Beauty, Brats and Bingo!

I’ve spent the last week in the place where I grew up—Up North. That’s northern Wisconsin bordering the upper peninsula of Michigan—a land of hunters and anglers, of bears and bobcats, of heart-wrenching beauty.

As I “matured” here—ceased catching bullfrogs and started to dream about boys, the majority of the beauty that surrounded me was lost. I couldn’t see it as walked around in a daze of Aqua Net hairspray and midnight blue Maybelline mascara.

Fast forward a number of years (A girl can’t give away too much information.), I sit by the window in the old family home with a cup of strong coffee, too slack jawed to drink as I watch the morning light spread across the surface of the pond. The beaver paddles by, a Goldeneye duck lands, the swans bob upside down scavenging for tasty weeds. Redwing blackbirds trill, and other than that, all is silent. Puffy white clouds bob, ancient trees reach up to God, the water is still and reflective like me.

Yesterday, I scarfed down a bratwurst. This is a sausage that you often eat with onions or sauerkraut on a soft potato bun. Everyone calls them brats. Not pronounced like a naughty child, but with a little foreign inflection rhyming with “lot.” They aren’t particularly gourmet, and yet, here, Up North, they satisfy the palate and something more. It’s food for thought. Food for more than the body…simple food that nourishes in a hard-to-comprehend way.

On Sunday, I went to American Legion Post 480 and played bingo. For twenty dollars I received a pad of bingo cards and a bottle of colored ink to use as a stamper. I didn’t win a dime, but walked away feeling like I had won the lottery. Amongst the calls of B-12 and O-69, I watched a vet heft his granddaughter upon his shoulders, summer tourists in their expensive sportswear pack in alongside a single table, local volunteers amble the aisles—some with a beer in hand, some with a bag of stove-popped popcorn, all with broad smiles. Simple life. Americana. The way I remember it.

Then, last evening, the rain came and with it a moment of sunshine and a hazy pink sunset. The night was cool and more rain pitter-pattered me to sleep. All the wild things remained tucked in past 5:30 AM, so I reveled in more than six hours of shut-eye as summer solstice has just passed and the days still long. I woke refreshed and grateful.

I grew up, Up North, but all its beauty is being revealed to me as I grow old. I’m looking over the water again, and if I listen hard, I hear more than the blackbirds, I hear the echoes over the land my grandfather called Echo Hill. These ancient voices aren’t melancholy or haunting, but a reminder of a beautiful life where things still run wild and a bratwurst for dinner is all a girl could ever ask for…except for, maybe, the thrill of shouting BINGO!