In the so-tired-of-winter Midwest, spring is taking its own sweet time arriving, but over here Europe, we are ahead of the season. My family and friends in Illinois, Iowa, Ohio, Wisconsin, and Minnesota are sick of seeing snow, so throw open those shutters, let the sunshine, enjoy a sneak peak of my neck of the woods, back home in Switzerland.
Out my back door, through the fields, step into that breathtaking view of the Alps
Traditional mountain chalet with geraniums on the balcony
Dandelions & primroses dance along mountain trails await for the hardy hikers
A piece of paradise halfway to heaven
Stop in at the local Auberge for the meal of the day
Even the cows are looking good, donning their Easter bonnets
Hang in there. Spring will be tap dancing at your doorstep soon. Flowers will burst into a riot of color like fireworks reminding you to celebrate the survival of a rough winter. Sending love and laughter, chocolate and chutzpa, sweet vibes and sunshine from Switzerland. Happy Easter.
What an innovative idea to promote reading. In Hudson, Wisconsin, in a tribute to his mom, who was a book lover and a teacher, Todd Bol built a miniature little red school house, stuck it on a post in his front yard, and filled it with books to share. Since its inception in 2009, ‘The Take A Book, Leave A Book’ movement, which took off especially in the Upper Midwest, has gone global.
The goal was to create over 2,509 Little Free Libraries to exceed the number of large libraries funded by Andrew Carnegie from 1883 to 1929. It also commemorated a courageous librarian, Miss Lucie Stearns, who between1895-1914 brought nearly 1400 little traveling libraries to different parts of Wisconsin.
My sister, Karen, told me about a Little Free Library (LFL) located a half a block from her house in Golden Valley, Minnesota. While visiting her, we ventured out on the coldest day of century because I couldn’t wait to see it. Under a cobalt sky, the snow-covered, rooftop of a dollhouse-sized hut, brimmed full of books. I would have loved to browse and pick up a book for my flight home, but my fingers froze merely posing for the photo. What an honor to discover that Karen had tucked a copy of my book, Home Sweet Hardwood into her neighborhood library.
I shared the gift of reading, a love passed on from my grandparents and parents, with my children. While growing up, my kids read under the bed covers, in the bathtub, and even à table. During dinner, they sneaked peeks at their books hidden under the dinner table to avoid their father’s scowling eyes. The ultimate taboo in a French family to focus on anything other than food while dining!
Though reading may seem like a lost art and books sales have dropped, surprising The Little Free Library movement is booming. All 50 states and 40 countries have been involved. Grass roots movements to bring books to remote parts of the world and help produce literacy in India and Africa have grown. Hudson High School (Wisconsin) students built mini libraries and shipped them to Africa where local Rotary Clubs installed them. LFL has also partnered with Going to School, an organization which brings books to schools in India. All across the USA schools are joining, like in Minnesota, where the Minneapolis School District, LFL, and local sponsors have combined to bring 100 Little Free Libraries to Northern Minneapolis.
As of January 2014, an estimated 15,000 Little Free Libraries exist worldwide. To find one in your neighborhood, consult the index. LFLs can be found in England, France, Italy, and other European countries, but as far I know none exist in Switzerland yet. However, if I can get past the bureaucratic red tape, I am building one in my front yard, modeled like a miniature Swiss chalet, natürlich.
Join the movement. Take a book, return a book, meet a neighbor, make a friend, build a library, create a community.
In support of Little Free Libraries worldwide, I am giving away a copy of my memoir Home Sweet Hardwood to a commentator whose name will be selected in a random drawing. The winner will be announced next week.
Six decades ago, what started as a simple wedding in Chicago between a man and woman created a circle of love that goes round the world.
Your love taught us to honor our elders. As children we watched how you helped your parents age with dignity. Together, you kept the Wisconsin retreat a lasting legacy of Grandpa Mac and Grandma Betty McKinzie’s love of nature and people by welcoming family and friends. You made Grandma Olson part of your community when she moved from the East coast. Together, you rediscovered our missing Norwegian heritage on trips to Norway and connected us to fjords filled with cousins and a rich ancestory.
Your example of love showed tolerance for the differences in others. You were the first to acknowledge and accept my uniqueness. When my unusual talents drove me overseas in pursuit of a professional basketball career, instead of disowning me, your love followed. You opened your home and heart to guests of every nationality and all walks of life including accepting your French son-in-law as your own.
Your love was selfless in time and money. Though as children, we drank powdered milk and shared rooms, we never went without hugs and praise. You forfeited expensive dinners and extravagant presents in order to save for children’s college educations. When your four children became self- sufficient, you started bank accounts for your six grand children. You shower your grandkids with gifts – the greatest being time. Time to read books, play games, toss balls and create memories.
Your love is resilient. You withstood the trials of demanding teaching careers, rose to the challenge of raising four children five years apart, coped with aging parents, fulfilled community obligations, adjusted to changes invoked by illness.
Though your love for one another always came first, there was always enough left over to give to others. Those around you bloomed in the warm glow your love effused.
Your grown children looked to your relationship for inspiration in their own marriages and child rearing. As adults, we appreciated even more the power of your love. A love that never gave up when times were hard. A love that never turned away when money was short. A love that never wavered in life’s transitions. If I have been able to overcome the obstacles of living in a foreign country, raising two children abroad, while struggling with chronic health problems, it is in great part because of your love. A love that made me respectful, tolerant, selfless, resilient, compassionate and, most of all, strong.
Through your children, grandchildren, countless friends you supported and all the “adopted” others that you nurtured, your love now spans two continents and four generations. We, rich and poor, black and white, young and old, American and European – the links to the circle you started together 60 years ago today – celebrate your love, a love that graced our lives.
I have fed chipmunks peanuts from my palm, stalked beaver around the lake in a canoe, tossed bread to wild ducks from the dock, caught and thrown back more fish than I could count. I’ve admired the flight of a bald eagle, a great blue heron and a twittering hummingbird. I’ve seen porcupines shoot quills, white-striped raccoon tails glow in the dark and deer dart gracefully through the woods. Part of the appeal of the North woods is this privileged relationship one develops with the forest animals. Living so closely to wildlife teaches respect, but in all my summers spent in Wisconsin, I’ve never considered what to do if a bear comes calling at my cabin door.
The locals at Summit Lake recount bear sightings every summer, but we had heard it so often, it sounded like folklore, the bear being like the Hodag, the mythical beast of the old lumberjacks of Rhinelander.
Still when living in the woods, bear is always in the back of your mind. When I grill out and hear a thrashing in the forest, I think, “Bears, burger, me…dead meat.” Just as I turn to run, I’ll see a white tail flip up in the green brush and a deer dart across the path.
So one drizzly afternoon, when my mom exclaimed, “Oh my, there’s a bear!” at first it didn’t register. I reluctantly put down my book and looked out the picture window in front of the lake. Not more than 15 feet away, a bear stood on his hind legs sweeping a clumsy paw at the bird feeder. His black coat was sleek and glossy from the rain and made him look slim. He had a cute, round snout and beady, black eyes. Standing five feet tall, he didn’t look that big or that bad. Before I could grab a camera, he lumbered back into the woods towards the lake leaving us with nervously reassuring one another we weren’t hallucinating.
“I thought it was a big, black squirrel climbing the tree!” my mom said in disbelief.
“Are you sure it was a bear?” my daughter asked skeptically.
“We couldn’t all be wrong,” I answered, pointing to my parents and sister who looked a bit shell-shocked from the sight.
“I don’t know,” Nat speculated. “How good are your eyes – you all wear glasses.”
Next morning, my sisters and I were apprehensive when we walked down our wooded lane, stopping to chat with our neighbor the local woodsman.
“Nothing to be afraid of,” Steinie said. “Those are black bears, not grizzlies. Won’t bother you. Just give a holler. Tell ‘em to git and they’ll go on home.”
Yep, July 19, 2001, the day a bear came to call was etched in my memory. Over a decade passed before I saw another one. Sure enough Dad and I did a double take as we watched a smaller black bear look right as us then amble back into the woods.
Since ghost walks and flashlight tag were now out of the question, we spent summer evenings peering out the window. Every shadow looked like a bear. When it was too dark to see, we recounted bear stories over again as if to reassure ourselves that it wasn’t just some apparition of our imagination.
A lot of folks tell tales of hitting deer darting across the highway, but leave it to a Frenchman to boast of being hit by a bear. My husband swears that a big ol’ black bear ran right into him after he swerved on highway 64. Of course, the only witness was the bear, so we’ll never know for sure. Sounds like one of those fishing stories where the catch gets bigger every time you tell the tale. But it could be true. One neighbor asked for advice on how to shoo a black bear out of his garage with a yard rake. My sister, Karen, was sitting on the dock admiring the lake when a bear ambled out of the woods aiming to hang out at our house until her dog, Kizzie barked.
It is one thing to see bears in a zoo, but another to see them in your front yard. I know what a caged animal must feel like. While our bear roamed around his woodsy world in freedom, I stared at him from behind our glass cage. It was a humbling experience, a vivid reminder that I am just one little creature in God’s great kingdom.
I am flying back to the Midwest. Keep your fingers I make it, that my flight will not be cancelled due to storms, mechanical problems, air traffic controller strikes, missed connecting flights, terrorist threats, security breeches, or passenger rage.
The moment my feet hit the tarmac I will begin a book promotional tour. I’ll be telling spinning yarns, swapping jokes, and kicking back with the folks at home.
