If I invited you to come with me to the "most attended public art event on the planet," where do you suppose we'd go? Paris, perhaps? New York? Some quaint California town? What if I told you that the event takes place here in West Michigan? It's called ArtPrize, and it draws some 400,000 visitors to Grand Rapids over a nineteen-day period in early autumn. Unless you've experienced ArtPrize first-hand, grasping its scope, scale and concept can be mind-warping. When I try explaining it to out-of-towners who've never attended, they grope for comparisons. "So it's a big art fair, like Ann Arbor's," they venture. No, it's not like that. "So it's some kind of festival of the arts, with performances, exhibits and activities?" No, Grand Rapids has one of those in the spring, but that's not ArtPrize. Maybe this will help. In a recent conversation, some of my hiking friends were comparing notes on their visits to this year's ArtPrize. Peg, still euphoric over her day-long excursion, said, "There are no carnival rides, there's nothing to buy, yet it feels like a festival." Anita added in an almost reverent tone: "And all these people come, just to look at art!" Still not getting it? Let's try some facts and figures. ArtPrize is an international art exhibit and competition that takes place in 170 locations—from museums and galleries to bars, bridges, laundromats and auto body shops—over a three square mile downtown area. The event is free to the public, who can vote for their favorites using mobile devices and the ArtPrize web page. Cash prizes, half of which are decided by public vote and half by a jury of art experts, total $500,000. Any artist can enter, and any space in the district can be a venue. "It’s unorthodox, highly disruptive, and undeniably intriguing to the art world and the public alike," the ArtPrize web site asserts. What intrigues me most are the stated objectives of celebrating artists who take risks and promoting "examination of opinions, values and beliefs, encouraging all participants to step outside of their comfort zones." As Ray and I toured this year's ArtPrize--the eighth annual--with our friend Emily, we encountered works that made us stop and stare and others that made us stop and think. Some brought us close to tears; some were just plain fun. One moving display featured life-sized masks made by people with brain injuries, along with each artist's personal story. Just down that hall from that collection was "The Butterfly Effect," an installation of 1,234 handmade bronze Monarch butterflies. Artists Bryce Pettit and Allison Leigh Smith created the work to call attention to the plight of Monarchs, whose numbers have dropped dramatically over the past 20 years. After wandering outside and crossing a bridge to the other side of the Grand River (encountering a hula-hooping guitar player on the way), we came upon an assortment of sculptures that looked whimsical at first glance. But the creatures artist Justin La Doux crafted from recycled materials peered at us from cages, making a statement about the cruelties of the illegal pet trade. In another area, we found a crowd gathered around Loren Naji's "Emoh" sculpture/time capsule and temporary home. Constructed from debris salvaged from abandoned Michigan and Ohio homes, Emoh (Home, spelled backwards) represents wastefulness and the irony of homelessness in cities riddled with vacant houses. During ArtPrize, Naji lived in the eight-foot-diameter orb. Afterward, he planned to embark on a multi-city tour, collecting letters and discarded items from visitors at each stop. At the end of the tour, Emoh will become a time capsule, with those collected objects and writings stored inside for ten years until the capsule is opened on Earth Day 2026. Another ambitious—but more light-hearted—undertaking was showcased down the street from Emoh. Grand Haven illustrator Aaron Zenz and his six children collected 1000 rocks in different shapes and sizes and painted faces (or facial features) on each one. The rocks were painted in matching pairs, with one member of each pair displayed outside the Grand Rapids Children's Museum, where we saw them, and the other 500 hidden around town for people to find, photograph and post on social media. (Read more about the Zenz family's project, "Rock Around" in this MLive article.) We didn't look for rocks, but we did go on our own treasure hunt, searching for work by Newaygo-area artists we know. Eric LeMire's "Hexagonaria Percarinata" was easy to spot in the vestibule of a downtown pub. Eric used multiple layers of acrylic and poly resin to simulate the patterns of Michigan's state rock, the Petoskey stone, on a seated figure, a piece he hopes will stimulate interest in Michigan's "unique and rather exotic geological history and our human relationship with it" And we found Kim Froese's "Bee the Queen" holding court in First Congregational Church. Kim uses bald-faced hornets' nests in her art, and this piece celebrates the role of females (insect and human) in home and family. Kim's not the only artist who makes use of unconventional materials. This year we saw works of art created with aluminum foil, sand, duct tape and other surprising media. ArtPrize is over now, but we still have plenty of reminders of the place of art in our lives One upcoming event, in particular, highlights the impact artists can have on the community. "Leaving a Legacy of Art: The Jansma Collection," celebrates the lives of longtime Fremont residents Ray and Phyllis Jansma, who had a profound influence on Newaygo County's cultural scene. Phyllis was a musician and music teacher, Ray an architectural designer and artist who painted, sculpted and carved wood. As a tribute to Ray and Phyllis, their family is offering some of Ray's artwork for sale, with a portion of the proceeds to benefit Newaygo County Council for the Arts-Artsplace. The sale takes place Saturday, October 29 from 10 am to 1 p.m. at the Dogwood Center Black Box, 4734 S. Campus Court, Fremont. Admission is free, and light refreshments will be served. Entertainment will be provided by members of the Newaygo County Piano Teachers Association, of which Phyllis was a member for years. I'm looking forward to the event, and I'll tell you all about it in a future post. But for now, tell me something. Where do you go to see art that inspires, elevates and even challenges you to step outside your comfort zone?
10 Comments
"Are you excited to be going home?" Ray asked. I had to stop and think for a moment about how to answer. We were nearing my hometown in Oklahoma, and while I looked forward to the time we'd spend there, it was the word "home" that tripped me up. I left that town nearly fifty years ago; it's been a long time since I've thought of it as home. My parents are long dead. The house I grew up in has passed through many owners. Homes and lawns have replaced the woods and orchard where I once played. And yet Stillwater, Oklahoma, the place where my story began, is still something to me. During the four days we spent there recently, I kept returning in my mind to Ray's question, thinking about what "home" does mean to me, where my home is—after living in nine cities or towns in five states and one territory—and where my town of origin fits into the picture. The questions were even more sharply drawn, because we'd just visited another town I once called home: Lawrence, Kansas, where I lived for six years while attending graduate school. Though I knew at the time Lawrence wouldn't be my permanent home, I literally put down roots, planting a big garden and filling my backyard and window boxes with flowers. From my pretty little Cape Cod on a leafy street, I could walk to campus and to the Co-op to buy tempeh-burgers and cheese. I got to know my neighbors—a mix of students, working couples and a trio of elder women who spent summer evenings sitting in lawn chairs on Mrs. Wingert's driveway, discussing the events of the day and of their long lives. While classes, research and teaching consumed most of my days, my cohorts and I found plenty of time for concerts, art exhibits, midnight movies, two-stepping and Western swing at a local dance hall, and some of the most imaginative and all-out fun parties I've ever been to. I threw parties, too, and cooked impromptu dinners for friends. Life in Lawrence was rich, I was connected to a community and busy with fulfilling work and play. I felt at home. So when Ray and I passed through the town on our way to Oklahoma last month, I was excited about that homecoming, having been back only once or twice since I moved away thirty years ago. It didn't take long, though, for me to realize the Lawrence of today is not the place where my memories reside, even though some of my old haunts are unchanged or at least recognizable. The unique combination of people, places and pastimes that once made Lawrence feel like my home has morphed into something equally interesting and appealing but foreign to me. What, then, of my hometown Stillwater, which certainly has changed at least as much in forty-seven years as Lawrence has in thirty-three? Would I find anything there that spoke to me of home and belonging? On the way into town, Ray asked if I wanted to drive by my family's old house. I didn't—not yet. I knew from previous visits that the split-level my parents meticulously decorated and cared for had fallen into disrepair, the brick retaining walls crumbling, the flower beds filled with weeds. Seeing it would only remind me of what is no more, not what remains. So we drove on. Passing through town, I caught glimpses of memory-triggering landmarks: a rock stairway I used to climb on my walk home from school, the hill where my brother took me sledding. Hints of the person I used to be and the people and events that shaped me. Still, though, no sense of being home. Then, a few days into our stay, we visited my cousin Margaret and her husband Joe at their home overlooking Boomer Lake. Built by Margaret's parents—my Aunt Opal and Uncle A.J.—in 1961, it's the house where my cousins spent their teen years and our families shared special occasions and everyday get-togethers. As I toured the house with Margaret, I quickly realized it's no mere storehouse of remnants from the distant past. Yes, there are family heirlooms and framed pictures of grandparents and parents, but there are also photos of Margaret and Joe's children and grandchildren and a cozy nook where Margaret now works on her writing projects. Margaret and Joe's home is a vital, evolving place that not only reflects their past, but also supports the life they're living now. Seeing that, I began to think differently about my hometown, a train of thought that continued as we left their house and went to dinner at a trendy restaurant in what was once the department store where I bought my first bra. The old Katz store is barely recognizable now, and after spending an enjoyable evening talking writing with Margaret over spinach salads, I didn't wish it any other way. My hometown doesn't need to stay the same, I concluded. It just needs to contain bits and pieces to remind me of its place in my history. And if it I can enjoy and appreciate it for what it's become, just as I appreciate family members and old friends as they are now, my connection to it deepens. My musings on home took another turn later that week, when I realized the place in Stillwater that feels most like home to me is a place I never lived. This dawned on me as we celebrated a young family member's birthday at Brentwood condominium complex, where my sister-in-law lives. The condo Joy lives in is the one my father bought when he downsized and lived in for the rest of his life. It's the place I came "home" to when I visited my dad in his later years, and the place I brought Ray to when he first visited Stillwater with me. After my dad died and my brother and sister-in-law moved into the condo, Brentwood became the center for family weddings, graduation parties, birthday and holiday celebrations. It's the place Ray chose for our wedding nineteen years ago. When we returned from our travels, I thought again about Ray's question—about how it felt to visit Stillwater and how it felt to come back to our home in the woods, to the community where we feel connected and content, where we're making memories and living fulfilling lives. Finally, I had an answer. "Yes, it was good to go home, and now it's good to be home." And now, a question for you: How do you define home, and where do you feel most at home?
Now, with Ellie's passing, our circle feels broken. Ellie always reminded us that life is not static—everything changes, and part of our growth is learning to adapt to those changes. True words. But this is one change we were all unprepared for, and we're finding it hard to absorb. We can begin to heal by remembering Ellie and her lessons. In that spirit, I have invited everyone in the Monday class to share thoughts and images that evoke those memories. Interspersed among these remembrances, in italics, are parts of Ellie's obituary from the Grand Rapids Press. Thinking about Ellie, my extraordinary yoga teacher and friend. She fine-tuned us every time to do our own best yoga. Who would have thought she would have taught me to do a headstand when I was 50. She pushed us to do our best, and we grew and grew in our practice. It was very difficult to do a few poses this morning without breaking down completely but I absolutely know she would want me to continue and I will . . . -- Kathy Misak Ellie was a strong, spirited, creative, beautiful soul. . . as a child of the 60's, she followed her heart to the epicenter of culture, California, where she lived life to the fullest until the early 80's. Missing home and family, she returned to Michigan, where she met and married her husband, Michael Randazzo. Life’s gifts. There are times when a gift comes into your life—into all our lives. A very special gift was meeting Ellie and becoming part of her yoga group. Ellie, you had such a kind, caring way about you. You shared your knowledge and also your wisdom as you guided us in the intentions for the day, for our practice and for our lives. Your example and encouragement was inspiring: to reach for the highest goals. My life has been changed, and I am grateful for the gift of knowing you and learning from you. I will miss you. -- Eileen Kent Ellie, your passing reminds me of that country song, "How can I miss you if you won't go away?" I'm so aware of how, even though we haven't seen each other or talked in a while, you're with me constantly. Every birthday sun salutation we've done together at a distance, every time I lift a glass of sparkling wine, every time I waver in a balancing posture or an awkward conversation, you're there buoying me up. When did the teacher without become the teacher within? -- Debra Mason (former student, now living in Vermont) Making yoga part of my everyday thoughts is a gift that Ellie shared with me. I struggle with selecting a focus or "intention" and she gave us examples of how to include our lesson on poses as an all-encompassing thought for moving through the day. I continue to find that focus difficult to maintain but think of how she made it seem so natural to incorporate yoga and daily life. -- Ruth Hetherington From over 10 years of being in Ellie's peaceful presence nearly weekly, I remember . . . Monday morning, garden flowers, birds, incense, Ellie, friends, yoga, shavasana, peace, love. We were so happy when she started teaching yoga to our husbands. I can find no words to describe the ache in my heart and how much Ellie will be missed. -- Valerie Deur Crimson Yoga Who says yoga has to be cool, or blue, quiet, soft or mauve? The last time we had yoga class with Ellie, the Hydrangea bushes outside her studio towered, exploding white snowballs into the morning sun. And, the Bee Balm, stately, fragrant, on four foot stems, burst crimson, shaggy point stars. Commanding authority, as sure as Ellie’s poses, the potency of her voice, the guidance in her touch. Like the mastery of her garden, cultivating the strongest from her students. Her Warrior One pose unfolds, legs rooted in lunge. Heart open, her back arches in a crescent, arms extend toward the sky, bursting crimson stars and snowballs of white into the sun. -- Sally C. Kane Ellie delighted in her passion for friends, family, and animals. For those of us she has left behind, we begin a journey through the valley where there are far too many shadows. But with each pose and stretch that we do from now on, we understand anew that Ellie has left a considerable legacy of health, memories, and fellowship. She has in so many ways "passed it on." -- Nancy Waits I sat and wrote many wonderful memories and thoughts of Ellie but I kept coming back to a very simple thought: To have known Ellie was to have been in the presence of the best of humanity. -- Sandy VandenBerg How to find words that describe someone who has lovingly, patiently, and persistently challenged us to be the best we can be . . . Ellie has made such an impact on my life. . . From the early days at the Fly By Nite Gallery, when we drummed and played music, as well as marketing our art, to our group of strong women who practice yoga with serenity and power, Ellie has been the catalyst to hold us all together. . . She leaves us with such a challenge to carry on and share what we can with others the spirit she instilled in us. . . with a heart overflowing with love. -- Brenda Huckins Bonter Ellie was one of the most creative, loving people I know and will be missed immensely. -- Kendra McKimmy She had many pursuits; some of her favorites included: handcrafting jewelry, teaching yoga and meditation, appreciating and making music, creating a sanctuary for the many animals she lovingly cared for, and what a talent she had for cooking. I've known Ellie for many years through her gifts of animal acupressure and communication, essential oils, intuition and most recently my yoga teacher. Ellie's ability to read a person or animal's energy was invaluable. Her quiet demeanor would pack a powerful punch of information for healing and transformation. These last 2 years of being her yoga student were wonderful! I learned lessons every week on using all the senses to move the body with strength and mindfulness. Being confident in the power of the body's ability to move, I was able to do poses that I had never done before. Her encouraging support helped me build confidence in knowing my body's ability to move. Her legacy lives on in my heart. She is missed. -- Sue Schneider This poem was written by my friend, Jim Northrup. He and Ellie began to walk upon the Path of Souls within hours of each other. Perhaps they have become acquainted. -- Marsha Reeves End of the Beginning Someone said we begin to die the minute we're born. Death is a part of life. Who knows why the Creator thins the herd. Another old saying says we must all be prepared to give up those we love or die first. Take time to mourn. Take time to remember. Everything happens in cycles. The pain you feel was once balanced by someone's joy when that baby was born. The loss you feel today will be replaced by good long-lasting memories. Is there a message here? Yea, treat others like this is your last day above ground. -- James Northrup 1943-2016 When Ellie demonstrated a new, particularly challenging pose, we would all exchange dubious glances. She wants us to do THAT?? If she noticed our expressions, she pretended not to, and in her most enthusiastic tone of voice said, "So let's give it a go!" Somehow her zeal rallied us to try that impossible-looking thing, and maybe even succeed in doing it or something close to it. Now, Ellie, we're facing the enormous challenge of adjusting to life without you. We look at one another and wonder if we can do it. But for you, Ellie, we'll give it a go. -- Nan Pokerwinski In one's life journey, God brings people in and out of your life. The conversation started when Ellie entered my life with her unassuming presence, showing me how to connect my breath with movement. Through teaching me yoga she gave me the centering that I didn't even recognize that I needed. Breathe, set your intention and be still. She deepened not only my understanding of things in my life but also my level of gratitude. Many times, with my legs up the wall, waiting for fellow yogis to enter class, Ellie and I shared animated conversations which were just what I needed. She introduced me to a world that I was missing as we went to different yoga workshops over the years. She taught me how to honor my body, to minimize the inner critic, to detach from the things of this world and most of all to be present. Now that the conversation has ended, I will miss her greatly and her wise words; thank you Ellie for entering my life and making it richer, fuller and much calmer. Namaste. -- Karen Kuck Ellie was a bright spot in my world. She contributed in so many positive ways to my health, attitude and general well-being. She was a very special lady and will be remembered for a long, long time. -- Peggy Straathof A whole new, healing meaning for doing Sun Salutes: "When your heart is broken, when your heart has cracks in it, it lets the light in, it lets the Sun in." ~ Ellen DeGeneres Yoga With Ellie, A – Z. . . Alignment and Awareness of Asanas – proper posture practiced even when in line at the grocery store! Benefits of Breathing and Balance – Pranayama, Ujjayi and Boat all gently "go with the flow." Consistence of Core work – from cat/cow and down-facing dog to headstands. D…E…F…G…H…I…J…K…L…M…N…O…P…Q…R…S…T…U…V…W… eXercise – eXecuting a workout for Body, Mind and Soul. Yoga – a Union of a Sisterhood of Souls, who together will heal our broken Open Hearts. Zest of Zen – the peaceful relaxed essence of our friend and teacher, Ellie. She has taught us well… Namaste and Thank You, Ellie -- Diane Sack Cards given to Monday yoga sisters by Diane, with the Ellen DeGeneres quote written inside.
No matter how I feel when I wake up on a Monday morning, I'm always uplifted and ready to take on the world (or at least my small part of it) after that session of physical, spiritual and social activity. Now, I've found the perfect end-of-week bookend for my start-the-week routine: a Friday afternoon women's hiking club. It's a club in the loosest sense of the word—no dues, matching outfits, or other requirements—and that suits me fine. It's just a group of women who get together once a week to explore Newaygo County's trails and appreciate its natural assets. Avid outdoorswomen and longtime friends Peg Mercer and Mary Papes started the club several months ago, inspired by hiking and biking clubs in Arizona. "Mary and I were in awe of the opportunities they had created and felt like we could do the same in Newaygo County," says Peg, who traces her interest in outdoor activities to childhood, "living in the farm fields of Alpine Township, where we biked all over the neighborhood—to my grandma's house three miles away, to the local party store for penny candy—and walked long distances to friends' houses." Peg and Mary, who have also backpacked with a group of local women, invited friends and neighbors to join them on their Friday outings, and they encouraged those women to invite others. "It has been a heartfelt pleasure to meet so many active women right in our own area," says Peg. "I look forward to the friends who have yet to come in our pathways." From the outset, the idea was to make it easy for people to participate (or not), as schedules allow. On Thursdays, Peg and Mary send out texts and emails announcing where the hike will be, and anyone who's free can just show up ready to hike a route that one of the leaders has scouted in advance. Many of the hikes follow segments of the North Country Trail, a 4,600-mile path that extends from New York to North Dakota, with a swath that cuts through Michigan from the Ohio border in the south, upward through the Lower Peninsula, into the Upper Peninsula and across to the northern Wisconsin border. A long stretch of the trail crosses Newaygo County and is easily accessible at several points (including one that's minutes from my house!).
Some hikes include optional kayaking afterward, and women from the group have gotten together for bicycling on other days. I had read about hiking clubs and walking clubs in other parts of the country and always wanted to be part of one. So when my neighbor Sally told me about this club, I was excited to join. So far, I've been on six hikes, with groups ranging in size from four to thirteen. On every hike I've known at least one other person (several of the Monday yoga women are also Friday hiking women now), but I've also met a dozen strong, interesting women I hadn't known before. And because the group values the getting-to-know-you aspect at least as much as the getting-fit aspect, chatting is not only permitted, it's encouraged. (One particularly apt name suggested for the club is the "Walkie Talkies.") Every time we pause to stretch or take a breather, the pack reshuffles and conversation partners change. While walking through groves of pines and glades of ferns, I've been enlightened on everything from cake decorating to the origins of pickle ball to what to do if you meet a bear. Now, at the beginning of every week, I find myself wondering not only what challenging poses Ellie will lead us through and what we'll discuss at Hit the Road Joe, but also where the Friday hike will go, who I'll get to know better as we walk and talk and what I'll learn in the process. What ways have you found of combining favorite activities with friendship?
You'll hear no such comments in Brenda's class. Though she doesn't hesitate to offer advice, it's all done in a positive way, aimed at helping class members explore new methods and improve their skills. On the Thursday I visited, Brenda showed 11-year-old MaKenzie (daughter of Heidi and sister of Caden) how to use a variety of watercolor techniques, including resist and sgraffito. The class usually works in watercolors, but Brenda introduces other media when the occasion calls for it. "One day the clouds were beautiful, so we did a cloud study in pastels," she said. As Eileen labored over her lily painting, Maureen reminded her, "Every once in a while, look at it from far away to get a better sense of the values." Maureen, who also sells art supplies, uses the class to try out new materials like the embossed rice paper she was working with. When she had finished painting on it, she added torn paper "halos," symbolizing "all the angels in my life." Then she started a new piece, painting around bright smears she had made by smashing petunia flowers and leaves. Though Brenda doesn't play favorites, she couldn't help bragging on the work of one class member, Deb, whose flower painting was particularly vivid and free-flowing. Deb had painted years ago, before a stroke disabled her right arm—and her painting hand. Recently, she taught herself to draw and paint left-handed in a completely different style.
What new territory have you explored recently? What would you like to try? If you see a whole thing—it seems that it's always beautiful. Planets, lives . . . But up close a world's all dirt and rocks. And day to day, life's a hard job, you get tired, you lose the pattern. —Ursula K. Le Guin I could not have agreed more with that sentiment a couple of weeks ago. Life was feeling messy and overloaded with too many appointments, meetings and projects pulling me in different directions. I had definitely lost the pattern. I went for a walk to clear my mind, and as I walked, a voice in my head kept saying, Time out! I thought I was taking a time-out, but apparently a half-hour hike through the woods wasn't enough. I needed a getaway. Ray, too. He'd been feeling burdened with his own set of stressors. Yes, I realize we live in the kind of place people come to for a getaway. But no matter where you live, everyday life has a way of making your haven feel like a workplace, and the only way to hit reset—to find the pattern again—is to go away for a spell. Fortunately, Ray and I already had been planning (in the loosest sense of the word) a getaway for later that week. The idea was to pick a not-too-distant destination, head in that direction and follow our whims along the way. Our chosen destination: Bay City, Michigan. I know what you're thinking. Bay City? Why drive two hours east to a sleepy little town on a river when we've got Lake Michigan's splendid shoreline and charming beach towns just a Petoskey stone's throw away? But we've been to all those beaches and towns, some of them many times, and while we never tire of them, we know exactly what we'll find there. We'd never been to Bay City and had no idea what it had to offer except, according to a flyer I'd saved from somewhere, Michigan's largest antique mall. So we packed a bag and set off—a straight shot across mid-Michigan that ended at Bay City's Water Street. The street runs along the east side of the Saginaw River and boasts not only the acclaimed antique mall, but other shops, an arts center, and Bay City Motor Company, where you can buy a beautifully restored Corvette, Thunderbird or other classic ride if you happen to have a whole lot more cash than we were willing to part with. We whiled away the afternoon browsing in shops and late-lunching at Tavern 101. Then, as evening spangled the waterfront, we strolled along the river toward Wenonah Park, where we soon would get a glimpse of what may be Bay City's greatest asset. And I'm not talking about the park itself, though it's lovely. As we walked, we noticed a few bicyclists headed in the same direction. Then a few more . . .and more . . . and more. By the time we reached the park, it was full of cyclists—not the hardcore variety in tight jerseys and funny-looking shoes, but regular riders of all ages, all seemingly waiting for something to begin. That something, it turned out, was a group ride—the first of the season's weekly rides. As we watched a hundred or more riders take off en masse at the designated time, I was heartened by sight of so many people enjoying a fine evening together (and—let's be real here—most likely stopping for beer along the ride route). What a treasure, I thought, more valuable than anything for sale in that colossal antique shop! We found more evidence of Bay City's community spirit the next day, when we explored the Riverwalk on the west side of the river. Riverwalk got its start thirty years ago, when the Bay Area Community Foundation raised $1.5 million for its initial phase: a pier built over concrete abutments left from a 1911 railroad bridge, and the first part of the walkway that now stretches north to Bay City State Recreation Area. The walking/bike path—well-traveled on the day of our visit—passes through a twelve-acre arboretum that bears the name of the late Leopold Kantzler, a businessman and philanthropist who established a foundation in his will to enhance the community and support charitable programs for the people of Bay City. Small gardens dot the arboretum's rolling landscape. Businesses, community groups and individuals adopt plots, choosing their sites and designing, planting and tending their gardens year round. In one garden, we spotted a plaque inscribed with this quote from Margaret Mead (a girlhood idol since my days in Samoa, by the way): Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed it's the only thing that ever has. I can't vouch for the whole world, but thoughtful, committed citizens surely have made a difference in Bay City's riverfront. The arboretum and gardens occupy the spot where a world-class shipyard once stood. Workers built and repaired wooden vessels at the dry dock until the early 1930s, when steel ships made their wooden counterparts obsolete. The dry dock slip and the rudder of the steamship Sacramento are preserved in the park as reminders of Bay City's shipbuilding heritage. Those aren't the only links to the past. Along the Riverwalk are historic buildings with signs telling their stories--more evidence of a community working together to honor the past while giving new life to a once forsaken area. As we walked, I felt connection and gratitude toward the people of Bay City who created the place that was bringing me so much peace. On the drive back to Newaygo, I felt renewed, lighter. Home, when we arrived, felt like a haven again. Even as I plunged back into projects, I didn't see drudgery and mess any more. I saw possibilities. And yes, a trace of the pattern I'd lost. When do you feel like you're losing the pattern? What do you do to get it back?
Skies were dreary and drippy, but last Saturday and Sunday were fine days in Fairyland (also known as Camp Newaygo), as droves of visitors wandered through woods and wetlands in search of fairy houses. The occasion was the camp's Enchanted Forest event, two afternoons of fun and fundraising to support improvements to the camp's Foster Arts and Crafts Lodge. Generations of campers have explored painting, pottery, dark room photography, nature crafts, jewelry making, tie dye design, wood burning and other activities in that building. But the crafts lodge, built in 1949, is no longer adequate for the camp's growing number of campers and programs.
Camp staff and volunteers hid the fairy houses, gnome homes, pixie palaces and elf abodes in the woods for visitors of all ages to discover (with the help of trail maps, helpful guides and a display showing photos of all the houses to be found). Ray and I had an edge, having helped hide some of the houses Saturday morning. But even we had to look closely to spot some of them. And once guests began arriving—many sporting fairy wings and other whimsical garb—we had fun watching them search and then react with delight when they spied a tiny house nestled in the leaves or in the hollow of a tree stump.
Some fledgling fairies made wands or gnome hats at the crafts station and enjoyed a tea party of punch and cookies. Other visitors browsed the garden plants and accessories offered for sale by local shops. Over the two days, a total of 627 visitors toured the Enchanted Forest. "We were ecstatic about the positive responses we got about the event on social media, and we were so happy with the turnout," said Christa Smalligan, Director of Events and Operations. "It was wonderful to see families and friends outside exploring and enjoying themselves in nature." Wish you'd been there? Or wish you could visit again? Then come along for a walk through the pictures below or a virtual stroll with WOTV4's Maranda. If a fanciful creation catches your eye, drop by eBay to bid on one or more of the fairy houses. The auction runs until 11 a.m., Monday, May 9, and proceeds go to the Foster Arts and Crafts Lodge renovation project. The houses will also be on display at Camp Newaygo, 5333 Centerline Rd., Newaygo, during the Mother's Day Brunch, Sunday, May 8. Between now and then, the public is welcome to view them during business hours, Monday-Friday 8am-5pm. Ready for that walk in the woods? Let's go! THE END
"The demand for twigs, stones, clay and moss is through the (tiny) roof," said Gnarly Gnome, manager of building materials. "Creativity is at an all-time high." Indeed, our inquisitive, roving sprites have spotted activity throughout Newaygo County and beyond. Here are some of their surveillance photos and reports: Over on the banks of the Little Muskegon River, fairy godmothers Brenda Huckins Bonter and Maureen Roslanic have been working some powerful magic with clay and imagination. Croton resident Valerie Deur, who's rumored to be part pixie, has transformed a tree stump into a palace for tiny folk of all sorts. Meanwhile, Diane "Diaphanous Di" Sack plans to take stump transformation to new heights with a multistory creation in this stump. One evening, our sprites flew all the way down to Ada, where a fairy house-making party was in progress at Heather Lane Pottery. The intrepid imps returned with photos of these enchanting dwellings created by the group, which includes Lisa Boerema, Mary Beth Cooper, Dorrie Crago, Cortney Horan, Linda Kilmer, Janet Krueger, Terri Oostendorp, and Sue Monterusso. Even my own home was invaded by those snoopy sylphs, who just couldn't stand the suspense of waiting to see what Ray has been up to in his workshop. They captured these pictures of the process and end result. Feeling inspired? It's not too late to craft your own fairy house. You have until April 1 to finish your creation and deliver it to Camp Newaygo. So summon your muse, fire up the glue gun and get busy!
Sherlock Holmes gave me a cunning look (you can't put anything over on that guy); Tinkerbell sidled past me, angling her wings so as not to poke me in the eye; and I found Waldo—he was behind the giraffe. No, I wasn't on a flight of fantasy, I was at Authorpalooza, a showcase for local, regional (and beyond) authors in nearby Big Rapids. The event was part of Festival of the Arts, a month-long, annual celebration that offers an eclectic mix of performances, participatory projects and workshops—from welding to cupcake decorating, from Shakespeare to stand-up comedy, and a whole lot in between. As Alice Bandstra, president of the Mecosta County nonprofit arts organization Artworks, describes it: "We build community and memories through the Festival, while we are expressing our creativity and having fun." That's exactly the point of Authorpalooza: creativity, community and fun. It's a chance for authors to meet and learn from one another and for readers to connect with writers and even rub elbows (or wing tips) with characters from favorite books. The costumed characters, new to the festival this year, were members of the Ferris State University honorary theatre fraternity, and let me tell you, they were convincing. I followed Little Red Riding Hood around for half an hour, hoping she'd mistake me for Grandma and share some goodies. The real reason I was there, though, was to support my author friends, discover new authors and—let's face it—feed my dream of someday being one of those published authors with a table full of books to sign. I started at the table of Wendy Nystrom, a children's book author who spent two years in Iceland, where her fantasy stories are set. I met Wendy through Second Monday Writers Group, which meets monthly at Artworks, and I admire her imagination and energy. Much of that energy has gone into organizing or co-organizing Authorpalooza events for the past three years. The book fair started as a project of the Friends of Big Rapids Community Library, featuring twenty-five authors, and grew from there. This year's event, the first to be part of Festival of the Arts, was held in space donated by The Gate Entertainment Center. If you think an entertainment megaplex with an 18-lane bowling center, game arcade and sports bar is an unusual venue for a book fair, you're not the only one. I wondered about the fit myself. But Authorpalooza was set up in a quiet, corner room that felt worlds away from the crash of bowling pins. Wendy recruited authors through a writing events page she administers on Facebook. "I could have had fifty or sixty, but I only had space for forty," she told me. (Click here for a list of this year's Authorpalooza authors.) One of those authors was Big Rapids author Betty Stolarek, who writes fiction as Rebecca Thaddeus. Betty recently retired from a thirty-eight year career teaching writing, and now she and Phillip Sterling, a poet and writer of fiction and nonfiction, offer writing retreats at Three Ponds Farm, Betty's roomy and writing-friendly home on twenty acres on the outskirts of Big Rapids. I've attended two of those retreats and come away each time with fresh insights into my work and writing in general. When we chatted at Authorpalooza, Betty filled me in on plans for the next workshop and shared the exciting news that her novel One Amber Bead, a family saga that takes place in Poland and the United States, is being translated into Polish. Next, I stopped to talk with Susan Stec, a head-spinningly prolific author of paranormal fiction and another Second Monday Writers friend. Susan, who lives with her "perfectly normal" husband and three "also normal" King Charles spaniels on 50 acres of woods, fields and streams in Newaygo County, describes herself this way on her website: I've always been weird, even as a child—might've been influenced by all those fairies and trolls living around Grandma's house. Could've been because my mother had dreams that came true, and Grandma read tarot cards. I don't know, but I don't think it's because I'm two different people (my family loves them both) and one of us talks to ghosts. Yeah. That's Susan, all right. But there's nothing weird about her reasons for participating in Authorpalooza. "At every signing event I have participated in, there is at least one young writer who wants to know how I got where I am. I love sharing this knowledge and giving encouragement to others, hoping they develop an uncontrollable passion for building their own worlds to share with others," she says. One budding writer in particular caught Wendy's attention this year. "This teenage boy came all the way from Hastings with his grandma. He spent two hours walking around and talking to every author, and he had a folder and took notes." Wendy, Susan and Betty also get a kick out of meeting their readers face to face, exchanging tips with other authors and raising the visibility of writing within the community. "I've always thought that reading and writing were collaborative functions," says Betty. "From other authors I've gotten ideas on marketing and spreading the word about my writing. I also use opportunities like Authorpalooza to market my writers' retreats, so that's a way to inspire others." I think what they're all saying is, there's always more to learn, there's always someone you can learn from, and there's always someone who can learn from you. I'm sure that's as true in other endeavors as it is in writing. How does your community encourage interactions among people who are passionate about the arts? In high school, it was the parking lot of Griff's Burger Bar. In college, the Starlight Terrace, a terrazzo-floored, sky-lit space filled with café tables on the student union's fourth floor. In my mid- to late-twenties, it was a homey Northern California bar called Jambalaya that hosted poetry readings and plays, as well as the house band's rollicking music on weekends. I remember these places not so much for their physical features (though I can still picture Jambalaya's homemade tablecloths and the compass design in the center of the Starlight Terrace floor) as for their feelings they evoked. Each place, in its time, was the place to go and find a sense of belonging. You could always count on running into at least one person you knew, but more often, a whole crowd of friendly faces. And because these were all public gathering spots, there was also the chance of meeting someone new and exciting. When I moved with my parents to American Samoa for a year in my mid-teens, I wondered if any such place existed for kids my age to connect. The driving age was eighteen, and even if we younger teens had been allowed to drive, there were no burger joints with parking lots where kids could hang out. But, as I discovered within a week of my arrival, there was the tennis court. By day, it was nothing but a rectangle of pitted concrete surrounded by rusty chain-link fencing, but every evening, it was the place to make the scene and socialize. Here's how I describe that social scene in my unpublished memoir, Mango Rash: Survival Lessons in the Land of Frangipani and Fanta: Girls in Bermuda shorts and summer tops clustered together, alternately whispering and shrieking, glancing over their shoulders at the older boys, who hung back in the shadows, cigarettes dangling from their lips. A couple of younger kids, not yet in their teens, rode Sting-Ray bikes in figure-eights, slicing through the crowd like swift fish through a reef. A Samoan boy shinnied up a palm tree and threw down coconuts; someone cleaved off the tops and passed around the unhusked nuts for drinking. Not exactly lime Dr. Pepper, but I'd give it a try. The night had the feel of a midsummer evening in the small-town America of my childhood, where all the neighborhood kids drifted out of their houses after supper for a game of Kick the Can. Without cars or other signs of status, we weren't adolescents posing as adults; we were just a bunch of big kids who'd come out to play under street lights and stars. That tennis court was where I met the motorcycle-riding, cigarette-smoking bad boy who would be my romantic interest (and my father's bane) for most of my stay on the island. Now, many decades later, I'm not looking for romance when I head to a gathering place; I'm just looking for conversation and connection. Some days, not even that. Some days, it's enough to sit quietly, tapping on a laptop or writing in a notebook, in a cozy, familiar place where others come together. Often, the place my friends, neighbors and I choose is Hit the Road Joe Coffee Café, a comfy eatery five minutes from my house. Local artists' ceramics, jewelry and metal sculptures (all for sale) decorate the walls, and more than seventy species of birds have been spotted at the feeders outside the windows. On Monday mornings, after class at nearby Woodland Yoga, a group of ten, fifteen, or more women (including me) crowds around the big, corner table and shares tidbits about local goings-on, recently-read books, herbal remedies, Netflix movies, and the proper undergarments to wear beneath clingy knits. On Tuesday mornings, the men's yoga class—a smaller and less rambunctious group—holds court after their hour of down-dogging, Warrior II-ing and Savasana. Once a month, the café owner's eldest daughter Tracy Murrell, an award-winning chef, stokes her creative fires to produce a six-course dinner. At other times, the café hosts readings, talks and films on topics ranging from beekeeping to human trafficking. In winter, there are weekly domino games and twice-a-month euchre parties. Hit the Road Joe is the hub of our little community, but that didn't just happen by chance. Owner Linda Cudworth and her sister Kendra McKimmy, a mixed-media artist whose wares are displayed there, filled me in on the story during a recent post-breakfast chat. The sisters' commitment to community-building began nearly 20 years ago, when both women were part of a collective that operated an art gallery in downtown Newaygo. Until then, "there were all these kind of freaky people living out in the middle of the woods, but we didn't know each other," says Kendra. The gallery and an adjacent coffee shop owned by graphic designer Pat Brissette drew creative types, and connections grew. Eventually, Linda, who worked at Pat's coffee shop, began to dream of owning her own café closer to home. "She wanted to be able to walk to work," Kendra explains. Linda envisioned an old, funky space, where customers would feel at home. When she couldn't find anything that quite fit the vision, Linda, her husband Chris, Kendra and a contractor built Hit the Road Joe next door to the farmhouse where Linda and Chris lived at the time, and they proceeded to funk-ify it with a tin ceiling, counter, tables, chairs and anything else they could glean from a Grand Rapids bar that was being demolished. With an emphasis on fresh, local food, Hit the Road Joe soon attracted customers, but it was Linda's outgoing nature that kept them coming back. I remember the first time Ray and I visited the café, soon after we bought our house down the road. We knew hardly anyone in the area and didn't know how locals felt about outsiders, so we were timid about venturing into what looked like a hangout for local folk. Would we be welcomed or met with hostile glares? We needn't have worried. Not only was our waitress friendly, but before we'd finished our coffee, Linda emerged from the tiny kitchen, wearing something tie-dyed I'm sure, and made her way to our table to get acquainted. From then on, she always remembered not only our names, but other details about us and our lives, as well as our drink orders and food preferences. Linda never has had qualms about using the restaurant as a forum for discussions of controversial issues, such as proposed developments and the pumping of water for bottling from a local spring. "She has a commitment to these kinds of things," says Kendra. "Maybe it's not always the best business decision, but she has stuck by it." Ultimately, some people on opposing sides of the issues have become loyal customers, not necessarily won over to a different viewpoint, but won over by Linda. Nowadays, you may not always see Linda when you visit Hit the Road Joe. Her youngest daughter Keeva Filipek has taken over managing the restaurant, and Tracy and middle daughter Vanessa Farrel work there every other weekend. Still, the café that many customers refer to as "Linda's" has the welcoming feel she fostered over the years.
Where do you feel welcome? I'd love to hear about your favorite hangouts, recent or remembered, and what makes them special to you. |
Written from the heart,
from the heart of the woods Read the introduction to HeartWood here.
Available now!Author
Nan Sanders Pokerwinski, a former journalist, writes memoir and personal essays, makes collages and likes to play outside. She lives in West Michigan with her husband, Ray. Archives
April 2022
Categories
All
|