As is the case with many of us lucky enough to be retired up north, I’ve become an early riser. My reward is seeing glorious sunrises and enjoying the company of critters that visit at daylight. I savor the solitude. It’s a perfect time to write, prepare for events on my calendar and catch up on paperwork.
This past winter, I spent my early morning hours writing my memoir, an undertaking for my granddaughter. Reliving one’s life memories requires quiet time for reflection. It’s taking longer than I thought, but it’s definitely a labor of love. I’m determined to finish before my expiration date.
Sifting through decades of memories is obviously emotional. It’s been painful at times to do what country singer Randy Travis called Digging Up Bones. The hardest part is choosing what to include and what to consign to the dustbin. My decisions are based on two questions. Will she care? Does she really need to know this?
Perusing old scrapbooks and photo albums has been essential to the task. Phone pictures are no substitute for printed snapshots in an album. Precious memories recorded digitally can be erased with a few clicks. Consider what will happen to your photos when you pass. Ah, yes.
Taking my own advice, I recently downloaded and saved my photos. Some were from summer 2016, pictures that captured events I’d forgotten. It was the year of Townsend’s centennial. Oh, the memories.
That year, I organized and chaired the centennial celebration committee. We started in January, ambitiously planning one event a month from April to October. Our first was a reenactment of the township’s founding.
I’d written and published three volumes of Townsend history, so in May we did a Powerpoint presentation and quilt show. Local ladies stitched a beautiful keepsake quilt that proudly hangs in the town hall foyer. In June, we drew an enthusiastic crowd for a rollicking Old-Time Tent Revival.
Famous for our July 4 celebration, the parade and fireworks were spectacular that year. Dressed in 1916 garb, our committee marched alongside a Conestoga wagon. I drove Lucy Holt’s 1911 Waverly Phaeton electric buggy, a thrill of a lifetime.
In August we hosted a pie social and suffragette rally to honor the women who courageously fought for women’s voting rights. In September, it was Can Tombstones Talk, featuring residents telling notable townspeople’s stories while standing by their gravestones.
I will never forget the inexplicable phenomenon that occurred as we ended the presentations at dusk. Suddenly, a mist arose on the horizon and drifted toward us, slowly enveloping the cemetery. Someone shouted, “Look! Their spirits are here!” It was flat out magical.
Our finale was We Believe in Happy Endings, the final Red Light Saloon in a series of musical comedies I wrote and directed to raise money for Holt and Balcom Logging Camp. We packed the house for two shows, definitely a happy ending.
Townsend has a hundred miles of town roads, so a popular activity was the Centennial Walking Warrior Road Challenge. Participants registered, got a map and recorded their progress on a log sheet. It took me months, but I finished, though several times I had to walk the distance twice because the road dead-ended.
I rarely ran into other walkers, except for 83-year-old Emmett Exferd. He was first to finish, earning serious bragging rights. Emmett’s 93 now, but he still remembers he walked faster and farther than I did. We both cherish our souvenir T-shirts.
Walking alone, I communed with nature. It’s the ideal way to experience the Northwoods. Too bad most people choose off-road vehicles these days. They might be missing out on the very thing they come here for.
One thing I loved was walking past homes, able to focus on details I’d never noticed riding in a vehicle. Most people kept their places neat and nicely landscaped. Many sport a welcome sign, complete with engraved family moniker. Some were so inviting I wanted to knock on their doors and thank them for putting in the time, talent and treasure.
Unfortunately, walking by some places was off-putting, to say the least. These folks blared out hostile messages meant to intimidate. Signs like “Keep out; you are being watched,” and “We shoot trespassers; survivors are shot again” may offer a modicum of reassurance.
If they’d seen me walking by, they would probably have considered it mission accomplished. I always picked up the pace to get the h-e-double hockey sticks on down the road. As it happens, cameras have mostly replaced such threatening signs.
Back then, I never would have thought Townsend would change so dramatically in a single decade. We long-termers acknowledge we are in a transition cycle, and it’s no longer a poor man’s paradise. I believe one thing will never change. You don’t change Townsend; Townsend changes you.
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.
