SPRING IS HERE, I HEAR

It's been one of the longest coldest winters I can remember.  We didn't have any blizzards, but just steady snow day after day, with bone-chilling temperatures in the vicinity of -17 for weeks at a time.  This is really unheard of.  Usually you get a few days like that per year, but not long stretches of misery.

So last week when it finally appeared that spring might be making a few cracks in winter's icy grip, I decided I wasn't gonna wear my winter coat anymore, just my Bears hoodie.  I had to do my part to let winter know we weren't gonna sit there and take it anymore.  Consequently I've been pretty cold lately.

Today it was in the upper thirties, and sunny, so I thought I'd head up to Big Hill Park in Beloit to look for Skunk Cabbage.  As you may know, Skunk Cabbage is the harbinger of spring.  It's the first plant to come up each year, and generates so much heat as it grows that it actually melts the snow around it.  It's a weird, fascinating plant.  It grows in low-lying wet areas, and at Big Hill Park there's a little swampy spur of land that juts out into the Rock River, and it's a perfect spot to find Skunk Cabbage.

The road down to the river was stilled closed for the winter, so I parked at the top of the hill and worked my way down the slope to the main path, which winds its way along steep wooded hillsides with beautiful mossy rock outcroppings.  The path was clear and wet in places, and ice and slush still coated it in areas where it ran through shadow.

Finally got down to the bottom, and, sure enough, the floodplain along the river was dotted with Skunkers.  They were mostly still closed up, but on a few here and there the bright yellow spadix was visible through the leaves.  So that means Spring is here, or at least around the corner.

Skunk Cabbage (Symplocarpus foetidus)

(In the backyard the feeders have been covered in Goldfinches, in their tan winter plumage, and just in the past week or so their heads have started to show the change to the bright yellow that they'll sport throughout the summer.)

View of the Rock River, from the top of the hill

On the way home from the park I stopped at the dam to look for Bald Eagles, but I didn't see any.  Now that the river is mostly unfrozen I guess they don't need to hang out at the dam much anymore (they stick around in the winter because the rushing water prevents freezing, and thus maintains their access to fish).

Then back home where I filled the feeders and chased the dogs around the yard.

WORD UP

Just a quick one guys and gals.

If you're in Toronto this weekend for the wonderful TCAF show and want to pick up a copy of the most recent King-Cat (#73) you can do so at the Koyama Press table.  I sadly won't be there.  Also drop by Blank Slate's spot and pick up the new Oliver East book Swear Down.  No one does what Ollie does, and in this age of instant fad bullshit and copycat high fives, that's saying something.

I'm not going to Toronto, but I will be in Downtown Beloit for Artwalk, tonight, May 10 from 5-9 PM and tomorrow Sat. May 11 from 10 AM to 2 PM.  I'll be upstairs at "My Apt.", 429 E. Grand Ave selling (and signing) some comic books to the masses.  Come on down!

Lastly, may I introduce you to the newest member of the family, Mr. Gibson P. Dawg (The "P" is for "Puppy") AKA Da Woofman, Li'l Hustla, Coach Gibs, and Dat Ding Dong Dog from Kalamazoo:

Ain't he cute?

GO BULLS

GO HAWKS

FAREWELL, SOUTH BELOIT

Ye Olde Homestead

November 20, 2010 - February 6, 2013

On November, 20, 2010, in a desperate fugue of approaching homelessness, I signed a six-month lease on a small apartment in the little town of South Beloit, Illinois.  The landlord seemed like a nice guy, laid back, and he didn't make me fill out an application, run a credit check, or put me through the ringer.  He asked me what I did for a living, and I told him I was a writer, because that sounds more distinguished and safe than "cartoonist" or heaven-forbid "artist."  He looked at me askance and asked if I'd be able to pay the rent.  I said yes.  He replied, "If you get me $400, you can move in right now."  I borrowed some money from my mom, and moved my stuff in.

The first several months were grim.  November through January in North Central Illinois can be grim no matter what, but I was also coming off of a divorce, and following that, a heartbreaking love-affair that had seen me uproot myself from Denver, my home-sweet-home-away-from-home, bankrupting myself in the process.  I was not in, shall we say, the best mental state.  I was, shall we say, bitter about women, love, and life in general.

South Beloit is a pretty downbeat town.  There's not a lot of cushiony feeling there.  I remember that winter actually thinking, "This is where I belong."  When my friend Dan came to visit me, he said "Not only are you living in the most depressing town I've ever seen, but you're living in the most depressing building in that town."

I figured I would do my six months time, save some money, and then figure out my next step.

Eventually, I kind of, sort of, liked my weird old grey cinderblock place.  It looked like maybe once in the past it was a neighborhood grocery, or a mechanic's shop or something.  It was just down the street from where Fair Oaks ended at the train tracks, and a small dirt path wound into the woods towards the river.  I used to sneak in there all the time to look for aluminum cans, or simply to gaze at the river flowing past, slowly onwards to the Mississippi.

I became obsessed with the big island just west of my apartment.  Looking at an old USGS map online, I saw that it had a name: Boney Island.  That was the first thing I really liked about South Beloit, that there was an island there named Boney Island.  I also liked the old railroad bridge where the Union Pacific spur line rolled over Lathrop Terrace.  One day, on a warmish morning in early spring, I stopped to watch the South Beloit High School baseball team play Clinton (Wisc.) at the ballfield across from the Post Office.  (They won.)  For a second on that warm day I started to think, "Maybe it's not so bad here.  Maybe I could stay..."  Something had clicked.

On April 11, 2011, I met a girl named Stephanie, up in Beloit, Wisconsin, and we started dating.  The six months came and went.  We spent that first summer walking in the woods and fields around town.  I taught her the names of the prairie plants, and she took pictures for me with her new camera.  We'd take her dog Sherman for strolls in the evening and it felt quite domestic.  It felt good.

Even though Stephanie had a nice old house in Beloit, where we spent much of our time, I kept my little apartment in South Beloit.  Although the heat in it stunk, the water only worked intermittently, and the ceiling leaked on occasion (in a minor way), it was good to have a place to go, to work, to store all my distro stuff, and I liked being in Illinois.  Also, frankly, I was gun shy.  I didn't want to risk our relationship ending suddenly, leaving me with no place to go.

On January 29, 2013, I went down to my apartment to get to work.  I'd been on a roll, getting lots of artwork done, and busting some real progress on my new book.  I walked into the bathroom and saw water on the floor.  Looking up, there was an enormous blister in the ceiling, dripping water.  I threw a bucket under it and checked elsewhere.  A hole had burst through the kitchen ceiling as well, and in the back room, where I kept all my distro stuff, a new crack was dripping, and increasingly so.  Amazingly, even though nearly everything I own is made of paper, nothing was damaged.  I started packing my boxes immediately.

By that night the rain had turned to snow, and it snowed every day from then on, for the next ten days, as I drove carload after carload of comics and artwork up to Stephanie's place.  One night, driving up Route 2 towards Wisconsin, I almost got teary eyed, thinking of leaving good ol' South Beloit.  And I wondered why.  Partly, I felt like a traitor, leaving my home state, even though I was only crossing the line about half a mile.  And partly, I knew I would miss South Beloit's lonely desolation, the empty sounds of trucks rushing past at night.  And partly, because I knew another phase of my life was ending, and a new one beginning.  And I'm a lonely old sentimental fool, and the passing of time is the saddest and eeriest thing in the world.

* * *

PS: I'm keeping my South Beloit PO Box, so please continue sending mail there!

A TRIP TO THE CONFLUENCE OF THE ROCK RIVER AND TURTLE CREEK

So, I've been doing lots of research for the new King-Cat, for an article on the Bridges of South Beloit.  One Sunday in late May, I traveled around in intense heat to photograph the bridges for reference, and to look for any dates or other information I could find.

When I got to the two railroad bridges spanning Turtle Creek west of Blackhawk, I decided to trek into the woods to inspect the confluence where the creek empties into the Rock River.  This was the original site of the Winnebago Indian village called The Turtle, named for the prehistoric turtle shaped mound there.  After the Black Hawk War of 1832, the Indian village was deserted, and white men began to move in.  In 1835 Joseph Tebo built a cabin there, near the confluence, and worked as a trapper, hunter, and trader.  The area soon was sold to Caleb Blodgett, who began developing a town, first called Blodgett's Place, then, briefly, New Albany, which became known as Beloit in 1837.

This is where it all began.

Looking west from the south end of the Iowa, Chicago and Eastern Railroad bridge, one can catch a glimpse of the confluence through the trees.

A grove of smooth sumacs along the trail to the river.

The confluence, where Turtle Creek (right) flows into the Rock River.

Shirland Avenue bridge in Beloit, from the confluence.

I crossed over a muddy stretch on logs and wooden planks, onto what, in wetter times, would have been an island in the river.  Above: looking southwest from the island.

Looking north again.

The island was densely wooded, with only a narrow, overgrown path to follow.

Presently, I came to the southern edge of the island.

I didn't know that rivers had mileage markers, too.

Looking back north to the island path, strewn with trash and the debris of fishermen.

The Shirland Avenue bridge again, with downtown Beloit visible in the distance.

I love Illinois.

THE HOUSE I LIVE IN

Even the American flag is depressed.

On Tuesday, June 5th, Election Day in Wisconsin, I stood on the Portland Avenue bridge in Beloit, with the swallows, ducks, and one Great Blue Heron, and held up a sign imploring citizens to Vote for Tom Barrett, the Democratic opponent to Governor Scott Walker, who was up for recall.

Why did I do this?  Because I believe liars should be ashamed of themselves.  Because I believe women, gay people, and minorities should have the same rights as me.  Because I believe that voter-suppression is Unamerican.  Because I believe the environment should be protected.  Because I believe religious hypocrisy is repulsive.  And because I believe Greed is a poison, and we could all do with less poison in our lives.

So I did it because I wanted to speak up in some small way about what America means to me.  To me it means tolerance, and respect, and working together with all kinds of different people for a greater good.  I guess maybe that's naive in this day and age, but that's what I believe.

Most people who noticed me honked their horns in approval, or waved, or gave the thumb's up.  Some Walker supporters shouted at me, flipped me off, or gave me the thumb's down.  Many just silently shook their heads at me, or mouthed the words "No."  I tried to not take it personally.  I reminded myself that if people had the right to voice their approval, others had the right to disagree.

At one point in the run-up to the election, it occurred to me that, truth be said, it might really only do little lasting good if Barrett won.  After all, he would still have about 50% of the electorate who despised him simply because he was a Democrat.  And the state, and our country, would still be bitterly divided, with no real solution in sight.  Standing there that day I realized that it's not only necessary to stand up and fight back against the Republicans and their Corporate Overlords, but to reach out to my neighbors as well.  To try to bridge this destructive gap the GOP has so ably aggravated and exploited.  But how do you do that?

When I was canvassing for the Democrats I talked to one woman who basically said she'd worked twenty-five years at a hard job, paying $250 a month for insurance all that time, and saving for retirement, until her  401K was obliterated in the economic collapse.  She told me she took sweet delight in public sector union members losing their collective bargaining rights.  She wanted people who had better benefits, and a pension, to feel what it was like to suffer-- like she had suffered herself.

Divide and conquer.

How do you fight back against unlimited corporate greed?  Unlimited wealth that pays for lies and deception to ring in people's heads every time they turn around?  We're in a new world now, in America, and I just don't know where it's going to end up.  What do these people ultimately want from us?  A return to feudalism?  When will enough be enough for them?

I want to be hopeful for the American Experiment.  But I also know that all good things must come to an end.