Wausau

For me, Wausau (Waw-saw), Wisconsin is more of a time than a place.  Once each year, my family would make the 20-hour car ride from Rochester, NY to visit my Mother's parents.

Dad used to drive the entire way in one shot.  Craziness, but he had limited vacation and was as close to the Man of Steel as anyone I've ever known.  I chose to arrive via the rental car I picked up at the Dane County Regional Airport just outside of Madison.

The old train station provided the iconic logo for the Wausau Insurance Company, long since absorbed by Liberty Mutual.  I have to wonder if I'll be writing similar words about "Kodak" in the near future.

Kresge's is no more, but this fine square has taken its place.
I'd like to sit and take in a concert when it's a little warmer.

My Grandfather managed the Grand Theater many years ago.
The temperature readout may be a little off.

We ate at a diner he probably frequented,
and then walked over to the theater.

I couldn't take pictures inside the theatre because a copyrighted show was setting up.
Huh?  Don't look.

The Wausau Theater Company made the decision to close the Grand during the depression because of its relatively high cost of operation.  When the smaller Wausau Theater was showing Eddie Cantor's wildly popular "Whoopee," there were so many moviegoers that they could fill both theaters.  But there was only one print of the film.  Seizing the opportunity, my Grandfather ran the reels across town on his bike so that two shows could run off one print.  Soon the projector was running at the Grand and the place was packed.  The theater remained open from that day on.  Queue "Happy Days Are Here Again!" right after "Makin' Whoopee!"

Sporting Lumberjack high fashion,
I posed with the list of names of those supporting the remodeling of the theater.
"Hi, Mom!"

This blurry shot shows the brand new Wausau Curling Club.  Impressive!
It turns out my little travel camera doesn't like extreme cold.

Well of course they're close.  They're right over there.

A huge viewing area overlooking the 8 sheets of ice.
I'd never seen so many curling stones in one place.

Underutilized.
Want to get a game going?

The warm room, where everyone gathers after a game, is also huge.
The blurry man told me I was welcome to play the next time I was in town.

OK, so I'm fascinated by the facility.
To put it in perspective, the population of the Wausau area is about 135K, 
and they have 8 sheets.
The Rochester area has over one million people, and 4 sheet of ice.

The old homestead.

I used to play wiffleball with my Grandfather in the driveway by the hedge on the left (on days when it was a little less snow-covered).  Someone fouled one off into the hedge, so I went in after the the wayward ball.  The bees living there took exception to my presence, and one stung me in the ear.  I bravely screamed and ran into the house to the waiting arms of my Grandmother.  While she was looking for the meat tenderizer, "Grampie" came in to announce that he had done in the offending bee.  

It made me feel better to know that my assailant had come to justice.

This is the house  my Great Grandparents lived in.
They lived in the left side.
Or maybe they lived in a similar house down the street that has since
been torn down.  Does it matter?

The trestle over the river.

Behind my Great-Grandparent's house was a railroad siding that angled across the Wisconsin River.  One sunny afternoon, my fearless father decided that we should walk across it, just to get to the other side.  I was terrified.  My pleading made convinced him to turn around just after we were half way across.  

Every step scared me.  The railroad ties were just far enough apart that I could see myself falling through them and into the swirling water far below.  Or maybe a smoke-belching steam locomotive would barrel down the tracks right at us and we'd have to run for our lives.  Or worse.  Maybe I'd slightly misjudged the space between the ties, and I'd fall partway through with my head getting stuck between the 6 by 6 timbers.  At the moment I fell, I'd hear the train whistle.

Dad may have thought I was a scaredy-cat, but the truth was that I was very good at assessing all the possibilities.

Looking down on from the Rib Mountain Ski Area.

Wausau lies below.
Rib Mountain is the highest point in Wisconsin.
Some say that Timms Hill is 25 feet higher, but all the locals know that can't be.
That's a hill, and this is Rib MOUNTAIN!

When Greg and Pat dropped me off back at the hotel around noon, I went directly to the rental car and turned the key.  "Ruurrr, Ruurrr, Rooooommm!"  It protested mightily, but did manage to start.  And then it made all kinds of nasty noises as it came up to temperature.  "What's the big deal?" I thought.  It was only 15 degrees F below zero.

Due to weekly car rental rates and airfare,
it made more sense to drive back to Madison to catch the flight home.
The moist exhaust from the paper mills south of Wausau
made for some spectacular clouds.

The wind across the prairie made for some interesting conditions.
The Northeastern edge of the prairie in in Wisconsin (who knew?), 
and Mr Wright's Taliesin was only a few miles to the west.
Next time.

All along Interstate 39, westside trees and fences provided windbreaks.
I might still be there if that was not the case.
Decide for yourself if that was fortunate or not.