Burning Squatch

Every small-town newspaper has a community calendar. Be it art, music, activity, or some weird local specialty, the community calendar promotes the goings on that the community has to offer. These events are usually free or accept donations and are often put forth by volunteers.

Many a day has been salvaged by the bored newspaper reader scouring the community calendar then stumbling across a gem of an event, or maybe even just a filler for a hapless afternoon. The reader goes, has a good time, and may even reflect for just a moment on what a nice job the volunteers have done. But have you ever really taken the time to deep dive and truly appreciate just how much time and effort goes into these local passion projects? Have you ever volunteered for these activities? Me neither.

This pandemic is more than a medical crisis, it is also an emotional and mental health crisis and 2020 was a bleak year because of it. There was social distancing. Masks and the battles over masks. More social distancing. Quarantines and the battles over quarantines. Social distancing and the battles over social distancing. Healthy and not so healthy people falling mortally ill. Information and misinformation battles. Life disrupted. Humans are social animals. Sick people were and are dying and healthy people are lonely and adrift and slowly dying inside.

A group of nice people had had enough. But what could be done in the middle of a pandemic? A community event would have to be outside, but this was the dead of a Northern Wisconsin winter. A community event had to exercise safe practices. Could an event with safe practices still be a social event? A fun event? Would anyone even show up during a pandemic?

Instead of cancelling their upcoming 2021 Hygge Hike snowshoe trail event, the nice people had the audacity to not only press on but to go all in and in a very grandiose way. Instead of being held in the afternoon as in years before, the full moon just begged that it should be held at night. Instead of the participants relying on the traditional flashlights and headlamps to navigate through the dark of night, the nice people had the audacity to envision lighting the trail for the hikers. But would anyone even show up during a pandemic?

Plans were laid. The start and finish would be illuminated by colorful ice candles. The 1.5 mile hiking route would be lit with over 600 candle and ice luminaries, twelve Swedish torches, and three bonfires, one of which would be tended by a fire dancer, just for good measure. Of course, there would be hot cocoa at the finish. Supplies were purchased and tasks assigned. Eager volunteers toiled to perfect each detail. But would anyone show up during a pandemic?

The hike would follow a recreational trail less than a snowball throw from the back door of my cabin, so on the big day I was able to witness the nice people in action. The weather was perfect, the plans were perfectly executed, and when night fell folks not only showed up but showed up by the hundreds. And as if on cue, the full moon proudly appeared.

Folks from all walks of life were out in the crisp night air as the luminaries and fires cast flickering and dancing shadows of trees and hikers about the snow and the full moon above cast a friendly glow about the night sky. The aromatic scent of pine and cedar smoke gently wafted about. This audacious plan spawned pure joy and the belief that today was going to be okay, and better days lie beyond the depths of this dreaded pandemic. It created a sense of community in a time of distancing. It created normalcy.

That night like so many before and after, the world was grappling with the cold and wretched grips of a pandemic. But the nice people offered a magical and inviting refuge and warmly welcomed all who ventured forth.

Legend has it that there was an after party for the nice people out in the forest, a party to acknowledge and commemorate their hard work and audacious vision. Glasses were raised and toasts were offered. An effigy of a yeti was set ablaze in a grand bonfire, and burgers and brats were burnt on the grill. It was no Woodstock and was not meant to be, the First Annual Burning Squatch was a celebration of and for the nice people.

The original Woodstock had 600,000 attendees but there are now about a million and a half septuagenarians and octogenarians that claim to have been there. 100,000 bald headed grandpas claim to be the dude perched on the speakers when Hendricks played, and 200,000 blue haired grandmas claim to be the hippy chick that flashed her breasts at Sha-Na-Na. Burning Squatch was much more exclusive. Fourteen nice people were there, all legends. And nobody, men and women included, flashed their breasts at Sha-Na-Na during Burning Squatch.

Please support N.I.C.E.R. (Northern Iron County Engaged Residents), the Penokee Rangers, and follow FeLiveLife.org. Or better yet, volunteer. It is an easy way to become a legend.