February 9, 2018

Joe Writes . . . 

A belated Happy New Year. We are anxious to get on the river again, even to the extent of planning to paddle amidst the ice floes if we get a winter thaw. Right now, however, it’s just too cold. We may be kind of kooky, but we’re not certifiably insane. (At least I’m not; there’s room for debate where my brother is concerned.)

I crossed over the Grand and the Kalamazoo Rivers several times yesterday while making the Ann Arbor – Holland round-trip to visit my mom. The Grand was frozen bank-to-bank in a few places and half-open in others, whereas the Kalamazoo was pretty much clear of ice everywhere I looked. I’m not sure why that is; perhaps the current is swifter in the K’zoo? I worry that we will get out on the Grand easily enough but that the ice – while allowing a big path down the center – will prevent us from reaching the bank where we intend to take out. I am not aware of an ice-breaking attachment for the canoe.

It’s February in Michigan and everyone fights cabin fever in his or her own way. Lately I have been eating nostalgically to ward off the depth-of-winter-crazies. Nostalgic eating entails revisiting the foods of one’s youth. We had chipped beef on toast not long ago , a dish with a decidedly unappetizing nickname (think roofing material) which was a mid-week dinner  staple around our house in the 1960’s. I’ve also been lunching on olive loaf with American Processed Cheese-Like Food and mayo – Miracle Whip, not Hellman’s – served on soft inexpensive white bread. I can’t find Wonder Bread but there are plenty of close substitutes. Koegel makes the best olive loaf and it’s produced in Flint. Don’t beat yourself up for eating processed meats; congratulate yourself for eating locally!

Linda’s dad went through a nostalgic eating phase during the last several years of his life. He had me searching all over for turtle, which is available online at around $25 per pound. Bernie was not an extravagant man and would never let me pull the trigger on mail order turtle even though I was willing to do so. He was always hopeful that I would catch him a big snapping turtle when we were out on the river; thank goodness I’ve only seen smaller turtles. I was never particularly anxious to initiate combat with an armored foe who has long, sharp claws and would just as soon remove my fingers as swallow a tadpole.

Perhaps next time I’ll write about the ultimate in eating nostalgically; i.e., middle class American goulash served with an iceburg lettuce salad and a side dish of red Jello congealed around some sort of canned fruit. It’s a topic worthy of its own entry, so until then . . . listen to the river. Trust the river and take the river’s side. Industry and big agriculture have plenty of friends already.

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