If it’s March, Holt and Balcom Logging Camp Museum in Lakewood is preparing for another year. As director, I’ll be meeting with curator Bob Brown and camp manager Dave Zuleger to plan our 2025 season, which includes field trips where hundreds of area fourth graders come for a hands-on experience in Wisconsin logging history. Many return with their families for our Summer Saturday tours which are open to the public.
Holt and Balcom is a historic treasure. Unfortunately, it seems to also be one of the area’s best kept secrets. While people from almost every state and several foreign countries have visited, lots of folks who’ve lived in the area their entire lives have never been inside. Too bad. They’re missing something really special.
Truth be told, when Jon and I moved to Townsend, we were among the uninformed. Then our neighbor, Lee Stehula, was elected chairman of the McCaslin Lions Club Logging Camp Committee. At the time, the Lions owned and operated the camp. When Lee asked Jon to help with the school tours, he agreed but was concerned that he had limited experience in logging camp history and even less in working with kids.
I was glad that I encouraged Jon to go, because when he got home, he said it was way more fun than he expected. He kept volunteering and became a popular guide with a wealth of acquired knowledge. One day when they were short on staff, he suggested I tag along. I was immediately smitten and fell head over heels in love with the camp. That surprised me; I’m from Dairy Cow Country, not White Pine Land.
That turned out to be the first day of a rest-of-my-life adventure. I started checking out books on the history of logging, which led to imagining what life was like in northern Oconto County back then. I did extensive in-depth research, personal interviews and spent a decade documenting the history of Townsend.
I began having recurrent dreams in which I starred as a lumberjack’s sassy saloon lady. A totally unexpected outcome of that was writing and producing role-plays in which I impersonated Lucy Holt, plus five Red Light Saloon Musical Comedies where those saloon girl dreams came to life on stage.
I clearly remember the evening Jon ran into the then-logging camp manager, Norb Langer, at Sunset Resort. He said Norb wanted me to call him. When I did, Norb asked if I could send an article to local newspapers explaining that the camp’s very existence was in danger. The Lions had lost interest and sold it back to the Oconto County Historical Society for $1. He was horrified that there was talk it would be dismantled, transported and reassembled in Laona.
Amazing what one simple little, “Sure, I can do that,” can lead to, isn’t it? Yet here I am, beginning my third decade as Holt and Balcom Logging Camp director.
Now if you’ve spent any time in the Northwoods, you know there are still a few logging camps around, though the vast majority were demolished, burned down or rotted away. If you’ve never visited Camp Five in Laona, the Logging Museum in Wabeno or the Homesteader’s Cabin in Mountain, put them on your to-do list and just go already. But please start at Holt and Balcom.
Why? People seem to put special value on whatever ends in est – youngest, smartest, finest, highest, strongest, prettiest – you get the picture. The overarching importance of Holt and Balcom is that it is the oldest logging camp in America sitting on the exact spot where it was built in 1881. As is fitting, it is an unsurpassed representation of lumberjack life in a late 19th to early 20th century logging camp.
In 2005, I stepped up to lead an effort to raise money to save the camp, which was basically disintegrating. Then the recession hit, and fundraising got incredibly tough. There were times I wanted to give up. Jon would say, “I wonder what camp will now claim to be the oldest?” My response was to get back to work.
If I’d known then what I know now, there’s a good chance I would not have raised my hand to help. Once I commit, I’m all in. Jon says I’m too stubborn to quit. He’s right again, and I’m sick of it. All kidding aside, it’s my exasperatingly competitive streak that does me in, overruling all latent defeatist tendencies. Sure, I volunteered in blissful ignorance, thinking it wouldn’t take much time. Wrong. It’s been decades, and I’m still deeply committed. As long as the museum’s still there, and I’m still here, I’ll keep working to get the job done.
Kathleen Marsh is a lifelong educator, writer, and community advocate. She has published eight books, four on the history of Townsend, where she and husband Jon are happily retired on the beautiful Townsend Flowage.
