SANCTUARY

Manitowac............

The hills approached from all sides charging, shifting here and there but charging none the less. I veered left and then right, right and then left along the snake's image before me. Who would have known that six inches of asphalt poured for the countless miles of fertile moraine could pull a little Chevy Tracker so?

I traced, nose first, along this path following what only heaven knows was ahead. Cautious of all that behind me, I remember all too well the warnings of well wishers, "...don't go roaming too far." And, "...don't get caught in the farmlands alone, they aren't familiar with our kind here." I had reassured each that I would obey the rules of race here... my daughter was exceptionally concerned about prejudices, but defiant about her Hispanic origin. It was a white man's world here in the hills, there were no Negroes, Hispanics or Natives. I would be careful where I got lost. After all, I had only recently completed a college civil rights course and only last week had visited the Black Holocaust Museum among other museums in the town where she lived. You don't have to beat me over the head with a stick of belief! I had intentions of heading north to Green Bay... a place I'd never been.

A bright and sunny morning in 1995 had beckoned me outside and to the Bally's Health Club earlier. Now taking a decisive drive out of town into the "bad back lands," every hill revealed only another farm. Every passing vehicle promised only another staring pale face. Pale faces gawking with disbelief that my kind would be so bold as to venture into their sacred grounds. Pale faces surmising my circumstances of being out here and alone. Familiar colors in the far distance whispered possible safety... UNOCAL gas and the green signs of direction. Had I my CB or my bag phone, I could feel a little less anxious. Earlier, I had strayed off the winding main highway to get out of a thin mist of rain and onto a sort of scenic trail. The ride was relaxing with and other small forest creatures dashing across my path on occasion. The few cars ahead of me were my reassurance that I was not at all out of sorts with the developed society. One hour of roaming these back hills led by intense wanderlust and light jazz wafting from the dashboard, had placed me at the foot of what appeared to be a sanctuary in a mountain. A twenty minute drive up the winding path before me brought me deep into the woods and into a lot carved at the base of a steep incline of stairs which led to a magnificent work of architectural art... Valders St. Nazianz. A slow stroll around the lot and base of the stairway relayed some deep symbolance of spirituality about the place. I became engrossed with snapping photos and inhaling the beauty around me. I did not notice the gathering of a small herd of deer at my waist and within arms reach. This was in itself an eerie feeling. Deer rarely, if ever approach a human figure... especially a stranger. Just as I noticed their presence, one of the larger white tailed deer returned my stare of surprise, equally unsure of the next correct action. My determination was one of extreme stillness... my host, who was a little more uncertain, flipped its tail and sauntered off back into the thicket taking his crew with him. I stood gazing after them and digesting the recent situation. I was in awe. After collecting my senses, I tucked the camera away and returned to my trusty chariot. This was certainly a haven for peace. With notes jotted from a plaque mounted in a large stone near the bottom stair, I was content to depart this little bit of heaven. As I did, one lone human life form cast a shadow across the path of the roadway from a small structure. A shadow which stood on its own, detached from any actual recognizable figure nearby or in the distance, finalized the experience as one of mystique. The tracker pulled me along asphalt and back onto the long winding path which lay between here and home; as I tried to rationalize the shadow. The area had been foggy. There was no light except for one window high in the rectory. Every other person finding their way onto the path was already gone. Thinking back about the shadow, I realized that the cover of bare tree limbs should not block sunlight enough to eliminate a casted shadow from any figure; but the absence of a solid body caused my mind to toy with the theory of reflection, imagination, action and reaction. This alone was enough to distract the mind from anxieties of misguided direction... thought of giants and spooks haunting the wooded land, showing itself in the fog. The little purple Tracker was the only rolling metal for miles... as far as the eye could see. When UNOCAL orange and directional green did materialize in the distance, a sigh of relief crossed mind and heart. With that slight bit of comfort added to the venture, I pulled off road to enjoy a brief moment of quiet and a sip of juice. As I did, a motorcyclist passed by headed into the area I had only just left. Content that civilization, live civilization was near, I popped the top of the cranberry juice. A few sips later, and courage, pulled me from my vehicle to stroll around the area of my stop. It resembled a Quaker's farm. There was a small whitewashed shed with a log rail fence, both losing the glistening wash to the elements of wind and rain. As I reviewed the little history known to me of such things, I noticed again, the shadow towering from behind me. I jerked around to do a complete "about face" to reveal nothing of flesh that could cast the image. It stood there unwavering. There was just me and the shadow in the overcast light of day. (It was not raining, misting or foggy in the clearing away from the wooded area and the time was near 12 noon) The hair that would be on the nape of my neck stood; and I fell back into the tracker eager to end my day of adventure. The little vehicle took me back onto the road and toward the orange bulb in the distance.

The biker came into the gas station and upon noticing me, brandished a quizzical scowl of unmistaken resentment. The clerk called on me causing an even more intense frown to cross his face. One could imagine the words of vile contempt passing through his mind. As the she passed me the change from my crisp fifty dollar bill, his eyes widened that much more. I stepped away from the counter and glancing his direction, state,"Excuse me, but I'd say you look like a well traveled man for these parts, am I headed the right way for Port Washington?" The gray and brown bristled face touted up and toward me with a comical expression of extreme shock that I could actually have the audacity to utter a word in his presence... and yet to him personally. After a lengthy pause and obvious consideration of appropriate response, he muttered a sullen, "...yup" to my face. A sullen, "yup" which allowed me to inherit a full scent of stale tobacco and brew left over from the night before. I pushed forth a smile for his benefit and mine; then presented him with a cordial, "Thank you, I had hoped I wasn't getting lost out here. I've never seen so many hills!" He smiled back an through chipped and snaggled teeth began telling me more specific directions to civilization. He held the door for me to exit and as he mounted his bike, I threw him an honorary salute... a sign of true appreciation and acknowledgment. He tooted his motorcycle horn behind me as I slipped back onto the roadway toward the Shorewood area of Milwaukee.

note: I think often in wonder of what the shadow actually was. MANITOWAC COUNTY in Wisconsin was originally a First Nations ceremonial area before settlers took the lands.

DAYTRIPPING in lower Wisconsin

...it may look different today with the passage of time