Gramps - Alfred Leland - and his wife, Harriet, bought 90-some acres on the eastern shore of Squirrel Lake on April 1, 1942 from Elizabeth Oberst, who inherited the property in July 1936 from the estate of Julia Nelson, widow of Oliver Nelson of Chicago. Nelson originally bought the property from Wisconsin Central Railroad on October 23, 1916.

 

This was near the area where Gramps' father, John, was a logging camp cook in the late 1880s. The original property included a main house built in 1918 ?), adjacent pumphouse/wood shed/garage, a gas house, and a three-slip boathouse on the water. Alfred and Ettie loved sharing the generous house and facilities with their family and friends.

 

Daughters Bernice, Margot and Jean brought their children to spend summers away from the heat  of the city  and to escape the perils of the polio outbreak. Eldest daughter Bunny's stories and poems capture the flavor of those days, when mothers and children escaped into the cool north woods. Husbands would hurry up on weekends or for an occasional week and their arrival brought great excitement. Any of the grandkids can produce memory after memory that is far removed from their"regular" life back home. Bunny's eldest daughter, Nancy Boutelle, shares a couple of her stories on these pages.

 

Eventually the property passed to the three Leland daughters: Bernice, Margot, and Jean, who, with their families, each enjoyed a summer month at the lake. Canoeing, waterskiing, swimming, sailing, fishing and eating were interspersed with chores, exploring the forest, and watching sunsets, bold deer and the occasional black bear. The sisters' months would overlap, bringing reunions among cousins, great adventures and conversations on the front porch lasting long into the evening. I'm sure all my cousins can recall nodding off to the sound of the grown-ups' laughter rolling through the house.

 

The Lake's history is notable: rumrunners, the Chicago mob, hidden stills, eccentric millionaires, and various feuds appear in stories about the lake from the last century... The old names have a place in the stories, and each suggests its own tale: Rutishouser's red boathouse on the Island, Burwanger's brown boathouse south of the Carter Road landing, Spreckelmeyers (boathouse on the island's NE point), Burkharts' impressive log buildings on the Island's SE half), Orth's apt/boathouse combo in cove on the west side of the Island, Hugo Maki and before him, Carter (resort owner who built many of the original cottages on the Island and ferried renters to and fro), Schillings (John & Frieda cooked and cared for the Miner and Leland households in the 40s-70s), Jansen (Jo and family - the fishing resort at the south end, with legendary food), the Priests' place (retreat for Illinois and Indiana priests on the point south of Musky Shores), and so many more. There is a history of Squirrel Lake and Squirrel Island being assembled by Mark Richardson, who now owns the Oliver Burkhart property on the Island and Mainland available here. 

 

Neighbors: THE MINERS

To the north of Gramps and Gran's place, neighbor Gerald Miner had several cottages and a summer cabin (photo above) that were filled with friends during the summer while he retreated to "The Hermitage," his personal cabin deep in the woods. He hired Frieda and John Schilling to act as caretakers and cook - and Frieda's table was memorable. Gramps knew a good thing when he saw/tasted it, so persuaded Frieda and John to extend their help to his own family. Lucky folks! I remember running the well-worn path between Frieda's kitchen at the Miner's and our own, fetching or delivering pans, ingredients or finished treasures. 

A competition grew on the lake between Frieda and Jo Jansen, owner and cook at Jansen's Squirrel Lake Resort in the south end. Admirers of each cook's abilities boasted and wove dazzling descriptions of bounty: golden loaves of bread, light-as-air donuts, savory fish, pies from fresh-picked berries... Our young bare feet and Frieda's oxford-clad feet wore the path well over the summer until we knew by heart where the tricky root-that-trips and the sneaky raspberry bracts were. 

 

 

To be continued...