Night Light

May 18, 2024

I missed both of the recent appearances of the Northern Lights. On the first night, while others posted gorgeous photos, the aurora by my house was doing its best impression of clouds. The next night, I was so excited to see it that I went to my viewing spot far too early and got too cold to stay. I later learned that had I stuck it out for only an hour, I would have seen the lights.

I think that if I keep missing the aurora, it will continue to happen. You’re welcome, everyone.

Still, that second attempt was a valuable experience in its own right. I sat on my doorstep for a while, gazing at the dark-sky stars we get to see so readily in the Driftless. Then I moved to a spot farther back from the road. With insects humming, whippoorwills whipping, and unidentifiable creatures rustling in the woods nearby, the place was as alive with sound at night as it is with colorful flora in the daytime.

I just sat there and listened. (I’m not trying to evangelize here, but for those keeping score, I didn’t look at my phone.) Although I was cold, nervous at being alone, and sneezing loudly the entire time, I was content to let the experience wash over me and not try to curate my surroundings. What Northern Lights?

When I left, it was with the feeling that as long as I can sit in the natural world once in a while, everything will be okay. It’s not a radical idea: if we just stop and listen (or look, smell, taste, or feel), we will find a moment of peace. But it was a timely reminder, as peace had been hard to find that week.

The next day was Mother’s Day. Mom and I spent part of the afternoon just walking around and looking at flowering trees and shrubs, surrounded by other families who were just walking and looking. Yes, they were taking pictures, but only because this peaceful moment was an event worth remembering. I even snapped a few myself.

P.S. In case you’re wondering, I have enjoyed the Northern Lights before: as a birthday present from the universe in March of 2016.

Letter to the Editor

Mismanagement would be the only force at work in Northland closure

March 12, 2024

When I was a student at Northland College in Ashland, Wisconsin, I heard a rumor that our professors were the lowest-paid college faculty in the state. The claim was repeated less as a complaint than a badge of honor: these professionals, many of them leaders in their respective fields, are here because they love their subject matter and want to pass it on to the next generation.

It’s a sentiment I’ve heard countless times since then, having worked in the nonprofit sector for nine years. And this particular claim stood to reason. The professors I met lived frugally, yet embodied a passion for their work that had nothing to do with the salary. Still, it was jarring as a young person to hear that my mentors were not paid well, let alone to be reminded of it on a regular basis.

Now, it seems that the money has run out entirely.

In a press release yesterday, Northland College announced that “[t]he Northland College Board of Trustees has launched an urgent fundraising appeal to raise $12 million by April 3, 2024…If the funding goals are not met, the College will be forced to begin the closure process at the end of this academic year.” Even if these goals are met, the piece continues, the 2024-25 school year will be a “transition year” and “a new Northland model” will emerge on the other side. Major cuts to this institution—the first liberal arts college in the United States to take on an environmental focus—represent the best-case scenario.

Three weeks, and then time will be up. As many alumni and supporters have expressed on the Northland College Facebook page in the last 24 hours, this cannot be a new development. Financial difficulties on this scale might be revealed over years or months, but not weeks. There is not enough time for this campaign to succeed (and it has already failed in terms of the Northland of today). News has come too late of actions that will damage the economy and morale of a struggling community, leave staff to find other work and faculty to take their experience elsewhere, and deny access for thousands of alumni to the place that changed our lives.

The press release doesn’t address the timing, but offers this explanation: “The announcement comes at a time when many small liberal arts colleges across the country face similar financial challenges due to declining enrollment, growing costs of higher education, and decreased financial support [emphasis mine]. Many colleges have been forced to make very difficult decisions that range from dramatic cuts in staffing and programs to outright closure.”

It’s the “forced” part that sickens me. I can name dozens of individuals who earn enough money in a week to sustain a small college for a year. Non-traditional donors and income streams are accessible to an attractive, forward-thinking project like Northland’s. I believe the only “force” at work is mismanagement and the clumsy, obvious attempts that managers make to save face.

Also, this has happened before. Another commonly repeated claim when I started at Northland in 2012 was that the school had been on the verge of closing before the president at the time arrived to set us back on course. This story is familiar in both education and nonprofit settings—which is why the idea of an “urgent” funding deadline is laughable at best.

Yet, the message from the Board of Trustees is that donors are responsible for the outcome from now on. If donors can’t rally to save Northland, then all solutions will have been exhausted. Incidentally, a movement of small donors could be an excellent scapegoat. If they succeed, they create positive press leading to the acceptance of the Board’s best-case scenario. If they fail, then “decreased financial support” can be blamed for the whole situation.

How long have the Trustees been bemoaning a lack of interest in the liberal arts? Long enough, I would think, to come up with one solution besides a last-ditch effort.

I don’t mean to dispute that a trend exists. Where I live in southwestern Wisconsin, residents are still grieving the closure of the nearest two-year public campus. A university official has cited “current market realities” as the driving force for this decision. Although Northland’s situation is different, both stories point to the same moral: there is little creativity, and quite a lot of blame, at work among the leaders of small colleges. Perhaps there is also a lack of enthusiasm for faculty-led education; for ecological and interdisciplinary thought; for place-based rather than remote learning; for subject areas that don’t traditionally lead to wealth but instead create a better future for all.

Even in this Information Age, our leaders only value knowledge to the extent that it matches “current market realities.” I should have taken that rumor for what it was: a warning of the priorities governing my beloved Northland.

References:

Northland College Seeks $12 million to Avoid Closure, Reimagine its Future

Funding a New Northland for a Sustainable Future

UW-Platteville Richland campus to close, other branch campuses asked to evaluate futures

Growing Excitement

February 17, 2024

Let it be known: the stereotype of gardeners fawning over seed catalogs in the dead of winter is entirely true. This year, I broke some kind of record by putting in my order before Christmas.

My previous gardening endeavors have been a corner of my dad’s community garden plot, half of a generous neighbor’s raised bed, and a neglected area by my apartment’s front door. See a pattern here? 2024 will be the first year I’ve had a relatively large, clear patch of dirt to dedicate to a vegetable garden.

Naturally, I’m going a bit overboard.

Before I announce the publication of “Grace’s Guaranteed Great Garden Guide”, I’d better wait at least until the growing season starts. But the knowledge is already accumulating. I’m learning what works and what doesn’t for germinating seeds and building garden systems. It’s not always a question of hard labor, but of quality supplies (hence the catalogs).

I also realized why I’ve never been interested in growing flowers or house plants. Between the time spent, the financial cost, and the wondering what I’m doing wrong, the reward just isn’t worth all the fuss. I can’t eat house plants, and cultivated flowers don’t fit with my conservation worldview. The cost-benefit equation feels off.

A vegetable garden, on the other hand, carries the promise of fresh food (or at least snacks) come summer. Maybe I should place more value on aesthetics, but the time I have to spend on gardening is limited. And this patch of dirt – at least on a superficial level – is my patch of dirt. Only I get to select what ends up not growing there due to forces beyond my control.

Coffeeland Elegy

December 30, 2023

It’s no secret that I love coffee and coffee shops. In the nearly four years since I started this blog, I’ve mentioned (or included a photo of) coffee 35 times. There is even a coffee musical in my recent past. For some reason, the subject is endlessly fascinating to me.

I also make no secret of my grief when a coffee shop that’s dear to me has to close. And while I’ve gotten used to my favorite shops being renovated or changing hands, it takes me longer than the average customer. I sometimes think I should find new haunts just to preserve the memories contained in the old versions of these places.

The change I’m about to describe, however, is on another scale entirely.

“My” coffee shop, my mobile office, my second living room that at times felt more like home than my actual home, is closing. Tomorrow, in fact. The future of the space is uncertain.

While I can’t personally keep them open, find a buyer, or even offer advice they haven’t already heard, I can preserve my memories of the place so the staff can see the impact they had on one patron — let alone the 1500 or so who call my town home. So here goes:

2019: I started coming here two years before I moved to town. I was working nearby and desperately wanted to fit into this community. As there’s always room for another coffee shop in my life, I decided this was a good place to start. I would stop in after work for a decaf drink and sit outside, maybe doing a crossword or maybe just watching the world go by. On this street that marked the tiny “downtown”, I thought about who I wanted to be as I entered my late twenties. (I also asked for a job, but had been spooked by my last stint in a different foodservice environment.)

2020: My plans to move weren’t yet realized, but neither were any other plans that year. I followed along with all of the creative ways this shop dealt with COVID: meal kits to go, outdoor dining, and finally the re-opening of the indoor space. I got to know one of my closest friends over the shop’s characteristic red mugs.

2021: At last, the move! As soon as the ink dried on my lease for an apartment two blocks away, I was making daily trips to the coffee shop to work at my remote job. It was spring, and the spring of a new chapter in my life. I sat outside no matter the weather.

For the rest of the year, the coffee shop was my second home. As predicted, this was how I became a full-fledged member of the community: day by day, through introductions and chance meetings. I achieved the ultimate in “regular” status: the cashiers knowing what drink I would order as soon as I walked through the door.

Also that year, in late fall, I decided to make an attempt on the book that has been circling in my head for ten years now. I didn’t finish writing it then, but I created a space for myself to practice writing daily — something I’d never managed before and haven’t since.

2022: In January, my routine came to an abrupt end when COVID levels rose and the indoor space was closed again. It took me a long time to recover from this loss of familiar rhythms. But things slowly returned to something like normal. I was a constant presence there once again, usually being the first customer in the door. I enjoyed my second summer in this tourist town and the conversations that arose from my being a knowledgeable local.

2023: My partner and I had our first date here, back when neither of us were sure it qualified as a date. Later in the year, we would be discussing a house for sale over coffee when another regular would approach us. The house he proceeded to tell us about became the home where I sit writing this now.

There will be no entry for next year. Less than 24 hours from now, the cafe will be shuttered.

Let me be clear that I don’t fault the staff for deciding to close. I have said that I feel losses more deeply than most; this sometimes keeps me from seeing any silver lining whatsoever. Someone new might take over the space and be the next promoter of community. If this happens, though, not all of the old shop’s qualities will be retained. It’s the “not all” that makes me pause, raise my mug, and shed a tear.

Ten Years Later

“Sauk Prairie Remembered” painting by Victor Bakhtin

August 6, 2023

My attempt to type up my old journals has long fallen to the wayside. But I still occasionally dust them off to see what I was doing and thinking on a certain date in past years. This might not warrant a blog post, except that today’s reading yielded the following from August 12, 2013:

“…just two days ago I became involved with the Sauk Prairie Conservation Alliance and their push for a low-human-impact management strategy on the former Badger Army Ammunition Plant lands…”

Again, this might not be significant on its own. My journals are full of grand schemes to get involved with this or that group or effort in line with my interests. However – and it’s humbling just to type this sentence – I recently took on the role of Executive Director of the Sauk Prairie Conservation Alliance.

There’s no coincidence here. After writing that journal entry, I remained involved in the prairie restoration world right up through the present day. Anyone who has spent more than a few minutes with me knows this is where my heart lies. Still, it’s poignant that I wrote those words without knowing I would get a chance to manage the Alliance.

And I’m pleased to report that this role is spiritually rewarding. It’s the perfect blend of outdoor fieldwork and indoor communications work for someone who has often felt torn between the two. Not to mention that the Sauk-Prairie area is a significant and beloved place for me and my family.

The Alliance has been advocating for conservation, education, recreation and research in this area for 25 years. My task now is to prepare us to face the challenges and opportunities of the next 25. It’s a big job, but my resolve is strengthened by the kind people and joyful experiences that populate my own decade of involvement.

The 2013 journal entry goes on to list the causes of my love for prairie: affection for my Driftless home, curiosity about the natural world, an interest in hiking, and the spiritual implications of a landscape resistant to fire. Although I wasn’t quite “Driftless Grace” yet, these are the same concepts that form my identity today.

I hope you’ll take a moment to celebrate with me and then look to the future.

Pretty Good Kitty

©2021 Jen Salt

June 18, 2023

Today’s post is more personal than usual despite not being about a person.

Unless you’ve known me for a long time – or unless you’re a cat owner – it’s hard to convey how much of a role my family’s cat has played in my life. Suffice it to say that Ash (short for Ashland) was like my adopted brother in his own feline way. My heart is now heavy as I must adapt to a world without him.

When I was eight years old, my doctor told me I could never own a cat because of a severe allergy. While another kid might have been right back to playing an hour later, I was devastated. I was, far and away, the “cat person” in my elementary school. All of my games, art projects, decor, toys, birthday parties, and little childhood songs and stories featured cats and my obsession with them. It was my first brush with the arbitrary limits that life can impose.

I settled for stuffed animals and occasional short visits to the adoption area of Petsmart. My friends were sympathetic, and my unfortunate allergy became part of the fabric of our lives. Then one evening in the summer before my senior year, I got a phone call that began, “Do you want a cat?”. Two of my friends had found a cat wandering in a parking lot and were hesitant to leave her alone. My family happened to live less than a block away.

What started out as one night would stretch into a few weeks while we looked for her owners. When we failed to find them, we realized we were the owners. By that time, I had gotten used to her particular brand of fur and my allergic reaction had stopped.

Ash quickly established himself (once a vet corrected us on his sex) as an escape artist, a social butterfly, and a devoted brother who would sit outside my bedroom door waiting for me to wake up for school. He destroyed carpets and furniture with a passion, but he was litter-trained. By the time I left for college, he was a fully fledged member of our family. He sent me off with a bite on the wrist.

Family lore holds that this handsome black tomcat was the reincarnation of Smokey, a handsome black Labradoodle who kept my dad company in his childhood. Dad was a dog person, so it was surprising how deep and lasting a connection he developed with Ash. The two were inseparable at the end of Dad’s own life.

Ash would have been 13 years old this month. We were still waiting for his personality to mellow out; he was a pretty good kitty with the emphasis on pretty. I’m not going to share how he died, but it was fairly abrupt. I will need more time before the “is” in my head changes to “was.” I look forward to meeting his next incarnation, and I hope it’s soon.

Illumination

May 16, 2023

It recently came about that my modest outdoor seating area got an upgrade in the form of lighting. I’ve never been against such a thing, but I admit it also never occurred to me before now. It wasn’t until the lights were up and running that I realized what a spartan existence I had been living.

Sure, I was more attuned to the natural shift from daylight to darkness. But that darkness gets pretty dark, and I prefer to squeeze as much enjoyment as possible out of summer nights. And when the evening sun is blocked by my building anyway, the whole concept goes out the window (so to speak).

The new addition also classes up the place considerably, to the point that I have to remind myself I live here. Small improvements like this are a way to actively take pride in where I live. I talk and write a lot about how much I love this place, but that doesn’t change how it feels to wake up in it and spend time there. The lights do.

And I am proud: I’ve found a home, in both my physical location and my connections within the community. There have been times in the last few years when I didn’t know how long I’d get to stay in a given place. My possessions are still minimal as a result — which is the biggest reason I never had outdoor lights. I’m looking forward to putting down deeper and deeper roots, and to seeing them at night.

Caffeine Routine

April 10, 2023

While I’m more than happy to frequent my local coffee shops, I’ve also spent an inordinate amount of time and money creating my own “coffee station.” Call it a relic of COVID, or an adaptation to working from home. Or maybe I just like to stay in some mornings.

All told, these resources have gone into something that takes five minutes (although I can usually nurse one cup of coffee for half an hour). The process also changes according to the seasons and what I feel like drinking; I don’t have a go-to coffee drink at home. On some levels, at least, it seems silly to go through the trouble for something so inconsequential.

Yet the benefits are many. Having a coffee routine means I know of one thing that will happen every day, which isn’t the case with my work situation. On the darkest winter mornings, it gives me a reason to leave the warm confines of my bed and thereby start the day. It also pairs perfectly with a book or writing project: read a page, sip, write a sentence, sip. And don’t get me started on the joys of a good coffee mug.

I don’t roast my own beans or scientifically measure out the grounds. Instead, I pride myself on my ability to guess how much to use. I’ve learned a thing or two about coffee from drinking it my whole adult life (and some of my childhood). I am proud of this knowledge. It makes me a more well-rounded person and colors my mornings in a way I’d miss if I just went to Starbucks.

There are times when I love having a fancy machine or friendly barista brew the coffee for me. But I also like deliberately making it “by hand” with a pour-over at home. This is true no matter where I live or what I’m up to. It’s how I settle into another day of life in My Place.

Marching On

March 21, 2023

Happy third birthday to this very blog!

I started Driftless Grace in the first week of COVID lockdowns. It was a way of creating something positive from the chaos while also finally making good on my threats to start a blog. Since then, it has developed into a crucial part of my identity: I am Driftless Grace, and I write Driftless Grace. Make sense?

The last three years have been trying at times and magical at others, and often both at once. But it has always helped me to know that the thoughts and experiences collected here were being read by someone on the other end of the Internet. This, more than anything else, is what I was hoping for back then.

I’m surprised at how little I remember from the lockdown days. I can barely believe that we all spent several months at home, with almost everything outside of our homes closed or canceled. It was a difficult adjustment, which might explain the gaps in my memory. Now, I’m not even sure which parts of my routine are left over from the pandemic and which were always there.

This afternoon, while taking my daily walk around town, I noticed what I thought were ashes falling from the sky. Tiny black specks that weren’t there yesterday drifted down around me. I smelled smoke on the air and thought that maybe a burn pile had gotten out of control. After a longer time than I care to admit, I realized I was seeing the year’s first crop of gnats. This winter has lasted so long that I almost forgot the entire concept of insects. (It wouldn’t be the first time.)

The world will never see a full return to “normal” after COVID. As we adjust, it will take time to regain our senses and our confidence in what’s coming next. I’m personally hoping for three more years of this blog – and three more of you out there reading it.

As the Snow Flies

March 10, 2023

“The beauty of being warm,” I once wrote in a class assignment, “is that at some point beforehand you were cold.” We were in the midst of a frigid Wisconsin winter. I wanted to capture the idea that experiencing bad weather makes taking refuge in a warm house that much sweeter.

This is also true on a larger scale. Winters are tough for me, both meteorologically and emotionally. I always look forward to taking refuge in the spring. And while spring is gorgeous in itself, some of its beauty lies in acknowledging the four (or five, or six) cold months that came before.

I don’t hate winter, but I’m never sad to see it go. The plastic on my windows comes off earlier than might be practical. I even try to help the process along, kicking snowdrifts apart and wearing spring jackets in hopes the universe will take the hint.

I recently realized that my feelings about winter and spring apply to another kind of “cold.” When I get sick, I can’t stop imagining how amazing I’ll feel when it’s over. I try to speed things up by doing everything I would normally do. Eventually, though, the symptoms rear their head and I have no choice but to be patient – just like when another snowstorm hits.

After the first few spring days, I tend to take the new normal for granted. Yes, I can go out for a walk, but that’s not enough to get me to do it. Maybe warm weather is best appreciated by just existing in it. When I do choose to walk, I can notice the sweetness of not having to bundle up (and getting to leave the Kleenex box at home). This adds a whole new dimension of beauty.