Ways of Journeying Corrigan's Lookout
feeling so proud to finally have something to show for being in high school and a reason to hang out with a group of girls
on the same team. Acceptance was so important as a teenager and goes on to mold our choices in life.
Going to college was an expectation from all around me as I was considered smart. The missing piece of the plan though
was what I would do there. I had absolutely no guidance in choosing a career path other than vague suggestions of the
usual teaching or nursing, neither of which appealed to me. What college did do for me that first time around was expose
me to this really interesting world outside of the neighborhood I had been raised in. I started to find people who accepted
me for simply being me. Not someone in a uniform or part or some group, but just because I was me. Some of these
people were “keepers” and are friends to this day, others, as the cliché goes, came into my life when the timing was right
and then moved on, but everyone of them left their impression and made me who I am.
I met a lot of fascinating people and had a lot of “interesting” adventures with some of them. I gradually strayed away from
college and set out to see what life had to offer and one of the more rewarding discoveries was right here in Wisconsin. I
also never imagined that it was the children of those friends who would provide some of the most treasured memories.
Just like Kim Chernin in Initiation, I was led by some of those children to a place that I treasure to this day, not the hem of
the Goddess perhaps, but a glimpse of the peace found in quiet places.
At some point I realized that I probably was not the “happily ever after type” nor did I want children of my own. That’s not to
say I don’t like children, I just didn’t feel that having my own was something I wanted to do and I discovered how much fun
it was to be the goofy, slightly dotty, grown-up friend to the children of my friends. It gave me the pleasure of being the
person whose visit was something they anticipated excitedly.
Many of the group of people I hung with in those days came from a small town up north called Mercer in Iron County.
Mercer is notable for a lot of things, including a bar owned by Al Capone’s brother, a summer retreat for Presidents and
movie stars along with its own assortment of memorable characters. My friends up there with whom I’d stay when we
weren’t camping were all mothers to young boys. I was everyone’s favorite visitor. I was good for trips to McDonalds which
required drives to Ironwood, MI, movies or treks in the woods and having adventures their moms would never allow, like
wading barefoot in the flowage to get a better angle on skipping stones. Lined up at the very edge of the water, with the
colors of early fall tinting the waters, 5 pairs of eyes looked up at me and in chorus said “our moms won’t let us do this” to
which I replied with great solemnity, “Do you see any of your moms here?” Our shoes and socks were off in record time
and perfect stones were soon flying in volleys over the flowage waters to great hoots and giggles. We were being bad. But
having young boys go to school and tell their teachers that their “best friend in the whole world was a lady as old as their
mothers”, well that is a compliment I treasure to this day. Somehow being called old in that context didn’t matter much. I
still had “it”. Here was an acceptance I never anticipated but was ever so much more important than the one I yearned for
in my own youth. I became the person I was looking for in some ways.
Another trip involved the “Great Potato River Waterfalls Hunt”. I’d been there once before on a previous trip. Iron County is
home to dozens of spectacular waterfalls. I couldn’t remember how to find the falls (forgot to bring a map) so as we drove
around the back roads we passed a sign that said “Corrigan’s Lookout”. Somehow, a lookout seemed an ideal spot to
search for a waterfall and we pulled the car off to the side of the road and headed into the woods. The road sign was the
last marker and as we descended into a swampy hollow I began to think that bringing home a bunch of muddy boys’
maybe wasn’t such a hot idea. I also found proof that bears do indeed “defecate” in the woods. The boys were having a
grand adventure and we decided to forge ahead. Hey, 6 and 7 year olds have no fear so what was my problem? The bear
poop was a topic of much discussion over how we’d deal with such an encounter. Having 6- and 7-year olds assure you
they’d scare away any old bear was actually quite reassuring. The path eventually started back up and we passed some
magical forest views and wood trilliums that were blooming as it was early spring. The woods had that delicious smell of
damp earth, leaf mold and the soft wind soughing in the still bare branches of the birch trees. A few odd crows cawed
overhead but there was no other sound but me and the boys having this marvelous trek. Little hope of finding a waterfall
but now we were curious about this lookout that was mentioned. And everything was magically intriguing to the boys.
The way through the trees rose steadily until we finally spotted this huge knob of granite that towered above our heads and
before I knew it the boys had scrambled up and a chorus of “wow, look at that” beckoned me up. We were literally
hundreds of feet above the tree line and could see for miles, almost to the Lake Superior shoreline. It was then I
remembered my north woods geology and realized we were standing on the remnants of an ancient mountain range that
predated the Himalayas and Rockies. The Penokee Mountains are about 2,500 million years old. So old, only their roots
remain. The granite was warmed by the sun and while I kept a close eye on the boys, I sat down and let the heat radiate
into me, reveling in the view and the knowledge that although there were signs others had been there, for the moment, it
was just me and my young charges feeling like adventurers who found a treasure. Several years later I found out that
Corrigan’s Lookout is the highest point in Iron County and relatively unknown. It’s pretty far from the resorts and fishing
areas and is in an area of occasional farms and marshlands. The sign has since disappeared and you have to know
exactly where to watch for the road to bend and the slight dip into which you can pull the car off the road. That’s OK by me
as it now is my private retreat. I have no fear that condos or water parks will ever sprout there.
I’ve gone back several times by myself now and love to flatten myself out of the rock and stare up at the sky or lean over the
edge and revel in the broad view of the woods below and Upson lake in the distance. The Potato River is further west but
does not hold a candle to the peace I feel at this place. You do have to be wary of bears but I don’t carry food and they are
pretty skittish around people and only really aggressive if they have cubs. The rock is home to lichen and at certain times
of the year, caterpillars and they go on to become butterflies. The trilliums still bloom in the spring and you’d best wear
shoes that can take the mud. It’s not a clean hike but the rock is still there as it has been for millions of years. There is
such a sense of place and belonging there, at least for the ancient rock. My time will pass but the rock will continue until
millennia from now, it too returns to the earth from which it rose. It is already much reduced from its former state of
majesty. As in the reading by Lucy McCauley, In Ronda I didn’t find what I expected, but did find what I was looking for. I
only wish I could make those now grown up boys, my Peter Pan troop of “Lost Boys” one more time. Just another
reminder of the impermanence of all creation and finding what we are looking for is sometimes right in front of us but we
have to be willing to stop and explore the path behind the sign, even if you get muddy.
on the same team. Acceptance was so important as a teenager and goes on to mold our choices in life.
Going to college was an expectation from all around me as I was considered smart. The missing piece of the plan though
was what I would do there. I had absolutely no guidance in choosing a career path other than vague suggestions of the
usual teaching or nursing, neither of which appealed to me. What college did do for me that first time around was expose
me to this really interesting world outside of the neighborhood I had been raised in. I started to find people who accepted
me for simply being me. Not someone in a uniform or part or some group, but just because I was me. Some of these
people were “keepers” and are friends to this day, others, as the cliché goes, came into my life when the timing was right
and then moved on, but everyone of them left their impression and made me who I am.
I met a lot of fascinating people and had a lot of “interesting” adventures with some of them. I gradually strayed away from
college and set out to see what life had to offer and one of the more rewarding discoveries was right here in Wisconsin. I
also never imagined that it was the children of those friends who would provide some of the most treasured memories.
Just like Kim Chernin in Initiation, I was led by some of those children to a place that I treasure to this day, not the hem of
the Goddess perhaps, but a glimpse of the peace found in quiet places.
At some point I realized that I probably was not the “happily ever after type” nor did I want children of my own. That’s not to
say I don’t like children, I just didn’t feel that having my own was something I wanted to do and I discovered how much fun
it was to be the goofy, slightly dotty, grown-up friend to the children of my friends. It gave me the pleasure of being the
person whose visit was something they anticipated excitedly.
Many of the group of people I hung with in those days came from a small town up north called Mercer in Iron County.
Mercer is notable for a lot of things, including a bar owned by Al Capone’s brother, a summer retreat for Presidents and
movie stars along with its own assortment of memorable characters. My friends up there with whom I’d stay when we
weren’t camping were all mothers to young boys. I was everyone’s favorite visitor. I was good for trips to McDonalds which
required drives to Ironwood, MI, movies or treks in the woods and having adventures their moms would never allow, like
wading barefoot in the flowage to get a better angle on skipping stones. Lined up at the very edge of the water, with the
colors of early fall tinting the waters, 5 pairs of eyes looked up at me and in chorus said “our moms won’t let us do this” to
which I replied with great solemnity, “Do you see any of your moms here?” Our shoes and socks were off in record time
and perfect stones were soon flying in volleys over the flowage waters to great hoots and giggles. We were being bad. But
having young boys go to school and tell their teachers that their “best friend in the whole world was a lady as old as their
mothers”, well that is a compliment I treasure to this day. Somehow being called old in that context didn’t matter much. I
still had “it”. Here was an acceptance I never anticipated but was ever so much more important than the one I yearned for
in my own youth. I became the person I was looking for in some ways.
Another trip involved the “Great Potato River Waterfalls Hunt”. I’d been there once before on a previous trip. Iron County is
home to dozens of spectacular waterfalls. I couldn’t remember how to find the falls (forgot to bring a map) so as we drove
around the back roads we passed a sign that said “Corrigan’s Lookout”. Somehow, a lookout seemed an ideal spot to
search for a waterfall and we pulled the car off to the side of the road and headed into the woods. The road sign was the
last marker and as we descended into a swampy hollow I began to think that bringing home a bunch of muddy boys’
maybe wasn’t such a hot idea. I also found proof that bears do indeed “defecate” in the woods. The boys were having a
grand adventure and we decided to forge ahead. Hey, 6 and 7 year olds have no fear so what was my problem? The bear
poop was a topic of much discussion over how we’d deal with such an encounter. Having 6- and 7-year olds assure you
they’d scare away any old bear was actually quite reassuring. The path eventually started back up and we passed some
magical forest views and wood trilliums that were blooming as it was early spring. The woods had that delicious smell of
damp earth, leaf mold and the soft wind soughing in the still bare branches of the birch trees. A few odd crows cawed
overhead but there was no other sound but me and the boys having this marvelous trek. Little hope of finding a waterfall
but now we were curious about this lookout that was mentioned. And everything was magically intriguing to the boys.
The way through the trees rose steadily until we finally spotted this huge knob of granite that towered above our heads and
before I knew it the boys had scrambled up and a chorus of “wow, look at that” beckoned me up. We were literally
hundreds of feet above the tree line and could see for miles, almost to the Lake Superior shoreline. It was then I
remembered my north woods geology and realized we were standing on the remnants of an ancient mountain range that
predated the Himalayas and Rockies. The Penokee Mountains are about 2,500 million years old. So old, only their roots
remain. The granite was warmed by the sun and while I kept a close eye on the boys, I sat down and let the heat radiate
into me, reveling in the view and the knowledge that although there were signs others had been there, for the moment, it
was just me and my young charges feeling like adventurers who found a treasure. Several years later I found out that
Corrigan’s Lookout is the highest point in Iron County and relatively unknown. It’s pretty far from the resorts and fishing
areas and is in an area of occasional farms and marshlands. The sign has since disappeared and you have to know
exactly where to watch for the road to bend and the slight dip into which you can pull the car off the road. That’s OK by me
as it now is my private retreat. I have no fear that condos or water parks will ever sprout there.
I’ve gone back several times by myself now and love to flatten myself out of the rock and stare up at the sky or lean over the
edge and revel in the broad view of the woods below and Upson lake in the distance. The Potato River is further west but
does not hold a candle to the peace I feel at this place. You do have to be wary of bears but I don’t carry food and they are
pretty skittish around people and only really aggressive if they have cubs. The rock is home to lichen and at certain times
of the year, caterpillars and they go on to become butterflies. The trilliums still bloom in the spring and you’d best wear
shoes that can take the mud. It’s not a clean hike but the rock is still there as it has been for millions of years. There is
such a sense of place and belonging there, at least for the ancient rock. My time will pass but the rock will continue until
millennia from now, it too returns to the earth from which it rose. It is already much reduced from its former state of
majesty. As in the reading by Lucy McCauley, In Ronda I didn’t find what I expected, but did find what I was looking for. I
only wish I could make those now grown up boys, my Peter Pan troop of “Lost Boys” one more time. Just another
reminder of the impermanence of all creation and finding what we are looking for is sometimes right in front of us but we
have to be willing to stop and explore the path behind the sign, even if you get muddy.
By Debby Tewes
Sometime back I started out on the path that seemed predestined for me by my upbringing and
the influence of my parents. About the time I started at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee
the first time in the fall of 1969, I came here because I was told that was what I should do.
During the formative years in high school I was painfully shy and it was only with the help of a
few encouraging teachers that I was able to overcome a reluctance to participate in any
extracurricular activities for fear that I wasn’t good enough or would be made fun of. Fortunately,
back in those days, it was OK for teachers to take an interest in encouraging students who
showed promise and just seemed to need a little nudge. While I was never good at sports, I
did have an affinity for what in those days was called the drill team, a corps of precision
marching maneuvers that allowed us to wear a uniform on school pep days and I remember
Sometime back I started out on the path that seemed predestined for me by my upbringing and
the influence of my parents. About the time I started at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee
the first time in the fall of 1969, I came here because I was told that was what I should do.
During the formative years in high school I was painfully shy and it was only with the help of a
few encouraging teachers that I was able to overcome a reluctance to participate in any
extracurricular activities for fear that I wasn’t good enough or would be made fun of. Fortunately,
back in those days, it was OK for teachers to take an interest in encouraging students who
showed promise and just seemed to need a little nudge. While I was never good at sports, I
did have an affinity for what in those days was called the drill team, a corps of precision
marching maneuvers that allowed us to wear a uniform on school pep days and I remember
Debby Tewes