The Third of July

If there are any currant bushes on Middle Bass Island, the berries ripened today.  At least, they always ripened on July 3 when I was growing up.  I can remember the date, because it's my late sister's birthday; and it was also the day of the township's firework display, which took place on Put-in-Bay (another  island, just south of us).

July 3 was like Christmas Eve in that it took forever for night to arrive. We didn't just have to wait until dark; we had to work until really dark, and then we had to wait for the lights on Perry's Monument to be turned off. Then we'd pile into whatever jalopy was operational that year and Daddy would drive to the Main Dock, and we'd Ooh and Ahhh, the way everybody does, everywhere.


Since then, I've seen fireworks on New Year's Eve in Times Square (2001); on the Fourth of July from the roof of an eight-story building looking over the Hudson River in New York City (2003); and over the Ohio River following Thunder over Louisville, the annual precursor to the Kentucky Derby (2004).

Each of those fireworks displays was the largest ever in the history of the country, according to the news reports, but none of them compared to the fireworks on the island.  I've alwaysattributed it to the island's isolation, but today I've been reading interviews conducted in the 1980s with writers who are women, and a substantial piece of the conversations had to do with the role of place, in the sense of who grew up where, and Place, in the sense of an ongoing and tiresome conversation about how anybody who wanted to be successful as a writer had to live in New York City.  (Surprise!  The people doing the interviews lived in . . . wait for it . . . New York City.)

But I digress.  My point is that I was reading about the role place carries in our lives, and then I put the book down and started working on a new quilt.  The rhythms -- ripping, pressing, testing, sewing fabric - made room for meandering thoughts.  So I was thinking about the fireworks going off beside Perry's Monument (it's official name is Perry's International Peace and Victory Monument and it was built to commemorate the Battle of Lake Erie and to honor and attest to the peaceful border that has existed between the United States and Canada ever since the Treaty of Ghent was signed).  (Way to go, United States and Canada.)  I was also thinking about currants, cake and ice cream, birthday presents for Amy, and how the fireworks exploded doubly, in the sky and in reflection on the lake, and what a big deal they were.

Then it struck me that just as significant as the fireworks was the fact that we were down at the dock after dark.

We only ever were at the dock after dark on July 3.  Hell, we were hardly ever there in the light, unless we were catching the boat with Mother to go shopping in Port Clinton or to visit her relatives and friends in Detroit.  What was that, all together?  Four or five times a year?

Otherwise, we weren't allowed near the dock.  In the summer, Lonz Winery was generally crowded with raucous folks (many of them from Cleveland*) drunk on sparkling wine (the kind that would be called Champagne if the grapes and the product were both from the Champagne area of France).  Not only were they drunk on fake Champagne, but they were drunk on WARM fake Champagne, which meant they were either hollering or singing or throwing up.  Not a place for children.

Not a place for children in the off-season, either.  What were we going to do there other than pick cherries from the Bing cherry tree that stood near the cliff in front of the Lonz mansion (which we did, with Mother's company) or fall in the lake (which we didn't, because we were never near the water, which is to say the dock)? My folks were all about being somewhere where you could do something productive.  We never went anywhere to look; we went places to learn.  Which isn't a bad form of parenting, whether on a Lake Erie island or in New York City.

*P. S.  It has been said that my children and I are loud. I claim it's a habit developed from a childhood living with a parent who was deaf as a result of flying noisy airplanes in the war without ear protection.  You had to SPEAK UP and you had to e-nun-ci-ate; and it seems I passed that lesson on to my children.  A few months back, I was telling my compadre some island stories and mentioned how loud people from Cleveland seemed when I was growing up.  "Are we that loud?" I asked.  "Oh, no," was the answer.  "Nobody's as loud as people from Cleveland."

I mean no disrespect, you understand.  If people from Cleveland are, indeed, louder than the rest of the world, it's no doubt attributable to all of the reasons I've just named for our family's speech pattern, with the added element of living in a city, where you have to talk over cars and trains and buses and utter bitter cold and, oh, yeah, all of those people.

Happy Third of July.

Belle Hits the Big Nine-Oh!

Joanna Belle Harkness (Cartledge), 6 months old

My mother is hitting The Big Nine-Oh!

(now called) Annabelle, 1923, 1 year old

We invite you to help set her day aglow

High school graduation (she had bright red hair)

by sending a Heigh-ho! a Hi-ho! Hello!

My dad shortened her first name to Belle. Photo ca. 1950

She doesn't need chickens, chapeaus, or Bordeaux,

Christmas card, 1981, with Mr. Punch peaking over her shoulder

nor escargot, stilettos, or a new backhoe;

but one thing about which she remains gung-ho

Summer 2003

is hearing from dear friends and loved ones, and sooo . . .

We ask that you send her a card or a note,
a letter, a missive, a poem, a joke,
a picture, a paper, a postcard, a quote,
a jingle, a phone call, a quick anecdote.

Mother, October 2011

No matter the method, she'll be happy you wrote.
*****
Mother, in true islander fashion, still loves getting mail.  And it's a gift that has lasting value, because every time I visit we re-read the cards she's received over the last few years.

Our goal is for her to get 90 birthday cards in the month of May! Please join in the fun! 

Mother remains strong, healthy, and clear on names and relationships. You could help her memory a jot, though, by mentioning if you're a friend of Amy's, or you painted pottery at Island Pottery, or that you own a beauty from Belle's Dolls, or that you're a member of my international fan club.

Here's the address:
Joanna Belle Cartledge
Meadowview, 83 High Street
Seville OH 44273   USA

Middle Bass Monday: breaking news 1951

Some more items from the January 1951 issue of Erie Island Mirror:


"A couple of hours later a party left Put in Bay for Port Clinton but reported cracks up to six feet wide.  They altered course for Middle Bass and a visit to Lonz Winery.  They were:  NORMAN HEINEMAN; HARRY AND LOUISE HEINEMAN; ETHAN FOX; ART. AND VAL TRAVERSO.  While there they phoned Karl (skinny) Parker and convinced him that they were in Port Clinton."


"Warmer weather has brought several foggy days.  Over 100 people were stranded on the island [South Bass], Jan. 14th.  Next morning, Island Air Service ran shuttle service until everyone was cleared."

"The ERIE ISLE FERRY CO. is contemplating the building of a small boat to replace the Mystic Isle which they sold last fall.  it is doubtful whether the new boat will be available for the Port Clinton run before 1st. July.  However, it will be a decided asset to the whole island when it does run for we will have a more regular service to Port Clinton and possibly more trips each day than it was possible to make with the Mystic Isle.  Besides, it will probably be registered on Middle Bass due to lower tax rate."

Middle Bass Monday: Erie Island Mirror

 

In December 1949 Belle and Doug Cartledge published the first issue of Erie Island Mirror which, their records show, was published monthly (with some exceptions) until September, 1951.  At the time, they had three children, aged 32 months, 17 months, and 3 months.  They also had animals, as revealed by the following item in the January 1951 issue of the Mirror:

"Next month we would like to say a few words about goats.  As you know we have two ourselves, but you may not know that we get around four to six quarts daily of wholesome milk from them.  Perhaps there are a few other facts about goats which you may find interesting.  See our next issue."

What's most interesting about that paragraph is that roughly two decades later they'd get a new goat, who soon became an island fixture, following people on daily walks to the post office, running up the stairs inside our barn to investigate / spy if she heard noises to the south of our property, and breaking into the house at every opportunity to clean the dining room table of the contents of the sugar bowl and anything else even moderately edible.

I can only guess that Milt's renewal arrived while Mother was in the middle of addressing this postcard.

My parents studied books on owning a small business and on marketing, which shows in their mailing products.

January 1951 Erie Island Mirror.

The issue had one page of Put-in-Bay news; two pages of Middle Bass news, three pages of advertisements, and a page titled "Festive Fruit Cake for The New Year."  The page features a photo of a two-layer frosted cake in the shape of a bell and the recipe, which calls for a "handy package of Layer Cake Mix."  Oh, the times they were a-changin', with women all over the country eschewing bake-from-scratch cakes in favor of those handy packages.

I'll scan the issue once I determine how to take it apart without damage. Meanwhile, here are the top news items:

"The coldest night recorded was Dec. 26 [, 1950].  Unofficially 15 below zero on Catawba, 5 below on Put in Bay, zero on Middle Bass, and [illegible] on North Bass."

"On Friday, BILL MILLER and BILL MARKET drove to Port Clinton in a Model T tourer.  (BILL MILLER has since been called to service in the Coast Guards and is stationed in California.)"

"We helped LESLIE BRETZ unload a bulldozer blade off the plane the other day.  We understand that this is an accessory for his Ford tractor, to use for scraping and also to plough snow off the roads.  It is anticipated that now it won't snow again all winter."

The mentions of the temperatures and of Bill Miller remind me that Miller's Ferry began running regular trips to Put-in-Bay last week and was contemplating adding trips to Middle Bass this week. That 15 below zero and 5 below zero were hardly atypical when I was a child on the island.  Boats running in February?  No.

Anybody hanging on to the illusion that global warming was invented by scientists (because . . . why? Are scientists notoriously wild and crazy guys who like playing practical jokes on the rest of the world?) can catch a ride on Miller's and spend the trip contemplating what open water on Lake Erie in February portends for the rest of the world in the coming decades.

Battle of Lake Erie

From my mother's postcard collection.  "Burial scene, Sept. 12, 1813, of the officers slain at the battle of Lake Erie, Sept. 10, 1813, Put-in-Bay, O."

Current Events

CSG seventh-graders take trip to Stone Laboratory


The article doesn't indicate how or why the Columbus School for Girls got to Middle Bass, or what they did if/while they were there; but it's a thorough recounting of what must have been a splendid adventure at the Monument and on Gibraltar.

Catawba Island to Middle Bass Island

 In honor of this week's flash trip to Middle Bass (there and back in 48 hours, which would have been 36 if not for a tire blow out), I'm posting photos from my October 17 trip.  Mid-afternoon, Miller's Ferry Dock on Catawba Island, Ohio.  Note the white caps on Lake Erie.

 They made me back onto the boat.  First time.  If I have my way, it's also the last time.  I got new glasses last week, and my peripheral vision hasn't quite caught up to the new state of affairs.  Boat guy stopped me at one point and said, "You've got two inches on this side.  You got about twenty feet on the other side."

"How about I pull up and start over?"

He seemed to think that was a good idea.

Regarding the topic of place in literature, you can see how someone who grew up in this neighborhood would construct a worldview different from someone who grew up in Des Moines or Atlanta. No cornfields.  No mass transit. No buildings blocking the view or the wind or the sun.

The water was rough enough that we approached Middle Bass via the east side of South Bass.  Only the second time I've been on a ferry when that was necessary.

 Water churning behind the boat.

Growing up, I always loved the ferry rides when the water sprayed over the deck.

(My camera lenses work better after a splash of lake water.)  In the background are the remains of the old Lonz's marina.