Garrett and Sunny playing fetch at the Russell Canoe Livery dock.
Once again I find myself trying to get back into blogging. Last month I’d hoped to write daily about my roots. It just didn’t work. Don’t be surprised if I do finally get around to exploring every nook and cranny of that topic in the near future. Working at my parents’ canoe livery, Russell Canoes, this summer, organizing old family photos and memorabilia, and living in my Dad’s childhood home have all conspired to bring back wonderful childhood memories. Did I mention that I love working at the canoe livery? We truly do have the best customers and employees, past and present.
Here are a few vintage Russell Canoe Livery pictures I recently shared on our Facebook page. I took the pictures above the other day. I love getting to work with my little brother! We had fun playing fetch with our parents’ gold retriever Sunny as we waited to take out canoers and tubers. Happy July!
Grandpa Owen summer 1973. Love this pic! It shows our main location in Omer prior to any store.
Company tubing trip circa 1985. My Dad is in the driver’s seat. Loved his old truck! Also includes a couple of our first buses – Buses B and D. Grandpa Owen back by the tailgate.
Another view of the tubing crew. My Mom is in the passenger seat. Circa 1985.
Last night as I was thinking about how I want to revive and update this blog, I realized just how much I miss my blogger friends. One of the nicest is Adela from The Black Tortoise and Once A Little Girl. As it just so happens, I read her new post today about the BlogHer Challenge. Now I am signing up myself. I’m disappointed that I didn’t participate in the April A to Z Blogging Challenge after having so much fun with it last year.
So, here it goes. Watch for a new post every day this June. The theme is perfect for me and my blog: Roots. So check out Adela’s first entry – BlogHer Challenge | The Black Tortoise – which is very sweet, as always, and stay tuned for mine!
No, I have not fallen off the face of the Earth. No, I have not given up blogging. Early in February my Grandma was admitted to the critical care unit of the local hospital. To be blunt, for a while it did not look good at all. Fortunately she is doing much better and was transferred to the skilled nursing area of the hospital. Watching everything unfold with my Grandma has only reconfirmed my belief that my Grandma is quite possibly the strongest woman I know – and one of the most giving. I’m sharing this because I’ve been dividing my time between work and the hospital, as well as spending time with family, running errands, and gearing up for the camping/canoeing season.
I miss writing, I miss blogging, and I just need to do it. Unfortunately I tend to over-think anything I write here. That needs to change. There is much going on in my life that I would like to share here. Moving back to my hometown after living elsewhere for well over a decade continues to amuse me. Each day I am more grateful than the last for the wonderful childhood I had. Much more soon.
While I normally don’t share a lot of personal pictures here, I just had to share this one. The golden retriever is my brother’s dog Sunny, who happens to be one of the sweetest dogs I’ve ever known. In fact, I’m not sure whose dog she actually is. While originally she was supposed to be my brother’s dog, he was 14 when she came into our lives. My parents quickly laid claim to her too. She follows my Mom everywhere. When my brother went off to college, Sunny stayed home.
I spent the last week sitting Sunny while my parents took a trip to the Caribbean. I miss her already. Again, I just adore this picture, which includes two of my favorites: my little brother G and Miss Sunny. I meant to take a picture of her on one of our walks in the woods behind my Grandma’s house, but forgot my camera.
I’m fortunate to have talented members of my extended family. Below is a series of photos taken by my cousin Jake Suszko, an air force ROTC student at Bowling Green University. Enjoy! Thank you Jake for allowing me to share your photography with my readers. All photos Copyright Jacob Suszko 2012.
Harper’s Ferry, West Virginia
Harper’s Ferry, West Virginia
Harper’s Ferry, West Virginia
Harper’s Ferry, West Virginia
Harper’s Ferry, West Virginia
Antietam National Battlefield
Antietam National Battlefield
Virginia State Capitol
Holland, Michigan
Holland, Michigan
Holland, Michigan
Thank you again Jake!
Bowling Green State University (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Sometimes fragments and germs of ideas are bounced around in several different ways before they truly come together. When they do finally come together, it can be downright magical. It all started with the simple notion that I am a writer and I love genealogy. Once those two things became known, a cousin suggested I write about the history of the family business on my Mom’s side of the family. That idea has been kicking around for a while, I am far from ready to go there for a whole host of reasons, but it was something important, an idea. By the way, if you are reading this L., I haven’t completely given up on that idea.
Fast forward a couple of years and all of a sudden my parents and siblings are aware of my blog. Not only are they aware of my writing, they actually think I am a good writer. No bias there, right? Here’s the thing: I think the biggest praise was from my Dad. He is not the type to give praise for just anything, whether or not you are his child. The fact that he is even aware of my writing is huge. But I digress.
So, as my Mom is boosting my ego by telling me my entire nuclear family is at least somewhat impressed by my writing, she completes the idea. She thinks I should write the history of our family business, the history of Russell Canoe Livery. I like to think of it as The Story of Us. The thing is that Russell Canoe Livery is such a family oriented business, and I hope it always will be, that it will be impossible to write about the livery without writing extensively about the history of my Dad’s family, as well as our own. The entire idea gets at the very heart of our family, the reason I decided to study business in the first place, and even who I am as a person. I want to make this clear: I can’t imagine my family not owning the canoe livery. I can’t imagine growing up not working for my parents. It will always be very near and dear to my heart.
Aside from all of that, it is a compelling story. It is a story of entrepreneurship. It is the story of a mother and son working together to keep a business running under less than ideal circumstances. It is the story of two baby-boomers raising a family of three kids. It is also the story of the love between grandparents and grandkids. It is also the story of an extremely small town that likes to keep to itself. It is also the story of friendly competition and a changing society.
I have to do this. If nothing else I have to do this for my nephew and any future nieces and nephews. They all deserve to know the story.
Oh, and not to get political, but: Yes, my family did build this. We did it DESPITE government actions.
By the way, if you’ve never had the pleasure of watching America The Story of Us on The History Channel, it is wonderful, even if long. It is a unique look at what makes the US what we are today.
Sisterhood. I used to think it only meant the relationship between a woman and her sister(s). I’m slowly learning that it comes in many forms. I’m fortunate to have a wonderful little sister, E., who not only was my first and best friend as a child, but whom now inspires me as an adult. It isn’t something I think about much, but last weekend, as my sister finally discovered GoodReads and I became inspired to write this post, I realized the depth of the shared experiences E. and I have. Of course, there is the obvious. We have the same wonderful parents, we share and adore a little brother, we spent almost our entire childhoods living in the same house, and we attended the same schools, even having some of the same teachers.
But there is so much more. We both grew up playing and working in the family business, Russell Canoe Livery, having our Dad as boss, as did our little brother. Our Grandma R. taught us all how to drive and supported us in everything we did. She and Grandpa were fixtures at E.’s basketball and softball games, as well as the football, soccer, and baseball games of G., our little brother. They even attended the games of great-nieces and nephews, many of whom E. and I considered our best friends. E. and I will always carry those lessons of love and support with us, thanks to the concerted efforts of our grandparents and our parents.
At the end of our childhoods, E. and I even decided to attend the same university, Michigan State, despite our planned vastly different career paths. Due to our age difference, almost exactly three years, and my tendency to study abroad, there was only one semester during which we both lived on campus. One night my sister had one of those freshman year meltdowns that seem to happen to everyone.
Guess who she called? Yep, her big sister. I ended up at her dorm room and we ended up spending a good share of that evening just talking, about everything and anything. I never realized she wasn’t anything but happy; she didn’t realize I wanted children someday or how deeply my infertility weighed on my mind (and still does). It was the first time we’d shared so much since we were children.
I love the fact that we now share an alma mater too. She eventually even met my wonderful brother-in-law at MSU and began serving as a Big Sister with Big Brothers, Big Sisters. Her little sister, C., who is not so little anymore, is very much a part of our family. C. and I were both in E.’s wedding party, along with E.’s gaggle of crazy friends.
E., Grandpa B., and Me ~ West Branch, MI ~ Christmas 2004
It wasn’t until fairly recently that I began to experience another type of sisterhood; the type that brings women together around a shared set of circumstances. On Facebook I belong to a very active group of women and girls with Turner Syndrome. Some Moms, and even a couple of Dads, of girls with Turners participate as well. As Turner Syndrome affects only women, we are our own sisterhood. Not only do we share a few similar physical characteristics, nearly all of us deal with infertility, short stature, growth hormone injections, hormone replacement therapy, and continued misinformation surrounding our specific genetic condition. Through the group, we have cheered on adoptions, supported those going through invitro fertilization, tried to provide accurate information for parents of girls with Turners, and encouraged each other in countless ways, in spite of sometimes severe medical issues and even untimely deaths. I can’t think of a better definition of sisterhood.
What gets me is this: Why can’t women carry this attitude with them every day, no matter what the circumstances? Instead we put each other down, act superior to other women, and generally make the lives of girls miserable throughout junior high and high school. Then, after college, after we think we’ve put all that behind us, the pettiness starts all over again. One of the worst bosses I ever had was a woman – and I’ve heard that from several other women. As a business woman and a manager, I can only hope I can do better. I will never understand why we must tear each other down in order to build ourselves up.
So many times I’ve started to write about my Dad and what he means to me, only to find myself unable to fully express how much I love him – and what a huge part he played in my childhood. Today, on Father’s Day, I’ll try. As you will soon see, I have no ordinary Dad.
I suppose I have to start with my very early childhood. Thanks to the nature of my Dad’s business and my Mom’s teaching career, my Dad hauled me everywhere as an infant, especially the first nine months of my life, while my Mom taught and before I had a babysitter. At the time, in 1981, it was still very unusual for a Dad to be seen around town, alone, with his infant daughter. I made my debut in the business world as an infant, happily sitting in my baby-seat while my Dad conducted business at the local newspaper/printer. A good friend of my Grandpa B. (my Mom’s Dad), Ed, the old editor at the paper, couldn’t get over the fact that my Dad brought me to the newspaper office with him. He told and retold that story well into my teenage years. I still find it funny that men of the 50s found it so unusual as to comment on it. Why shouldn’t a Dad care for his baby daughter?
Even after I had a babysitter, my Dad was always around, and I loved spending time with him. For whatever reason, many of my preschool memories revolve around my Dad. I remember heading out to my Grandma’s deer camp, Camp Russell, with my Dad in his old blue Ford truck. In fact, the picture above is taken right in front of camp. That black/white bulk on the other side of my Dad is one of his first bears.
My Dad has always spent a lot of time on his hobbies, especially hunting and fishing. When I was very young, he even trapped. It was nothing for me to watch my Dad filet fish, skin a muskrat, or cut wood. For many years I took it for granted that most people’s Dads hunted. Deer season was almost a holiday in my family, and one of my favorite times of year.
Early in elementary school, maybe even in kindergarten, my friend Lois came home from school with me. We were going to go play, but I wanted to check in with my Dad first. Lois and I headed downstairs to my parents’ furnished basement. My Dad’s workroom is immediately at the bottom of stairs, to the left. Sure enough, that is exactly where we found him. He was skinning a muskrat. I thought nothing of just barging in, talking to him, probably giving him a hug and kiss. Lois, of course, remained at the bottom of the stairs, not quite sure what to think.
Later, at age six, after my parents took my little sister and me to see Bambi, I remember seriously asking my Dad why he hunted deer. Much to his credit, he gave his six year old a serious answer; an answer I still remember to this day. He told me that if people didn’t hunt deer, they would likely become overpopulated and starve to death. It still impresses me that he gave me such a serious answer at age six.
And then there were sports. As a preschooler, I spent many hours watching my Dad play on a men’s softball team and a men’s basketball team. Of course, as his daughter, I thought he was the best baseball and basketball player ever, even if I didn’t always pay attention to the game. I write extensively about my Dad and baseball here.
As I sit here and write about my Dad, I keep thinking of just one more thing I remember or want to say. Another infamous memory involves my Dad taking my little sister and me out in our pajamas to watch fireworks in my parents’ campground one 4th of July. I could even tell you exactly which pajamas I wore. The entire memory is just beautiful. As E, Dad, and I sat on the hill overlooking the campground, it was almost if the fireworks were just for us.
Of course, as my parents own a canoe livery and campgrounds, there were too many canoeing and tubing trips to count. After the first overnight canoe trip, my Mom decided she wasn’t much of a camper. After that, it became tradition for my Dad to take my brother, sister, and me on overnight canoe trips. I can only aspire to be half as good of a storyteller as my Dad.
As I grew up, as with many daughters, I just wasn’t quite as close to my Dad. Yet I still have so many wonderful memories. While my Dad didn’t teach me how to drive (it was my Dad’s Mom, my Grandma R., who taught me), he did make me feel better about my skills behind the wheel. When I came home devastated that my drivers’ ed teacher recommended additional formal instruction, making it likely I wouldn’t get my license on time, a serious social taboo where I grew up, my Dad didn’t miss a beat. He somehow knew exactly what to say. He saw how upset I was and simply said it didn’t matter. Due to family circumstances as a young teenager, my Dad ended up getting his license at age 15. If I didn’t get my license on time, it wasn’t the end of the world. Our experiences would cancel each other out. As it turned out, I did get my license on time, and it was my Dad who took me to the Secretary of State’s Office to get my license, a solemn occasion for any 16 year-old. He even let me pick out a license plate for my car.
Oh, and my car. You see, as a teenager, I had an agreement with my parents. I would run errands and drive my little sister to school. They paid for the insurance and upkeep on my car, my Mom’s old Grand Prix. One summer the alternator decided to give out. I knew my car wasn’t running properly and told my Dad so. He didn’t quite believe me. Now that I’m older, I’m not sure if I’d trust the opinion of a new driver either. In the end, I was vindicated. He took my car for a spin and it almost left him on the side of the road on US 23. Fortunately he was able to pull into the local garage just before it died.
As my Dad was also my boss, my coworkers didn’t let me forget just how lucky I am. At the time, we had a simple tab system at the canoe livery. If any of the canoe jockeys wanted pop or chips from the store, we simply made a note of it, and it was taken out of their next check. Once the story of my alternator became common knowledge, some wise-guy wrote “Lindsey – 1 Alternator” on the tab sheet. Many kids I grew up with didn’t have a car, much less parents who would pay for repairs.
I’m fortunate to have had my Dad as my first boss too. We used to conspire to get my Grandma, his Mom, to take at least one day off every week. I loved it: Just me and my Dad against Grandma, for her own good. It was through my experiences working at the canoe livery that I learned just how much my Dad loves and respects his Mom, and vice versa. My Dad and I didn’t always see eye-to-eye, especially the summer before I headed off to Michigan State, but I couldn’t have asked for a better boss, even if he did have to chew me out for being a minute or two late from time to time.
There is still so much to say, but as you can see, my Dad is one of a kind. I’m so fortunate to have had him as such a prominent part of my childhood. I know how lucky I am. I’m glad my childhood wasn’t exactly typical and that my Dad didn’t have a 9-to-5 job. I would not have nearly as many memories. I love you Dad, even if I don’t always show it as I should.
Below are a few very funny and very touching Father’s Day posts:
Do not be surprised if I continue writing about my Dad in the days ahead. This post stirred up a lot of great memories, most of them pretty funny.
Now for an appropriate music video. So many choices… This takes a little explanation. Most kids would choose a sweet song that reminds them of their Dad. Nope, not me. I’m choosing “Kokomo” by the Beach Boys for an entirely different reason. As a child, I travelled to Aruba with my parents. My Dad knew that I hated the song “Kokomo,” which was pretty popular at the time. So, as you never give my Dad ammunition with which to tease, all my Dad had to do was start to sing the very first words of the song, “Aruba, Jamaica…,” making me wish I wasn’t cornered 30,000 feet above the ground. It was one long flight.
While looking for a specific childhood picture for an upcoming post I came across these pictures from my time in Austin. The picture with my Dad dates from when I arrived home in mid-December 2002. The very last picture is a funky Halloween pic taken by one of my aunts. That is me dressed up as the one and only Punky Brewster. More on her later. My sister is the cute little clown.
Ramblings of a Misguided Blonde 