so tall that even he couldn’t see over it, and he was taller than both women by at least half a foot.
He swung his net and easily snagged a monarch. He knew he should demonstrate how to tag it, but—still smarting from his previous embarrassment—he thought he might just keep quiet. He was carrying the stickers, after all, and the chart to fill out with every monarch’s information: gender, time of capture, type of flower it was perched on.
The monarch struggled in the net, and he clasped a hand over the material, keeping her there. She was female—she didn’t have black spots on the surface of her hindwings.
He hunched there, paralyzed, watching the monarch flap against the material of the net. He could do this alone.
But did he want to?
He took a breath and called out, “Got one!”
And Lydia was there almost immediately, plowing through the prairie like a badger. He heard Janie far off to his right, struggling through the overgrowth. It would take her a while to make it back.
In the meantime he showed Lydia how to pinch the monarch’s wings to keep her immobilized. Lydia made a startled noise as she fought to hold the butterfly, and she commented, “My mother always told me not to touch a butterfly’s wings.”
He nodded. “A well-intentioned myth.”
“You’re sure it’s just a myth?” She asked this with trepidation, as though she was worried he was playing a prank on her. As though she might find out she was hurting the butterfly even now, melting its wings with her fingertips.
“I’m sure. The wings have to be strong to travel so far.” He looked at the first sticker on his sheet and wrote down the 7-digit number on his chart, then peeled it off and handed it to her.
“Put it right there,” he said, “on the discal cell.”
“Here?” she asked, quietly now. He looked up and noted that Janie was still a ways off.
This was Andy and Lydia’s private moment.
“There,” he said, reaching in and placing his hand, so lightly, on hers. He steered her towards the correct part of the wing, and she pressed the sticker on. Then he released her hand.
“I don’t want to hurt her,” Lydia said, and the breeze gusted, and for a moment Andy thought the marsh was listening.
“It’s okay,” he assured her. “You’re not.” But something about Lydia’s touch seemed to disturb the monarch, and they watched as the butterfly struggled, six legs running and running, treading air.
When she let the monarch go, it floated up and into the sky, disappearing against the blue like a speck.
“What did I miss?” Janie panted, finally appearing at Andy’s side.
“We just tagged a monarch. Don’t worry, I’ll find another one,” he told her, seeing the dismayed look on her face. He was annoyed at her intrusion, even though he knew he shouldn’t be.
“How do the monarchs know when it’s time to leave?” Lydia asked now, her eyes still focused on the sky.
“It’s an instinct,” Andy said. He’d been thinking about it a lot these days.“There’s a German word for it, zugunruhe, which means migratory restlessness. Scientists believe that butterflies and birds and a few other species can feel when it’s time to travel.”
“I’ve felt that before,” Lydia said. “That’s how I came here.”
He made a noncommittal noise of understanding. He wanted to tell her that humans don’t experience zugunruhe. They migrate when they have to, when it’s a matter of survival, but there’s nothing inside them telling them when and where to go.
He was thinking of his ex now. He couldn’t help it. They had grown up together in the Research Triangle in North Carolina, and they went to college together, and then, when he chose a master’s program in Wisconsin, she followed him there. Andy got only one job offer after that, at Weber Marsh. His ex wanted him to decline it; she said she didn’t want to be so far from the city.
But he accepted, and still she chose to follow him.
Sometimes he wondered what he’d been thinking. He had known, all along, that his ex wouldn’t be happy here. They both did.
But the marsh had called to him. He couldn’t explain it, even now.
“This is all yours,” his boss had joked that first day, standing on the farmhouse porch at the top of the tallest hill. They could see prairie, marshland, and forest, all at once. The sun touched down on the fields just so; the light glittered on the water like a thousand jewels.
Even if he’d gotten a better job offer in a more interesting place, he might not have taken it. Not then.
Andy knew the marsh wasn’t his. Rather, he was hers.
The first spring they lived at Weber Marsh, Andy and his ex witnessed the migration of the eastern tiger salamanders. The salamanders could reach up to eleven
inches long, and they lived in burrows in the forest for most of the year. But after the first rain in March, when the temperature was just above forty degrees, they emerged from the trees, crossed the prairie, and slipped into the marsh to breed. It happened at night. Andy was expecting it, and he made his ex stay up with him. They walked out to the field, and he wouldn’t let her use a flashlight; the moon was enough.
He and she were the only two people in the world, but there were eastern tigers in the hundreds: huge and black with yellow spots, struggling through the dead grasses, wading through the brush. It was less than half a mile for them to migrate from the forest, but it seemed like an impossible distance—they moved so slowly, each step an effort, instinct driving them forward.
“I can’t believe this is happening in our backyard,” his ex said, and he heard something in her voice that he hadn’t heard in a long time: wonder.
He wiped his hands on his pants and picked one of the salamanders up, cradling it in his palms. He never wore lotion or used hand sanitizer, and he was confident that the salamander’s skin wouldn’t absorb anything harmful. It wriggled sluggishly in his hands.
“Enlarged cloaca,” he said, observing the base of the salamander’s tail. “It’s a male.”
“Ew,” his ex said, disgust taking the place of amazement. “Put it down.”
Instead, he held the salamander out to her. This amazing creature lived in her own backyard. It was incredible. She’d said so herself.
But she screamed and begged him to get it away from her.
He released the poor fellow back to the ground. It crawled indignantly away.
Lydiareturned over the next several Saturdays to collect wild bergamot and purple coneflower, rattlesnake-master and prairie dock, but Andy still couldn’t bring himself to ask her out. He hardly had a moment alone with her, in fact, and he knew only the most basic information about her, mostly gleaned from overhearing her conversations with the other volunteers: she spent two years in Ethiopia with the Peace Corps; she had a cat named Pickles; she had found out about Weber Marsh by Googling “things to do outside.” He suspected she was avoiding him after their day of monarch tagging. Maybe he’d come on too strong. Maybe it was too painfully obvious that he liked her. He’d been washing his hair more often now, so he hoped his hygiene wasn’t the issue.
September passed and then October. He grew more and more anxious as the weeks progressed; he wasn’t sure what had gotten into him. Finally he vowed that he would make a move on the last day of seed collecting. He would wait until all the other volunteers were heading back to their cars, and then he would call out to her innocently and claim she’d forgotten something—“Lydia, did you forget your gloves?”—and then he would ask her to have dinner sometime.
And if an extreme weather event forced him to cancel that last volunteer day, it was a sign that he and Lydia were not meant to be.
The forecast for the final Saturday of the volunteer season was warm, far warmer than it should be in November. Goldenrod was the only thing worth collecting now: the seed heads had lost their color and were now gray-white puffs, which took to the wind and drifted like snowflakes. All color had drained from the prairies, since most of the other plants had senesced, but the grasses were still tall. The monarchs were long gone. Three types of goldenrod created a shoulder-high field of faux snow.
He waited by the barn as usual. Today was the day. In a way, it would be nice to put this all to rest, to resume his normal life at Weber Marsh: isolated and content. Pretending that Lydia never existed.
The volunteers began to arrive. There was smug old Ronald, but Andy didn’t care about him anymore. His brain didn’t have enough space to think about anyone but Lydia. The others rolled in, chatting about the woes of climate change and how strange the weather was, but he paid them no mind. He didn’t have time to dwell on the impending destruction of the natural world.
He looked at his watch: two minutes after. Three.
She was late sometimes. He pretended to adjust the buckets and scissors, and then, to buy time, he claimed he needed to look for something in the barn.
Ten after. No Lydia.
“Should we get started, Andy?” Ronald called.
Andy emerged from the barn and pretended that he’d lost track of time. “Sure, I was just waiting for a call. From my boss.”
Ronald grinned. Andy would have made a swing at him, if he weren’t so old.
Andy led them, blindly, back into Evans Prairie. This was where it had all begun. This was where they had collected Culver’s-root, that first day, that day when he—
When he fell for—
He pushed down the thought. Goldenrod seeds gusted around him, carried on a cold breeze. It hadn’t been cold all morning, but something in the air was ominous.
It was imperative to push down all thoughts of Lydia.
He tried to refocus. “So, we’re collecting stiff goldenrod today.” He reached into the grasses around him and clipped one. “It’ll have a stout stem, and you can see that the inflorescence has a flat top. Whatever you do, don’t mix this up with Canada goldenrod. It’s invasive, and it takes over prairies because it’s a cloneformer, which means that its root systems spread underground.”
“Did you say stiff goldenrod?” Ronald asked.
“Showy goldenrod isn’t as populous right now, but if you do find one, it’s going to be straighter and more erect.”
Ronald guffawed at this, and Andy realized he was the butt of the joke. Rather than give any further instruction, he barreled into the prairie with his bucket, gesturing for them to get to work. He snipped the stiff goldenrod around him with a fervor. He was far out in the field in minutes, so far that none of the volunteers could speak to him without shouting.
It would have been better, though, to be around the others, to hear their conversation, to answer their annoying questions. Now, alone, he couldn’t stop his thoughts from swirling up and away with the goldenrod. He could still reach out to Lydia after this. He had her contact information, after all. But would that be unprofessional, a breach of privacy? Surely it would. And she knew where he lived; she could find him if she wanted to.
The fact that she wasn’t here today seemed to be a final confirmation that she wanted nothing to do with him. And he should have been fine with that.
But maybe her car broke down on the way here. Maybe she had caught a cold. Maybe her cat was sick. A thousand maybes took root inside him.
Maybe she saw him as he was: a thirty-year-old man who was trapped at Weber Marsh with no foreseeable way out. Conservation work was long-term; all these seeds they were collecting would be planted this winter, and most of them wouldn’t mature, wouldn’t become anything, for at least ten years. If he wanted to see this through—if he wanted to make a difference—he would stay.
When his ex had dumped him, that was what she’d said: “You’re stuck here. Can you not see that? You’ll be here forever if you’re not careful.”
He clipped a stem of goldenrod and another gust of wind hit him across the face. The seeds flew off the stem, and he thought of dandelion wishes, the kind he made as a kid back in Raleigh, before his life had turned into this. I wish summer didn’t have to end. I wish my dog would come back to life. I wish my parents would get back together. I wish, he thought now, I could have more than this.
Atfive ’til noon, he asked Ronald and another volunteer to help him with the bins—they had collected three garbage bins’ worth of stiff goldenrod seed— and they dragged them back across the prairie to the barn. Andy didn’t realize, until everyone was about to leave, that they were missing another volunteer.
“Where’s Janie?” he asked.
The group looked around at each other, blinking.
“Has anyone seen her?” he asked. “Did she come across the road with us?”
The volunteers shook their heads, confused. There was a small outhouse connected to the barn, and he banged on the door. Nothing.
“She was here this morning, though, right?” he asked. His voice seemed to be getting thinner. He strained to be heard.
“She was out there with us at the beginning,” Ronald said. “She was clipping some Canada goldenrod, and I told her not to.”
“When was that?”
“9:45, maybe?”
Andy felt something coming on, a wind or a shadow of some kind, like a belt of cumulonimbus clouds racing over the hills. He looked at the parking lot and saw Janie’s minivan, locked up with no one inside.
He ran, then, into the vast prairie. The grasses seemed even taller than they had this morning, brushing against his face, snagging in his hair. Janie, who was much shorter and whose spine bent forward like a C, could walk into the prairie and disappear completely.
He called Janie’s name over and over, but he heard nothing in response. Even if she had replied, he couldn’t possibly hear over the wind.
The others were behind him, and Ronald was giving orders now, telling everyone to form a chain; they would canvass the prairie until they found her. It wasn’t a bad idea, but somehow Andy knew it would be futile.
His awareness expanded for a moment across time and space: He saw monarchs flying south, all the way down to the oyamel fir forests in Mexico. He saw the eastern tiger salamanders stumbling slowly through the prairie. He saw the damselfly larvae crawling from the marsh to begin their metamorphosis, the shorebirds arriving to eat the damselflies, the birders arriving to watch the shorebirds. He saw his ex in the passenger seat five years ago, their boxes piled in the back of the truck and their hands clasped over the gearshift.
And finally he saw his future: his boss’s empty face staring him down, Janie’s bereft family members begging for answers. Journalists, probably, and policemen. Lawyers.
He wouldn’t stick around for that. The wind rushed through the high prairie grass, and he heard the marsh telling him, fiercely, like a woman scorned, Just go.
As the intrepid volunteers took their cues from Ronald and began the search for Janie, Andy crept back up the path to the farmhouse. He grabbed his keys from the worn wooden hook just inside the door, and then he stood on the porch, gazing out at the marsh one last time. The wind gusted mightily, and he climbed into his pickup.
His tires sent up a cloud of dust that followed him on the way out, and as he turned away from Weber Marsh, he saw a line of sandhill cranes soaring through the sky above him, going in the same direction. He synced up with them at the back of the line, as if he, too, had wings.
He was finally going. He only wished, with his windows down and the cranes calling in their ancient language above him, he knew exactly where.
Holly Hilliard grew up in Hillsboro, Ohio. She received her B.A. from Duke University and her M.F.A. in Creative Writing from North Carolina State University, where she was the winner of the 2018 James Hurst Prize for Fiction. She teaches creative writing through Madison School & Community Recreation.
Award Winning Poetry
from our 2023 Poetry Contest
Ache Index
ache index high at the marsh today one caddisfly larva in its jeweled case drowns stop all the clocks sinks millennia into sediment reminds me of tortured and hanged girl dumped in Uchter Moor sixteen for so long then uncovered reconstructed so we know a sister daughter lover murdered two thousand years ago looks a lot like Jennifer from the library here shoes on a wire impossible desire In love with forbidden person equals seven on the scale I keep to measure my confusion informational sign by the burial mound explains the bottom layer’s called benthos and it’s alive with dead tissues so maybe someday we rise dry & see the sky again love two wood ducks mated for a season fly up
William Stobb
Of William Stobb ’s most recent collection, You Are Still Alive (42 Miles Press), Amy Gerstler writes, “it’s as though the reader had been dropped into the mind of a loving, funny, humble, infinitely generous, nimble-minded Buddhist monk brought up on classic science fiction.” Stobb’s earlier collections include the National Poetry Series selection, Nervous Systems , and Absentia , both from Penguin Books. Stobb works as part of the editorial staff for Conduit magazine and its book-publishing arm, Conduit Books & Ephemera, and on the creative writing faculty at the University of Wisconsin–La Crosse.
Death’s Door: True Tales of Tragedy, Mystery, and Bravery from the Great Lake’s Most Dangerous Waters
by Barbara Joose, author, and Renée Graef, illus.
Wisconsin Historical Society Press, 48 pages, $14.95
Reviewed by Shawn Brommer
Death’s Door, the dangerous strait linking Lake Michigan and Green Bay, is the protagonist and tells its story in first-person verse in this recent publication from the Wisconsin Historical Society Press. Innovatively told by Wisconsin author Barbara Joose, these verses/ stories share information about five historical events that took place in the strait, also known as Porte des Morts, between the 17th and 20th centuries.
In the first story readers (the book is aimed at children aged 8-11) are introduced to the lake creature, Mishepeshu, so-named by the Potawotami who live on Washington Island. In this tale, Mishepeshu lies in wait for its rivals, the Thunderers, which are spirits that reside in powerful rain clouds in the western sky. Death’s Door mournfully recalls the perils of war between Mishepeshu and the Thunderers, as well as the tragedy that befell Potawotami traders on their days-long water journey to sell goods to French traders. Death’s Door witnesses other tragedies, including a 20th century catastrophe in which a high school basketball coach and five players from Washington County perish while crossing the frozen strait. Death’s Door recalls its own role in the devastating event and beseeches readers to Listen! – This is the sound of the island crying – the people and trees and the beasts – all mourning for the friends they lost.
The strait, our protagonist here, is acutely aware of its own power and strength—of its own majesty and might—and shares heroic tales, such as that of Henry Miller, who, in 1856, delivered the mail in a sled across the ice from Green Bay to Washington Island and back, as well as the story of a courageous couple, Sarah and David Clow, who built the largest sailing vessel in the country in 1862. In addition to the tragedies and heroics witnessed by Death’s Door, readers also learn about René-Robert Cavelier, Sieur de La Salle, the French explorer and businessman whose greed was responsible for the loss of his vessel, Le Griffon, 12,000 pounds of furs, and five underpaid and overworked crew members.
The book’s design resembles that of a graphic novel, and Renée Graef’s illustrations match the spirit of the protagonist’s voice and remarkable tales. Cool hues of gray, blue, and white churn throughout the pages, and warm tones are carefully reserved for chapter headings and spare highlights in each section. Ideal for depicting sky, wind, lake water, and snow, the cool hues capture the sense of a very specific place, its intrigue, and power. An author’s note about the highlighted events, a list of recommended places to visit, and a selected bibliography are included for readers who want to learn more about Death’s Door. Aquaphiles and landlubbers of all ages will be fascinated by this ingenious creation about one of Wisconsin’s most dangerous—and storied—places.
Shawn Brommer is the Youth Services and Community Engagement Consultant at the South Central Library System, which is based in Madison and serves seven counties in Wisconsin. She has served on numerous children’s book award committees, including the Newbery and Caldecott award committees of the Association for Library Service to Children. Originally from the Driftless Region in Western Wisconsin, Shawn resides with her family in Madison.
Dry Land by B. Pladek
University of Wisconsin Press, 272 pages, $18.95
Reviewed by Pam Anderson
Regardless of subject matter, a novel is always about something else, and Dry Land by B. Pladek is no exception. The novel is billed as a book about a conservationist from Wisconsin with a remarkable— yes, magical—gift. A simple touch from the main character (Rand Brandt) to a plant or seedling and it grows! Imagine what this idealistic conservationist envisions he can do with this power: restore the landscape that has been destroyed by “progress” and by “need,” especially as the vast forests he loves have been decimated by lumbering.
The book is a study of the negligence of humanity, about our inability to treat our environment as if we are here for the long haul. And because this book takes place in a WWI setting, it’s a reminder that over 100 years ago we were also devastating our land—and before that, and before that. It’s a book about immediacy, and greed, and disregard.
But beyond this, the novel is about secrets, about what having them and keeping them does to us. Not surprisingly, the magical gift of the main character is double-edged. He can grow flowers and shrubs and trees, but the outcome is negative and twofold: the plants quickly wither and die, while Rand himself suffers physically from the output of his powers, sometimes fainting, at worst falling into a coma. The hopes and ideals of the young man who thought he could “save conservation” begin to wither and die, just like the nature he hoped to restore.
The secrets the main character carries aren’t just about his magical gifts, though; he and his lover Gabriel are in forest service together and eventually drafted together into the army. Both the time period and these settings mandate that they keep their relationship under wraps, even as they share housing and daily tasks, and also their love of music and, of course, their love for the land.
Rand’s best friend from college—a former “love interest” before she helped him understand himself—is Jonna, an aspiring writer, who travels to Europe to report on Rand and his “contribution” and service to the Allies (growing timber for the war effort). Jonna falls for Marie, a doctor for the wounded soldiers, and despite the risks, Rand, Gabriel, Jonna, and Marie find a place and a way to live authentically—at least for awhile.
While Rand struggles to keep his secrets as best he can (mostly for the sake of others, his lover, his family, and ultimately for nature itself when he feels his gift is being misused), he also carries the burden of a teenage failure that seems to haunt him. As a young man,
his first, and perhaps naïve, passion for conservation led him to petition to save Clearwater Marsh; he was unsuccessful. This continued sense of failure bleeds into the realization of his gift and gives him a drive for redemption—a theme that carries into the personal relationships in the book, too. Rand himself feels unworthy, unlovable, and the journey for redemption that he is on surpasses his devotion to conservation and his desire to restore what has been stripped from nature. He also needs to restore his belief in family and friendship, in love, and ultimately, in himself.
Dry Land does not require prior knowledge of woods and prairies, of plants and trees and wilderness—although readers who have this familiarity will appreciate the author’s detailed descriptions, which reveal a deep passion for conservation similar to that of the characters.
The author also seamlessly reminds the reader how timely the struggles of the characters are. Despite our century-long distance from the novel’s 1917 setting, that setting feels remarkably familiar: there is still homophobia and private shame, violence against who and what is misunderstood, the quest for the opportunity to openly be who we are and love who and what we love. Finally, perhaps as the necessary foundation of the story, Dry Land deftly explores the human inability to love, to preserve, and to conserve the very environment that sustains us.
After 30 years of helping young people with their writing as a high school English teacher, Pam Anderson retired and decided to dedicate energy to her own work. She has completed her MFA in creative nonfiction at the University of Nevada-Reno/Lake Tahoe. Her essays, interviews, and reviews have appeared in Creative Wisconsin, HEAL, HerStry, Portland Review, Chicago Review of Books, and elsewhere.
Finding the Bones
by Nikki Kallio
Cornerstone Press, 192 pages, $24.95
Reviewed by Rebecca M. Zornow
Finding the Bones, central Wisconsin author Nikki Kallio’s debut short story collection, opens with a geography lesson. The short story follows a young girl who knows of Earth only through the faded atlases and books stored on her generation ship, a space vessel that will take her and others far from a dead planet.
Kallio was inspired to write “Geography Lesson” after finding a 1977 geographical dictionary at the annual American Association of University Women book sale in Appleton, Wisconsin. Kallio wondered what it would be like if all you knew of Earth came from books, providing the seed for the short story. A reminder of all the girl has lost is summarized in a simple conversation with her father.
“This ship? They built it in orbit.”
“So it never touched the earth.”
“No.”
“Like me.”
In many ways, Kallio takes up this bookish challenge herself, but instead of extracting the human experience from one book, she spreads it across her collection. Stories of hoarders, missing people, and, of course, bones, walk us through myriad human experiences. She draws from genre the way some do cards. Fiction for this story. Science fiction for that. A ghost story next to magical realism. Short story next to novella.
“The Fledgling,” a nine-part novella, opens when Gin witnesses what seems to be a freak zombie breakout at a gas station. Gin thinks it’s an isolated incident. Twenty-five years later, her daughter, Elena, unable to travel the world herself, teaches dance via virtual simulations to children across the globe. People must stay shuttered away during the daytime. Increased solar storms and a thinning ozone layer put everyone at risk for a sunsickness that causes humans to turn on themselves and their community. People must hide themselves away in the dark, going out only at night. Society fractures. Social bonds break.
Elena knows this firsthand. Yet she pushes against her mother’s reclusiveness, pushes outside the bounds of the congested yet safely covered city, puts herself at risk for a chance to feel the world the way it must have been before the chaos. It’s a feeling she will never be able to access. It’s unattainable in part because, Her mother had said little about the life before, even though Elena had, since she could speak, begged her to share that world with her; Gin would only shrug and say It was different.
Elena does it all, trying to live her life despite the inhospitable nature of her world. And she may suffer for it. For trying.
“The Fledgling” stands out in the aftermath of the COVID-19 pandemic, an event we are at turns reeling and recovering from. We try to go outside. We try to connect. Like Elena, we ask ourselves, will we be safe? Will we be better for it?
And these human questions are the heart of Kallio’s writing. Nearly as dark as Rich Larson and as melodic as Ted Chiang, Kallio is well on her way to seating her short fiction among the greats.
Rebecca M. Zornow is a science fiction writer from Wisconsin and author of It’s Over or It’s Eden and Dangerous to Heal. A graduate of Lawrence University, she is a Hal Prize winner and Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers Assocation member.
POWER TO THE POLLINATORS
BY MADELINE SCHULTZ
Relena Ribbons’ fascination with pollinators has led to her blending citizen science and climate justice through ongoing community engagement projects in her role as a geoscience professor at Lawrence University in Appleton. Alongside her colleague, Dr. Israel Del Toro, and more than 500 community members, Ribbons started the city’s “No Mow May” project to help local pollinators find the food they need in spring and improve their reproduction and population levels.
“No Mow May” is a global initiative that encourages homeowners and businesses to grow their lawns throughout the month, providing pollinators grassy habitat and access to the pollen and nectar of early spring bloomers like dandelions, violets, creeping Charlie, and other often weedy flowering plants found in our lawns. Although intended as a small case study to measure the success in supporting pollinators across Appleton, Ribbons and her colleagues were surprised by the copious amounts of willing participants. The researchers observed that there was more species diversity and abundance of bees present in the lawns participating in “No Mow May.” Due to its ongoing popularity and success, residents have been exempt from the city’s ordinance that restricts grass height on lawns since last year, and the practice has become an important part of Appleton culture.
Plantlife, a wild plant conservation charity, created “No Mow May” in the United Kingdom to counteract the growing number of lost meadows and grasslands pollinators rely on. With less natural space dedicated to flower-rich meadows, lawns are an opportunity to offer patches of wildflowers for pollinators in urban and suburban landscapes. Utilizing portions of the season for growing rather than mowing allows plants to establish roots, which
increases carbon storage, and less lawn maintenance helps decrease carbon emissions related to lawn maintenance.
Appleton isn’t the only city taking inspiration from Plantlife’s project. “No Mow May” is gaining traction across the United States. In Wisconsin alone, more than 20 municipalities are taking part. Surrounding Midwest states are also noticing the success of revitalizing lawns for pollinator gardens. The movement is forging new relationships and empowering communities to take action in ways that will benefit Wisconsin’s climate response. “No Mow May” shows how community-based projects are one step toward effective climate responses that not only help the local ecosystem but also provide community members with opportunities for education and involvement in climate change action.
Madeline Schultz is the Climate & Energy Initiative Intern for the Wisconsin Academy. She joined in June 2023 and recently graduated from UW— Madison with a B.A. in Classical Humanities, Latin, and Environmental Studies. She is passionate about how Classics influences modern human relationships with nature as seen in poetry and urban land policy.
Joan Ribbons
Israel Del Toro (left) and Relena Ribbons of Lawrence University helped start the city’s “No Mow May” project.
Stream more of your favorite PBS shows including Masterpiece, Finding Your Roots, Nature, NOVA, Ken Burns documentaries and many more — online and in the PBS App with PBS Wisconsin Passport. Sign up or activate your membership at pbswisconsin.org/passport.
The National Parks: America’s Best Idea, a film by Ken Burns
1922 University Ave
Madison, WI 53726
Join the Wisconsin Academy for "Birds and Beyond," an exciting series set in Wisconsin's diverse landscapes, taking place from August 2024 to March 2025. This immersive journey delves deep into the intricate world of birds and their connections to broader scientific topics, including water quality, conservation, climate change, and astronomy, as well as the arts and letters. Enjoy four events in different regions of the state—all will be live streamed to a virtual audience. In-person attendees will go birding with expert enthusiasts in Wisconsin’s beautiful natural areas. The series will culminate in March 2025 with a keynote presentation by esteemed naturalist Christian Cooper in Madison.
BIRDS AND CLIMATE CHANGE
SUNDAY, AUGUST 18
Beaver Creek Reserve near Eau Claire
Featuring Davin Lopez, Conservation Biologist at Wisconsin DNR
BIRDS AND ASTRONOMY
SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 22
Door County
Featuring Dr. Robert Mathieu, Albert E. Whitford Professor at UW-Madison
BIRDS AND WATER
SUNDAY, OCTOBER 20
Urban Ecology Center Menomonee Valley Branch, Milwaukee
