Wisconsin People & Ideas – Winter 2019

Margaret Rozga The New Wisconsin Poet Laureate

Craft Spirits • Natural History Art • Driftless Flooding

Introducing the Timothy William Trout Education Innovation Lab

Thanks to Dr. Monroe and Sandra Trout for Their Generous Gift An ambitious new partnership in Wisconsin will create,

education in the nation; and Wisconsin Public Television’s

connect, and activate world-class content creators in

media resources and broadcast, online and classroom

science, instruction and media with teachers and learners

engagement reach to comprise the Timothy William Trout

across the state and the nation. This K-12 education-based

Education Innovation Lab. The project’s goals include

project will leverage the data, knowledge and expertise

inspiring and enabling teachers and learners to reach new

of a top university, coupled with the national educational

levels of educational achievement, creating institutional

resources and reach of the PBS system, all focused and

level change in how research reaches public and K-12

concentrated through the innovation and educational

audiences, and developing models and resources to be

infrastructure of Wisconsin Public Television.

shared at a national level.

This endeavor will join the University of Wisconsin’s

The Timothy William Trout Education Innovation Lab

premiere science discovery lab through a partnership

will focus the energy and expertise needed to deliver

with Discovery Outreach, a joint venture of the Wisconsin

inspirational, high quality science education tools and

Institute for Discovery, the Morgridge Institute for Research

roadmaps that teachers and learners need and can easily use

and the Wisconsin Alumni Research Foundation; the UW-

in their classrooms, homes and other learning environments.

Madison School of Education, the leading public school of

W I S C ONSI N

I NST I T UT E F OR DI S C O V ERY

WISCONSIN ACADEMY STAFF Jane Elder • Executive Director Augusta Brulla • Head Gallery Attendant, James Watrous Gallery Chelsea Chandler • Director, Environmental Initiatives Jody Clowes • Director, James Watrous Gallery Kelly Hilyard • Program Assistant, Environmental Initiatives Bethany Jurewicz • Business & Exhibitions Manager Taeli Reistad • Marketing & Events Assistant Matt Rezin • Building Manager & Membership Coordinator Amanda E. Shilling • Development Director Jason A. Smith • Associate Director and Editor, Wisconsin People & Ideas Nikita Werner • Administrative Assistant OFFICERS OF THE BOARD Patricia Brady • President Tom Luljak • President-elect Tim Size • Immediate Past President Rich Donkle • Treasurer Roberta Filicky-Peneski • Secretary Steven Ackerman • Vice President of Sciences Vacant • Vice President of Arts L. Jane Hamblen • Vice President of Letters Andrew Richards • Foundation President STATEWIDE BOARD OF DIRECTORS Tina Abert, Madison Kimberly Blaeser, Burlington Malcolm Brett, Oregon Frank D. Byrne, Madison Joseph Heim, La Crosse Jane Elder, Madison Catherine G. Kodat, Appleton Robert D. Mathieu, Madison Michael Morgan, Milwaukee Dipesh Navsaria, Madison Kevin Reilly, Verona Linda Ware, Wausau Nathan Wautier, Madison Marty Wood, Eau Claire OFFICERS OF THE ACADEMY FOUNDATION Foundation Founder: Ira Baldwin (1895–1999) Andrew Richards • Foundation President Freda Harris • Foundation Vice President Rich Donkle • Foundation Treasurer Arjun Sanga • Foundation Secretary

Editor’s Note Profiles are difficult to write. No other form of article asks the writer to plumb the depths of a subject’s psyche and explain what motivates that person to do what they do.

A good profile is revelatory in that it provides the reader with a better understanding of not only what the subject does but why they do it. An exceptional profile makes us feel as if we know the subject by bringing us into their personal orbit or by using some aspect of their life or work as a lens to clarify our vision of who they are.

Imagine you had to write a profile of someone you’ve never met. How would you approach them? What questions would you ask? Then, after the interviews were complete, the notes compiled, and the laptop charged, how would you decide which elements of their lives to include in the profile and which to omit?

Complicated, is it not? Now, imagine that you are friends with the subject and it becomes even more so.

This is a challenge we face with almost every issue of the magazine. Some of the people we profile are doing innovative research or creative work; some are civic or business leaders with a knack for building communities around great Wisconsin ideas. Some are both. More often than not, the way I learn about these people is through their friends and colleagues.

There are two such people in this issue—Margaret Rozga and Gaylord Schanilec—who fulfill both the “innovative” and “community-building ” criteria required to make it into the magazine. Interestingly, both Margaret and Gaylord had their profiles written by friends who understood how important it was to tell their stories. And the subjects trusted the writers to tell their stories right.

Of course, writing frankly about a friend could lead to the end of a friendship. I suspect this is on the minds of people who tell me they are “too close” to a subject to do a profile on him or her. But sometimes only a friend has that deep insight into what makes a person tick and the wisdom to be both reflective and objective when it comes to sharing their story. To share another’s story with the world, then, is a rare act of stewardship.

I hope that you consider this magazine a friend you can trust, and a steward for your stories. Please send me a note if you’ve got a story to share or know of one that needs to be told.

Patrick Stutz Photography

The Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts & Letters

FOUNDATION DIRECTORS Mark Bradley Patricia Brady Jane Elder Jack Kussmaul Tom Luljak Tim Size

Wisconsin Academy Steenbock Center Offices 1922 University Avenue • Madison, WI 53726 ph 608-263-1692 • wisconsinacademy.org

Jason A. Smith, Editor

On the cover: Margaret “Peggy” Rozga, the new Wisconsin Poet Laureate, at Paliafito Echo-Arts Park in Milwaukee’s Walker’s Point neighborhood. Photo by TJ Lambert/Stages Photography.

WINTER 2019

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CONTENTS 04 From the Director

Josie Werni

05 Letters 07 Happenings Wisconsin Table

10 A Craft Spirit Movement at the 45th Parallel

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Brenda K. Bredahl

Profile

16 Margaret Rozga: Wisconsin Poet Laureate

Wendy Vardaman

Photo Essay

22 Anatomy of a Flood

Keefe Keeley & Jon Lee

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Nathaniel Stern, from Autumnal Tints

From Sylvae, by Gaylord Schanilec

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22 @ Watrous Gallery

30 Gaylord Schanilec: A Natural History

Cathy Cunningham & Chuck Stebelton

Fiction

40 A Sweet Thing 3rd-Place 2018 Contest Winner

AnnaKay Kruger

Poetry

48 New Wisconsin Poetry 2018 Contest Honorable Mentions

Gillian Nevers, Nathan Pyles, Nathan J. Reid, Kiyoko Reidy

Book Reviews

53 Interior States: Essays, by Meghan O’Gieblyn

Bob Wake

54 Little Faith, by Nickolas Butler

BJ Hollars

55 The Great Lakes Water Wars, by Peter Annin

Dave Cieslewicz

Jon Lee

VOLUME 65 · NUMBER 1 WINTER 2019

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

Since 1954, Wisconsin People & Ideas has been a trusted resource for people who care about the issues and ideas that shape life in Wisconsin.

Wisconsin People & Ideas publishes fiction and poetry from Wisconsin writers, highlights new works by visual artists and photographers from all corners of the state, and explores science and environmental issues that affect our people, lands, and waters.

Copyright © 2019 by the Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters.

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

WISCONSIN PEOPLE & IDEAS JASON A. SMITH editor MCKENZIE HALLING editorial assistant JEAN LANG copy editor JODY CLOWES arts editor CHARLOTTE FRASCONA cold reader HUSTON DESIGN design & layout facebook.com/WisconsinAcademy twitter.com/WASAL instagram.com/WatrousGallery

Wisconsin ideas for the world We believe that Wisconsin ideas move the world forward.

Join the Wisconsin Academy and help us create a brighter world inspired by Wisconsin people and ideas.

Visit wisconsinacademy.org/brighter to learn more.

From the Director

M

y friend Henry Lickers, the Environmental Science Officer in the Department of Environment for the Mohawk Council of Akwesasne, gives a great talk on seven-generation thinking.

An ancient philosophy of the Haudenosaunee people widely embraced by many other cultures, seven-generation thinking is about deeply considering how the decisions we make today honor our great-grandparents and affect succeeding generations of yet unborn great-great grandchildren. This kind of thinking is more about community and society than just immediate family, though.

Lickers challenges his audiences to live up to the responsibility of being good ancestors.

I was thinking about how we can all be better ancestors this fall when I reviewed the summaries of two sobering reports on the risks of failing to address climate change. The Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) report bluntly stated that we have only a twelve-year window to dramatically reduce carbon emissions in the atmosphere if we are to avoid increasingly catastrophic conditions. The Fourth National Climate Assessment, released by the U.S. Global Change Research Program, detailed projected climate change impacts in the United States. The Midwest chapter projected notable losses in agricultural productivity; risks to the

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health and resilience of forests, biodiversity, and ecosystems (especially fresh water); threats to human health; and disruptions to transportation and infrastructure.

All of this is a lot to hand off to the generations that follow us.

What can we do about it? First, we can talk about climate change, make it a part of everyday discussion. Anthony Leiserowitz of the Yale Program on Climate Change Communications summarizes the short message on climate change this way: scientists agree; it’s real; it’s us; it’s bad; and, perhaps most important, there’s hope.

With only 9% of the public firmly dismissive of the concept of climate change itself, the rest of us—the overwhelming majority of us—have the opportunity to explore positive ways to move this conversation forward. “Midwest nice” and conflict avoidance won’t buy us time. Call it climate change or global warming—it doesn’t really matter. But focus on solutions, and talk about them.

Let’s move this topic into America’s conversation about what is important and urgent. At the very least, it will make us feel better. At the most, we will see some real change.

Indeed, we’ve seen some progress in reducing Wisconsin’s carbon emissions over the past five years, from extraordinary growth in Wisconsin-generated solar energy to innovative energy strategies embraced by local governments to countless other advances in Wisconsin’s private sector. These are all promising signs, but they are not enough. By rapidly building on the Wisconsin know-how and leadership already invested in solutions, we can be in the vanguard of The Big Solution.

And that might just qualify us for “good ancestor” status.

Jane Elder, Executive Director

Member News

NEWS for MEMBERS BOARD ARRIVALS, DEPARTURES The Wisconsin Academy welcomed a new President of the Academy Board in January 2019. Patricia Brady (Madison), who has served on the Board since 2011, will lead the organization through our 150th anniversary in 2020. Other recent additions to the Board leadership: President-elect, Tom Luljak (Milwaukee); Secretary, Roberta FilickyPeneski (Sheboygan); and Vice President for Sciences, Steven Ackerman (Madison). Newly elected board members-at-large include Tina Abert (Madison), Catherine G. Kodat (Appleton), and Dipesh Navsaria (Madison).

We also honored three board members whose service ended in 2018: John Ashley (Sauk City) and Richard Burgess (Madison), both of whom joined the Board in 2007, and Bernie Patterson (Stevens Point), who joined in 2011.

The Wisconsin Academy Foundation will also welcome a new President, Freda Harris (Madison), who begins her term in February 2019.

We welcome our new Board members and offer our gratitude to all those who have served and are departing.

ON THE ROAD WITH POETRY & PI(E) Mark your calendars for our Poetry & Pi(e) events on March 14, 2019. Join us in Madison at the Academy Offices as we welcome the newly minted Wisconsin Poet Laureate, Peggy Rozga, or in Eau Claire at The Pablo where we are hosting Dasha Kelly Hamilton. Academy members receive a discounted ticket price at either event. Visit wisconsinacademy.org/ events to register today.

2018 ANNUAL REPORT AVAILABLE

Letters My husband Les and I offer you a hearty thanks for hosting Art Bites: FlakPhoto at the James Watrous Gallery (October 13, 2018).

We had engaging conversations with those attending while having those memorable photographs as a backdrop—and the selection of food items was perfect. We also give a “thumbs up” to the idea of rotating tables to meet the artists and curator, etc. I enjoyed having our seating companions stay together so we got to better know each other, too.

Susan Hoffman, Madison

I recently attended the Wisconsin Academy’s two-day Powering Local Leadership Summit at the Gordon Bubolz Nature Preserve in Appleton (January 24–25, 2019). I was impressed with the speakers and the topics of Wisconsin leaders who came together to share their lessons in planning around sustainable energy and resilience in their communities. During one of the breakouts, the moderator of the session asked for a show of hands from the audience of about 35 people, Who is a customer of an investor-owned utility? A few people raised their hands, followed by another few who did the same for the question, Who is a customer of a municipal utility?

Finally, when asked, Who is a customer of a cooperative utility? to the moderator's (and my) surprise, only a couple more hands popped up. Being that these are the only three business model options for utilities in Wisconsin, this meant that almost half the room either was not sure or did not know who is providing their electricity. As utilities customers, we have an opportunity to be a part of how the energy sector transformation unfolds. Having your voice heard is important as these decisions will not only impact our economy and our environment, but also how we as a society power our future.

This is where the Academy’s Climate & Energy Initiative helps make sense of Wisconsin utilities through a recent article in the magazine, “Finding Your Role in Our Energy Democracy," and an interactive website that walks users through how to identify who your utility is, learn which business model type they fall under, and understand how you can influence the energy system.

Stacie Reece, Sustainability Program Coordinator, City of Madison

Download the Wisconsin Academy's 2018 Annual Report to learn more about the ways we are making a better world by connecting Wisconsin people and ideas. Visit wisconsinacademy.org/2018report.

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Happenings

WHERE

INFINITE

POTENTIAL MEETS

UNLIMITED POSSIBILITIES AT THE UNIVERSITY OF WISCONSIN–MADISON, WE ARE BOUNDLESS. WISC.EDU | #ONWISCONSIN 6

WISCONSIN PEOPLE & IDEAS

Happenings

PUBLISHING People don’t generally think of Wisconsin when they think of book publishing. But a small, independent publishing house nestled in the University of Wisconsin–Stevens Point campus has been churning out a book a year since 1984 while encouraging students to pursue careers in publishing. Cornerstone Press is a rare gem in that it’s just one of four undergraduate, student-run presses in the United States that offer direct experience in every aspect of publishing, from acquiring and editing new manuscripts to book design and production to marketing and sales.

“People who are interested in publishing need to know that you can’t silo your skills. You need to understand every step. There can be areas of interest, but [collaboration] makes our press function,” says director Ross Tangedal, who has been with Cornerstone since 2016.

Tangedal says that the five big publishing houses (HarperCollins, Penguin Random House, etc.) offer little opportunity for young publishers who live “between the coasts” and aren’t often interested in publishing new voices. Tangedal saw an opportunity for Cornerstone to grow, and in 2017 the press established its Legacy Series with a call for manuscripts from new voices in fiction and nonfiction.

The most recent title in the Legacy Series, which publishes each fall, is an exciting new collection of stories, Nothing to Lose, by Kim Suhr, an author from Wales, Wisconsin.

Based on the success of the Legacy Series, the press added another in 2018 with its annual Wisconsin Heritage Series, which looks to revive important but forgotten Wisconsin texts. The first book in this series is Charles McCarthy’s seminal 1912 work, The Wisconsin Idea, which is “a tangible document that has shaped so much of our past, and could shape Wisconsin going forward,” says Jeff Snowbarger, a UWSP professor of English and the managing director for acquisitions and outreach at Cornerstone. “It’s been great to see students get energized by supporting local writers.”

While Snowbarger and his students finish annotations and a forward for the McCarthy book, which will be available this spring, the Cornerstone team is currently wrapping up the marketing campaign for the first title in the press’s new Portage Poetry Series, The Almost-Children, by Alaskan poet Cassondra Windwalker.

In addition to developing and publishing titles from these three annual series, Cornerstone is working with UW–Extension on a small picture book about aquatic life in Wisconsin for middle-school students as well as UWSP’s 125th anniversary book.

“Students are constantly acquiring and developing manuscripts, helping people with publishing programs. It’s a lot of learning on the go,” says Tangedal, giving a nod to the support of the campus community as well as local partners such as Worzalla Printing who are essential to Cornerstone’s success.

“Today, we’re getting really quality manuscripts and doing at minimum four books a year. A three-month turnaround is almost unheard of in publishing,” says Tangedal, noting that the press sold almost 1,000 books since last summer. “Chicago, New York, L.A., that’s where you would expect this. But we have it right here in Stevens Point—work, art, publishing—and our press is proof of it.”

FELLOWS I N TH E N EWS

James Leary James Leary (2014), an expert on folk roots music of the Upper Midwest and a UW–Madison professor emeritus of folklore and Scandinavian studies, has been nominated for a Grammy Award. This nomination, the second of his career, is in the “Best Album Notes” category for his work on Alpine Dreaming: The Helvetia Records Story, 1920–1924.

Formed in 1920 by Ferdinand Ingold, a Swiss immigrant and businessman from Monroe who saw a market for music from his homelands, Helvetia Records recorded and issued only 36 tracks. Leary’s comprehensive notes offer extensive background on Ingold, his performers, and these almost-lost Swiss, German, and Tyrolean songs that feature virtuoso instrumental combos, vocal quartets, and yodelers from Swiss communities in New Jersey, Ohio, and Wisconsin.

The Wisconsin Academy staff and board were saddened to learn of the loss of our dear friend Lee Weiss (1985). Born in 1928 in California, Weiss lived in Madison since the early 1960s, where she built a career as an internationally recognized watercolor artist. Known for her innovative ability to capture and interpret the spiritual qualities of nature within the watercolor medium, she translated her respect and intense appreciation of nature into her art. Weiss built a global reputation for her adventurous use of watercolor, all the while participating in major American watercolor competitions from the 1960s to late 2010 accumulating multiple awards along her journey. “If I can’t find some mystery, something that moves me, then I have just done an illustration, not a painting,” she once said. “The paintings that really thrill me are those that leave a lot unsaid, but there’s a presence.” She was a long-time exhibitor at American and international galleries, and her pieces reside in numerous museum and corporate collections, including the Smithsonian’s National Museum of American Art and the Milwaukee Art Museum.

Academy Fellows are the best and brightest of our friends and colleagues. Learn more about them at wisconsinacademy.org/fellows.

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Happenings

TELEVISI O N

Andrea Fay Rhode

Composed of two 1880s Edison dynamos, a NASA decontamination chamber, and scrap from the Badger Army Ammunition Plant, the Forevertron is the magnum opus of roadside attractions. Located in the Town of Sumpter, ten miles south of Baraboo on Highway 12, the 320-ton sculpture has drawn the curious and the creative to its sprawling magnificence for almost forty years.

Tom Every, a former professional salvager, says he built a massive sculpture garden on the grounds of Dr. Evermor’s Art Park (also known as Delaney Scrap & Surplus) to house the Forevertron and other assorted “creatures” sprung from the imagination of his fictional alter ego: a Victorian-era inventor named Dr. Evermor.

While the Forevertron is certainly the main attraction at Dr. Evermor’s Art Park, there are hundreds of other finely crafted sculptures that together create a fantastic world shaped entirely by Every’s skill and imagination. It’s this world that Wisconsin natives Erik Figi and Tya Every Kottler hope to bring to life through a new television series titled Evermore.

Photo Credit

Screenwriter and Baraboo native Figi met Kottler—who is Every’s daughter—through a chance encounter, which led to discussions of how the two might bring Dr. Evermor’s vision to the small screen through the fictional story of orphaned teenage twins, Ellie and Sam, who are sent to live at the estate of their eccentric aunt, Dr. Katherine Evermor. There Ellie and Sam discover the Forevertron, a machine that allows them to travel through space and time and “find danger, love, family, and a limitless potential for human adventure.”

Working with writer Perry Covington, Figi and Kottler composed a 115-page outline of the Evermore series and a script for a one-hour pilot episode, which they say has been picked up by the production company Legion M. They plan to work with show runner (essentially an executive producer) Andrew Cosby to develop a pilot which would then be pitched in early 2019 to such networks as SyFy and Netflix in the hopes of producing seven, ten-episode seasons of Evermore.

In addition to sharing the weird and wonderful world of Dr. Evermor with a larger audience, Kottler says that the series could lead to the preservation of Every’s sculpture garden, which has been left largely to the elements in the wake of Every’s move to an assisted living facility in Sauk City. “There’s so much love for the place,” says Kottler. “I’m hoping this [show] will be the platform that will allow us to save the art park … and provide some revenues for us to keep it going.”

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S U S TA I N A B I L I T Y Dedicated to developing a sound environmental ethic in all people of all ages, the Gordon Bubolz Nature Preserve recently added a new 18,000-square-foot meeting facility called the Faith Technologies Lodge to provide additional education, recreation, and conservation programs for the Fox Valley region. To power the new facility using sustainable energy, the nature preserve teamed up with Wisconsin-based Faith Technologies and Schneider Electric to install one of the world’s most sophisticated microgrids.

Microgrids are localized energy grids that can detach from traditional grids that power our homes and businesses and operate on their own. The microgrid at the Bubolz Nature Preserve is composed of an array of distributed energy resources—solar panels, energy storage, a fuel cell, a microturbine, and a natural gas generator—that allow the facility to operate with full energy independence or remain connected to the grid, depending on which mode of operation offers the most benefit at any given time.

Their goal, according to Bubolz Nature Preserve executive director Randy Tuma, is to have zero carbon emissions and to achieve a 50% lifetime power savings for the new Faith Technologies Lodge.

“What’s most important to us is the sustainability aspect of the project—not only the environmental sustainability, but the economic sustainability the microgrid brings to our energy budgeting,” says Tuma.

The 45-year-old nature preserve is no stranger to clean energy. In 1981, staff were experimenting with solar, wind, and geothermal power to provide energy for what was then an environmental education center at the site. Today, sustainable energy learning labs and tours of the microgrid provide more good reasons to visit the center, which also offers a wide range of nature-based activities, from school field trips to birding, cross-country skiing, and dogsledding on its 700 acres.

The Little

THINGS

uwm.edu/uwmresearch

Big threats to our Great Lakes could come from the tiniest of sources. At UWM’s School of Freshwater Sciences, professor Rebecca Klaper researches how manmade nanoparticles and other contaminants affect freshwater creatures. Her discoveries will lead to safer products and a healthier environment.

WINTER 2019

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A CRAFT SPIRIT MOVEMENT AT THE 45TH PARALLEL

BY BREN DA K. BREDAH L

O

ne sunny winter day just before Christmas, a visitor arrives at 45th

Parallel Distillery in New Richmond, Wisconsin. “I’ve heard about this place, but I’ve never been here,” he says. “We just moved back from North Dakota to this area, where my wife and I grew up, so I wanted to stop by and see what this place

Josie Werni

was all about.”

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Wisconsin Table

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Wisconsin Table

Walking past the fermenter, Davis points out for the visitor how a combination of grain, yeast, and sugar under heat results in energy, carbon dioxide, and ethanol—the foundation for all alcoholic spirits. Davis and the visitor continue past a massive, hand-wrought wooden tasting bar that overlooks an enclosed clean room and the distillery’s semi-automated bottling operation, lingering for a moment to watch a couple of employees direct the filling, labeling, and sealing of bottles.

Davis leads the visitor across an outdoor walkway to the 5,000square-foot rickhouse, an unheated warehouse where spirits are stored while they age. Stacked floor-to-ceiling, the whiskey barrels are made from various woods selected for the flavors they impart during the aging process. The rich scent of wood and whiskey hangs in the rickhouse air.

The impromptu tour concludes when Davis deposits the visitor in the lobby near a small tasting bar, where the visitor purchases a bottle of New Richmond Rye for himself and a gift of 1570 Madison Avenue Orangecello liqueur for his wife. “This place is awesome,” the visitor says. “We’ll be back for the full tour.”

Brenda K. Bredahl

SPIRITED INSPIRATION

45th Parallel Distillery owner Paul Werni and his dog, Jack, in the rickhouse.

Scott Davis, who manages the whiskey aging operations for 45th Parallel, invites the visitor on an impromptu tour of the 20,000-square-foot facility. Davis was the chef and owner of Toast Wine Bar in Minneapolis before joining forces with friend Paul Werni, the founder and owner of 45th Parallel, to establish one of the largest and most highly regarded craft distilleries in the Midwest.

The stars of the distillery are the first stop on the tour: three gleaming Carl copper stills, manufactured in Germany, that work seven days a week to distill 45th Parallel’s handmade craft spirits.

Davis and the visitor pause at the hoppers where grains are stored to be milled or ground. 45th Parallel’s head distiller Bob McKenzie, a native of Scotland with a Master’s degree from Heriot-Watt University in Edinburgh (a school well known for its distilling and brewing programs), checks the controls on a mashing kettle, where milled grain is cooked with hot water to convert starch to sugar.

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One hundred years after the Volstead Act—better known as Prohibition—was enacted (it was repealed in 1933), distilleries are springing up across the state. While breweries and wineries are hot destinations for out-of-state tourists and locals alike, craft distilleries have been slow to emerge due to the complex interplay of federal, state, and local regulations and a tangle of laws regarding production volume, intra- and interstate sales, and on-site consumption. In 2005, the nation had just fifty distilleries, and most were long-established national brands. Today there are about two thousand distilleries, with 35 located in Wisconsin.

But in Wisconsin many of these distilleries wouldn’t have been established without a handful of people brave enough to navigate the uncharted regulatory waters and create destination-based distilleries dedicated to enhancing the fabric of their communities. Paul Werni is one of these people. Werni grew up in Merrill in northcentral Wisconsin. As a teenager he often saw the 45th parallel geographic sign on the highway between Merrill and Wausau and thought it would make a good business name. While studying history at the University of Minnesota in the 1990s, Werni became intrigued by the history of distilling and wanted to learn more about the current state of the industry. He discovered that there were virtually no craft distilleries in the Midwest, where varieties of grains are plentiful and readily available.

Werni set out to learn all he could about crafting spirits and found two generous individuals to guide him through both the regulatory and distilling processes. Charles McGonegal of AeppelTreow Winery & Distillery in Burlington was the first person in the state to hold a distiller’s permit. McGonegal helped Werni make sense of the confusing mishmash of regulations. Michigan State University chemical engineer and food scientist Kris Berglund, heralded as a driving force behind the U.S. craft distilling movement, provided Werni with advice about the science behind creating ethanol from different kinds of grains as well as how to scale operations. Perhaps

most important, Werni notes, is that both provided encouragement to the young entrepreneur.

In 2006, Werni broke ground on his distillery, making 45th Parallel Spirits the third business in recent Wisconsin history with a permit to distill.

A COMMITMENT TO CRAFT Werni knew from the start that he wanted to craft an artisan product by creating ethanol from locally sourced grains, rather than purchasing neutral grain spirits or bulk ethanol made from a variety of grains and sold by large distilleries. When distilleries use neutral grain spirits, they typically rely on finishing processes like distilling, filtering, and infusing to create tastes and differentiate their brands.

“When I started, just a handful of the distilleries in the country actually had their own fermenting tanks and mashed local grain,” says Werni. “That’s the type of product I wanted to create.”

Today 45th Parallel remains committed to a slow craft philosophy known as grain to glass. The grain-to-glass idea is akin to the notion of farm to plate, whereby consumers want to know what they are eating, where the ingredients come from, and how the product is made. Local grains, flavors, and ingredients are used as much as possible. In many ways it’s an old-fashioned process.

“We don’t do anything fast: slow fermentation, slow infusion, slow distillation, slow blending, and slow aging,” says Werni. “The result is a definite difference in taste.”

Werni gets his grain from nearby Rusmar Farm (eight miles away) and mills it right at the distillery. The milled grains are then combined with hot water to create the mash, which is cooked or fermented in order convert the starch into sugar. What results is essentially a beer-type brew. The huge copper stills do the magic, separating the ethanol and water from the fermented brew. After the water is removed from the leftover mash, the resulting silage is shipped to another local farm, where it is used as feed for livestock.

The livestock, naturally, provide the fertilizers for next year’s crop after eating the silage, thus completing the cycle.

In starting up the distillery, Werni recognized that time—up to eight years for some barrel-aged whiskeys—would be needed to enter the aged spirits market. So, to get his operation up and running he created 45th Parallel Vodka, a clear spirit made from corn that needs no aging.

Soon the distillery gained international notice when it received a coveted five-star rating from renowned spirit advisor R. Paul Pacult for its 45th Parallel Vodka. Pacult gushed in the March 2009 issue of Spirit Journal, an industry publication, that it was “the best unflavored vodka I’ve tasted in the last two to three years, bar none.

Superb distilling. A must buy for all vodka lovers.” In 2014, 45th Parallel Vodka won Double Gold, the highest honor, from the World Spirit Competition.

Waiting for the aged whiskeys presented a challenge. “We are lucky that there is a renaissance of interest in hand-crafted, and especially, aged spirits,” says Werni. “But aged spirits like whiskey take time; they can’t be rushed.”

While waiting for the spirits to mature, 45th Parallel was asked to create a vodka, and the company agreed. It was an ideal, additional

NEW RICHMOND SAZERAC This version of the classic New Orleans cocktail uses two of 45th Parallel’s distilled products: New Richmond Rye and an aquavit they make for Mike McCarron, owner of the Minneapolis-based aquavit producer Gamle Ode, called Celebration (Krogstad is a suitable substitute). This cocktail is perfect for sipping while enjoying a snack by the fire during cold winter evenings.

INGREDIENTS (makes two cocktails) 2 oz New Richmond Rye 2 oz Gamle Ode Celebration Aquavit ½ oz simple syrup 4 dashes Peychaud Bitters 2 dashes Angostura Bitters

INSTRUCTIONS Place two cocktail or coupe glasses in the freezer.

While glasses chill, make simple syrup by adding a half-cup of water to a quarter cup of unrefined sugar in a small saucepan. Heat gently until sugar dissolves completely, and let cool.

In a chilled mixing glass or cocktail shaker, add rye, aquavit, simple syrup, and bitters.

Add a half cup of ice and gently stir.

Using a julep strainer or a cocktail glass inserted into the shaker, strain the cocktails into the chilled glasses.

Slice two thin but wide strips of zest from an orange, using care not to include any white pith, and add strips to glasses.

Serve with rye crackers and aromatic cheeses, pickled vegetables, and cured meats.

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revenue stream. Their first distilling contract was for Referent, a grain-to-glass vodka infused with horseradish, used exclusively at the Saint Paul restaurant Moscow on the Hill. Soon, another contract arrived from a customer who wanted to age whiskey on his own farm in Wisconsin. These ventures paid off while 45th Parallel waited for its own brands to age. Even today, 45% of their revenue comes from contract small-batch distilling.

“We are getting known for our ability to make a great craft whiskey,” says Werni.

The first batches of 45th Parallel’s aged spirits arrived in 2012 with Border Bourbon, which was followed by New Richmond Rye in 2013 and W, a Wisconsin wheat-based whiskey, in 2017. Their flagship aged spirit, Border Bourbon, made the Top 100 Spirits of 2018 in Wine Enthusiast. The company will release a grain-to-glass Irish whiskey in a few years, and is continually fielding contract inquiries for scratch spirits from unusual ingredients such as ancient grains and hemp.

Last fall, 45th Parallel began to process Wisconsin apples for an orchard owner who came up with an idea to use a traditional French press method to make hard cider and brandy. Another contracted product that is popular (especially in Minnesota) is a Scandinavian spirit called aquavit, which is instilled with flavors such as caraway, dill, mint, and allspice. Other 45th products include a few made from neutral grain spirits, including 1570 Madison Avenue Limoncello and Orangecello, flavored liqueurs that incorporate organic citrus from California and Florida, and Midwest Vodka and Gin, a mid-shelf line.

A BRIGHT FUTURE Werni says that hard work and dedication—and his skipping a salary for the first two years of operation—have helped to position the company with a solid future.

Currently 45th Parallel employs fourteen people who work in manufacturing, sales, tours, and order fulfillment. Werni’s daughter, Josie, a recent journalism graduate who works in marketing, just joined the team, and his son, Anton, will join the company after graduating from college with a business degree.

In 2019, the distillery will begin a 12,000-square-foot expansion to its 20,000-square-foot facility in New Richmond. The expansion will double still capacity (from three to six), add more fermenting equipment and rickhouse space, increase the automated bottling capacity, and include a new events center with a full kitchen for an expanded tasting and tour experience.

Like those who offered advice and encouragement to Werni early in his career, he often shares his industry knowledge by consulting for other distilleries and teaching a distilling workshop twice a year.

Sharing his start-up story at a 2010 distilling forum in Minnesota, Werni inspired dozens of entrepreneurs while encouraging legislation to reduce Minnesota’s permit fees from $30,000 to just $2,000.

In May 2019, Werni will open a two-still satellite distillery in Stillwater, Minnesota, a historic river town just across the Wisconsin border. Visitors to the satellite distillery can view distilling and finishing processes, while the entire manufacturing process will continue operations in New Richmond.

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Josie Werni

Wisconsin Table

Bob McKenzie and Scott Davis pose with two barrels of scotch. The German-made copper stills are in the background.

He hopes the satellite distillery in Stillwater will be as popular as the one in New Richmond, which CNN Travel named one of its 2013 top ten global destinations for discerning drinkers. While Werni appreciates the media coverage and visitors from around the globe, he says that most of 45th Parallel’s customers come from Wisconsin and Minnesota. “They hear about us, come for a tour, and become loyal customers. People want a handcrafted product—something different and with a good story.”

Brenda K. Bredahl holds an MA from the University of Minnesota–Twin Cities and a BS from UW–River Falls. Her freelance articles and photographs have appeared in the Chicago Tribune, Milwaukee Magazine, Minnesota Monthly, and online at travelwisconsin.com. She has written book reviews as well as articles on Wisconsin’s supper clubs, bookstores, a dinner train, and a music festival for Wisconsin People & Ideas.

LOS VIVANCOS PRESENT BORN TO DANCE THU, FEB 21, 7:3O PM PRESENTS

The Music of Words SATURDAY | APRIL 6 | 8 PM | 2019

OVERTURE CENTER FOR THE ARTS PROMENADE HALL

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Weaving a colorful and evocative tapestry of poetry and music, flutist Stephanie Jutt and pianist Jeffrey Sykes perform with former Wisconsin Poet Laureate Max Garland, Madison poet Catherine Jagoe, and New York poet Mark Belair. Support for this event is provided by Overture Center and the Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts & Letters.

Underwritten by Joe & Mary Ellyn Sensenbrenner

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MARGARET ROZGA WISCONSIN POET LAUREATE

BY WEN DY VARDAMAN

P

eggy Rozga calls to apologize, says she is running late. She’s been working on a poem

and lost track of the hour. There’s not enough time to have dinner before the reading in Madison, but perhaps enough to get a bowl of soup and a loaf of fresh bread to take home to Milwaukee, where she’s lived her whole life, where there will be people to share it with: grandchildren who come to her house to play, friends and Bayview neighbors who drop by, fellow poets from the writing group

TJ Lambert/Stages Photograpy

Photo Credit

she’s been a part of for 25 years.

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Profile

Great Lake In the wind Whitecaps rise Sweep the beach Maybe I can Maybe I can’t Michigan lake Waves break In their wake Maybe I can’t Maybe I can’t Force of the sea Salt free Sing, sing for me Maybe I can’t Maybe I can Surge. Swell Maybe I can Maybe I can’t Maybe I can’t Maybe I can.

Tide inside Throat and soul Freeing me Maybe I can Maybe I can

—Margaret Rozga

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Her given name is Margaret, but she doesn’t mind if you call her Peggy. In fact, she prefers it. She is used to meeting new people, traveling between Milwaukee, Waukesha, and Madison to teach creative writing or to do a reading here and there. But she’s traveled farther: Japan, Senegal, Mexico, Turkey, Italy, Spain, Alaska. In 1965 she traveled to Alabama to work on voter registration. “I thought racial problems in this country would be solved by the end of the summer,” she says, recalling those days. “Yes, I was that naïve. But I also could see the Voting Rights Act on the horizon and believed that would go a long way toward solving those problems by giving people most affected some power to address the issues that affected their lives, all of our lives.”

While her writing is grounded in the life of her Bayview community, it often reaches out and touches our collective memory. 200 Nights and One Day, Peggy’s first book, was her way of keeping the 1967–1968 fair housing marches in Milwaukee from being forgotten.

She told the history in poems and from the point of view of the teenagers who marched, including herself. “Elders were not telling their younger family members about these very meaningful experiences in their lives,” she says. “I myself had hesitated to write about my civil rights experiences, thinking no one was interested any more.”

Peggy is good at remembering details. She recalls parts of other people’s poems, what they told her about their children. She makes you feel like she wants to know about your writing, your project, your mom, whether you need to eat, what you are doing to make the world a better place. She asks a lot of questions—How are you? How was your trip?—and listens to what you have to say.

Her capacity for listening finds its way into her poetry. Though I Haven’t Been to Baghdad, her second book, tells the story of Peggy’s response to her son’s two tours of duty in Iraq and Afghanistan: places she hasn’t seen. Understated poems speak to the experience of letting go as a parent and to the ways in which civilians are disconnected from modern war. “It was difficult to write about this intense experience,” she says. “While I wanted to face what was happening to him in a war I didn’t support, I balked at naming my fear, or him, or even myself.”

Peggy is quiet while thinking and seems to look at a point in the distance before drawing a deep breath to speak. She widens her eyes a little before making an observation and lifts her eyebrows. If you are working on a poem, sharing critique in a group, Peggy might surprise you with how much she notices: emotions you thought were hidden, a connection you hadn’t drawn between the present and the past, the form and variations in the rhythm that you didn’t think anyone would notice.

But writing poetry hasn’t come easily for her. Her first book, the one on the fair housing marches, was written after more than forty years of living with its story. It was published when she turned 63.

The intervening years were spent working and raising a family. “Our children were six, five, and two years old when my husband died,” she recalls. “I wrote a lot of haiku [then] because I could keep so few words in my head no matter which child was sick, which ones were fighting, how rushed I was to get dinner on the table, whether the telephone was ringing. They were generally pretty bad (the haiku, not the children), but that was the way I could continue to identify as a writer when time to write was scarce.”

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amb TJ L

Now that the kids are grown and have families of their own, Peggy has more time to focus on her writing. Over the past few days she has been working on a poem to read at an interfaith creative vigil for democracy that happens to be a couple of days before Wisconsin Governor Tony Evers’s inauguration ceremony. She worries about the story she wants to tell in the poem, how to tell it right for this audience and this evening.

Peggy drives to Madison to deliver the poem she wrote for this occasion on a few days’ notice. The sun has almost set when she arrives in late afternoon. She loses track of time getting the story right. The poem, set in the present, includes glimpses of news and neighbors, though no mention of the new grandbaby whose illness has weighed on the family for two weeks. That’s personal. “He went home yesterday,” she says, with relief. If he hadn’t, she wouldn’t have managed to come. That’s priorities.

Peggy’s writing often explores serious social themes, yet is also playful at times. “I don’t understand why the power of truth-telling words should be confined to introspection, to telling about one’s loves whether happy or unhappy, to thinking about mortality,” she says. “There’s so much more to life, so much more that affects our lives, and we need to write about it as we see it.”

Arriving a few minutes before tonight’s vigil, she waits quietly at the back of the room, her poem clutched tightly in her hands. It isn’t long before one person and then another recognizes her and comes over to say hello, get a hug, a thank you for having me. Thank you for organizing this event. Thank you to someone else for hosting the event. And thank you to another for their contributions.

Whether on stage tonight or elsewhere on another day, Peggy always speaks about the Civil Rights Movement and the Progressive Movement in Wisconsin with gratitude and a sense of debt.

“Establish justice, promote the general welfare—these I think are everyone’s responsibility, writers and poets no less than politicians,” she often says.

Before she reads tonight, there is music. She doesn’t need the words projected on the wall to join along with “Lift Every Voice and Sing.” Her voice isn’t loud, but it is firm and unwavering.

A woman in the audience taps her shoulder. “I wanted to say hello.

We were neighbors growing up in Bayview. We went to grade school together.” They hurry to catch up before the words and songs of the vigil begin, happy to cross paths at an event designed to bring old friends together.

Peggy recalls the sidewalk games of childhood. “We ran errands for our mothers, but mostly we were free to play. I probably thought my neighborhood was the world. Or the world was like my neighborhood.”

The spirit of neighborhood games stays close in her mind. “I like to think [the poems in 200 Nights] chalk the Milwaukee sidewalks. The material about the Civil Rights Movement helps poetry.

It rescues poetry from its confines to limited subject matter, and limited audiences, to a central community position,” she says.

Balancing work, family, writing, and activism is difficult but not impossible. “Because I write about work I’ve done in the community—what I did when I wasn’t writing—the writing and the activism aren’t always different compartments. If I once thought they were, that distinction has blurred.”

ert/Stages Ph o

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ABO UT MARGARET ROZGA Margaret Rozga, the Wisconsin Poet Lauraete for 2019–2020, is an author, poet, community activist, and lifelong Wisconsin resident. She has a PhD from UW–Milwaukee, and is Professor Emerita at UW–Waukesha where she taught writing and multi-ethnic literature for thirty years. Her most recent book, Pestiferous Questions (2017), supported by a fellowship from the American Antiquarian Society, is a verse biography of 19th-century writer and political activist Jessie Benton Frémont. Her first collection, 200 Nights and One Day (2009) and subsequent books, Though I Haven’t Been to Baghdad (2012) and Justice Freedom Herbs (2015), emphasize the role poetry can play in struggles for justice. Three anthology projects, most recently Where I Want to Live: Poems for Fair and Affordable Housing (2018), which celebrates the fair housing struggle in Milwaukee, create space for witnessing contemporary civil rights struggles as well as opportunities to act. Rozga also works with writers in unusual settings. In 2014, she led workshops and open mics on a bus for high school students who took a Freedom Summer anniversary tour of the South. During that trip, the town of Meridian, Mississippi, honored her work by proclaiming June 29th Margaret Rozga Day. She has received numerous awards, as well as residencies at the Sitka Center for Arts and Ecology, the Ragdale Foundation, and the American Antiquarian Society. Rozga’s current project is a series of Alice in Wonderland-themed poems.

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Profile

TJ Lambert/Stages Photograpy

Prayer at Plymouth Church Let there be drums and harps, piccolos and flutes, violins, banjoes and guitars.

Let there be hands clapping, joyous voices, glad steps open arms, open hearts.

Let us be like Amos proclaiming trouble for those who turn justice into wormwood.

Let us tend sycamores and gather herbs.

Let no guns enter.

Let there be light.

Let us be the light.

In the name of the Creator, Redeemer and Sanctifier, let us pray make peace.

—Margaret Rozga From Freedom Justice Herbs

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The emcee for the evening forgets to introduce her until after she reads, because everyone here knows Peggy, and they have stories of how they crossed paths five or fifty-five years ago: at an anniversary event for the fair housing marches; at a Martin Luther King Jr. commemoration at the Capitol and an impromptu reading together in the rotunda; on the team organizing the book festival in Waukesha; during the reading at Woodland Pattern or the Arts + Literature Laboratory; or while preparing an art exhibit by high school students at Arts@Large.

Cross-pollination with other arts, history, and social justice efforts helps poetry breathe and thrive, she says. Peggy explains why her poetry group created Threaded Metaphors, an exhibit of fiber artists and poets responding to each other’s work. The writers “wanted people who didn’t read literary journals to see the poems,” which hung side by side with quilts and textiles, traveling with them to universities, churches, even a bank.

This evening’s creativity potluck is the kind of thing that Peggy herself would plan, has planned, as the organizer recalls. It’s what inspired him: his invitation to a fundraising book launch that she organized in Milwaukee. Tonight it’s a few poems, some spoken word, projected photos, some videos, songs, and sing alongs, chalk for writing and drawing on blackboards. Opportunities for people in the audience to contribute. Some bring notebooks and read a page written eight years ago or yesterday. Some speak from memory.

Others from phones.

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Peggy is happiest being an activist as a poet. “Powerful language can also advance social justice. … Getting Poetry to chalk on the sidewalk with History, and to rollerblade with Justice, [is] what I want to do.”

The event this evening celebrates the work of many years. The kind of work Peggy has always participated in and sometimes led.

Picking up a sign at a neighbor’s house or dropping one off on the way home from a poetry workshop, moving from person to person, acknowledging their efforts and presence, challenging others to take part, encouraging them to offer what they can.

Peggy’s poem for the evening fits on a single folded page. She opens it with care, takes a deep breath, and reads slowly, clearly. Her words are understated but witty, and she holds the claims of others up to the light for examination. The news may be breaking, as the TV claims, but it has not broken us. When she reads a voice other than her own, her expression changes subtly, so that you know someone else is speaking—that child, that parent, that teacher, that unpaid worker, that asylum seeker.

Poetry in multiple voices is a path to involving audience members, too. “Bringing in other readers perks things up. It’s one of the things I’ve learned from younger people who do spoken word and draw large audiences,” she notes.

Peggy doesn’t try to become other people when she reads, but she does want to amplify their voices, and uses poetry and story to “turn up the volume.” It is the story, and the people behind it, that is most important. If she gets their voices right, the story will be right. The right story, she knows, will help all of us to find our own unbroken voices.

She worries about how she will do as Wisconsin’s Poet Laureate.

What poems and stories do people need? What poems and stories does she need to tell, and do those needs overlap?

“I’ve never wanted to be a nostalgia act,” she says. To reinvent herself and the stories that she tells, Peggy listens to the words of younger poets and activists and works to understand their historical moment. “That helps me to see mine, to see how what I experienced continues to be relevant as struggles for justice and peace continue.”

Cake and Lemonade for Neighbors Where I want to live neighbors gather on front porches, watch their children play across multiple front yards, laugh in Spanish, Arabic, Burmese, English, talk about back-in-the-day, share sweet and savory snacks, lend each other a cup of sugar or flour, borrow hedge trimmers, a shovel, or rake, help with chores when need be, apologize when need be, offer a word of advice (not more), drum, strum guitars, and pluck banjos, make a little noise sometimes, sometimes bring out a kitchen chair so everyone finds a comfortable place to sit on the unscreened wide or narrow porch or on the stoop. Sometimes just enjoy all black brown white golden quiet together —Margaret Rozga From Where I Want to Live: Poems for Fair and Affordable Housing

Wendy Vardaman is a Madison-based writer, website manager, and designer. She volunteers for arts and social justice causes as a web/graphic designer and as a letterpress printer.

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Photo Essay

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Photo Essay

ANATOMY OF A FLOOD ESSAY BY KEEFE KEELEY · PH OTOS BY J O N LEE

People often recount the floods in living memory. As a child, I heard about the Kickapoo River flood of 1978, after which Soldiers Grove—the town just north of where I grew up—moved to higher ground; homes, businesses, and about 600 people were relocated off of the floodplain.

There were the successive, record-breaking floods of 2007 and 2008, after which Gays Mills (south of us) moved to higher ground and a number of houses on the edge of that floodplain were raised by 18 inches. The 2016 flash flood of Tainter Creek washed my own mother’s car off the road—with her in it. Thankfully, she was rescued from the rising waters by the village fire chief after being stranded in her car for a few terrifying hours.

August 2018 will be remembered for record-breaking floods that brought devastation throughout the Driftless Area. In Gays Mills, where flood stage for the Kickapoo River is 13 feet, floodwaters reached over 22 feet, inundating most of the houses that had been raised after the 2008 floods. In Coon Valley, a small town in Vernon County, the catastrophe surpassed anything in memory. Fortunately, no one died in the floods here. But in Vernon County alone, over 350 people had to be rescued from floodwaters, and official estimates tallied more than $108 million in residential storm damage and $75 million in public infrastructure damage.

Water has been wearing away at Wisconsin forever. While earthbound glaciers shaped much of the state, it was water from the sky that cut the iconic valleys into the bedrock of the Driftless.

Over millions of years, the rich soils and lush vegetation that slowly developed to blanket these hills and valleys did a good job of absorbing the rain, which filtered down through layers of ancient limestone and emerged as natural springs that fed picturesque streams and rivers. Twelve thousand years of indigenous land use maintained this pattern.

Then something changed. As the world became more populated, and agriculture became more intensive, farmers came to the Driftless in search of fertile soil. It took only a few generations of woodland cutting, hard farming, and overgrazing before the blanket of soil, sod, and forest had been worn threadbare. By the 1920s, landslides and floods were swallowing farm fields and houses alike; whole Driftless communities teetered on the edge of extinction.

By 1933, Coon Valley farmers had had enough. They banded together with local, state, and federal representatives, and the Civilian Conservation Corps, for the first large-scale watershed demonstration of the newly formed Soil Erosion Service (today the USDA’s Natural Resource Conservation Service). The farmers adopted new methods of managing their land—contour rows, crop rotations, grain crops interspersed with perennial pasture, farm ponds, riparian buffers, restored hillside woodlands—to retain their soil and improve its capacity to infiltrate, which helped to prevent erosion and restore the health of local waterways. Not only did these changes help save their farmland and their town, but Coon Creek became one of many Driftless streams that went from being effectively dead during the Dust Bowl years to a world-class trout stream today.

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The Coon Valley American Legion Post 116 Building received four feet of water inside. The force of the water opened the locked doors at both ends of the building, and most of the chairs inside floated downstream. Most of the historical artifacts— CV Legion History Books, photos, uniforms, and awards—were preserved.

People still look to Coon Valley farmers as leaders in conservation. In August of 2018, I visited Rod Ofte, who farms with his family just outside of town, to hold a workshop that attracted farmers from all over the Midwest who wanted to learn about his innovative methods of holding on to soil. Ofte, like his Coon Valley forebears, knows that healthy soil can buffer against floods. He also knows that healthy soil holds more carbon, and the more carbon we have underground the less carbon dioxide there is the atmosphere to fuel climate change.

Yet all this knowledge in practice didn’t stop the devastating floodwaters that came rushing onto his farm just a few weeks after our workshop.

Looking at the floods within our collective memory, and what these floods are doing to our communities in the Driftless, we see that the imperative is increasingly clear: we need to deal with our changing climate. The good news is that we can do more than retreat to higher ground. As stewards of photosynthesis, farmers have the power to pull carbon out the atmosphere. With support from consumers, policy-makers, and each other, farmers can better manage their soils to hold on to more carbon and, subsequently, hold more water. The growing interest among farmers of all types in this concept of soil health may hinge primarily on their hope for more healthy crops. But healthy soils also benefit the health of our watersheds and climate.

Ofte and Driftless farmers like him are already at work on this. Well-managed pastures on grass-fed beef and organic farms help to build soils, even though this kind of agriculture faces pressures from forces that favor larger farms and confined livestock operations. Tainter Creek now has a farmer-led watershed council organized around preserving water quality, and a growing number of such groups are forming across Wisconsin.

In the Dust Bowl Era, Coon Valley residents rose to the occasion to find solutions to the climate crisis of their time. Those solutions, first adopted by farmers here and eventually throughout much of Wisconsin, were sufficient to handle the water that fell during 20th-century storms and help address their flooding problem. As climate change accelerates, however, the storms of the 21st century are proving more frequent and intense. For our generation, for our communities, the question is not if we will see another flood, but when it will come, and how we might ready ourselves.

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Photo Essay

Driftless hillsides that have held the land in place for thousands of years gave way in numerous locations between August 27 and 28, 2018.

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Photo Essay

On the east end of Coon Valley, some residents recorded over 17 inches in their rain gauges. With dams breaking upstream, floodwaters collided and ripped through the streams, taking out six bridges and many power lines, leaving residents stranded without electricity for days.

A hillside that had not been grazed in decades gave way, blocking CTY Road P for days and inundating Carl Daffinrud’s farmyard. Founded in the mid-1800’s, this farm had never seen such damage.

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Photo Essay

The Siverhus Family, pioneers of Rullands Coulee near Coon Valley, clean up the Skogdalen Cemetery two days after a massive flood ripped through, tipping gravestones.

Massive tombstones in Skogdalen Cemetery, some weighing over 1,000 pounds, toppled like dominoes during the flooding. Skogdalen Church Road was badly damaged and impassible for weeks.

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Photo Essay

A 2,000-pound Red Angus bull was caught up in flood waters along the banks of the Coon Creek, carried two miles downstream, and deposited on the Hwy 14-61 bridge.

Rushing flood waters carried off large pieces of asphalt and a gate near Glen Marshall Farm on Hwy P in Spring Coulee.

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Photo Essay

Two days after the flood, the water levels in Coon Valley were near normal. However, on the Coon Valley Walking Bridge near the park is a reminder of just how high the water level was when peak flooding brought waters to over 25 feet above normal levels.

Keefe Keeley is co-Executive Director of the Savanna Institute, an organization working to advance perennial agriculture in the Midwest, and a PhD candidate in the Gaylord Nelson Institute for Environmental Studies at UW–Madison. Keeley originally hails from the Kickapoo Valley and is co-editor, along with Curt Meine, of The Driftless Reader, an anthology of the region.

Jon Lee writes and does photography for newspapers and magazines such as Our Wisconsin. He has degrees in education and photography from UW–La Crosse. Lee and his wife both taught school overseas before returning to teach in Wisconsin, where they also operate a grass-fed beef farm in Coon Valley. The farm where they live with daughters Emma and Eva was started in 1898 by Lee’s great-grandparents.

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@ watrous gallery

GAYLORD SCHANILEC A NATURAL HISTORY

BY CATHY CU N N I N G HAM & CH U CK STEBELTO N

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@ watrous gallery

Gaylord Schanilec, Pelecanus erythrorhynchos, wood engraving. From Lac Des Pleurs: Report from Lake Pepin (Gaylord Schanilec, Midnight Paper Sales, 2015).

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@ watrous gallery

L

eap. It’s a word that artist and amateur naturalist Gaylord Schanilec uses frequently. In fact, Schanilec lives by the leap, often choosing artistic projects that require him to leap, both technically and conceptually. This drive to explore something unknown to him, something for which the outcome is uncertain, has made Schanilec one of the leading makers of hand-crafted books.

Drawing on his talents as a wood engraver, printer, designer, and illustrator, Schanilec creates unique fine press books that explore his interests and experiences as well as his native landscape.

As a teenager growing up in Fargo, North Dakota, Schanilec decided to become a poet after meeting celebrated American poet and fellow North Dakotan Thomas McGrath. Schanilec admired McGrath’s commitment to his craft, and he was especially taken with McGrath’s metaphor for the muse, “the moon stuck in my pocket.” Indeed, Schanilec’s early book, Tracking the Moon, published in 1981, was an homage to McGrath in verse and featured a small black print of a moon on the cover.

While Schanilec chose not to pursue poetry as an occupation, he still retained his fascination with combining words and images in new ways, illustrating books for other poets and occasionally writing his own on the side. In the 1980s he lived in a Twin Cities warehouse with a handful of other artists. A number of literary presses had set up shop in the area, eager to make use of a new influx of foundation money and a burgeoning arts scene.

At the time, Schanilec was working primarily in pen and ink, though he also experimented with woodcuts and graphic design.

Then one of his friends brought a printing press into the warehouse and showed Schanilec how to print his woodcuts on the press.

Soon he was learning the basics of letterpress printing, which uses handset wooden or metal type, and engraved or wood-cut blocks, to transfer inked text and illustrations onto paper.

Near the warehouse where Schanilec lived was a paper company.

After dark, he and the other artists would help themselves to the offcuts of paper in the company’s scrap bins. Thus was born Schanilec’s imprint, Midnight Paper Sales. He equipped his new printing operation with a press, movable type, and other materials he’d purchased from a retired printer. At first, Schanilec made event posters, broadsides for poetry readings, and other ephemera. But when he realized that he could turn his printed images into books, Schanilec saw a whole new world of opportunity.

In 1983 the Minnesota Center for Book Arts opened to provide resources and classes for book artists, and Schanilec immediately signed up for course with book artist Gerald Lange. A letterpress scholar and award-winning artist, Lange is also the proprietor and founder of the Bieler Press, a small firm that specializes in custom letterpress printing, typographic design, and the publication of finely printed limited edition books.

“Gerry showed me the finer points of printing, typography, and book design: the right paper, the right ink, the right impression,” says Schanilec. The two became friends, and Lange urged Schanilec to make the leap from letterpress printing on paper scraps to fine press printing on custom paper.

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chanilec’s first long-form book project, all of it developed and printed on his own, was High Bridge (1987). Conceived as a long, unfolding composition, the book included his images alternating with text from old newspaper articles to tell the story of the construction and demolition of the old High Bridge in Saint Paul.

For this book, Schanilec made a leap into the unknown world of multi-color wood engravings, teaching himself as he went along.

Wood engravings are made with end-grain blocks (cut against the grain), rather than the long-grain planks that form traditional woodcut printing blocks. The denser end-grain wood allows for finer precision and tonal variation when engraving images and holds up to repeated press runs. But wood engraving is difficult and time-consuming work. Multi-colored relief printing further complicates this work, as the colors must be layered so that transparent inks will combine with subsequent layers to create secondary and tertiary colors.

Generally, for multi-color printing, one color is applied to a block with each pass of the press. Sometimes this is done by cutting a separate block for each color applied on the press. But Schanilec uses the “reduction cut” or “wasting” method in which a single block is used throughout, carving away surfaces not intended to transfer any more ink before each pass of the press. This approach requires a lot of forethought—once something has been carved away, you can’t go back unless you create a new block.

It took Schanilec two years to complete the High Bridge project, which is about as long as it took to build the new High Bridge. But by the time it was done, Schanilec had won the American Institute of Graphic Arts Award of Excellence and had established himself as a fine press book artist.

Max Yela, Head of Special Collections at the University of Wisconsin–Milwaukee Libraries, has been following Schanilec’s work since the eighties. “I can’t think of anybody who has that kind of luminous color palette in wood engraving,” says Yela, noting how the books reflect a mind-boggling combination of print and book design precision. “He establishes a rhythm and uses the book to offer a progression that’s not just about going through and seeing the images.” Rather, says Yela, the artist’s rhythm stops the viewer, arrests him or her, and creates a portal to another space. “It’s almost cinematic. The translucency of the paper may frame something on the other side, so this text is framed by the images in reverse, and kind of lifts [the text] off the page.”

For his first three natural history books—Mayflies of the Driftless Region, Sylvae, and Lac Des Pleurs—Schanilec immersed himself in the flora and fauna of his home at the time, 27 forested acres near Stockholm, Wisconsin. For each book, Schanilec decided to collect and identify specimens he found in this region of the Upper Mississippi, following rules he’d established for himself and a commitment to understanding the natural world through observation and experience.

Published in 2005, Mayflies of the Driftless Region was conceived when Schanilec came across Frederic M. Halford’s 1897 edition of Dry Fly Entomology, which was written with British fly fishermen

Ben Verhoeven

Above: Gaylord Schanilec in his Stockholm, Wisconsin studio.

Gaylord Schanilec

Right: In 2009 Schanilec outfitted his boat with a drawing table, a live well, and a small library so that he could work on Lac Des Pleurs while out on the water.

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Gaylord Schanilec, Black walnut, end-grain, woodcut. From Sylvae (Gaylord Schanilec and Ben Verhoeven, Midnight Paper Sales, 2007).

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in mind. Inspired by the book’s detailed wood engravings of flies, Schanilec set out in a boat on selected nearby streams at strategic mayfly hatch times in hopes of catching and identifying particular species. For help in identifying the various kinds of mayflies he encountered, Schanilec called on entomologist Clarke Garry, a biology professor from the University of Wisconsin–River Falls and author of many articles on freshwater macro invertebrate delights such as “The Abundant Scud” and “The Humpless Casemaker.”

“Garry steered me to the right microscope and all the right equipment and all the right little vials and things,” says Schanilec.

Schanilec would carve a block based on his microscopic examination of the specimen and then send Garry the specimen to identify. If Garry couldn’t identify it, Schanilec asked him to explain in writing why the specimen was so difficult to taxonomically pin down, which then provided the text for that specimen in the book.

“It was like taking an amazing, one-on-one biology course. I really like working with scientists,” says Schanilec, noting that he’s “been doing [so] quite a bit in the last decade.”

Schanilec found his way into yet another natural history book project after he began practicing sustainable forestry, which required him to cut specific trees on his property. Schanilec, and Ben Verhoeven, who had been interning with him in his print shop, decided to make a sylva, a catalogue of each species of tree on his property. First, Schanilec and Verhoeven clear-cut a stand of aspens, used the trees to build a wood shop, and then installed a kiln for drying wood. They decided to create a fine press book of their sylva, using direct relief prints of the wood from the trees they had harvested and then cured in the wood shop. They would also include an engraved map of Schanilec’s property, showing the original location of each specimen tree In the course of completing Sylvae (2008), Schanilec cut dozens of trees on his property representing 25 species. From some trees he saved large roots or limbs, from others small trunks. These he milled into slabs revealing the long-grain patterns and cross-sectional

Gaylord Schanilec

Sylvae: Fifty specimens printed directly from the wood with historical anecdotes & observations (Gaylord Schanilec and Ben Verhoeven, Midnight Paper Sales, 2007). The large paper edition includes a set of 25 wood specimens.

Gaylord Schanilec

@ watrous gallery

Printing Plum, long-grain.

rounds showing the short grains and growth rings. He dried and planed these pieces into smooth blocks of various shapes (complete with their natural edging of bark), but with the standard thickness of letterpress printing blocks.

Schanilec carefully matched his ink to the original color of each wood specimen. While one color pass was adequate for printing some of the specimens, most needed additional color. So, Schanilec would cut away the wood around the dominant grain and bark edge and ink the remaining relief surfaces with darker pigments to accentuate the varying textures. While most of the completed prints fit on an eight-by-ten inch page, some of the longer wood blocks were printed as fold-out pages, some up to 24 inches long.

The process of creating Sylvae took around four years, during which Schanilec developed a deep knowledge of the structure and biology of regional trees. Yet he discounts the scientific significance of the project. “I don’t really feel like it’s that significant of a natural history document. It’s playful science. I don’t have to prove anything.”

On the other hand, he does acknowledge Sylvae’s importance to the history of the book. “Whenever I’m doing a project like that, I’m usually trying to tie it into other books back through time. There’s a series of books I was looking at that have wood specimens. … So I was deliberately tying into that. But, interestingly, nobody ever tried printing specimen prints from the different kinds of wood before.

Somehow nobody else had ever done that, which is just kind of shocking to me.”

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Gaylord Schanilec

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Top: Gaylord Schanilec, Unionidae: Downstream, wood engraving. From Lac Des Pleurs: Report from Lake Pepin (Gaylord Schanilec, Midnight Paper Sales, 2015).

Below: Schanilec’s color wood engravings of specimens, like this mussel shell, are carefully rendered individual portraits.

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For his next major project, Lac Des Pleurs (2015), or “Lake of Tears,” Schanilec explored Lake Pepin on the Upper Mississippi River near his hilltop property in Stockholm. He observed and documented the fauna that live where the river widens into lake and interspersed block-print images of them with historical texts, his own poetry, and excursions into natural history. Schanilec outfitted a boat with a motor, a drawing table, and a live well for holding fish and other specimens, and took to the lake. His rules for the project: “For a fish to get into the book, I have to catch one. For a mussel to get in, both shells of an individual must be collected. For a bird, I need an interesting photograph.”

The first image he engraved for the seven-year odyssey was a ten-by-seventeen-inch image of white pelicans taking off from a sand bar. Schanilec knew it would be popular, so he made extra prints to help fund the project. He calculated that the key block, made from counter top material used in his boat, took him ninety hours to engrave. Schanilec positioned the images of fish and mussels in the foreground, “floating” in midair above the river in the style of the classic field guides he’d been using in his research. Schanilec also included prints of fish that he meticulously rendered scale by scale.

“Starting with [Lac Des Pleurs], I do all my engraving in front of the computer. Because I work from photographs, you can do so much with them [on the screen]—magnify things and light them up.”

Schanilec originally planned to engrave images of every species of fish in Lake Pepin but realized, given his pace, that it would take him 125 years. Instead, he made some prints from engraved blocks originally used in Thaddeus Surber’s 1920 catalogue of fishes made for the Minnesota Board of Game and Fish commissioners. The time he saved using these historically relevant blocks went into his more

@ watrous gallery

detailed engravings. For example, Schanilec’s two-by-three-foot map of Lake Pepin, hand-printed on handmade Kiraku Kozo paper, was made using six maple blocks from a tree that he had cut down while working on Sylvae. It took Schanilec five hundred hours just to engrave the map into the maple blocks.

I

Barb Eijadi

n Schanilec’s newest natural history project, the artist was commissioned to illustrate author John Coy’s children’s story My Mighty Journey. In Coy’s tale, Saint Anthony Falls narrates its own upstream journey from Saint Paul to Minneapolis. The waterfall actually moved ten miles over the course of 12,000 years. When a melting glacier joined two rivers and slowly eroded the riverbed, the largest waterfall on the Mississippi River was undercut and pushed from Saint Paul to Minneapolis. The waterfall in My Mighty Journey bears witness to the human developments and endeavors that take place during this time alongside the falls.

“I am a powerful waterfall. I listen, I pay attention, I have a long memory,” says the waterfall. “You might find it hard to believe, but I have moved through time.”

Once again, Schanilec is exploring time itself, and taking his time doing it. With this project, Schanilec has taken another major leap, relinquishing the front-to-back, top-to-bottom control he usually maintains over every aspect of his work. He seems happy about it.

“I was so tired of controlling everything that I deliberately put myself in a position to give it up,” he says. “It’s been fantastic for the project because what happens is that everybody brings so much to it that … it’s the most organic book I’ve ever worked on. It just took on a life of its own—and I just try to keep up with it, really.”

Top: Gaylord Schanilec, Medicine Wheel (Sage, Cedar, Sweetgrass, Tobacco), direct print. From My Mighty Journey (John Coy, Minnesota Historical Society Press, 2019).

Below: Paul Nylander, an important part of the My Mighty Journey team, inking the press for a direct print from native bean plants.

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Above: Gaylord Schanilec, Spirit Island, direct print and wood engraving. From My Mighty Journey (John Coy, Minnesota Historical Society Press, 2019).

Paul Nylander

Right: Schanilec, intern Sorcha Douglas, and author John Coy discuss the design of My Mighty Journey.

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According to Schanilec, the project has been truly collaborative.

The publisher of My Mighty Journey, Minnesota Historical Society Press, teamed up with the Minnesota Center for Book Arts to provide Schanilec with research and resources. A committed team of interns and assistants, including Paul Nylander, Greta Lapcinski, Sorcha Douglas, Paris Fobbe, and Barb Eijadi, each brought their own artistic and book-making experiences and have helped Schanilec with image development, typesetting, and printing. Schanilec notes that while most were scheduled to work on the project for only a few months, “their time would be up and they’d just keep coming around … because we were having so much fun.”

While Schanilec is including some prints from wood engravings in the book, he and his team are also making relief prints directly from organic materials like limestone blocks, cottonwood bark, and tobacco leaves. Using relief prints added to the organic feel of the book and allowed his collaborators to directly participate in creating images. Nylander has been documenting the project and acting as something of a show runner. Schanilec does not miss that part of the work. “I started documenting myself with Mayflies and the reason was to document the process. Since then other people have been doing it better than I have,” he says.

As the My Mighty Journey process comes to a close and the book nears publication, Schanilec reflects on the camaraderie among the collaborators. “Everybody that’s been involved, we’ve just had a really good rapport going,” he says. “It’s always kind of an emotional let-down when you’re done. In this case it really will be.”

Of course, Schanilec has a few more projects in his pocket. He says he’s working on a book of flowers. “I’ve been photographing urban flowers and really fooling around with depth of field when things blur. … But I keep finding excuses to make some of those blurred semi-circles [into] the moon.”

The moon often finds its way into his work. Here it is in the logo for his imprint, Midnight Paper Sales, here it is in the compass rose on the enormous map of Lac Des Pleurs. When asked, Schanilec acknowledges the motif. “It’s subtle, but it’s there” he says. “Yeah, I’m always turning circles into the moon.”

SEE THE EXHIBITION On view at the James Watrous Gallery in Overture Center for the Arts 201 State Street • Madison

GAYLORD SCHANILEC A NATURAL HISTORY

FEBRUARY 15 – APRIL 7 Please join us for these related events, which are free and open to the public:

OPENING RECEPTION

Friday, February 15 • 5–7:00 pm with an informal gallery talk by the artist beginning at 5:30 pm (free)

ART BITES: GAYLORD SCHANILEC

Saturday, February 16 • 10:30am–12pm Three-course brunch in the gallery with the artist and exhibition experts $20 ($15 for Academy members)

ART@NOON TALK

Friday, April 5 • 12–1:00 pm with gallery director Jody Clowes (free)

PRINTMAKING DEMO

Saturday, April 6 • 3–5:00 pm at Tandem Press (free) 1743 Commercial Ave, Madison

Cathy Cunningham and Chuck Stebelton’s most recent collaboration is Light This on Fire and Sell It (Disappearing Books, 2019). Cunningham’s previous artist profiles have appeared in Riverwest Currents and as a Riverwest 24 commemorative booklet. She enjoys making field recordings and photographing lichens. Stebelton is a poet and Wisconsin Master Naturalist volunteer. He is author of An Apostle Island (Oxeye Press, 2019) and two other full-length poetry collections. Unionidae: Downstream, Gaylord Schanilec’s print of freshwater mussels from Lac Des Pleurs, holds pride of place in their living room.

Thanks to Wisconsin Academy donors, members, and the following exhibition sponsors:

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Fiction

A Sweet Thing

BY AN NA KAY KRU G ER

K

yle and I arrived at his parents’ house in the early evening. He had barely removed the key from

the ignition when his mother, Caroline, appeared at my window. Her face was obscured in the evening shadow, save for the whites of her eyes and her teeth as she smiled at me. She helped me out of the car while Kyle retrieved our suitcases from the trunk.

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“Miriam,” she said, throwing her arms around me, engulfing me in a pungent cloud of lavender oil and residual paint fumes. “It’s so good to see you. Come, you must be exhausted.”

She looped her arm through mine and brought me inside. Kyle followed, lugging our suitcases up the walk.

Caroline deposited me in a chair in the living room and set about pouring a glass of wine.

The interior of the house was decorated in a kitschy, nostalgic way, with cuckoo clocks and wicker furniture, and several amateur paintings of birds and flowers. Upon closer examination, it became clear that all of these were painted by Caroline herself. Her loopy signature was visible inside the edge of every frame. I asked if she had been painting something before we arrived.

“Oh, yes,” she said. “I was down in my studio in the basement. I almost lost track of time completely. It’s nice to have my own space, but I get a little carried away...”

She placed a glass of red wine in my hand and directed Kyle to the guest bedroom upstairs.

Then she sat down across from me on the loveseat. Candles burned on the coffee table between us, softening her face so that her hard edges did not seem quite so severe. Her son’s resemblance to her was striking—they had the same aristocratic nose and wide, angular jaw.

It occurred to me that it was a more flattering face for a boy.

She clasped her hands in her lap. “How have you been?” she asked.

I sipped my wine. “Very good,” I said, blandly. “I’m sorry, I’m always a little foggy after a long car ride.”

“Of course,” said Caroline. “Harry is upstairs, he likes to take a nap before dinner, but I’ll expect he’s up now that Kyle’s arrived. Oh, and Emily is here somewhere, I just never know where ...”

I slowly drained my glass. Kyle and his father came down the staircase, talking loudly. A blue-gray cat climbed into my lap and kneaded my thighs.

“You’re not allergic, are you?” Caroline fretted.

I shook my head, my mouth full of wine, and scratched the cat between the ears. It blinked somberly at me. “What’s its name?”

“I see you’ve already made friends with Willie,” Kyle said in answer. He stood behind me and wrapped his fingers around my shoulders. “Where’s Emily?” he asked his mother.

“Harry, where’s Emily?” Caroline looked to Kyle’s father, a large man with an ample face and a belly that preceded him wherever he went. Harry shrugged. “I haven’t seen her since this morning,” he said. “I’m sure she’s hiding in her room.”

“Will you go tell her that Kyle and Miriam are here?”

Harry ambled off. Kyle slid into the chair beside mine and reached over to scratch the fur under Willie’s chin.

“How was the drive?” Caroline asked.

“Not so bad,” said Kyle. “There weren’t many people on the road. We made great time.”

“And how are your jobs going?”

“Well,” we agreed.

The insipid pleasantries, the wine, the sweet glow of the candles and the purring cat all filled me with a deflated sense of melancholy, which I attributed to my tiredness. I looked at Kyle, expecting to see some trace of exhaustion in his features. He seemed perfectly alert, even excited.

“Here she is!” Caroline said, looking past me. I turned as best I could without disturbing the cat.

“Hi, Miriam.” A girl approached me with her hand extended. She wore a placid smile. I reached forward and shook her hand.

“You must be Emily,” I said. She smiled some more. Kyle rose from his chair to embrace her. When they broke apart, she moved over and sat down beside Caroline on the loveseat.

The three of them fell into conversation. I stroked Willie’s fur and the cat turned over on my lap, exposing its white belly to me.

I had always been curious to meet Kyle’s sister, but Emily was remarkable only in that her appearance made no real impression upon me. The first thought that came to my mind was of a blank canvas. She wore a white cashmere sweater and beige slacks. Though objectively

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Fiction

nice-looking, with an elegant shape and all of the roundness of youth, her face was mild and expressionless. All the while that they sat there talking, her vapid smile remained, a slim crescent as precise as the moon outside.

The sound of a timer going off issued from the kitchen and Caroline rose to address it.

Everyone moved into the dining room. I sat down across from Emily, watching as she poured herself a glass of wine and leaned back in her chair. She stared at something on the table in a way that made me suspect there was not a single thought in her head.

“Emily,” I said. “Are you in school?”

Emily raised her eyes, wide-set and colorless.

“I graduated in the spring,” she said.

“And what did you study?”

“Biology,” she said.

“What do you want to do?”

“I’m going to be a nurse,” she said. “I’m applying for nursing programs.”

“That’s admirable,” I said. “I could never be a nurse. I don’t have the spirit.”

“That’s our Emily,” said Kyle, raising his glass to her. She turned her gaze on him and the smile slid back into place. “She’s all about self-sacrifice.”

“May we all follow your example,” I said.

We ate green beans, sweet potatoes and brisket, and when dinner was over the family convened in the living room again, where they continued talking well into the night. Eventually I caught myself nodding off and excused myself to go to bed, but despite my exhaustion lay awake for a half hour or so, waiting for Kyle to join me. The only light in the room was from a street lamp below the window. It cast a frayed orange circle onto the ceiling above me.

When at last Kyle came in, I opened my mouth to say something. But before I could, he slid on top of me and pushed my legs apart with his knee. After several clumsy, breathless minutes, it became clear that he had had too much to drink. He moved off of me and turned over.

“Your sister seems very nice,” I said.

He grunted his assent.

“She’s reserved,” I said. “You two must be very different.”

“She’s a quiet one,” he agreed, barely articulating. “A sweet thing ...”

His voice trailed off. I closed my eyes and listened as his breathing fell into the rhythm of sleep.

I had always been curious to meet Kyle’s sister, but Emily was remarkable only in that her appearance made no real impression upon me. The first thought that came to my mind was of a blank canvas.

I

n the morning, I went down to the kitchen alone. I found Caroline making coffee. The television was on in the living room. “Harry likes to keep up with the goings on,” she said to me. “He sits there all morning, I don’t know how he does it.”

She poured me a cup of coffee and I brought it out onto the back porch, which overlooked a tidy lawn and a black pond with white lilies dotting the surface. Beyond that stood a dense outcropping of trees. It was so tranquil that I didn’t see Emily at first, sitting on a bench in the yard, facing away from the house.

I watched her for a few minutes, waiting for signs of movement. She sat perfectly still as though mesmerized by something in the distance. The morning rose around her, dewy and almost painfully bright. I went back into the kitchen and asked Caroline: “Does Emily want a cup of coffee?”

Caroline was peeling a pile of potatoes in the sink. She raised her head and looked out the kitchen window at Emily, her gaze cagey and shrewd. Then she smiled at me and said, “I’m sure she does. Why don’t you bring one to her?”

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Fiction

I nodded and retrieved a mug from the cupboard. As I poured, I asked, “Is she meditating, or something?”

The potato peels made a wet sound as they dropped into the bottom of the sink. After a pause, Caroline replied, “I’m not sure. She’s a thinker, our Emily.”

This starkly contradicted my impression of the girl, but I picked up the mug and went out the back door. I stopped a few yards away from Emily and announced my presence: “I brought you a cup of coffee!” I almost expected no response at all, but she looked around instantly and her expression broke into a tidy smile. She moved over on the bench to make room for me. I sat and held out the mug, which she accepted.

“Thank you,” she said.

“No problem,” I said. “This is nice, all this. Like a Zen garden, almost, with the pond.”

She nodded. She held the mug in her lap and made no move to drink from it.

“Do you come out here every morning?” I asked.

“I don’t like the noise of the television,” she said. “It gives me a headache.”

I noted that this might be the longest sequence of words I had yet heard issue from her mouth.

“How long have you lived with your parents?” I asked.

“I’ve always lived here,” she said. “I didn’t move away for college.”

I nodded, and we sat in silence for a few moments. I watched a snowy lily move with the ripples in the pond, a shock of white skimming the darkness below.

“Do you like it?” I said.

“Like what?”

“Living here?”

She seemed to ponder this question. Then she said, “I suppose I like it, yes.”

After a pause she added, “I’ve never lived anywhere else.”

“Miriam!”

I looked around and saw Kyle standing at the back door.

“I won’t bother you any further,” I said to Emily. I stood up and walked back across the lawn to Kyle. He wrapped his arms around me and planted a kiss on my mouth. “You guys have a nice little chat?” he said.

“I think so,” I said.

We went inside and kept Caroline company while she finished making breakfast. Every once in awhile, I glanced out the window at Emily, still sitting resolutely with her back to the house. Only when Kyle called her in for breakfast did she finally rise from the bench to join us.

While we ate, Harry announced that he and Kyle were going fishing.

“You girls could come down to the lake, too,” said Harry. “I know Richie’s wife would love to meet Miriam.”

“Fishing, Harry?” Caroline said, chewing her potatoes with vigor. “Why can’t we do something that we would all enjoy?”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to excuse myself,” I said. “I actually have some work I need to get done.”

“See, she has to work!” said Harry. “I’ll keep Kyle occupied.”

Caroline frowned. She turned to me. “I will be in my studio, if you need anything at all,” she said.

Kyle and his father left around eleven-thirty. I sequestered myself in the guest bedroom with my computer and another cup of coffee. The window of the room looked out onto the street and the front yard. Each time a car passed the sound reverberated in the windowpane, drawing my head up. Even with the extra coffee, I found it difficult to focus. After an hour or so, I went to the kitchen to get something to eat.

I found bread and other sandwich makings in the refrigerator, and as I ate I wandered around the first floor of the house. The living room, the dining room, the porch, it all reminded me of a nursing home; the faintly sour smell, the muted colors, the flat light on the walls all painted in a spectrum of dowdy grays. I came across what I assumed to be a study.

J U D G E’S N OTE

VI CTO RIA H O USTO N This story starts easy … then turns spooky. “A Sweet Thing” offers the reader a sense of immediacy, of being in the story—so the twists creep up on you.

Yes, one character is obviously odd, but the narrator is not kind either as shown by opinions leveled at the others. And the alleged perpetrator of bad behavior?

Well, the reader is left wanting more through a thought-provoking ending. A story shown not told.

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There were boxes piled in the corner. One of the boxes sat open, revealing inside a series of photo albums, stacked and labeled by year. I extracted one from 2002 and opened it somewhere in the middle.

Kyle’s bony face was incongruous with the body of a child. It made him look solemn and forlorn, whereas in adulthood it lent him the appearance of shrewd intelligence. It occurred to me, as I flipped through the tenth year of Kyle’s life, that he rarely spoke of his childhood as if it were his own. Whenever he told anecdotes from his youth, he always framed it in a fanciful, storybook way, as though his boyhood was so blessed and uneventful that he could not conjure an unpleasant memory. But the child in the photographs was wan and unsmiling, with hooded eyes and a prominent, furrowed brow.

By contrast, Emily had been round and rosy-cheeked, her face exuding more emotion in one photograph than I observed in the hours I had spent with her. I heard Caroline moving around in the kitchen and went to intercept her, carrying the photo album under my arm.

She was washing a few of the residual dishes from breakfast. I sat down at the kitchen table and said, “I discovered a treasure trove.”

She craned her neck to see what I had in my hand. “Oh, yes,” she said. “Kyle was an adorable little boy. What year is that?”

“2002. He never talks about what he was like as a kid,” I said. I flipped a page in the album.

“He was a serious child,” said Caroline. “But he grew out of that.”

“And Emily?”

“She hasn’t changed all that much. She was more gregarious, but I think sometimes that landed her in a bit of a tight spot.” Caroline picked at a dish with her fingernail.

“How do you mean?” I said.

“She struggled at school,” said Caroline, evasively. “I don’t think the other kids were very nice.”

I didn’t press the issue. “I wasn’t very popular in school, either,” I said.

Caroline stacked the dishes next to the sink and dried her hands. “Have you two decided on a date for the wedding, yet?” she asked.

I shrugged. “We were toying with the idea of next summer. We have a lot of stuff to plan, and with work there’s so little leeway ...”

She nodded. “A summer wedding will be nice,” she said. She sat down at the table across from me and pulled the album out from under my hands, turning it toward her. She flipped a few of the pages, but didn’t seem to be looking at the photos. Then she shut the album and said, “I’ll put this away for you,” and got up and left the room.

I retreated back upstairs to the bedroom and sat hunched over my computer, watching the sun descend and lights flicker on in the other houses as darkness fell. Eventually I gave up on working and went back downstairs for a drink. The house was empty, save for Willie, who was asleep on the kitchen table. I knew that Kyle and his father had probably gone out for a beer. There was light visible under the door to the basement, so I figured that must be where Caroline was. I made my way to the bar in the living room, turned on a lamp and poured myself a glass of wine. I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard from the other side of the room: “Will you pour me one as well?”

Emily was sitting in the window seat. I placed my glass down on the bar very carefully to disguise my shaking hands.

“Of course,” I said, exhaling hard. “You scared me.”

“Sorry,” she said. “I had a headache, and the lights bothered me.”

“Are you sure alcohol is the best idea if you have a headache?” I said.

“It’s not so bad now,” she said. I poured her a glass and she walked over to retrieve it. Then she sat down on the couch and crossed her legs. She was wearing a blue sun dress under the same white sweater she wore yesterday. I picked up my own glass and leaned against the bar, taking a long swig.

“How did your work go?” she asked.

“I didn’t get as much done as I would have liked. It’s hard to concentrate outside the office.”

We were silent for a little while, drinking. Then she said: “You don’t happen to have a cigarette, do you?”

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Fiction

I raised my eyebrows. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a smoker,” I said.

“I pegged you for a smoker the minute I saw you,” she retorted.

I decided not to pursue that. “There are some in my purse,” I said. “I’ll get them.”

When I came back downstairs, Emily was waiting by the front door. I pulled my shoes on, but she went out onto the stoop barefoot, tucking her dress under her legs as she sat down on the top step. I handed her a cigarette and a lighter.

“Kyle doesn’t like it when I smoke,” I said. “I don’t suppose your parents like it when you smoke, either.”

“My parents don’t know I smoke,” she said.

“Well, it’s not a habit I would pick up again, if I could go back,” I said.

“It’s not a habit. I don’t do it enough for it to be a habit.” She handed the lighter to me and took a long drag from the cigarette.

“May I ask why you do it at all, then?” I said, lighting my own.

She looked at me. “Why do you do it?” she said.

“It’s relaxing. It makes me feel like I have control.”

Emily blew smoke downward, at the steps below her feet. “Well, I suppose that’s why I do it,” she said.

“I lived with my parents in college for a while,” I said. “It got really lonely.”

“It’s lonely, but not because there’s nobody around,” said Emily. I thought that this statement sounded oddly juvenile coming from a grown woman.

We smoked and I drank the rest of my wine. Occasionally a car passed on the road in front of the house, the lights growing brighter and moving over us, illuminating the pale expanse of Emily’s face, as empty as ever.

“When are you and Kyle going to get married?” she asked eventually.

“Sometime next summer,” I said.

“My parents never thought he would get married” The cigarette smoldered in my hand.

“They didn’t think he’d ever have any friends, either,” she said.

“Oh?” She crushed her cigarette on the top step and leaned forward onto the heels of her hands.

“He was fucked up, for a while,” she said.

I swallowed. “What do you mean?”

“He used to do bad stuff,” she said. “He liked to steal a lot. He would beat kids up at school.

He beat the shit out of me. And other things.”

My mouth filled with an acrid taste. I crushed my cigarette beneath my shoe.

“Even if that was the case, he’s not like that now,” I said, standing up.

“We shouldn’t leave these on the stoop for my mother to find,” said Emily, gesturing to the crumpled butts. Then she turned her face up to mine and said, carefully: “And, I wouldn’t be so sure about that, if I were you.”

I went inside, not bothering to hold the door open for her. I climbed the stairs to the bedroom and fished around in my bags for a toothbrush and toothpaste. As I scrubbed at my teeth, I felt the nicotine buzz in the nape of my neck, and stared hard at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. The color was high in face and my eyes were glossy. I rinsed my mouth out and splashed water on my cheeks.

Downstairs, Caroline was preparing dinner. Emily had reoccupied her place on the sofa. I avoided her gaze and went into the kitchen to see what assistance I could offer. I was setting out plates in the dining room when Kyle and Harry walked through the front door. They were boisterous and, I suspected, a little drunk.

Kyle talked avidly of the day while everyone ate, and though I tried to listen, I found myself fighting the undertow of my thoughts. Occasionally someone spoke my name and I snapped

We smoked and I drank the rest of my wine. Occasionally a car passed on the road in front of the house, the lights growing brighter and moving over us, illuminating the pale expanse of Emily’s face, as empty as ever.

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Fiction

to attention, smiling mechanically. I spied Emily watching me from across the table. Her face was unperturbed, not so much as a ripple of emotion passing through her features.

The night seemed unwilling to end. When I finally found myself climbing into bed, the deluge of noise that I had held at bay throughout the evening came pouring into my brain.

Kyle sensed that something was awry. For a long while he lay awake with me, stroking my back and my hair.

“What did you do today?” he asked me.

“Hardly anything.”

“Did you get any work done?”

“Not really.”

I tried to focus on the pressure of his fingers along my spine.

“Your sister and I talked for a little while,” I said.

His hand paused for a moment. “It’s good that you two are getting along,” he said.

I turned over to look at him. “Do you know that she smokes?”

His brow furrowed. “No, I didn’t know.”

I turned back around. “Well, she does.”

He leaned forward to kiss my shoulder, then turned onto his back and was asleep within minutes.

I stared at the insides of my eyelids, breathing deeply, trying to trick myself into sleep.

Eventually I got back out of bed and ventured down to the kitchen for something to drink.

I was filling a glass from the faucet when I heard a noise behind me. I turned to see Emily sitting at the table. She was wearing only a t-shirt and underwear, and had Willie cloistered in her lap.

“You should make more noise when you’re in a room,” I said to her. “People might think you’re sneaking up on them.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said.

“Me neither.”

I gulped the water as quickly as I could and put the glass in the sink. “Goodnight,” I said, and made to leave, but Emily said, “You know, what I said to you, earlier ...”

I paused. “Yes?” She stared at the floor, one hand absently traversing the length of the cat, who squirmed under her touch.

“Yes?” I prompted.

“You shouldn’t just forget about it,” she said. She pulled the cat closer to her with both hands, scratching it behind the ears and along its belly.

I turned to face her. “Emily,” I said.

She looked at me.

“What did Kyle do to you?”

The cat let out a desperate mewl and Emily released it, watching it bolt from her lap into the shadow of the next room. She stood up, her t-shirt barely skimming the tops of her thighs.

“You should ask him,” she said, and followed the cat out of the room.

T

he next morning, I woke before Kyle and began packing up our things. When he opened his eyes, he looked at me and said: “You’re getting a head start, I see.”

“I just have so much work to do,” I said, stuffing a shirt into my suitcase. “I want to get back to the office.”

He crawled across the bed and stood up on his knees, pulling me into his chest and wrapping his arms around me.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

I nodded. His hands wandered up to my breasts and he kissed the back of my neck. I let him fool around for a few moments, then delicately removed his hands and turned away. “I’m sure your mother has breakfast downstairs,” I said.

He fell back onto the bed and stretched. “It certainly smells like it,” he said, and rolled off the other side of the bed onto his feet.

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WISCONSIN PEOPLE & IDEAS

Fiction

When I went down to the kitchen, Caroline had a cup of coffee already poured out for me. I went onto the back porch and gazed out into the yard. I saw Emily sitting on the bench, staring at the pond lilies.

Caroline emerged from the kitchen with another mug in her hands. “Miriam, would you be so kind as to take this out to Emily again?”

I hesitated, but agreed, traipsing across the yard to where Emily sat. I placed the coffee on the bench beside her. She did not look up, only said: “Thank you, Miriam.”

I followed her gaze to the pond. One of the beautiful blossoms had wilted and taken on water, and was now floating just beneath the surface, its petals warped by the murk, undulating like the arms of a sea creature.

I said nothing, and turned and walked back to the house.

Online Degree

MASTER

OF NATURAL RESOURCES APPLY TODAY

AnnaKay Kruger is a freelance writer living in Madison. She specializes in subjects related to science, technology, and food, but writes creatively whenever given the chance. When she’s not writing, Kruger can be found roaming the city on an orange bicycle or enjoying a glass of Shiraz in the sun.

Read award-winning fiction from new and established Wisconsin writers at wisconsinacademy.org/fiction.

Develop your research, leadership, administrative and communicative skills with an online Master of Natural Resources degree at UW-Stevens Point.

Learn more at uwsp.edu/mnr

UW-Stevens Point is accredited by the Higher Learning Commission (hlcommission.org), a regional accreditation agency recognized by the U.S. Department of Education.

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Poetry

New Wisconsin Poetry Honorable Mention Poems from our 2018 Poetry Contest

Most Saturday mornings Joe takes the dog to the service station; feeds him donuts. Sometimes chocolate frosted.

Can’t poison this dog—he’s a Lab. They hang out for awhile, listening to the regulars hold forth from their regular spots on oil-stained folding chairs set at the edge of the bay. It’s always the same old stories: the Mayor’s never going to fix the potholes on Monroe Street; the Laurel’s burgers just aren’t the same since the Wingra Meat Market closed—15 years ago; another narrow escape for Eddie last week when his wife and Leona drove in to refill their tanks one minute apart.

Joe doesn’t say much, being naturally quiet.

And, the dog? Well, being a dog, he doesn’t say anything.

Gillian Nevers

A Pushcart Prize-nominated writer, Gillian Nevers is the author of The True Story (Fuller’s Windy Acres Farm Press), an illustrated collection of poems. Her poems have been published in several print and online literary magazines and anthologies. She lives in Madison with her husband, Dan, and their irascible, but sweet dog, San Rocco.

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Poetry

To Dig a Grave We dig our father’s grave with a post hole digger.

My younger brother jabs the double blade into the dark soil.

Across the creek, coyotes yowl to the dusk.

We’re not used to hearing them.

They weren’t around when we grew up near here.

My brother rests against the handles.

Listen, he says. They’re scrumping.

I pry the digger from him for a turn.

And drive the blades into the earth.

Coyote scrumping, he says. They’re having at it.

He would know. He’s scrumped around Florida for twenty years.

Though, for the last two he’s been seeing the same woman.

For him, a record span. I don’t know her name.

He doesn’t talk about her. I only know because I sometimes hear her voice in the background on our occasional calls.

We’re putting the grave in behind Mom’s old home place.

She picked the spot, in a patch of yellow lilies beneath bowed pines.

We figure we need to go down at least four feet.

The coons around the farm are notorious for unearthing anything.

Though, I wonder if there’s enough in this urn to interest them.

When Dad left for Vietnam he was six foot two and struggling to a smile.

Here’s what we got back in the six-inch urn: A fragment of Air Force-issue sunglass lens.

A few chips of charred bone.

The partial denture that once completed his smile.

Nathan Pyles lives in Lake Mills and works in the health and fitness industry. His essays, op-eds, and letters have appeared in Christian Science Monitor, The Hill, Non-Proliferation Review, Wall Street Journal, and Wisconsin State Journal. “To Dig a Grave” is the title note from the chapbook, To Dig a Grave: Notes from a War.

We all gathered to look inside last night.

And that’s what we saw.

Don’t get me wrong. We’re thankful.

After thirty years lost, we’re fortunate we got that much.

War has swallowed many men whole.

It’s soon so dark we can’t tell if we’re getting anywhere.

It gets harder after we hit clay.

But we keep digging anyway.

Neither of us wants to stop.

Each pull of the digger now grasping for a finger of the earth.

Nathan Pyles

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Poetry

My Brother My brother’s buying some late night drive-thru tacos finds an empty parking lot takes two bites and starts to choke on his tears throws the meat and shells onto cracked concrete.

He cries, confined in his self-made solitude because he’s lost and fat and feels too old at thirty to love himself enough to let his parents find love in him.

As he tries to catch his breath, his heavy chest trembling despair’s miserable voice forces its way up his throat: escaping as shrill staccato wails tapering in leaky muffled defeat never reaching the edge of the parking lot.

He wants to forget these goddamn gaslights overused check cards, midnight binges, trashy apartments.

Forget it all and let a father’s hug, a mother’s kiss make him innocent again. Instead, the darkness leaves him hungry with no appetite with only his car engine coughing in cold air and a broken taco to believe in.

Nathan J. Reid

Nathan J. Reid is a spoken word poet and actor living in Madison.

His work has appeared in various publications, including Bramble Lit Magazine, Fox Cry Review, and the poetry anthology GREAT: Poems of Resistance & Fortitude. His first collection, Thoughts on Tonight (Finishing Line Press), was published in 2017.

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WISCONSIN PEOPLE & IDEAS

Poetry

rows and rows the day before they found her baby tucked into that crawlspace for safekeeping, i sat on the kitchen floor in front of her, just two houses down from my own, knobbed bones of her knees dimpling my back while she tugged my hair into cornrows— racing stripes down my little girl skull. her fingers working like knitting needles, the bones clacking against each other. when she leaned over me to pull my bangs back, weave them in, i saw the polka dots clustered in the crook of her arm like a constellation. i forgot when she began the next braid, the tender skin above my ear rising with each strand. i gnawed my nails to nubs to keep silent with the ouch in my scalp, but sometimes it spilled from my mouth. she laughed like the sound of a coke can cracking, told me it shouldn’t hurt—she has a daughter. and mothers understand gentleness.

Kiyoko Reidy

Kiyoko Reidy is a recent UW–Madison graduate with degrees in philosophy and creative writing. She enjoys poetry, being outside, and sharing the things she loves with others. Her work has appeared in Albion Review, Berkeley Poetry Review, Driftwood Press, and elsewhere.

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Book Review

WISCONSIN PEOPLE & IDEAS

FICTION & POETRY CONTESTS

s r e t i r w n i s Wiscon ublication, p , s e z i r p win !

0 0 5 $ o t p and u

Contests Open January 15 entry fees:

Fiction = $20.00

Per story; multiple submissions accepted.

Academy Members receive a 25% discount.

Poetry = $10.00

Up to three poems; multiple submissions accepted.

Academy Members receive a 20% discount. entry deadline:

March 15, 2019

enter online:

wisconsinacademy.org/contests Get the attention your writing deserves through our fiction and poetry contests! Wisconsin People & Ideas magazine hosts annual writing contests for Wisconsin residents age 18 and over that provide cash, prizes, and publication. First-place winners in the Wisconsin People & Ideas fiction and poetry contests each receive $500 and one-week artist residencies at Shake Rag Alley Center for the Arts in Mineral Point. Second-place winners receive $250 and third-place winners receive $100. First- through thirdplace winning stories and poems are published in print and online issues of Wisconsin People & Ideas, and all award-winning writers are invited to read their work at a special Wisconsin Book Festival event.

Thanks to our 2019 contest sponsors: 52

WISCONSIN PEOPLE & IDEAS

Book Review

Interior States: Essays

by Meghan O’Gieblyn Anchor Books, 240 pages, $16.00 Reviewed by Bob Wake

Meghan O’Gieblyn brings something more than a wicked sense of humor and a keen critical eye to her debut collection of essays, Interior States. Homeschooled in Michigan by evangelical Baptist parents, O’Gieblyn later studied at Moody Bible Institute in Chicago. After a crisis of faith, she dropped out of Moody and went on to attain a BA in English from Loyola and an MFA in fiction from UW–Madison. Even though she left the church, O’Gieblyn realized that there was no getting around the legacy of her bornagain Christian upbringing. “Although I no longer espouse this faith,” she writes in Interior States, “it’s hard to deny the mark it has left on me.” The strength of her fifteen essays comes not only from their range—from social history and politics to literature and pop culture—but also from O’Gieblyn’s frankness in describing how her perceptions were shaped by, and through the absence of, her faith.

Interior States is not the work of an angry apostate determined to settle scores with her parents or her church. O’Gieblyn writes warmly of her fundamentalist childhood, even when those memories are accompanied now by bemused reality checks. “I wasn’t allowed to see The Land Before Time because it alluded to the Earth being billions of years old,” she recalls in “A Species of Origins.” She was raised on Bible-based creationism that insists the planet is only 6,000 years old. The provocatively titled essay “Sniffing Glue” (spoiler alert: it’s a metaphor) is a fan’s survey of the Christian-rock music scene of the 1990s, chock full of teenage enthusiasm for music “that ran the gamut from Christian rap to Christian pop to Christian rock.”

When the 9/11 terrorist attacks occurred, O’Gieblyn was a sophomore at Moody Bible Institute. While she did not lose her religion overnight, the attacks and the surrounding events further opened the fissures in her faith. “Biblical prophecy was revived by conspiracy theorists,” she writes in “Hell.” In the wake of the attacks, politics, Islamophobia, and apocalyptic preaching became inseparable. In “Exiled” she examines the evangelical beliefs of Mike Pence. His rise to the vice presidency “has marked the return of religion and ideology to American politics,” O’Gieblyn warns, and “reveals the zombie-like persistence of the Religious Right.”

“Ghost in the Cloud” is an essay of mounting anxiety and hallucinatory power. Dead-end cocktail waitressing in Chicago during the mid-2000s, O’Gieblyn was drinking heavily. There were blackouts and pills. “When I think back on that period of my life,” she writes, “what I recall most viscerally is an

unnameable sense of dread.” Above all, an “overwhelming despair at the absence of God.” As her faith crumbled, she focused on the transhumanism movement: the ultimate Silicon Valley version of immortality through “mind uploading” in which “the pattern of your consciousness is transferred onto a computer.” What becomes increasingly clear in the essay is that her obsession with transhumanism—what she describes as a “techno-theological rabbit hole”—is part of the breakdown she was experiencing at the time.

O’Gieblyn has been hailed as an authentic voice from the Midwest, and her essays and reviews have appeared in The Atlantic, Harper’s Magazine, Los Angeles Review of Books, n+1, and New York Times. Taken together, the essays in Interior States have the cumulative force of a memoir by Mary Karr or Joan Didion. Meghan O’Gieblyn may have lost her religion, but in doing so she has found her own revelatory literary voice.

Bob Wake lives in Cambridge. His short stories have appeared in Madison Magazine, The Madison Review, Rosebud Magazine, and Wisconsin People & Ideas. In 2018, he won the Zona Gale Short Fiction Award from the Council for Wisconsin Writers.

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BOOK REVIEW

Little Faith

by Nickolas Butler Ecco, 336 pages, $26.99 Reviewed by B.J. Hollars

Here in western Wisconsin, pretty much everyone knows author Nickolas Butler—this reviewer included. The appeal of Butler’s writing is not found just in his Northwoods focus, but also in deftly drawn characters that remind us of our friends and neighbors. In Little Faith, Butler’s follow-up to the critically acclaimed novels Shotgun Lovesongs and The Hearts of Men, he returns to small-town Wisconsin. Here, in rural Redford, we meet 65-year-old everyman Lyle Hovde, a husband, father, and grandfather whose years as an appliance repairman hardly qualify him to fix the fractures in his own life. For decades, Lyle and his wife, Peg, have committed themselves to the code of rural life, helping friends and neighbors most days of the week while reserving Sundays for church.

Yet, following the death of Lyle and Peg’s nine-month-old son decades prior, Lyle’s faith has faltered; his church attendance is a routine that has less to do with the search for spiritual truth than the maintenance of appearances. Lyle is forced to confront his lapsed Lutheranism all over again when his and Peg’s adopted daughter, Shiloh, returns home from the Twin Cities with a son named Issac. The two begin attending a radical church led by the smooth-talking Pastor Steven, whose dogmatic insistence on faith healing over medical science leaves Lyle and Peg baffled—and afraid for Shiloh and Issac. The charismatic Pastor Steven (“The young man looked like the lead singer of a rock band”) believes Issac is endowed with the healing powers he promotes through his church.

However, when the boy requires medical attention, Lyle and Peg’s concern for their family reaches a fever pitch.

As always, Butler treats readers to a wondrously rendered Wisconsin landscape, complete with church steeples and barns and “manifold fields of future corn or beans.” But Butler’s book shines brightest in its exploration of the interior lives of its characters.

Taken together, his characters—Otis, the retired professor-turnedapple-farmer; Hoot, the Packers-loving best friend; and Pastor Charlie, a man as reliable in a deer stand as behind a pulpit—form a snapshot of rural Wisconsin. These are people we know, or wish to know, whose reverence for one another is as powerful as religion

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WISCONSIN PEOPLE & IDEAS

itself. Each of them, though Lyle most of all, confronts the unknown with a profound humility, seeking answers in God as well as through their own good acts.

As in his previous books, Butler demands that readers confront the hard questions. Though this time, the questions feel more personal—and unanswerable—than ever. How far can a good man go before he risks his righteousness? And how can we love the sinner but hate the sin, especially if we ourselves are not saved?

“The world,” Butler writes, “is filled with a near endless array of mysteries, and an even more infinite amount of guesses, grifts, lies, spiels, and here and there, almost hidden, a very few sacred handfuls of answers.”

Don’t read Butler’s stunning new work in search of such answers.

Revel, instead, in the questions.

B.J. Hollars is the author of several books, most recently Flock Together: A Love Affair With Extinct Birds (2016) and the forthcoming The Ride Rolls On: Rediscovering the Freedom Riders on The Road South (2018). Hollars is an associate professor of English at the University of Wisconsin–Eau Claire and the executive director of the Chippewa Valley Writers Guild.

BOOK REVIEW

The Great Lakes Water Wars

by Peter Annin Island Press, 384 pages, $30.00 Reviewed by Dave Cieslewicz

According to Peter Annin, the future is all about water. And here in Wisconsin, we’ve got it. The problem is: The rest of the world wants it. In a newly revised and expanded edition of The Great Lakes Water Wars, which was first released in 2006, Annin has written what might be the most significant book for anyone who wants to understand the economic promise of the Upper Midwest.

Currently Co-Director of the Mary Griggs Burke Center for Freshwater Innovation at Northland College in Ashland, Annin is a seasoned ecologist and an impressive journalist of the old-school kind. For over a decade as a general assignment reporter for Newsweek he covered major American events such as the Branch Davidian standoff at Waco in 1993 and the Oklahoma City bombing in 1995.

On a breezy, unseasonably warm evening in October 2018, Annin spoke to a hundred or so people (including me) at his book launch in Milwaukee’s Discovery World Science and Technology Museum, which is surrounded on three sides by Lake Michigan. He assured us that the lake behind him would not disappear any time soon.

Although, as he points out in The Great Lakes Water Wars, a body of water about the same size as Lake Michigan has already all but gone away. The Aral Sea in Central Asia was once the fourth-largest inland body of water in the world. Today it is 90% smaller than it was in the 1950s when Soviet engineers began tapping it to irrigate arid agricultural fields.

Annin started his talk at Discovery World just as he begins his book: with this cautionary tale of environmental disaster. It’s not that he believes that the Great Lakes will literally go away. Rather, his point is that when a body of water as large as the Aral can be all but destroyed by human folly in only a few short decades, it should shock us into the recognition that seemingly endless natural resources are just that—only seeming in their endlessness.

In The Great Lakes Water Wars, Annin paints a disturbing picture of an increasingly thirsty world in which natural systems are manipulated to permit rapid growth in places simply too dry to support this growth. When we layer on the impacts of global climate change, the picture becomes even darker.

It makes sense that those looking for more water will cast a longing eye on the Great Lakes, which contain 20% of all the fresh surface water on the planet. Annin tells the stories of various unsuccessful attempts to siphon off Great Lakes water to other

parts of the country or even the world, the most audacious of which was by a Canadian businessman who proposed—and in 1998 got initial approval from the Canadian government—to ship Lake Superior water via tanker to Asia. The idea generated so much backlash that it resulted in the Great Lakes Compact, a binding and bipartisan agreement involving eight American states (including Wisconsin) and two Canadian provinces. Approved in 2008, the Compact essentially makes it impossible to take water out of the Great Lakes basin without the unanimous approval of all ten of those entities.

Of course, there are exceptions to the Compact, and therein lies the ongoing story and the timeliness of Annin’s revised edition of The Great Lakes Water Wars. One thing that’s changed in the decade between editions is that southeast Wisconsin has become, according to Annin, “water-diversion row” due to a series of commercial and municipal entities looking to remove large amounts of freshwater from Lake Michigan. He writes that this relatively small region of the big basin has “more contemporary water-diversion hotspots than all other Great Lakes states and provinces combined,” with battles surrounding diversion requests by Pleasant Prairie, New Berlin, the City of Waukesha, and the high-profile Foxconn plant in Racine County.

Taiwan-based electronics manufacturer Foxconn promises to locate as many as 13,000 jobs at its plant, and supporters estimate that it could add $51 billion to Wisconsin’s gross domestic product over the next fifteen years. Annin notes that despite receiving over $4 billion in state and local subsidies to locate in Wisconsin, Foxconn came here because of the water. “The company wanted to be close to ground transportation corridors, major airports, potential employees from either side of the Illinois border … and the abundant waters of Lake Michigan,” he writes, as fresh water is an essential resource in the production of LCD screens. (continued on p. 56)

Don’t know what to read? Check out reviews of new and interesting books by Wisconsin authors at wisconsinacademy.org/reviews.

WINTER 2019

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BOOK REVIEW

(Great Lakes continued)

The battles surrounding Foxconn and all of these other waterdiversion hotspots involve one of two provisions in the Compact, which were designed to make it more palatable to communities that are on or near the basin line. The first provision addresses straddling counties such as Waukesha County that are partially inside and partially outside of the basin. Municipalities such as the City of Waukesha that are located outside of the basin but within one of these straddling counties can be allowed to tap into Great Lakes water. The catch is that they can do so only with the unanimous approval of the eight governors and two premiers who agreed to the Compact. After a long battle, the City of Waukesha received diversion approval in 2016.

The other provision relates to straddling communities. These are places like the Village of Mount Pleasant, where Foxconn chose to locate its plant, that are located partly within the basin and partly without. The Compact requires only that straddling communities acquire diversion approval from their respective states—a boon for companies such as Foxconn. However, Annin points out that Foxconn (for some odd reason) chose to locate their plant, as large as three Pentagons, directly on top of the basin line instead of a few hundred yards to the east where no Compact issues would arise.

But the proposed plant is where it is, and that has created controversy to the extent that it will be the first diversion case that is litigated in the courts. The legal question revolves around a provision in the Compact that allows diversions outside of the basin only to meet the needs of residential users. The argument will be that allowing a diversion for a corporation like Foxconn wouldn’t constitute residential use.

And while the actual amount of water Foxconn now says it wants to use—around 2.5 million gallons per day—is a drop in the bucket, Annin told me in an interview that what’s at stake is the overall integrity of the Compact. “If you start skirting your rules, then you could jeopardize the Compact itself,” he said.

The larger significance of Foxconn may be that it is one of the first large-scale examples of a business locating in the Upper Midwest primarily because of access to water. And that’s no mistake. Annin writes, “Certainly, a key driving force behind the Compact was to bring jobs to the water, rather than send water to jobs someplace else.” In fact, Michigan’s governor at the time the Compact was signed coined a phrase to describe it: the Blue Economy.

But the prosperity of the Blue Economy may not be inevitable.

While Annin assures us that large-scale diversions outside of our region are all but impossible as long as the Compact is in place, the last few years of national and international politics have taught us that no institution is absolutely secure. Indeed, in his epilogue he quotes a Nevada official who says, “They’ve [the Great Lakes states]

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got 14% of the population of the United States and 20% of the fresh water in the world—and no one can use it but them? It’s nuts!”

Annin quotes environmentalists and scientists who point out that the Great Lakes have no water to spare because the entire aquatic ecosystem has evolved around clean and abundant fresh water. Indeed, even though the diversions that are allowed to occur in communities straddling the basin represent a tiny fraction of all the water in the lakes, the diversion agreements require that most of that water must be treated and returned to the basin after use.

Future Great Lakes water wars may come down to this: Will we insist that the people, the jobs, and the investment that must follow water come here to get it? Or will those wanting our water find a way to breach the basin line to allow Great Lakes water to flow to them so that they can remain in places that would otherwise be unsustainable? It could be the most important question local economic development professionals, public officials, and environmental advocates need to understand—and Annin has done an exceptional job of helping them explore it.

Readers will be struck by how thoroughly Annin keeps himself and his own views out of the story. He lets the reporting take his readers wherever they will go so that they reach their own conclusions with even more resolve. And it’s resolve that may be needed to fulfill the bright promise of the Upper Midwest, so well stocked with one thing all the world needs: clean, abundant water.

Dave Cieslewicz is a Madison-based writer. He blogs as “Citizen Dave” on the website of the Madison weekly Isthmus, and he is currently working on a book about the advantages of relative climate change security and ample fresh water resources enjoyed by the Upper Midwest.

Cieslewicz served as mayor of Madison from 2003 until 2011.

Janan, listener from Mequon

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