Posts Tagged ‘Wildwood Lodge Club’
Cousin Weekend
Not my cousins. We are back at the lake again, this time for a special weekend that will include Cyndie’s cousins on her mom’s side. Marie had one sister, Joan (pronounced JoAnne), who had four kids. The kids are each married and will be joining all of the four Friswold siblings and their spouses without any of our kids for a distraction-free weekend of laughter, memories, and bolstering of the family bonds.
Cyndie and I arrived mid-afternoon yesterday, picking up groceries in Hayward for the weekend that Cyndie purchased online from home on Wednesday night. She was so excited to discover it was possible. There was a childlike glee that had her mentioning several times on the drive up how pleased it made her feel. It’s hard to deny the ease and convenience of avoiding the crunch of other shoppers up and down aisles and getting through the checkout lanes, and instead, pulling up to the front of the store to have all our groceries placed in our car.
Some people wouldn’t want to settle for someone else choosing their produce, but for the convenience, Cyndie is willing to flex her standards. The corn I was tasked with shucking all looked more than adequate to me. When asked by someone about how they did with selections, Cyndie rated it a solid medium.
Faint praise, maybe, but certainly acceptable.
Being the first ones up, we immediately set about opening shades and windows, turning on ceiling fans, putting away groceries, and refilling hummingbird feeders. The landscape pond needed water added. The new mattress for the hide-a-bed needed to be unboxed and allowed to expand.
Most of the preparations were in place by the time Barry, Carlos, and Marie arrived. They made it just in time to accept an invitation to join folks from three other Wildwood Lodge Club member families for a happy hour pontoon cruise.
I don’t know why we bothered with a dinner plan for later in the evening. I ate more than a meal’s worth of scrumptious appetizers throughout the practically 2-hour float around the majority of the lake.
Never ones to stop a meal plan already in motion, the Friswold hosts whipped up a feast of grilled burgers, corn-on-the-cob, salad, and potatoes after we got back to shore. It was about three hours past my preferred dinner time and only about an hour away from my bedtime, but I nibbled half-servings of two options. It is difficult for me to lie down to sleep when I’ve still got a meal in my stomach; however, they serve up some irresistibly delicious cuisine.
I made a worthy exception to my usual routine.
This afternoon, all the other parties will gradually arrive, and the games, excited banter, precious memories, raucous laughter, and likely too much food will unfold naturally. It is reasonable to assume it will be sustained for the ensuing 48 hours.
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Monday Departure
Alas, today we are leaving that fabulous air-conditioner-in-the-form-of-a-lake right outside our door and heading back home just as a hotter surge of weather is due to arrive. Looking at the predictions for both home and our lake place reveals a surprise: temperatures up north will be a few degrees hotter each day than down in Beldenville. Still, both will be in the 90s (F), so the difference is negligible.
Lounging in the water was the primary goal for the day after completing a few minor final preparations for a reunion with Cyndie’s Brolin cousins up here in two weeks.
We are anticipating 17 people that weekend and have arranged to use an extra room from two of our fellow Wildwood families to give each couple their own space for sleeping accommodations. Throughout the previous week, Cyndie has been doing some long overdue reconnaissance to track down towels. There are bath towels and beach towels, not intended to be used interchangeably, and color combinations that match the many bathrooms.
As of today, order has been restored.
No guarantees how long that will last.
One of my favorite features of our retirement is having weekends at the lake start on a Thursday and end on a Monday. The Sunday evenings are so serene following the typical hubbub of weekend water activities. The island near our shoreline attracts increasing boat parking every year, with all the clamor, kids screeching, and unwelcome loud music that typically accompanies it. When nobody is left there, the eagles return to roost on the tall pines, and calm settles in around our bay again.
It’s hard to begrudge the folks who don’t have the luxuries of beach property like ours, who must rely on sharing limited space around the small island to enjoy a brief taste of lake life; however, I’m not above feeling particularly grateful to have them depart. One late afternoon when Cyndie and I hit the beach for a swim, it felt a little embarrassing to be the only ones down on our expansive sandy shoreline while seven or eight boatfuls of people were sharing the limited space such a short distance away.
It’s hard to deny the elitist appearances, as much as I wish it weren’t so.
That concern will be dashed in short order as I return to shoveling manure and mowing overgrown grass this afternoon. We’ve been away for twelve days, but it barely feels like half that long. Goodbye, Wildwood and hello, Wintervale!
We’re coming home, Asher!
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Sunset Cruise
As soon as the match between Norway and England had been decided, members of five of the Wildwood Lodge Club families departed from shore on the pontoon for a slow tour around the outline of the lake. We grabbed the remaining appetizers we’d be grazing on during the match, along with preferred beverages, and settled in for a quintessential summer lake event.
When he realized he’d forgotten a hat and sunglasses, our clever captain Tom got creative about dealing with the low sun, taking advantage of a roll of duct tape conveniently in reach.
As far as ways to beat the heat go, an evening pontoon cruise with special friends on the lake is right up near the top.
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It’s Wildwood
From memory, a stab at the lyrics to a song I wrote back in the early 1980s after a particularly remarkable Independence Day weekend that lingered long after I had returned to the day job. This was shortly after the property had been divided into lots, which individual families then took ownership of. Before that change, they all shared every cabin, rotating every couple of weeks to give everyone a taste of each precious spot on the lake, along with the different quirks of each very old log cabin.
Seems just like a week or two
and 4th of July has come and gone
and I was up at my favorite place
Friends were there to have a time
but not the one we used to know
cabins have moved, and new ones are growin’
a place to sleep’s not as easily found
Sit on the porch of what was cabin three
almost see the beach you never used to see
and Tommy and Jane, and Justin, it’s true
are heard laughin’ and singin’ and workin’ too
It’s Wildwood, Wildwood!
It’s been so long, but the change is good
Wildwoo-ooo-ood
Friends had gathered to have a good time
work god done, we had a good time
we weren’t all there, it’s sad to say
but we’re fixin’ the place for another day
The old road don’t go the way it used to go
nor some people’s car the way the new one goes
but we all got together and pushed it out
who says there weren’t games this holiday
As evening came, we gathered ‘round
for the kind of picnic you’re supposed to have
and though people not present were sadly missed
there were fireworks displayed to rival all time
It’s Wildwood, Wildwood!
It’s been so long, but the change is good
Wildwoo-ooo-ood
As much as it seems as though it’s really changed
and mud has replaced the sprouts of poison ivy
the swing still swings between two big trees
from which you can still hear the Friswolds up at cabin 3
Hayward’s still a few minutes away
Round Lake crisp and clear as any day
and all the people who have made it what it really is
are all the people who will make it what it really is
It’s Wildwood, Wildwood!
It’s been so long, but the change is good
Wildwoo-ooo-ood
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Celebrating 60th
It was 60 years ago that a group of Twin Cities guys jumped on an opportunity to purchase a lodge property called Wildwood on one of the most pristine lakes in northern Wisconsin. It’s transformed over the years with changes in families and bylaws, but it has survived as a unique association with long-term relationships in a fabulous location in the woods on a lake. Definitely a phenomenon worthy of celebration.
I’ve written about it before under the Wildwood tag among my “Previous Somethings” (such as this one), so today I am going to present the day in a few images…
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Emphatic Change
I don’t know if you will be able to tell the difference, but I am not writing from home this morning. Cyndie and I are in a completely different location on a lake in northern Wisconsin near a town with a Coop’s Pizza restaurant that serves one of our favorite crust/sauce/cheese combinations.
Okay, we are up at the lake place again. That shouldn’t be a surprise. I just felt a little mystery would be more interesting than the same old, same old this time around.
One thing is very different up here this visit, though, but it is not mysterious at all. The lodge has been reduced to a tiny shell of its old self.
We watched the beginning of the demolition as we left for home two weeks ago. I’m told they are waiting on some permits before new construction gets underway to replace the portion that was torn down. One of the first challenges will be leveling the floor of the remaining historic portion, aligning it with the fixed position of the fireplace and chimney.
There is a wild dynamic at play, as the massive change of the shared space vanishes so dramatically, yet it doesn’t feel like that big of a deal at this point. I believe this community of six families has grown accustomed to this kind of change over the years and understands how it will ultimately lead to positive outcomes in the long run.
I have a sense that the significance of these changes would have bothered me more when I was younger than I am experiencing today. Maybe not, though. I received an early lesson in this kind of change when the farmland where I lived as a kid was sold for development, stripped of its trees, and hills leveled so it could become an industrial park.
At this point in my life, I’m finding it surprisingly easier to accept “progress” that seems inevitable.
Change is always happening. Sometimes, just a little more emphatically than others.
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Detail Oriented
Someone made a reference to me being anal in some of the things I do, in this case, related to my methods tending to the horses’ emptied grain feed bags. I’m not going to argue with that assessment, though I might use other words to describe my proclivity for order. I can come across as rather particular about how I want things to look around here. Maybe even fussy. Meticulous. Discriminating. Fastidious?
I can be detail-oriented. The height of the unmowed grass when we arrived at our driveway was rather shocking. That was a detail that was hard to miss. A less astute person might not pay attention to the grass growing in the seam of the concrete apron of the shop garage.
Was I being anal when I got on my knees and plucked all of those out before setting off on the riding mower? At least it looks like someone actually lives here again.
The grass blades were ten inches tall in some places along the driveway where I started cutting as soon as we got home yesterday. I needed to let go of my usual fussiness about achieving a clean-looking cut and settle for a version I’ll call: at-least-it’s-been-cut.
The mower balked a little at the complications of such long grass, but I think it still did an impressive job for an electric. The exit chute plugged once, and one of the blade motors overheated a couple of times. I needed to use the higher blade speed setting, which drains the batteries faster than normal, so I didn’t get as far as I wanted before quitting for the day.
There was a thunderstorm last night, so I don’t know if the grass will be dry enough to start mowing right away this morning. If it’s not, there is plenty of trimming to be done with the string trimmer and the hedge trimmer that I don’t mind doing when it’s wet.
I’ll be playing catch-up for a few days before starting over without pause to get a more reasonable, cleaner second cut before it has a chance to grow much.
The freshly cut hay field looks great, but that makes the tall grass left along the fence lines stand out that much more as needing to be addressed. Beyond that, the work of cutting up the giant oak limb remains as a large burden on the to-do list.
Lazy days on the lake are definitely over. For a couple of weeks, anyway. We plan to head up again for a 4-day weekend in the middle of the month. Then, again, the week after that, so don’t feel sorry for me in the least.
I look forward to seeing what the remains of the lodge destruction will look like upon our return. I like paying attention to the details of the work they are doing.
Before we left yesterday morning, we stopped down to watch the start of the serious demolition getting underway.
Might be time for an update to the song I wrote about Wildwood.
The old lodge don’t look the way it used to look…
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Pickling Around
Opting to remain at rest since my body was already at rest when yesterday’s post-4th-of-July pickleball tournament was held, I wandered down to observe as a spectator after the competition was already underway.
They achieved a good number of participants who did an impressive job of keeping games close, providing plenty of entertainment for the gathered crowd, made up mostly of other players waiting for their next game.
After I’d witnessed at least one game by most of the teams, I made my way back to the house by way of the beach, where I paused to hang for a bit while Cyndie, Elysa, and Ande were floating on or soaking in the lake. After so many days away from home, I’m finally getting the hang of doing nothing without needing to convince myself I can get away with it.
In fact, it feels a little daunting to contemplate revving my energy up again to tackle all the projects that will be awaiting me back at Wintervale. We expect to be on the road before noon today for the drive south to Pierce County, where we will find the hay field has been cut and baled, and the lawn grass about two weeks tall.
Yesterday afternoon, I took on a challenge I’ve been skipping over for a long time. I keep an old floor pump for inflating bike tires up at the lake place, ever since I bought a nicer one to replace it at home. The thing is, the old one leaks air on every stroke. One of the reasons I haven’t dealt with it is that I couldn’t easily deduce where the problem was, nor how to get the lower pieces apart to get a look at what was wrong.
Finally, yesterday I was prepared to give it a go. First off, I did some research to see if I could find an exploded view or service information on this old model. I could not. I surfed through a few YouTube videos, but didn’t find any answers there. I did find some replacement parts that looked identical to my model, but nothing that revealed how it came apart.
I tried pulling with increasing force, but wasn’t making any progress. Then, I had a lightbulb moment of insight. One of the replacement parts I had seen included a hose. I searched for that image again and zoomed in. The end of the tubing had a threaded fitting on it. That was the secret. I needed to find a pliers because the rubber boot over the mating part did not budge against my finger strength. Knowing it should turn allowed me to grab it using pliers with much more confidence.
It came loose easily. All the subsequent connections unthreaded with ease as well. The broken gasket at the bottom junction became glaringly obvious.
I felt pride in having used my mechanical sense and a good dose of patience to work out the problem without breaking something in the process. It just took a little pickling around with the parts before I eventually reached the desired result.
I’m taking the ripped gasket home with me to see if I can find a suitable replacement. If not, it will be time to make one myself, probably by cutting up a discarded inner tube. Wish me luck.
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Wildwood Picnic
The big event of the holiday weekend was to be the recent tradition of a pickleball tournament up at Wildwood Lodge Club, but the persistent on-and-off rain sprinkles were enough to keep the court surface too wet for safe combat. The tourney has been given a second attempt with whoever remains available starting at ten o’clock this morning.
My competitive gene is not feeling up to the effort, so I may become a member of the spectator benches to offer appropriate heckling support as needed.
In the absence of the tourney drawing all the member families together yesterday, the evening picnic feast became the focus of the day. Since the lodge and its surroundings are currently in a state of transition, Cyndie’s family became the host location, which meant the afternoon involved moving a lot of tables and chairs from down by the lodge.
Since the number of people from the association families attending was expected to be between 55 and 60, we were desperately hoping the troublesome rain would take a pause long enough to pull the whole thing off.
As an in-law to Cyndie’s family, I try to keep my opinions about how to proceed to a minimum while watching the three planners-and-doers work their magic as hosts in providing a stellar social event of the highest caliber. It becomes its own form of entertainment as each person takes on all the tasks at virtually the same time to do and re-do steps of gathering this and placing that just right.
It goes all the way to arranging cars in the best out-of-the-way places, which involved at least three tries to ultimately reach a settlement that worked.
I rode along with Cyndie to pick up enough ribs to feed an army. The restaurant selected for this catering job was conveniently located on the other side of the lake. When we arrived at peak business hours, it looked like it was going to be a serious challenge to navigate all the traffic of vehicles and people competing for a meal.
With luck on our side, we drove around all the cars that were stopping to park along the driveway and found an open spot right in front. Meandering past the throngs outside waiting for their names to be called for a table, we stepped to the host podium like we were VIPs checking in.
The woman managing Cyndie’s large order appeared and was thrilled about our parking spot. She was obviously in high-gear coping mode, reporting they were even busier than how busy she had expected it to be this holiday weekend Saturday night. They opted to bring us around to the back door of the kitchen to transfer the precious, hot cargo to the car.
With only one near-calamity of acceleration on the drive back, we delivered the ribs, sauces, and beans successfully without spilling a drop.
Soon, folks began arriving with arms full of appetizers, salads, and sides to fill out a menu that could sustain double the number of us in attendance. I took no pictures of the spectacular spread because I was either too busy gabbing with someone or munching on finger foods.
When the ribs were served, my hands were too sticky with barbecue sauce, and I got too engrossed in catching up on other people’s life adventures. When I finally thought of taking pictures while in the middle of a conversation, only by handing Elysa my phone and asking her for the favor did I get these snapshots of the continuing story exchanges still in process in the post-feast bliss of yet another annual Wildwood 4th of July picnic (despite the interruption of a brief nuisance rain shower that had occurred).
When evening came, we gathered ‘round
for the kind of picnic you’re supposed to have
And though people not present were sadly missed
There were fireworks displayed to rival all time
Wildwood, Wildwood
It’s been so long, but the change is good
Wildwoo-oo-oo-ooood
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Relative Something 