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An Outlook

Since I spend a good deal of time around books I began to wonder what it might be like if a few of the great writers decided to pen a work set in, or focusing on, Door County. Thus, the following, beginning with the author (or authors) of the Old Testament.

 

And sometime after the seventh day and before the day on which man invented football, God looked down upon the Earth, which He had wrought, and decided to dabble.

And God formed great masses of ice, which He called ‘Great Masses of Ice’ (that man would later call glaciers) and these He moved about on the face of the earth. And they did plough soil and shatter rock, forming mountains and valleys. And God looked down upon His ice hewn dabbling and said, ‘Cool.’

And God did laugh loudly at his pun. And His laughter echoed deafeningly across the earth and through the heavens. And the dinosaurs did die from His laughter.

And so, God did nudge the Great Masses of Ice back to the north and much melting did ensue. Lakes formed upon the earth, in particular on one section of the Earth that God called ‘That Part’ (and man would one day call North America). And behold, there were five large lakes that God called ‘Five Large Lakes’ (that man would one day call The Great Lakes).

God did look upon these lakes and saw that one was very large and He named it ‘Largest Lake’ (though man would one day call it Lake Michigan). And God saw a small strip of land sticking out into ‘Largest Lake’ and he did frown. And God considered bringing the Great Masses of Ice back to plough this strip of land away and leave ‘Largest Lake’ uninterrupted. Yet He decided not. For as God looked more closely He saw that this strip of land was part of a huge shelf of rock which He named “Huge Shelf of Rock” (and man would one day call the Niagara Escarpment).

And God did reach down to touch this shelf, yet His touch was heavy and the ‘Huge Shelf of Rock’ tipped. And behold, the small strip of land now had towering rock bluffs on its western shores and sand beaches and wetlands on its eastern shores. And God did proclaim, ‘Whoa!’

And God was so taken with this strip of land, which He called ‘That Place,’ (and man would later call Door County), that He did spend considerable time watching it. And He beheld days of considerable warmth and sun on the western shores that would be foggy and cool on the eastern shores. And He beheld how, if there was any rain in the area, it would always rain in an area He called ‘The Place Where It Always Rains on That Place’ (which man would later call Egg Harbor), even though it might not rain anywhere else on ‘That Place.’ And God was very pleased and proud of ‘That Place.’

And finally man came to ‘That Place.’ And God watched the first settlers arrive. And God leaned ever closer to his Earth, and to ‘That Place’ in particular, when the first man walked out into a cleared field with spade in hand to dig the foundation for the first home. And God did see the man raise his shovel high and plunge it toward the earth. And God did see the shovel shatter in the man’s hands and hear the man curse.

And God frowned and proclaimed to no one in particular, ‘Rats, I forgotteth the top soil.’

And God went to dabble elsewhere on his Earth.

 

Or how about Ernest Hemingway:

 

He was an old man who had fished alone in a skiff in the Gulf Stream. Once he had gone eighty-four days without taking a fish. He was friendless except for a small boy, who remained very kind to the old man despite his lack of fish. Still the lack of friends and fish weighed heavily on the old man. He missed conversation with his peers and he missed food in his belly. So one day, the old man moved north.

Arriving in Gills Rock, at the end of the Door Peninsula in Wisconsin, the old man bought a small boat with the last of his money and he set out to fish.

Well out from shore the old man set about readying his lines. “There are no marlin in these waters,” he said aloud, “and certainly no sharks. But I hear, there are lawyer fish down there,” he continued, “and I’m curious to see what one of those might be like.”

The old man had spent the last of his money on the boat so he had no bait. With his mind on this problem, the old man jabbed a hook into his finger as he tied. Cursing, he worked it free and began sucking at the blood oozing from his finger.

“I have it,” the old man shouted aloud and he reached into his pocket and removed a cigarette, which he carefully fastened to the hook. “What lawyer can resist the smell of tobacco,” he said aloud, thinking of all the civil trials he read about in the papers.

Hours passed without a bite. The only thing to occupy the old man’s time was his finger, which continued to ooze blood. Finally, just as the old man was ready to give up, a lawyer fish jumped into his boat.

“Hey, bub,” the lawyer fish said, “that tobacco stuff is old news. None of us are interested down there. I couldn’t help noticing that finger of yours, though. Still bleeding, right?”

The old man nodded slowly, slightly surprised to see a fish talking on the deck of his boat.

“So the way I see it,” the fish continued, flopping closer to the old man, “we can file a really nice lawsuit against the hook manufacturer. Are you a hemophiliac? Doesn’t matter. Hey was the hook previously used? Is AIDS a possibility here? Understand, I’m trying to get a feel for our case…”

The fish talked on and darkness fell. The old man, who for a while had been mildly attentive, felt his eyes glaze over and still the fish talked. Every so often the fish would say “hundreds of thousands” or “millions.” Finally the old man, said quietly, “Shut up.” Still the fish talked. So the old man repeated, “Shut up,” in a louder voice. And still the fish kept talking. The old man screamed, “Shut up,” and grabbed an oar to bash the fish’s head in.

“Whoa there, bub,” the fish said, raising a fin to stop the impending oar. “I’ve got family down there. I’ve got friends. We’re talking wrongful death suit here. Maybe even murder…”

The old man let the oar fall with his full force behind it, shattering the handle with the impact. The old man sat quietly for several moments. The darkness was all around him. The shattered oar handle was still grasped in his hand. “I have no oar,” he said aloud, “I have no bait, I have no money, and I have no fish. I have only this small boat and my dignity.” And he smiled.