Sounds of Silence and New Beginnings

As you can see, I ceased to blog in late June of last year.

Some of you may be wondering why.  The answer is layered, as is everything in life, but events of last summer began to overwhelm me, and I just didn't know how to write about them.  I was not ready, was not able.

My husband is a retired military man.  This is a thing anyone reading my blog knows.  He returned from a second deployment to Afghanistan with a changed mind about several things. 

The strongest theme I saw that had become different in his personality was a renewed determination not to waste any time.  Somehow, the urgency and uncertainty of days spent in a war zone had impressed upon him that life is not a thing to be taken for granted.  He knew military retirement was imminent, and knew that he would not settle for sitting around or taking it easy.

I did not really know this guy, but liked him and together we tried to figure out what should be next. 
My husband has always been the guardian of the down trodden.  His efforts to help other people believe in themselves stemmed from a childhood of knowing only too well what is was like not to.

We had always had a heart for Boulder Junction.  Settling there into a business that could bring something of a new destination to the community was something that felt right, felt like a homecoming for me, and was a move inspired by the endeavors of my family's contributions to the community in years past.

After much prayer and soul searching, we found our path leading us to purchase the building now known as the Aqualand Ale House in 2012.  We knew one thing-  we knew next to nothing about what we were about to embark upon, but we trusted that the urging we felt in our hearts was true.  So we moved forward into what has been the most difficult and incredibly rewarding adventure of our lives.

I would guess that my spouse would say that figuring out this business has been tougher than war.  That the logistics of some of our largest hurdles would rank second in difficulty, surpassed only by the logistics of moving an entire base of buildings, equipment and vehicles from USA to Nicaragua and back- a thing he did in 2002.

The first two years have been hard- very hard.  Just as we were getting to feel somewhat in control, in late June of last year, we received news that no one wants to hear.

The man who had survived so much was diagnosed with cancer.  Mildly aggressive and of a treatable sort, but never-the-less the "C" word that we all despise.  Just over a month later, he was in an accident of the "lucky to walk away from that one" sort. We lost our chef, a terrible blow in the height of the summer season, and we were reeling from some IRS issues, the result of our inexperience.  Our business was seeing success, so much so that we could barely handle it, and as the review sites will attest, we had a few bad days that will haunt us for a long time.

In the face of this, I just didn't know what to write about, what to say, except-  Huh? why?

But we learned something in the second half of 2014.  We came to understand that we cannot always understand.  We cannot always choose the events that come our way, but we can choose how we deal with them. 

In a crazy way, we got a lot more relaxed.  I remember Lt. Dan in the movie "Forrest Gump", tied o the mast of the shrimp boat in a storm yelling at God-  "Is that all you've got"? If someone had told us what we would face, we probably would have thought twice about the whole adventure. But now that we are in it, we somehow got surprised  by our resilience. 

We are looking at the summer of 2015 with completely different eyes.  The surgery to eliminate the "C" from our lives for good is just around the corner, the chef we found late last summer is a rock star, the former co- owner of a famous  local restaurant we all loved when I was growing up- George's Steak House.  His way with Fire roasting meats is fantastic. Our IRS adventures are resolved and the last lingering injury from the accident should be resolved soon as well. The biggest gift of all though was our son joining us in the business, to help and stand in the gaps left by Dr. appointments and tests. Thank you Dan- we love you.

While my husband recuperates from surgery, we hope to dive into bigger capital improvements that will enhance our kitchen and expand our use of the Frog House side of the building. We are excited about 2015, anxious to see what it holds for us.

We are amazed at all the new friendships and loyal guests that we have found as a part of our adventure.  You stuck with us, forgave us in our learning and have encouraged us along the way. 

We endeavor to bring you new and even better us this year. 

You may have noticed our new website-  a gift from our other son who shares his programming talents with us- such a blessing.  As part of our capital improvements, we are beginning again with a new blog that will be linked from this site as well. This blog will share regularly about alehouse events, adventures, staff, menu items.  The plan is to incorporate less of the history and more of the present- more photos, more links and overall much, much more about the beer-  the backbone of our business. 

Sorry for my silence-  some things will throw you for a while, but a girl raised with wolves always gets back up!

Small Town Celebrations

We are getting close to Independence Day.  Growing up at Aqualand, this signaled the beginning of one of my favorite things- parade season!  We trucked our animals and our friends from small town to small town to ride through the parade, where I have to admit-  we won lots of trophies.  Who could compete with a trailer load of fawns, baby timber wolves, baby bears and the like.  Every now and then we attempted to change things up a bit.  I still remember the year of the bi-centennial, when several others and I dressed up like patriot women stitching the American flag, surrounded by of course, baby animals.  At the end of the parade, I stood up and realized I had stitched my granny dress (remember when we called them that- or Maxi-dresses?!) to the flag during the parade.  Betsy Ross I was not!

It seemed like every year a baby would get nervous and wet on my lap...every year there were cheers as we rode by.

I remember too the fireworks, we watched them either in Boulder Jct or in Sayner- the two towns we made sure to parade in.  Or, when we were younger, our neighbors would host a huge party and they set off their own fireworks display.  My most vivid memory is that of their 33 gallon garbage can filled with the longest sparklers- the 36 inchers....we would light them on road flares set up along the driveway and write our names in the air all night long. 

I have always loved fireworks.  One of my fondest memories is from 1977 when I visited a boy in Eagle River the night of their display and we rowed out into the middle of the lake he lived on, laid back on the bench seats and watched both the fireworks being shot off at the fair grounds and an absolutely fantastic display of northern lights throbbing across the sky behind them.  I am quite sure I will never see something that rare again.

And then there is my spouse. My husband has a reputation.  Just ask my family. He loves fireworks too, almost as much as he loves bonfires.  And he is a retired military man.  The combination led to ordinance displays of unique and interesting effect.  That's all I dare say about that...:)! 

I remember chicken dinners put on by Lions, Firemen and the crazy one day trout pond. When I got older, Independence Day was one of the rare times when we all returned from wherever our adult lives had taken us.  I would anticipate and keep an eye out for old friends and old classmates, delighting when I caught up with someone I had not seen for years or in some cases for years and years.

Independence-  what a word!  It instills in us the belief in our ability to be the master of our own destiny.  It is a pulling away and a stretching word.  It is a word of hope and future.  A strong word, a sometimes lonely word. But it is our word, a truly American word.

I think every small business owner knows the feelings this thought brings forth.  For our country is full of the little guys, the artisans, craftsmen, brewers and chefs who create products and places for us all the come together. 

Happy Independence Day Boulder Jct- thanks for all your support!

Paying Tribute

This week we are honored to play a role in tribute events.  One of our great blessings has been to meet and make new friends in the midst of our endeavors.

The Aqualand Ale House was once known by another name.  It was much loved by the friends of Betty's Deli.  We have heard time and again how wonderful Betty was, how kind and oh what a cook!  Our deepest regret is that we did not know her.  Those who did have only the fondest of memories. We have had the privilege of getting to know her "kids". The adults who gifted us by accepting our offer to purchase just a year and a half ago.  This weekend Betty's family and friends will spend a little time with the place that brought her so much joy, and by default will spend a little time with us.  We are humbled and we are honored.

Tomorrow night we are closing our doors for a private party- a first for us.  For tomorrow night Bill and Sue will celebrate their life and it's milestones, realized together.  A broad group of friends and family will come and raise a glass with them, to them and a next chapter of their life will begin.  We are honored to humbly serve as hosts for this celebration.

Our dream from the beginning was that the Aqualand Ale House be first and foremost a place where friends would gather, where friends would sit awhile, chat a while, raise a glass and laugh together. We have seen strangers become friends and friends drawn closer on our dippy, sinky-seat bar stools. 

And at the Aqualand Ale House, may we celebrate life and the living of it every day.  May we revel in the joy of time, of friendship, of good food, good beer and laughter.  We are honored each time we sense your enjoyment and we are humbled when you call us friend.

God Bless you Betty! Congratulations Bill and Sue!

Picking up Garbage, Catching Frogs and Peacock Feathers

My earliest Aqualand memories were those of a little girl playing the excelsior packaging beneath the rough, plywood table in the work area of the gift shop warehouse, as mommy and the other ladies unwrapped, priced and prepared items they would sell in the upcoming tourism season of summer.

The Boxes were forts, the excelsior my bedding.  I could spend hours there, no doubt chattering and creating homes for my dolls.

But when I truly dream of my childhood, I remember vividly that time between being too young to ride my bike alone and being old enough to get a social security card so I could be on the payroll. (in those days one did not have to register their children for a social security number, but one was required to draw a paycheck).

These were my years of being an independent contractor.  I tried many entrepreneurial ventures, but those that paid the best were those of picking up garbage, catching frogs and finding peacock feathers. 

All of these were tasks my grandfather, known to most as Uncle Pat, paid me in coins: quarters, nickels and dimes- enough for a soda pop or cotton candy or on an especially profitable day, a new beaded necklace from the Aqualand gift shop.

Riding my little blue bike from my childhood home to the parking lot at Aqualand was quick business.  I needed to be done collecting garbage before the doors opened for the day, and they opened at 9 am.  So by 8 am I was picking up a trash bucket, and walking first through the parking lot where any number of ridiculous items were cast off by less than tidy visitors from the day before.  Most common were the wrappers and pop bottles, cigarette butts and dirty diapers-  the things that no one wanted to keep in their car for the ride back home.  In the late sixties, while Mad Men wrote their ads, people did not concern themselves with disposing of trash carefully.  The crying Indian Warrior, the first and most enduringly powerful "Anti-Littering" National Campaign was still a few years away.

Once the parking lot was done, I would move in one of two directions, the animals side or the ponds side of the park.  The ponds side was kind of mysterious to me, an imaginative little blondie.  I was slightly afraid of the spirit of the turtles, who lay deep in the muck of a morning before the sun warmed enough to draw them to the surface.  Next to the main turtle pond was the pond for the alligator snappers, three foot long horny shelled monsters who lived beneath the water in their enclosure. I knew they were humongous and had vicious snapping jaws, and I also knew that there was no one else about to bear witness if they somehow grabbed and ate me.  If I managed to survive them, I moved on to the spookiest place of all, the back musky pond.  This was where my father and grandfather told visitors that "Old Mose" lived.  Old Mose was the fabled gigantic musky.  That trophy that everyone wanted to catch a glimpse of.  As I dragged my fearful steps around the pond, scooping plastic bags from the water with my net and picking up the other trash, I looked in vain for his bulk in the murky water. 

It was really a Miracle I lived to tell the tale. Between the danger of my mission and my wild imagination, I would have thought I should have surely expired...

Once the trash was collected, there was a walk through the grounds to retrieve peacock feathers.  more prevalent in late July and August, it was my job to gather dropped tail feathers daily, sometimes twice a day.  The feathers had value and were sold in the gift shop.  But visitors who found them frequently missed the signage throughout the park explaining that such feathers were the property of Aqualand.  Confiscating them was never pleasant, so we endeavored to gather them ourselves to avoid the conflict.

My final money making opportunity was to catch leopard frogs, which I could sell to Aqualand for feeding the muskies.  On a good day I would catch a dozen or so in the little creek across the road from Aqualand.  It was truly only a couple of years ago that I realized the culvert from the musky pond must have been the source of the frogs in the creek.  So in essence, I was merely re-catching the frogs my grandfather had already sold to visitors once.  These were the smart frogs who evaded the muskies to live another day.  I wonder how many of them I caught again and again.

Business was good for a budding business woman in the 1960's especially when one grew up in a magical kingdom of frogs, muskies and peacocks; deer, bear and timber wolves.  Narnia didn't have anything on Aqualand, and Aqualand was real.

Spring Cleaning at Aqualand

Spring.  It is right  before our eyes. As long and snowy and cold as winter has been, spring always comes again.  In the time that the ale house has been closed, we have tackled many of the  projects that we wanted to accomplish before opening again on May 2nd.  I have posted pictures of our new kitchen floor and the new bar face. We have a few more new introductions, additions and tricks up our sleeve as well, so stay tuned on Facebook for those...

But there are a few things I want to share about spring that have their roots in another time, at another Aqualand.  Many times people asked us what was it like in the winter season?  Well, as my dad often says, "animals eat all year long".  So there were the daily chores.  One thing many people did know was that we had a winter quarters where all the birds and critters not born for the winters or Northern Wisconsin, we called it "the workshop". The workshop was the hub of the operations behind the scenes. In the winter months, all the repairs that could be made got made there.  New cages and dens and boxes got built.  All the signs, which were taken down in the fall, were freshly painted and repaired as well.  It was also there that the guys drank coffee, swapped stories and sat in old chairs that should have been tossed long ago.  It was the ultimate Man Cave before people talked longingly about man caves. Instead of working with the ladies at the gift shop, I opted to be one of the guys....at least as much as they would let me.  I remember one time thinking I would surprise my dad and help out.  I cleaned the man cave, organizing it so well he had no idea where anything was.  I think the only thing he was grateful for was my cleaning of the single stall toilet off to one side...though he said he didn't think it was so bad. (you can imagine).There was a smell to the work shop, sawdust, turpentine and fresh paint, tinged with the earthy aroma of a slew of critters in the pen area beyond the open work room.  The workshop also housed an incubator.  Every spring, we would hatch our own chickens, ducks, geese, quail etc.  I can remember rolling the eggs, candling them to see if progress was being made, and finally being there for the big day, when little ones would fight their way from the shells.

Spring started early at Aqualand, the baby bears usually came first sometime in March.  Babies were removed from their parents at a fairly young age, bottled raised and tamed.  As the warmer weather came, the back pens of the work shop were cleaned and re-purposed for babies of all shapes and sizes.  The really little ones came to our house, and the kitchen was a sea of boxes, sometimes as many as a dozen filled with babies-  foxes, wolves, cougars, raccoons, skunks, ferrets, coyotes, otters, squirrels, and on a rare occasion birds.  Anything that needed closer attention, more frequent feedings, warmth and attention.  There were heating blankets and warm towels.  The ultimate nursery.

The warm quarters at the workshop housed the fawns, baby goats, lambs and such.  These were my babies.  I would sit with them and talk to them, feed them formula from pop bottles adapted with large black rubber nipples.  These babies would move down to the nursery in the barn yard where all season visitors could buy a bottle to feed the babies- 15 cents a bottle-  I remember the call, and I remember endless hours spent sitting in the milk house, selling bottles, scrubbing bottles and killing flies, which for some reason loved to hang out in my little spot beneath the goat bridge.

Spring at Aqualand was filled with promise, filled with getting ready, putting our best foot forward.  As the gift shop ladies inventoried, priced and arranged all the new souvenirs, we out on the grounds raked and painted and pruned.

Each year we purchased piglets and a calf and these were added to the repertoire of babies to nurture. 

I was in demand with all of them, recognized as important by my buckets. The memory of this will always warm spring's sunshine for me...

Spring at the Aqualand Ale House is filled with promise as well.  We are preparing to put our best foot forward.  Excited by the thrilling start of our initial season, we hope to raise the bar, raise the standard and bring you new reasons to stop as set a while with us in 2014.

Being the Little Sister

I find myself thinking about my big sister  a lot today.  Had to capture some of my thoughts:

The little sister- that was me.  I can remember looking up at my big sister and wishing to be just like her.  Why couldn’t I have green eyes and long, curling hair?  Why were my eyes the color of doggie doo and my hair non-existent?  She could read, sew, play piano and sit still.  I could do none of these, well, okay, I could sort of play the piano, but that went along with the sit still thing, which I failed at miserably.  She could also be quiet and polite.

I wanted to be her, or just like her but I knew it wasn’t possible.  She got the first Barbie doll, the first day of school; in my little girl existence it seemed she got to be first at everything.

I was a daydreamer, a talker and mischievous.  I wandered off in the woods once, scaring my mother and father to tears.  I really just wanted to go to the neighbors, but in our neck of the woods that was a quarter mile away through dense forest. While my big sister made cookies with Mommy, I usually made a mess in the mud in the yard.

I am pretty sure my constant chatter drove my parents and my big sister to despair.  I don’t recall exactly, but I expect I did not sit still in church, that I blurted out inappropriately loud questions.

People mistook me for a little boy when I stood too close to my sister.  She was much more feminine than I was with that hair, those eyes and her shy smile.  She was truly the little lady to my bull in a china shop.

Where she was patient and determined to do things well, I remember always wanting more- wanting to know, wanting to explore, wanting, wanting, wanting often what I could not have and too impatient to finish any task well.  Then as I grew older, I remember discovering that sometimes there was a way  to make things go the way I wanted to if I worked hard enough, talked loud enough, practiced and practiced and practiced.  Sometimes this meant pushing someone out of my way. Very often, this became my big sister, the closest obstacle in many of my paths.

I cannot imagine the hurt and embarrassment that my loud, pushy ADHD self caused my sister along the way, but I know it did.  She often set the bar in my little girl mind, and that bar was my challenge as I imagine it is for little sisters everywhere.

As we grew older, I did not have the intuition to tone it down, could not see the damage that could be done in constantly hurting someone’s feelings.  To me, I was still the little sister, the pudgy tomboy to her slender beauty.  But I could run, and I could sing loud, I could tell stories and I could draw- I had discovered that I was better than her at these things. I had made a mental decision that If I wasn’t good at it, I would walk the other way leaving to her forever the baking, sewing, piano playing, babysitting, long hair and thin waist.

We grew up, grew mature and became good friends, but I know that little sister never completely disappears.  I continue to talk loud, run fast and jump from thing to thing, and of course try to always climb higher.  My big sister knows me well.  She knows my character, she knows my restlessness. She sees my wit and sarcasm, my pushy determination and in the darkest of moments, she senses my little sister neediness.

I love my sisters- yes, I have a little sister too who I will write about sometime, but she was much younger, so our relationship is very different.  My big sister was the other pea in the pod of my childhood, and I can imagine it was hard to be trapped in that role as I kicked and wiggled and wormed my way forward regardless of the tightness of the pod.

Recently someone posted a picture of two little girls in matching dresses. The big sister had darker, longer hair and was scowling furiously.  The little sister, with blonde hair stood next to her and her smile was beaming. The caption was, “I’m dressed just like my sister”.  It made me laugh and at the same time I recognized that it could easily have been a picture of my big sister and me.  Matching outfits always thrilled me, but I am pretty sure my big sister was not as overjoyed.

Sisterhood is not for the faint of heart. But I will always be grateful that my big sister accepted the role that was not her choosing.  I will always be grateful that I had a playmate, a second mother, a bar setter and a friend in the midst of all the animals and woods that we called home.

Love Has Many Faces

February has just started, and with it more cold temps, snow and clouds.  But along with these comes the reminder that this month, one of the quiet winter months we nod to on it's way by, is also the month that we pause at least momentarily to think about love.  Great loves, little silly loves, loves lost, loves re-gained, loves longed for and love's many splendored things.

Love has many faces doesn't it?  Just thinking of the word gets my mind to spinning and hopping...

For me, when thinking of Valentine's day, I remember the years when my husband was overseas-  I am quite sure we were not able to talk on the day itself on the first Afghan deployment, but we exchanged extravagant gifts and long letters well aware of the blessing our love is by the absence of it's daily routine.  The second deployment Dick was on R&R and we celebrated Valentines Day in Paris, heading to the top of the Eiffel tower for sunset and then taking in the evening on the river cruise along the Seine. I remember the year we took my parents to Puerto Rico.  The sweet way my father and husband bought and presented Mom and I red roses while we dined with a view of the sunset on the ocean and the sound of waves crashing against the cliffs below.

Thinking about this traditional day of expressing love cannot help but give way to other, more broad memories of love. I remember my boys- and I smile remembering our favorite crazy mystery science theater "comment-alongs" accompanied by pizza and usually a couple of extra loaner sons. Later still, dinner and a movie which is still a favorite mother-son event.

I remember when, just days after Dick left for war the last time, I attended my best friend's son's wedding-  the son who had been a frequent loaner son that had his own toothbrush at our house. When it was time for the mother-son dance, he and his mom called me to the floor to take a spin in the midst of them, and I felt the warmth of their love when I needed it so...

I remember the year a car full of us-  all college freshmen were in an accident on our way home-  the truck we were riding in flipped upside down into a water-filled ditch.  No one knew what to do, but I knew my dad could be counted upon-  and he came for us, driving four hours through the snow storm to retrieve us all, paying for our hot dinner and getting us all home safely

I remember the fun I have had with my big sister going to auctions- and with my little sister singing karaoke.

My grandson Jude, who, while we were doing puzzles together one night, turned to me, put his little hands on my cheeks and said, "You're pretty great Grandma" as if startled by the discovery.

I could go on and on, as I am sure each of us can if only we think on those we love.

This year Valentine's Day is on a Friday-  a wonderful treat which means we can have a special night with a special someone or some ones. 

Our venture into business has given us a chance to provide a place and an evening where our friends and guests can come and join us for great food, great entertainment and great atmosphere.

Come to the Aqualand Ale House and join us for dinner, conversation and music.  The fire will be lit, the food and wine will be fine and as always the best craft beers will be on tap. 

This event needs you to RSVP by next Saturday though, so be sure to send us an e-mail, phone call or facebook RSVP.  We need to grocery shop!

Memories have many faces- and love has a long memory.  Come an make a few new ones with us won't you?!

Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas to all our friends and family! Gotta start the baking and wrapping now that the decorating and the cards are addressed and the infamous holiday letter is written. It has been a year full of blessings. We have grown and stretched more than we would have thought possible. We will continue to power on. Meet us at Hog's breath in Key West (which is where I hope we can find the time to take a post snowmobile season vacation/annual planning business trip)this spring and we will tell you all about it over a nice cold Margarita! Thank you all for your love and support- we could not do it without you! Title: The Dick and Sue in2013 Sub-title: The year that will go down in infamy. Talking Points: • Dick and Sue open the Aqualand Ale House in Boulder Jct Wisconsin • Dick and Sue experience year of separate, together, separate, together living as they work to make their dreams come true • Dick discovers that he still has a fear of bats • Sue triples her staff in the interior design department at ADCI • Sue re-discovers the art of juggling • Dick finds a creative way to get a new truck with Man-toy plow (hint: involves tree and airbag deployment- way different than military deployment) • Sue leaves purse in record three strange locations/places and has to track it down. Cell phone, i-pad and car keys and miscellania also scattered around the country randomly- not intended as scavenger hunt, but becomes one • Perry and Stacie go to Europe for their 2 ½ week honeymoon five years after the wedding- Grandma Sue, Grandpa Dick and rock star Uncle Dan get 2 ½ weeks of together time with Jude highlighted by a little game we called “pooping for prizes”. Mission accomplished. • Dan works as right hand man at the Aqualand Ale House and song writer. Finishes year road tripping with band/roommates polishing up his sound tech skills for future tours and wears the same pair of moccasins for the second straight year- we are taking up a collection to help Dan buy big boy shoes…. • House, cabin, cars and office all look like disaster zones, no time for regular chores- for a year… • Closer connection to northwoods family, pretty sure we are a pain in the rear at crisis times at the Ale House- family to borrow from- and not just a cup of sugar. More like ladder, table, crock pot, strong arms, brains, etc…thank God for them • Renew old friendships, make many, many new friends…Dick and Sue learn the art of conversation and discover common ground over and over and over and over with ale house guests. Discover that most people are totally awesome • Drink lots of great beers • Learn lots. Lots and lots about shoes with proper support for long days on concrete floors, beer glasses, toilet paper types, small business tax burdens, whiskey etc. • Celebrate 31 years together • Ollie turns 14, Gracie 10- senior doggies…bad breath • God is with us, God is for us, God holds us in the palm of His hand. The End Check out our journey by visiting our facebook page, or check our website, www.aqualandalehouse.com. There is a web link to Sue’s blog here that gives you more story of where we have been and where we are headed.

Trimmings

I have decorated two trees so far, and a third one is still needing me at our winter home in Boulder Jct. I found some time to shop this weekend, realizing that the rest of my time will be spent up at the Ale House or working my weekday job. The holidays were weird last year. Dick was in school, studying up on Food Service Management as part of the preparation for the ale house opening last spring. this year feels like it is gearing up to be even weirder. Bouncing back and forth like a ping pong ball, in the midst of trying to find our traditions, I am realizing that it is time. Time to lay down the old and find the new. I wonder how these moments felt to my parents. That moment when you realize that it is time to stop trying to recreate the past every Christmas. It is such a temptation to avoid thinking too deeply about how the present and future will be different from the past. As a rose colored glasses girl, I see the past as perfection. Opening the Aqualand Ale House has been birthing a dream. We have enjoyed so much about it, but at times like this I miss our simpler, more available life. But then I remember the thing that very few people know about my husband. He has a heart for people. When I look at someone and wonder worriedly where my purse is, he reaches out a hand. One of my first invites from him when we were first getting to know each other was to come over to his place at college, where he was renting a room from Paul, a world war one veteran. (there needs to be a story about Paul some other time). Dick told me he had invited a few people from Inter-Varsity Christian Fellowship, the campus group we had met through, over to play board games. I was already smitten, so of course I accepted the invitation. Upon arriving, I was surprised at the ragtag group of misfits he had assembled. Even in a para-church group, there were cliques- the popular, spiritual leader cool kids, the middle of the roads and the socially awkwards. It was strictly this last bunch who were Dick's guests at his very first venture into making friends at college. I was surprised, but jumped into the fun and enjoyed myself immensely. After everyone else left, I stayed behind to help clean up and I asked him how come he had selected the group for the night. He said simply, "I chose the ones that looked like they needed a friend." We have been arguing about opening for extended hours over the holidays, to include the Monday and Tuesday- Christmas Eve. I am selfish, I want family time. But then, I remember the man I married. This man who led men's groups for years, not so much mentoring, but just giving men a safe place to open up about the things they felt alone with. This man who looked into VA chaplin's assistant work and prison ministry before landing at the Ale House. This man who shares God's love in a unique way every day, has chosen to care for people to give them a great environment to feel welcome and hopes to help them enjoy something tasty and comforting. We have a new family, and a cozy place to gather. I will let him decide. I am pretty sure this is the last Christmas on the bubble. By next year, we will know better where home needs to be. We know I need to work, and I have a great career that I am good at. It provides a certain number which our new life of risk can count on. But perhaps we need to sell the old homestead. Perhaps a small work week apartment will be better for me and perhaps we need to unroll that set of plans that is all drawn up for our new home on the puddle out by the original Aqualand. I have been fighting with myself. My heart needs to be clear about it's place, and this home has been my refuge through three deployments. I know how to be safe here. The problem is that my life is moving on and when I am home to work each week, it is easy to try to re-create my nest. But nest is now empty except for momma, and momma is ready realizing it is time to rebuild. I am ready to decorate that last tree- the northern-most tree. I am ready to celebrate the holidays with all my new friends and the man with the big heart.

I will not fear the terrors that come in the night...

I am at the Frog House today, selling, reading and now, blogging this rainy cool day away. Fall has come as promised and with the dropping temperatures also comes the dropping income that is the promise of every tourist based economy world wide. When planning our business, we expected this. Having grown up in the north woods, I understand the days when, if there are fresh tracks running down County "K", I can look at them and say, "John is up early today", because I know the only car that may be traveling this road, heading that way... I have always loved so many things about this season when I get out my insulated carhart bibs,my Joan of Ark Sorels my little box of Swedish Pimples, and head out onto the lake with my dad to catch the last white fish and lake trout of the season. Racing off to the woods to collect pine cones, the tiny ones in particular, which can only be found in a few secret spots...picking princess pine to dry and gathering acorn caps- all the secret ingredients in my holiday potpourri and ornaments... Then there is the "harvesting of the boughs", trimming back the overgrowth on our back road to keep access open and also providing me with the ingredients for my fall-to- winter landscaping pots. But this year, we have a business, and business comes first. I am in awe of the many entrepreneurs of the north woods who have mastered their fears and found a way to survive through the long winter's night. I have a new appreciation for the notion of "shop local", though for many years I have purposed to do my first round of holiday shopping in Boulder Jct. I look at the parking lots at each establishment, hoping we all have cars because having cars means having a little more help in keeping the lights on and the doors open. While I understand the value of saving at the big box and the chain restaurant, I am more sad than ever that friends and neighbors seem to forget that every purchase put into those places is the purchase that could have truly helped the little guys next door. Fear is our new best friend. We knew the fall would come and with it a massive slow down to what has been an awesome first year. We have been told that the snow will bring a season nearly as good or better than summer if we just hold on and keep the faith. But in the night we hear the whisper that all the more established and seasoned small business owners of Boulder Junction must surely also be hearing right now, "what if". What if the snow doesn't come? what if there is snow, but no snowmobilers? What if there is snow and there are snowmobilers, but no one comes to our business? What if the money runs out? What if, what if, what if.... We are people of faith, so this comforts us to relax into the belief that we are trusting in the one who knows the future. But wow, I have a whole new appreciation of the risk taken by so many before us. In this season of shopping and giving, I encourage each of us to think twice about the big box holidays versus the small business owner holidays. Kind of like when we give a cash gift to a specific person we can know it was a gift well placed, when we shop with a small business owner, we can know that every purchase can change their future. We love Boulder Junction, we intend to stay. If you have not tried the Ale House before now, please come. If you have been before, please come, and please send a friend. I know if you read my blog you are already supporters, so thank you and know that every visit helps to ease the terrors that come in the night!

My Veteran

In honor of Veteran's Day, I am republishing a piece I wrote as a contest submission after my husband, known to most of you as the pony-tailed proprietor of the Aqualand Ale House, returned from his first overseas tour. He went on to tour one more time, in part to set funds aside towards the purchase of our dream. This Veteran's Day week, as always, he is my hero...I love you sweetheart... War By Susie Wilsie-Govier I once heard that a new puppy would sleep better if you give her something with your scent to snuggle up in. There is safety for in the smell of someone close, someone loved. Reaching into his suitcase, I pull out a dirty t-shirt. He hadn’t been home since June but I had an opportunity to say one more goodbye in early August before he left the country and me, for a year. When asked to go, he wanted to know how I felt about it, but I knew I really couldn’t stop him. He was a career military man. Going was what he was trained to do. As his love, best friend and wife, I always knew that I had not married a tame boy. As I sat on our bed that first night home, the first night of the goodby-ing day, I cried into the dirty t-shirt that represented our connection- our love. I could sniff him with me, but he wasn’t; not even close. On a plane to a distant land, full of excitement, fear and grief, I knew he reveled in the gift of resurrection. In helping secure our national freedom, he was finding his own as well. After years spent working for the office military machine he was larger than life once again- a soldier. I could almost imagine his stretching. I could almost smile. I knew he needed this, but I mourned for the loss of him. I knew that now, faced with such a long separation I would do what I had to do just like I always had. My father had taught me to be strong and it was now up to me to show my sons how to do it. Even with this understanding, I also knew doing this would take much from me. When my husband was deployed, I didn’t like to be touched. I was very brittle at times, very close to crumbling at every hug. The going this time was going to be tough and I was impatient with others, wanting them to let me to get on with it, thinking, “let’s just get this over with already.” In those last few days with my husband, I was not very kind to him. As we wandered around sporting goods stores searching for performance underwear, I was frustrated. He couldn’t decide what he would really need for sure, so was reluctant to purchase. I wanted him to just take one of everything, as if it was one way I could show him I cared. His choice to leave the stores without purchase made me irrationally angry. As he spent his goodbye moments with his sons, I watched, and moved them towards each other as much as possible. I wanted them all to know that should the worst happen, there would be no years of words laying there as “should have saids” for my sons to feel as wounds that would change them irreparably. Likewise, I wanted his last memories of his sons to be those of a man proud of the men he had raised, confident that they knew he expected them to carry my burdens for him while he could not. As for me, I wanted none of him and yet I wanted all of him. This man who needed to leave was leaving me and it did not feel good. This man who was going to war was severing himself from the daily rituals of our love; rituals that normally got us both through every stressful and tiring day. How would I replace that? The only way I knew how was to shut each open door. Every caress in those last few days together was at once life giving and a wounding scratch, scrape, puncture or poke in the eye. The last look I saw in his eyes was that of a little boy, sad to be separating, but excited for adventure. I knew he was hurting too, but as the one getting left behind I felt my pain was worse because I wasn’t heading somewhere. There was no adventure waiting for me except that of being alone. With both boys soon headed off to college, I would be experiencing our first year of empty nesting all by myself. At First, I tried to make each day a treat. But one can only eat perfectly seasoned grilled, medium-rare steaks and steamed asparagus in the recliner while watching re-runs of “Sex In The City” (a show he hated) so many nights in a row before the novelty wears off and the jeans get too tight. Often I went to see a massage therapist, for I was holding myself too tightly; my body tensing constantly in trying to shelter me from the wounding that I felt inside. Communication was hard. He was in an area without a base, so there would be no skyping, very sketchy phone calling and infrequent mail. I was truly on my own clutching my power of attorney form and prepared will. Beyond lonely, I bought a new puppy and named her Gracie. Curling in my lap every night, I dozed in the chair with her, since a king sized bed seemed a mockery. Eventually, when I did finally muster the courage to climb into bed, the T.V. stayed on all night, alternately comforting me with its chatter and waking me when I had finally dozed off. Door locking became an obsessive compulsive exercise. Kitchen chairs braced every knob of every already locked door; my homespun version of a security system. Noises that were unfamiliar became fictional scenes of horror almost every day and every night. I traveled for work, often gone long hours at a time. On coming home, my walking through every room and looking under every bed bothered me, but seemed somehow important, logical and wise. When you are all alone, you can lie to yourself quite effectively. If I wasn’t busy spoiling my irrational fears, I was bragging on myself, to myself, about how smart I was- how mature. I mentally wandered, imagining the scene when Oprah called asking me to speak on behalf of soldier’s wives everywhere. Of course she teared up on the phone as she begged me to come on her show to tell my story. Even in my day dreams, I realized my story wasn’t tragic enough when I rehearsed the telling in my mind. It would need to grow in order to make my appearance the most moving show of the year. He would need to die a heroes death, yes, that would be a sure fire (oh my...unfortunate choice of fantasy words) way to get that call. Snapping out of my fantasy, appalled, I would try and stop thinking. But in the night, when there was no one else around, I would truly wonder what would become of me if the unthinkable were to happen. Would I continue to live in this house, filled with so many memories? Would I move back up north to the lonely woods where I grew up? What would I do with his clothes, his things? Would I get a flag at the service? Could I stand through a 21 gun salute? Or would Taps bring me to my knees? How would I use the life insurance money? Would I buy a hot tub like we had always talked about doing- or would I even want one if I would be sitting under the stars alone? How long would I mourn- or would I have sort of pre-mourned for the number of months he had already been gone? Would I ever re-marry? If so, who would I want my next husband to be- like him or the opposite so it wouldn’t remind me; so it would hurt a little less? Would I even be able to go on without him? Would I ever laugh or ever have fun again? When this train of thought got out of control, I tried to escape myself, gathering friends, kids and projects like water to a thirsty soul. My oasis became busyness, never stopping until I was beyond dead on my feet. If I worried about being over committed, that worrying only gave me less time to think about more dangerous things. I obsessively watched Fox News since they covered the war most fully. Fearing every mention of casualties, I still needed to hear every word of every broadcast just the same. I was hungry for “fair and balanced” mentions of death, peppered between stories of movie stars and weather. If those deaths were not in Paktika Provence, Afghanistan, I could breathe a little easier for a time. Veteran’s Day took me by surprise- not ready for it, I cried all day. Everywhere I looked there were old men saluting something, uniforms on T.V. and marching bands moving down to city parks to fire blanks in tribute to the Veterans- the symbols of pride, death and dying for a cause. As well meaning people thanked me for my service, I could only think of the tomb of the Unknown Soldier- where the T.V. showed the president placing a wreath. Thinking what this tribute meant to some guy’s wife, lover or mother. Those left behind must surely and most strongly remember every soldier; especially the lost ones known for being unknown. Someone had lost them- and they didn’t know how, and that someone forever mourns. Traditional holidays came on as battles to be waged, almost laughable in their effort to drag me down farther. These were the times when I could shine, pulling it all together for everyone else so that I could quickly cross the day off the list- one Thanksgiving, one Christmas, one Valentine’s Day down. I was the soldier at these times too, doing all the right things and keeping it all as “the same” as possible for my boys and everyone else. I will always remember the true friend who, on one of these occasions took position at my side, shoulder to shoulder with me and stated, “Man, this Stinks!” I didn’t need say it, she said it for me. A year is a long time to be apart. Memories are made that cannot be shared and cannot be stopped. You cannot sit still that long, you cannot just wait, and so you don’t. You find hobbies, try new foods, make new friends and you change. You become someone they don’t know and at the end, when they come home, you cannot help but be a stranger. As our year apart came to an end, I stood with the other families waiting to welcome their soldier home. I could see him. He was leaner, tougher and wind burned. His scowl carved a little deeper in his brow and his hair greyer than I remembered. But he was large. I could see his experiences had broadened him and given him the new strength born of adversity. He later described his habit of sleeping on top of the bedding in his clothes always on the alert. I knew in some way that this habit was his body in tune with mine for no real rest had been allowed for either of us this year. Taking him home, we lay down on the bed together for the first time. Now that it was all over we were both desperate for some sleep, but I needed him badly, not even so much physically as just to get the smell of him again, the feel of his skin next to mine. In the end we lay together just looking at each other for the first time in months and talked- talked and talked. As he eventually put his arms around me and encouraged me to sleep- pulling me to spoon against him, I knew everything was okay. We slept truly, deeply, for the first time since those long months apart had begun. Our year apart had changed us both forever. But now that I had breathed him in again, I recognized what was still the same- WE were.

Home

One of the hardest parts of starting the Aqualand Ale House has been separation. Not unlike the years when my husband deployed to a war zone, he has gone first into the place and space that we plan to retire to in the future. My career is in full swing, and I need to continue to work to ensure the safety blanket of one solid income as we take this huge gamble and venture into the craft beer and gastro-pub industry in the beautiful north. It was my idea that it be Boulder Jct. Those of you who know us know that I have been whining about how badly I want to "go home" ever since I left for college- more than a few seasons ago. That my husband was willing to head in that direction means everything to me. What is interesting is that as of today, we sort of have three homes; the one we have lived in for the last 15 years, the one we built as a three season weekender in the great north woods, and the rental we just moved into this weekend that will give us a warm place to winter. Throughout my husband's military career, we have had a few times of cross country moves- usually temporary, but I learned early how important it is to make each place feel like home. As a designer, the worst torture of all is to spend any length of time in someone else's space. When I was in sales, there were many times of overnight travel. I packed a candle, a throw, a craft project-usually some sort of small scale needle craft, pictures of the family and an exercise DVD. Upon entry, I would set the lighting up to something adequate but soothing, light my candle to make it smell familiar in the space, set the heating unit to fan to drown out the ambient sounds from the hall or highway and then I would put on my sweats, curl up in my throw on the bed and eat my Outback steak house steak and salad take out, my fazolis chicken ceasar salad, or the like. The best! So this weekend, as I moved our basic essentials over to the winter home, I grabbed a throw and some pillows for the couch, our magazine basket and those six books I never got read this busy summer, the scrabble board and a Christmas puzzle, some candles, some small scatter rugs and two pictures- one a replica of an old lake superior south shore map and one an artist print of a smiling otter, picked out in England specifically for out little cabin in the woods which I dubbed Otter Dance. Last night after the ale house closed, we curled up with the latest "Ice Age" movie and everything felt like home. My husband had reminded me that anything we bring in, we have to haul back out in the spring, so to be selective. I reminded him that he always felt better in spaces that had been 're-touched'. He reminded me of his years spent in tents, temporary barracks etc. stating that he could live fine in a spartan environment. My theory is that even when people cannot pin down why they feel good, a feel good space has an affect on everything else. I am guessing that my husband doesn't often light the candles when I am not there, but I am glad to know he can if he wants to. I said we sort of have three homes. Actually, I realize now that I have left out the most important one- the fourth one. The Aqualand Ale House feels like home to us. We intended to have a business, but we have been blessed to find a new home. For instance, this Saturday night was so delightful for me. I was not on the schedule to work, but wanted to sit and just be with my friends and my husband. Upon entering, I was first amazed to find one of my husband's military buddies sitting at the bar. I thought he lived on the west coast, but he has recently relocated to Wisconsin and had driven two hours out of his way (while headed somewhere else)just to see us. We have the closeness with him of a friend from the war zone, a close bond like none other and it was a blessing to see him again. After taking a seat at the bar, I began to talk with a wonderful couple who have become faithful regulars. My husband walked through to Ale House, stopping at each table to check on our guests, and staying to chat often. People love him, and so many are repeat guests, they begin to feel like friends and family hanging out with us in our living room- the biggest difference is that this particular home has twenty taps! Later, a gentleman sat down on my other side and as we talked, he realized that I was the daughter of his old buddy and fishing guide Bruce. We talked easily as he ate dinner and enjoyed a beer, sharing stories or those we have in common. I recognized that I had made a new friend that night too. The definition of home is a place where we feel sheltered and safe, where we recharge our batteries, and where we share our lives with family and friends. Yep- for us, the Aqualand Ale House is all of these. So I amend my count- four homes is more accurate.

Funny how that happens....

We had that wine tasting I was talking about last Saturday. It was a blast and what a success! twenty seven people managed to find their way to our door in the mid-afternoon hours of a first snow, cold rain, sunny patches sort of saturday. The wine importer, a wonderful Italian gentleman, gave us all a history lesson on the different regions of Italy and the wines that they import from each. We moved north to south, and enjoyed four appetiser courses to complement each two wines to sample a total of eight wines. The wines were fabulous, the sales were brisk and a good time was had by all; funny how that happend... I learned to drink wine on the Nebish road, sipping a little Annie Green Springs like all the other northwoods kids did in the seventies...that girl would have grinned at this adult me who sniffs and swishes and cleanses her palette. I look around and wonder what all these sophisticated adults would think if they knew of my humble beginnings. I suspect I am not the only one in the room who dabbled in Boones Farm Strawberry Hill and Old Style beer before my conversion to a little more of a "pinky up" artisan craft consumer. Funny how that happens! My husband, the beer geek, is a learner. When a thing catches his interest, he endeavors to become thuroughly informed on it. In college, his biggest challenge in doing research papers was in learning when to stop learning and start writing. Even later in military courses, I remember offering to type his paper on the Battle of the Bulge, only to sit up all night with him as he found just one more twist or turn or critical piece to the puzzle that would explain the who, what, where, when and why of that fated time. With every new revelation, the editing would begin again...I finally typed, "and the good guys eventually won, THE END!", and went to bed, leaving him to his own devices. This tenacity makes him a great beer geek who I don't always fully appreciate. I just know what I like. The Aqualand Ale House benefits from his deep desire to know- funny how that happens. People are beginning to understand that we are craft beer people, and so today, during the course of a meeting at my other full time job in Wisconsin Dells, a client told me of a place in town that has the extremely hard to obtain "Game of Thrones" beer on tap. So after work my husband, (who is headed to a distributors, meet the brewers meeting tomorrow) and I ventured down to a well kept secret tavern that dabbles in craft beer, though many of their regulars are sipping Busch from a can while the special taps sit idle. The beer was cool tasty and I smiled remembering how my client had left the meeting by saying, "see you later Kalessi." I love imagining that I am the dragon girl of beer! Funny how that happened! This weekend we will participate in the Boulder Jct haunted halloween walk. I have never been a big fan of scaring or being scared, but have thrown my effort into writing the story of our haunted tableau, painting a back drop and building some creepy fish guy monster fin/hands, made with old dish washing gloves, duct tape, cheesecloth and spraypaint...I am crazy to help finish setting the scene,dipping into my secret desire to do stage sets someday. If someone had told me a year ago that owning a business in the small town of my childhood would find me making fish monster hands within a year, I would have doubted it could be so...so funny how it happened. These are just some random thoughts I am having tonight while I also think that I can hardly wait to see what funny thing will happen next...

Wine by Design

We are determined to try a wine tasting event. After a first attempt, we feel more ready this time and we are working harder to let you know about the event so you can reserve some time. With the artisan, little guy movement that is being celebrated everywhere, bringing an artisan wine event to the Aqualand Ale House seems like a good idea- a great way to offer something new and fun to our new friends and Ale House family. After being found by a wine guy who is the direct importer of a line of small batch artisanal, non-sulfite/low sulfite organic Italian wines, we are excited about the offerings we have selected. With the holiday season looming, what a great opportunity to find gift wines, celebratory wines, classics and something different, something new. Besides all this very important stuff though, I am excited because I am going to use this as a first experiment in bringing one of the skills from my other life to the Ale House- decorating! I love to theme a table, setting a mood for a special event. I confess I have spent considerable spare time all my life prowling thrift shops, antique shops auctions, garage sales and okay- yes, I have been known to be on a first name basis with a dump guy or two. I once fell into a dumpster behind Cambridge Pottery's retail shop in Cambridge, Wisconsin. You would not believe the great stuff I got though and as you can see, eventually I did get out. My favorite souvenir from our trip to Paris is a bit of bric-brac that I pulled out of a trash can as we walked along Rue de St. Germaine...I know I'm hopeless. The plan is to play around with setting the table for our wine tasting attendees- splurging into my stash of vintage table cloths (I have over 60) and candling up the joint. I may grab a thing or two from the basement, the woods and may even spelunk for a conversation piece or two in my Dad's shed, which is a treasure trove of things you may never have known you needed (what- do I hear some muttering about the apple not falling far from the tree?)...Sometime when you are in the Ale House dining room, take a look up into the dormer that faces highway K. The goofy deer mount located there is one my dad lent us and has a strangely lop-sided rack. But mostly, I love his eyes- they are blue and buggy, looking crazily at you from wherever you move in the room. You can see that he wants to rear up and can almost imagine his nostrils flare...thanks Dad!? :) The wine event, like everything involved in birthing the Aqualand Ale House, feels meant to be- I am looking forward to seeing friends and enjoying what feels like it could be more of a dinner party than a night a work. My collecting and stage setting began at a very young age. I started off building little fairy houses under the princess pine in the play forest beneath the big pines in our yard on county K near Aqualand. I spent a decent amount of time outside just waitng for Peter Pan, though I could creep myself out when I thought about what Tinker Bell would do if she found out about Peter's love for me. (Similar to his brief infatuation with Wendy, but much stronger since I already believed I lived in Never Neverland). Then as an adolescent, Mom and Dad decided that we needed a little more family togetherness and for several summers we spent evenings after supper driving down the old railroad grades, which were not yet all bermed shut in the 1960s, looking along the grade in the ditches for old treasures, bottles, crocks and who knew what else. We dug at old logging camp sites too, using the old camp maps. Once we had our destination, it was easy to discern from the grassy bump footprint of the old foundations where the kitchen dumps had been. This was where we would dig with hoes and long-handled gardening tines, working our way beneath leaves and needles to uncover bits and pieces left by a generation gone by. The other place we found goodies was actually in the latrine pits- long since cleansed by years of snow and rain, it was clear evidence of the other activity the guys participated in at the camps where alcohol was not allowed but the two-holer provided a semi-private spot to sneak a sip(yes, sip, smart alecs). It also offered a great way to dispose of the evidence of transgressions when the bottle was empty. I could be known to wander around the whole site, constantly surprised by the random and completely undamaged cast-offs that were just laying exposed in the forest. What if I bring out a few old bottles for the wine tasting- of course I have hung onto a few. We can enjoy our tasting, which we intend to compliment with chef Darren's appetizer pairings in the atmosphere decorated into a something more like home and less like business. As we head towards the season of snuggling and sipping, visiting and leisure, gifting and hugs, come and join us as we venture into this new territory of celebrating the artisan, the craftsman- the little guy! RSVP today and plan to join us on October 19th. Space is limited to a maximum of 30 for this event, so please sign up today! there will be a small cost, but we promise to pour on the special for our premiere event, which runs from 4 to 5:30 on Saturday. More details will be posted on our facebook page, in the FYI, on the radio and on our sign out front. See you soon! (and don't tell Wendy where I am okay?!)

Fall always reminds me of fall at Aqualand. The busy season was done and the visitors were mostly folks out to see the fall colors, special tour groups and parents with kids not old enough yet for school. My sisters and I were always the first ones on and the last ones off the school bus. We got dropped off at Aqualand, where we would pilfer a little caramel corn, (which was bagged and sold in small packs to feed the geese), maybe talk Grandpa into buying us a soda pop and just settle in to chat about the day. I remember volunteering one fall to bring in pollywogs and snails for my classroom's new aquarium. First I stopped at the Musky pond, where I knew the snails lived clinging to the rocks that lined it's rim. I stuck my hand in to scoop a few out and was startled at a swift grazing along my knuckles. Pulling my hand back quickly, I looked into the pond and straight into the eyes of a hungry muskie who must have thought my fingers looked tasty.  Wow! I had my snails and I got out of there quick. Next I headed towards the deer forest, where there were pollywogs by the swarm. This late in the season, their legs were beginning grow and they would be cool to watch as they finished their development. I skipped along the path in my special new poncho. Mom had sewn it for me along with most of the rest of my new school clothes. It was red corduroy and I wore my prized possession, a Donny Osmond Fan Club pin on the lapel. Inspired by my Mom's collection of movie star autographed photos, I had written to the Osmonds and had gotten not only an autographed photo, but this pin as well. The other extremely exciting thing about my new school outfit was that the ugly black or brown lace up corrective shoes I had always had to wear for my flat feet had been replaced this year with the latest in corrective shoe styling- the buckle version. I felt so much more with it, sophisticated and hip that year. Arriving at my destination, I crouched down at the edge of the shore, leaned forward and reached to grab a fist full of the black 'wogs that were swimming there in a group. Suddenly, I felt a push against my back, and I caught my fall by plunging my hands and about half my poncho into the pond water, dropping my catch. Something was pushing me, very hard as if to shove me head first into the chilly pond. I turned my head back and could just make out the six point buck in velvet treating my red-caped back as a thing to charge, like el torro. His rounded velvet horns were not sharp, and he hadn't taken a running start, just determinedly leaned into my exposed end. I don't know if it was the color, the stranger, though many people walked among these tame deer every day,or the low target at the edge of the pond but he was pushing against me with all his might. The only way out was to jump a few steps into the pond water and dodge around him, which I did. I ran back to the gift shop in tears, for both my poncho and my brand new shoes seemed ruined now. I don't even remember the rest of the story, other than that dad helped me go and fetch the pollywogs. But I remember that cold pond water, that red poncho and those first cool shoes. When I smell the crisp air of fall I remember the feeling of being snapped at by a muskie, pushed by a buck and the humiliation of my pride. I remember the feeling of Aqualand and all the animals as the zoo yawned before a long winter's nap. In those last weeks before shut down, I harvested.  Gathering pine cones, pretty grasses and dropped feathers was easy now that there were many less visitors to compete with.

Putting plastic on the shelves of giftwares, moving the exotic birds to warm winter quarters, shutting off the water and draining the tanks.  Lights off and Aqualand was ready for the rest of the time, the time others never saw when we still fed everyday, cleaned and watered and attended to the needs of our wildlife family.  Time was spent re-painting signs, building new enclosures, parts and pieces.  The coffee break moved to the work shop- the ultimate man cave, where neighbors stopped to sit on five gallon pails and broken spoked chairs, talking of hunting, fishing, wood gathering and football. 

Fall is beautiful isn't it?  To me it seems to be hinting towards the wild, dark night of winter in the northwoods, where people are the vulnerable ones, and the weather, wild animals and woods rule supreme. Grab at the sunny warm days, celebrate the colors, sounds, smells and tastes-  and speaking of taste, enjoy some company and the wonderful taste of fall craft beer at the new form of Aqualand where the muskies don't bite and the deer don't use you as target practice... :)

Counting the Cost

tonight I had wine with my girlfriends for the first time since early last spring. It was such a blessing, such a wonderful reunion. It reminded me of the night last April when my husband and I sat with our close friends and wept a little as we said goodbye- knowing that everything was about to change. We knew then that we would miss the weddings of two of their sons, both like sons to us also. We would miss two other weddings, a family reunion and anything and everything that we would normally make a priority in the course of a typical summer. Family and friends have always been such a priority. But opening a business just in time for the summer season in northern Wisconsin meant a lot of sacrifices would need to be made in order to really make things go. We walked away from many things in walking towards the summer and the Aqualand Ale House. People didn't understand, people thought we were crazy. In some ways, people felt we were letting them down. Our unavailability for certain times and certain things meant that some would question us, some would feel short changed. But we discovered some wonderful things this summer. Those who love us best came to visit, sitting patiently when we jumped up from even a short conversation to take care of the thing we saw that needed to be done. They cheered us on, took a trip to an area that would not normally be on their radar. These friends were the wind beneath our wings (yes, hummingthe song a bit as I type). Our staff became our friends. We looked out for each other, cared for each other and knew that someone had our back no matter what each busy day might bring. By summer's end we were a well-oiled machine of service. But by far, the best surprise were the loyal friends we made of so many of our guests. By Labor Day weekend I was overwhelmed to realize I recognized so many- as people entered the Ale House so many remembered my name and entered waving, "Hi Sue", as they joined us for a meal and a beer. I met old friends of the family, family members of locals whose families had been friends to my father and mother, my grandfather. I loved hearing people share their memories of Aqualand. I loved even more when folks asked after my parents, my sisters. But when I overheard someone mention "Pat Wilsie" I always stopped to shake their hand. These were the ones who personally knew my grandfather, and since he passed away in 1977, I knew this was a special memory that I wanted to hear more about. We opened the Aqualand Ale House for several reasons. On the one hand, Dick needed a business to run as had always been his dream. On the other hand, I needed to get a bigger footprint in the North Woods, from whence my strength has always come. Our interest in and love for the craft beer industry was just a piece of a bigger picture of our strong belief in the cultural significance of the small businesses and the artisan crafts. As the big guys gobble up small towns, there is a growing surge of support for the anti- big guys, and we hope to be chief among these. We hope to bring jobs to this small, tourist focused town. We hope to give visitors another reason to come and to stay in Boulder Jct for a day or a weekend just like Grandpa did so many years ago when he opened the original Aqualand. Moving into the fall and winter season, we hope to be a light in the darkness of winter, encouraging folks to know that within our walls are warm friendship, warm food and warm hearts. No one needs to fear being ignored for we are all in this together. We hope the winter brings music, conversation, laughter and community. Winter can be long in northern Wisconsin so lets stick together. Every book club, ladies night out, holiday party, birthday party, celebration amongst friends, business lunch or dinner will be wlecome. Bring your friend and your cribbage board and stay the evening with us- I will play the winner... :) Cheer on the Packers, order ahead and we will make sure your favorites are on hand. We plan to bring in our old tinny piano, so if you play piano, sing or something else and just want to share the night, you are welcome to put out the jar. We hope we become a light in the darkness, a friend in the cold, a reason to get and celebrate whatever the season brings. We love you all-we have your back and we feel very blessed to have found each and every one of you!

Bittersweet

Labor Day weekend symbolized many things for me at the Aqualand Ale House. My husband, the main thrust behind the Aqualand Ale House since it's opening in May, took his first weekend off to attend an annual Army buddies reunion. This meant our son Dan and I had to be on duty to resolve every issue that the holiday Thursday through Sunday might hold. The biggest changing of the guard this weekend was saying goodbye, good wishes and much love, to our remaining student staff members and to our awesome chef John, who is headed onward towards his dream of a four year hospitality degree this fall at UW Stout- our own alma mater. We welcome some great new faces, but cannot help but look backwards to those who helped us birth this baby known as the Aqualand Ale House. Like soldiers in the trenches during time of war become very close very quickly, we have become fast friends and family with our original cast of characters. It has been a successful summer- we are humbled by all our many new friends. I quickly noticed this weekend how many of the faces are familiar to me now. A wave and a nod, a "heh" and "how are you", were as commonplace this weekend as initial conversations and new acquaintances. Many of our new friends were disappointed that they would not get a chance to say goodbye to my husband before heading south for the winter, or, in the case of many camp counselors, back to school and on to other lives. By Sunday I carried with me many names, notes and good wishes to pass on to my pony-tailed prince when he came home. Our staff had said early goodbyes to him, but it was bittersweet to be his proxy in those last minutes, during the last glances, hugs and stray moments where we all had "something in our eye". We had opted to be closed on Labor Day proper, and my son and I drove home late after closing so that I could have a true day off with my just returned spouse- a day that would be the sum total of our personal summer vacation. Monday was spent visiting some other folks taps, trying some other friends food, and napping, hot tubbing, napping again and sitting together on our porch swing for the first time of this most busy summer of our lives, recapping the highlights of our new life. This morning, fall could be sensed in the air. A cooler night was followed by a cool day. While I couldn't do it this weekend, today we definitely saw that it was time to tap Oktoberfest- at least one of the three specials that my husband has already gathered in addition to Pumpkin Ale and Dead Guy Ale- all fantastic treats for our very first Colorama season. I found myself looking forward; full of energy for planning a special fall event. Our kick off and the first of what we hope will be regular tasting events. A Chilean wine tasting we are planning for September 12th was the catalyst for a new Pinterest page full of decorating ideas, invitations and props. I love the fall in Northern Wisconsin- I love Boulder Jct and I love decorating for a party. I think that for this first special event with our new staff and a new season, I will choose to decorate with bittersweet- as a nod to those who we know we will miss who are off to new or other places,as a symbol of this season of harvest, and to be an early bit of orange inspired by the turning of the maples, oaks and tamarack. I hope those of you who travel north regularly, those who call the north home and those who are planning your very first trip will grab your flannel and come raise a glass with us from 5:30 to 7:00 pm on Thursday, September 12th. My husband and sons will post official invitations and notices within the next few days, but I just cannot contain myself- I am excited to try some new events and so I am spilling the news early- We need to have you RSVP for this one, so we know how much wine and snacks to have on hand. If you want a seat at the table, which will be under the canopy of the breezeway between the Ale House and Frog House, which will be embellished with little white lights and deck heaters, a fire bowl, miscellaneous decorations and some very good wine, let me know- I would love to have the table filled with friends before my husband can even blink an eye! A bittersweet season, maybe, but still there is nothing better than Northwoods air when it begins to bite and the harvest moon peeks pregnantly atop the pines. Come toast it with us- Please say you will!

drag race to snail's pace

It has been a while since I have posted. I knew there was a storm coming, I knew that all of you were coming, and you did. Ths last month has been one of rapid acceleration of our business, both in terms of customers and responsibilities. As we have found both ourselves and our staff completely overwhelmed at times, we have also been asked over and over in the last month, "Please tell me will you stay open this winter?" Peppered in between this question is as always the fond, fond stories of Aqualand memories the rare soul who remembers Uncle Pat- my grandfather. Through the drag race, I have grown in respect for servers and restauranteurs everywhere. I wonder if the average customer understands how incredibly difficult it is to put on a smile and try your very best to give them the very best experience you can, in flavors, atmosphere and friendship day after day while the line gets longer and the kids get rowdier. Inevitably something goes wrong, as it will no matter how hard you try to think of everything and no matter how hard you try to police details behind the scene. You feel personally crushed, you appologize and do your best to make things right. In our busiest and best month, we also got our first down-ticked rating ruining our perfect Yelp Score, (though I am pretty sure if enough friends rate us well, that can be overcome). It has been so quirky. I have had people ask me why we charge so much for our beer, and why don't we offer fried food? Then the very next guy thanks me for the quality of our beer and our fresh ingedient, uniquely flavored meals. What a crazy roller coaster- highest of highs and lowest of lows. The failures make us determined to try harder, the successes make us determined to get more of the same. Another thing I have discovered is that there is a zone that you access when the place is humming. There is an energy of souls that when combined create a warmth like none other- and this seems to happen every day. There is a joy in the experience of tasting a great craft beer that feels like you have been on this quest, crossing the desert and mountain in search of that unique brewing story. Then you found out a little-known and totally obscure mad beer scientist sent a keg of nirvana to the Aqualand Ale House and you just found it. You turn to the folk at the next stools and advise them to try it too and wait for the cheer as everyone smiles together in the joy of a shared moment of flavor discovery. We have tried to provide that in both our menu and our beer. I think from what the majority of you say, we are providing that for you. But fall is coming. The pace of business is slowing, and we wonder what is wise- where to go next. As we watch the snails pace come, we have determined that we will continue to try to drill into that very special, very unique brew. We may need to do more private "beer runs" to the brewers that as so small they don't have formal distribution. We will have to coax our distributors to give us the limited stock of the most unusual, and the best small batch stuff on their list. This weekend is our first experiment in testing our fall model. We will offer four Founder's Beers on tap on Saturday, in an atmosphere complimented by live music and food specials. Representatives for the Founder's brand will be on hand to answer your questions and tell their story. Most importantly, there is a super special, limited batch keg that will be tapped- the only one of it's kind in the entire north woods region. It is our hope that each weekend this fall and winter we can do the same- something special, something unique that will be an experience to share together. I have a feeling that we will become a micro- society in Boulder Junction this fall. A support group, a gathering of friends united to celebrate the little guys, the artisans, the craftsmen of food and beverage. We are working through the plans for a special addition to our kitchen. Already purchased, the wood-fired oven that we have been storing all summer is ready to be installed before the snow flies. We have set a goal of have this cooking option for new menu items consisting of hot, hearty winter fare to satisfy the local and visiting cold, lonely, hungry and thirsty. Our fireplace will be lit for the first time Labor Day weekend- our beer garden work will begin as well and though we don't expect this to be fully constructed until next summer, we hope to add a gas fired open flame fire pit this fall and we expect to have some special outdoor winter events as well. There are all those great winter beers to be tried as we don our flannels, Stormy Kromer hats and Joan of Ark sorrels. We just found a groove and now we are finding out it is time to switch speeds. It is our goal to help you stop and enjoy the slower journey with us- here's to quieter, deeper days, more extremes of hot and cold, dark and light, and most importantly, here's to friends who will be on the journey with us!

Day Dreaming...

One of the most interesting things about starting the Aqualand Ale House is seeing the differences in who we thought we would be and who we are becoming.
We thought that we would draw a craft beer enthusiast that may want to have some supper while they enjoy a brew.  Thanks to Chef John and his kitchen staff, we have instead become a destination for a great fresh ingredients meal also.  We are finding that our customer enjoys a great atmosphere, thanks to the architecture of the original building and the tweaking of the interior that my training and experience in my other work has given me the ability to pull together. I think artisan craft and microbrew all come to mind when describing us, but we have become so much more than that. 

I think this is a double edged sword.  While we love the reputation that we are quickly gaining with foodies, we don't want to lose sight of the core message that the best of the craft beers can be sampled on a daily basis- on temperature and fresh.  We want to make the art of craft and the message of the little guy central to an experiential sampling of great flavors.

As we complete our first year at high season, we are already day dreaming about what comes next.  We know for sure there will be a beer garden by the time we open in the spring-  exactly what that means is in process, but we have plans....We designed our model around a specialty oven, but ran out of time to expedite the project of building it in.  This too will be a focus during the quieter season of fall.

Beyond that, we are playing the, "Where do we see ourselves in 5 years" game.  We have always set goals as a couple, as a family and now as small business owners, it only makes sense to evaluate our goals in the same way.  The rules to this process are, 1. Express your deepest day dreams-  nothing is off the table; 2. Throw out lots of ideas, the notion here is that you are looking for possibilities, not limiting anything- including expectations. 3. Listen well to each other regardless of how ridiculous the other's ideas may sound at first blush- I cannot tell you how often my husband's hair-brained ideas have been exactly where we have found our path leading. 4. Close your eyes and imagine a day in that life then decide how that feels vs. how another five year away life feels. 5. Write everything down and say a prayer. Step away for a while and then come back and discuss any new thoughts that have come to you in to exercise of processing all the ideas just thrown around. 
6. Re-visit and break the same process down in a 3 year span, then a 1 year span.
7. Write one year actions that move in the directions of the 3 and 5 year goals, recognizing that you cannot move up the clock, but you can move firmly in a specific direction.

We love finding our written lists from the past years.  It gives us a chance to look back and see where we thought we were going vs. where we actually went.

The Aqualand Ale House is a baby, but we are day dreaming already about where we will be going next. 

Keep watching and stay tuned.  One thing we don't do is settle. Another thing we do not know is how to stop moving forward. Step one has been so great, so many people have offered helpful suggestions and ideas on things we can add to enhance the experience further.  We know this is because everyone wants us to succeed. It has been a great first season and we look forward to a great next step in the adventure.

Thanks All! 

Free-Range Husband

Recently, one of my best pals from high school stopped by the ale house.  We had re-connected on facebook and had caught up on lots of family history via this social media opportunity.  But of all the things I had posted, Mac remembered me referring to my husband as a “free-range” husband as my stand-out comment.  He shook my husband’s hand and told us he wants to be a free-range husband too.

Just last weekend, my husband explained to a group of our friends that he finds playing it safe to be a false goal.  Risk and reward go hand in hand.   His philosophy and faith challenge him to stretch us and always be ready to be challenged.  Opening the Aqualand Ale House in northern Wisconsin is an extreme risk.

I wonder sometimes if he had known then what he knows now, if he would change anything.  This endeavor has certainly been the most challenging thing we have ever done, to include two years of separation while he risked all in a war zone thousands of miles away.  I have hinted in previous blogs that there are many stories we could tell.  Let me just say as I give you a glimpse- we are now VERY stretchy!

What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger right?  Well, we are also particularly strong now.  The power has gone out four times, always when we were open and serving- the issues everything from a lighting strike to stressing the capacity during hot humid and peak service times.  The septic had to be upgraded immediately rather than staging our upgrades the way we had discussed with the state. Several key pieces of kitchen equipment have leaked, broken down or been non-functioning.   Thank goodness the power was already out the night the big brown bat found his way in an open doorway….Mr. Military is not so good with bats, so I grabbed the broom and our bartender’s dad and I helped him find his way back outside.  Our credit cards are run via internet.  Well, every time the power goes out, the server has to be re-set, not an easy task and the first two times we didn’t recognize the issue until it was time to help someone pay their bill.  It was one of the many moments we were crying for the help of our techno-sons. 

Having never scheduled staff, we did not initially realize that this would truly be the most challenging weekly task.  Many weeks I would be left feeling that in trying to make everyone ok, no one was ok.  Everyone’s needs and life schedules are a puzzle, and since most of our staff work part time, they all have other job or jobs to work around as well.  I will say this- I am very impressed with the enterprising attitude of our college and high school workers.  No one can accuse our young adults of being lazy that’s for sure!

I entitled this post Free- Range husband.  And this is what I want to close with.  My husband comes from  a modest, hardworking ,faith-based south western Wisconsin agricultural family.  He has always shared the story of his very first visit to Boulder Jct as a journey into a fantasy kingdom.  The icing on his cake during that first visit was the newborn fawn in my parent’s kitchen as was so often the case in our zoo family home.

He never knew my paternal grandfather, who passed away when I was a teenager, but he has admired the courage and tenacity and slight craziness of my family’s story.  For him, to be able to celebrate and pay homage to Aqualand’s history as part of our new venture means absolutely everything.  His respect for my family and their courage is evident in everything he hopes to emulate.  I love my husband so and love him more than ever for loving Boulder Jct as much as I do. 

In a piece I once wrote about my husband’s office guy career prior to his deployments overseas, I referred to his office/officer life as “death by cubicle”.  The chaotic, messy and challenging life of a small business owner suits his free ranging nature so much better.

We are risking everything, trusting God and flinging our arms wide.  No matter what happens, we will never be accused of being safe or boring.  People ask if we will ever brew our own beer.  I have to tell you, I see that crazy, rogue-elemental glint in my husband’s eye as he says, “not yet”, and know that we are not done stretching yet…and as I shiver a little in fear I find myself also wondering if Mac wants to become a brewmaster?!