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Editor’s NotE By Madeline A. Johnson, Editor

used to be perplexed when out-of-towners would ask, “What exactly do you people do up here in winter?” as though we residents were abnormal in some way. “Ordinary stuff,” I’d haughtily answer. “Same as you. We go to work. We eat and sleep. We watch TV.”

But…I must eat my words. It recently dawned on me

Upon snapping this photo of me and my catch, my gracious ice-fishing hostess Jaime Forest quipped, “That’s the fish, not the bait.”

that I’ve mixed myself up in some rather oddball activities in the winters I’ve spent here. Take broomball, for instance. For those of you unfamiliar with the “sport,” it can only be de- scribed as a clumsy, co-ed ver- sion of hockey involving moon boots, a cantaloupe-sized ball, and sticks with triangle wedges glued to the ends (nope, no brooms). I was recruited into this nonsense my first winter here and stuck with it for seven whole seasons – seven seasons with little to show apart from many cantaloupe-sized bruises and a failed quest to master the skill of running on ice.

A few years back, I also

found myself recruited for a game of winter kickball, which actually turned out to be more like blizzard kick- ball. Imagine a blinding snowstorm, several Bravehearts hastily shoveling snow trenches on a baseball diamond, a giant beach ball, and a keg of beer. Normal, right?

CORRECTION: In the Autumn issue of Door County Living (Volume 9, issue 3) the large

hunting image for the story “Stalking Tranquility” was inadvertently reversed in layout. As a result the caption mis-identified the hunters in the image. The image to the right is correct, and the roll call of Door County icons is as follows: (Back row, left to right) Hollis “Baldy” Bridenhagen, Dead Eye Bergwin,

Joe Jungwirth and Robbie Kodanko. (Front row, left to right) Tony Koessel, Roy Wetterstrom, Lawrence Weborg, Giles Anderson, Howard Olson and Butch Graf. The original photo belongs to Dean Johnson.

8 Door County Living Winter 2011/2012 Or consider my participation in last year’s debut event

at the Fish Creek Winter Festival: Human Foosball. No one twisted my arm for this one; I got right in on the ground floor by putting a team together and starting the smack talk weeks in advance. You can read all about it on page 42 of this issue – and, yes, that’s me in the picture on the far left biting my lip with the faulty belief that a grimace could somehow add oomph to the weak kick I just sailed directly to the soccer stud in front of me.

To follow up the Human Foosball Tournament, I then

partook in something called the Fruit Loop. I never jog, but the cold winter air must have tampered with my fac- ulties enough that I thought it would be wise to throw on a costume on a cold February morning, run through downtown Fish Creek, and then stand in a hay-filled tent eating Froot Loops with strangers. Huh.

Last but not least, I was also invited to go ice fishing

in Little Sturgeon. Strictly speaking, this is not an odd activity in the north woods, but in this setting I was as much a fish out of water as the perch we caught. First, I don’t like worms. Second, I don’t like to be cold. And third, I can’t understand the comfort level these fisher- people have attained in not merely walking on ice, but driving pick-ups onto it, setting up shacks, and then starting fires inside them. I did warm up to the activity, but – no big surprise – my ice-fishing skills were on an athletic par with these other goofy pursuits.

I can only wonder what spectacle this winter will bring,

but there is one thing I do know for certain. Next time an out-of-towner poses the question, my answer will be: “Weird stuff. You really can’t imagine how weird.”

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