Souvenir shops near our house feature T-shirts with pictures of “Lighthouses of the Great Lakes” emblazoned on the front. Unfortunately, my husband’s lighthouse is not represented.

Our lighthouse story starts at a garage sale in Milwaukee where our son spotted a  long catamaran and boat trailer. The price was an amazing bargain, and he became a boat owner on the spot.

The yard sale boat proved seaworthy, and one summer Sunday our son and a friend decided to sail 70 miles up the Lake Michigan shore to our house. He gave us an estimated time of arrival to which we prudently added a few hours.

The E.T.A. came and went and the daylight was leaving as well. We were worried: Lake Michigan has more shipwrecks than any of the other Great Lakes. To make matters worse, the night was moonless and the winds were rising.

My husband quickly began going through the house collecting every extension cord he could find.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Building a lighthouse,” was his sensible reply.

He managed to plug together 150 feet of cords, the distance from our house to the edge of the 70 foot bluff that drops down to the shore. Then he hauled out our highest ladder and brightest trouble lights. He had created a lighthouse in fifteen minutes.

We did not have to wait long for the lighthouse to do its job. From the pitch black darkness below we heard the sounds of laughter and the scraping of a boat being hauled ashore. The mariners were safely into port.

I believe there are some seafaring genes in my husband’s side of the family.

Assume nothing. This advice is a splendid way to avoid all manner of life’s surprises.

Breaking that rule, I’ve always assumed that the famous children’s toys, Tonka trucks, were made in Minnetonka, Minnesota. We frequently stay in a hotel in Minnetonka and, when there, I think of myself as being in “little truck city”.

We were recently in Minneapolis where we parked our car on Xerxes Avenue . The neighborhood was a mix of well tended, modest 1940’s homes. And then we spotted a house with incredibly imaginative landscaping…..it was landscaped with Tonkas. We stood on the sidewalk admiring the homeowner’s handiwork and obvious love for these sturdy playthings.

Back home, I decided to learn Tonka’s history. The first thing I discovered is that Tonkas were never made in Minnetonka, Minnesota. Mound, Minnesota is the birthplace of the Tonka toy. The trucks got their name from Lake Minnetonka on which Mound is situated.

My second discovery is that America has a National Museum of Play in downtown Rochester, New York, which houses the National Toy Hall of Fame. Tonka trucks were inducted into the museum in 2001.

A field trip to Mound is definitely in order. Even though Tonkas are now made in China (no surprise here, everything is) I want to visit the ancestral home of America’s favorite miniature earth moving equipment. What would a backyard sandbox be without them?

A few days ago, driving home with the groceries past the Pigeon River, I spotted a quirky little scene. A good sized green canoe was sitting by the side of the road. It was filled with fishing rods and gear. Two young men were standing beside the canoe. And beside them was a small, red Radio Flyer wagon.

In that instant, a thought zipped into my head, “They can’t be going to do what I think they are.”

As I drove past, the guys enacted my premonition: they lifted the canoe onto the coaster wagon and started down the shoulder of the road. My immediate impulse was to turn around and watch this funny caravan to see how far they would go. Unfortunately, the hour was late, the groceries were heating up and dinner needed to be made. I mentally wished them luck.

We have never towed our canoe on a Radio Flyer. In fact, our canoe is never transported anywhere. It resides on the beach chained to a poplar tree. We use our canoe on those rare days when Lake Michigan is totally calm and the weather forecast indicates no changes in the direction of the wind.

Our home is surrounded by rivers, creeks, marshes and inland lakes which we would love to explore via canoe. We have often lamented that our cars are too small to haul the canoe.

Silly us, all we would need is a Radio Flyer. Bravo to all the creative thinkers in the world.

For thirty years, Andre Soltner was the chef at Lutece, a paragon of New York dining establishments. Now retired and eighty years old, he recently stated in an interview, “I count my cooking by the looks of satisfaction on the faces of the people who have eaten my food. I don’t want them to be impressed; I want them to be pleased.”

I love his philosophy and seek to follow it. He was cooking haute cuisine and I am cooking nightly dinners in my home, but his goal can apply to both. A meal doesn’t have to be an elaborate feast to give pleasure.

Summer is almost upon us bringing all manner of wonderful fresh vegetables from our gardens and farmers’ markets. This is the perfect time to share one of my favorite recipes which was introduced to me by a good friend who loves to cook. This woman is so talented in the kitchen that she got me to eat grits and love them. She also introduced me to fresh picked radishes split halfway through with soft butter on the knife, known as radis au beurre in France.

Fresh Green Pea and Mint Soup with Lemon Cream

2 Tbs. butter

½ cup chopped shallots

4 cups green peas (fresh or frozen but not dried)

2 cups chicken or vegetable broth

½ cup chopped fresh mint

2 cups water

Salt and pepper to taste
½ cup cream

Zest of ½ lemon

Melt butter, cook shallots and add peas, broth, ½ of the mint, 2 cups of water and salt and pepper to taste. Bring to a boil, reduce heat and cook until peas are tender. Puree in blender.

Whip cream, add lemon zest and put a spoonful on top of each serving with a sprinkle of mint.

Serves 4 to 6

Happy eating this summer!

I live surrounded by mermaids. These lovely ladies have not flapped upstairs from the beach that is our front yard. They are, rather, a part of  a lifetime accumulation of art that I have acquired at folk art markets, thrift stores, art fairs and galleries.

I never set out to collect mermaids. I’m just drawn to them which is, after all, their fictitious purpose. My fascination with these ladies started at an early age when my mother read me the original Hans Christian Andersen story of “The Little Mermaid”. I simultaneously cried and fell in love with the story. Ariel, from the Disney version, will never be a stand in for the first Little Mermaid in my heart.

Many of my mermaids are from Mexico, where Sirenas are beloved subject matter for storytellers and artists.

Sirenas and their siren songs are inseparable.

This buxom Sirena and her skinny friend are both coconut shell folk art.

Not all mermaids have fish tails.

Curious and curiouser

A hysterical skeleton mermaid greets me as I walk in my downstairs door …it is hard not to smile.

Nicario Jimenez is a third generation retablo maker from Peru. Retablos, small wooden boxes filled with tiny figures, were originally used by Spanish priests to teach stories about the saints. The figures are made from boiled potato and gypsum powder clay. Nicario has won numerous awards for his intricate and imaginative scenes.

This mermaid spends all her hours staring out at Lake Michigan.

Marvin Hill was a gentle, immensely talented and witty Wisconsin printmaker whose life was ended by cancer. He was irreplaceable. His mermaids are my favorites.

Note that the last mermaid is holding a shell to her ear. The title of this print is “Hear the Forest?”