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.