We visited my daughter the other day, for a brief 30 minute-stopover while we happened to be driving through the quaint Wisconsin town where she works. As she met us on the gravel lane between the road and the camp, I could already detect a difference, the way her messy ponytail bounced with every step. She looks casual and comfortable, as if she’s recently discovered that her skin fits her perfectly. 

And as irritating as that is, he has been pecking at my window every morning at dawn’s first blush since early May — more than two months now.

I have tried everything I know to stop him. Post-it notes on the glass. Even pictures of cats and wolves.

For this column, Micah Putman, the Associate Director of Park Operations, has graciously agreed to answer a few questions.

I watch the corn spend its entire lifetime from mid-May until late October — from first germination to final harvest — and along the way I reflect upon my own life and the many roads that got me here. For me, it is a kind of church moment to take that bike ride each day.

My dad passed away nearly five years ago, and since then, my mom has been living alone. For a while, my wife would bring our kids over during the week to visit for a few hours. Now that our kids are older, they’re in school and involved in sports, so our visits have naturally slowed down.

Remember granny squares? I watched my mother work her crochet hook like a magic wand when I was a little kid in the 70s. The sight of her yarn morphing into squares, which were then stitched together to become handbags and blankets is a core memory for me. So is the click-click of her knitting needles. As well as the whir of her sewing machine. As I grew into a teen, I rejected all these things, because I was determined to be more contemporary, not wanting to continue these “old lady” hobbies.

Well, technically it’s not actually bugs I want to talk about—it’s bacteria. But if I started by saying that, you might have stopped reading by now.

But wait! It’s not the bad bacteria bugs I want to talk about. It’s the good ones. And yes, there are plenty of good ones to talk about.

That’s how I found myself helping to direct community members out of my workplace — a public library — on an impossibly beautiful spring day. A suspicious call came through to a public desk. The caller spoke through a voice changer and made threats to the building and the people inside. Immediately, staff called 911 to report the threat, and the dispatcher advised that the building be evacuated.

Because, like Jeff, I am also a boat owner. So I feel his pain.

My first boat is a hundred-year-old 17-foot wooden canoe I’ve owned since 1973, and although I honor its natural beauty, it clocks in at almost a hundred pounds.

I really do believe this, and it plays out during the day when there are minor infractions committed against me, like getting cut off in traffic, or seeing when someone hasn’t cleaned up after their dog in the neighborhood, or the cashier forgets to scan a coupon.