A LITTLE HISTORY, FIRST:  Gramps - Alfred Leland (my grandfather) - and his wife, Harriet, bought 90-some acres on the eastern shore of Squirrel Lake on April 1, 1942 from Elizabeth Oberst, who had 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.

 

Squirrel Lake is west of Minocqua, near the area in which Gramps' father, John, was a logging camp cook in the late 1880s. The original property included a main house built in 1918 ?), an adjacent L-shaped outbuilding complex containing pumphouse, and wringer washing maching, tool shed, wood shed, garage, an ice room with 14" walls and a sawdust floor, and a small utility room that contained, in my day, a cooler, and ender at a fish-cleaning bench. Down the drive a bit was another shed for the tractor and wagon, and  a gas house with sawdust floor and huge on-end barrels for kerosene and gasoline. Down the wide, curving path was the jewel, a three-slip boathouse on the water, flanked by a wide dock on each side. Rainy days could be passed in the boathouse's cool shelther watching crayfish move about the pilings and between the large, smooth, round rocks. Bluegill and rock bass awaited the novice fisherperson. The occasional item dropped in to the water could be fished out with a variety of tools – all providing entertainment for spectators, of not the owner of said soggy item. We came to recognize who was passing by by the sound of the different motors, and never failed to wave. The docks had plenty of room to pull up and visit for a spell - sometimes interrupting/joining a snack or shore lunch. There would usually be a few people in the water or on the water in various ways, providing more entertainment for those chatting on the dock. Lazy afternoons might begin with a nap on a faded towel spread neatly over the sun-warmed wood. Closed eyes brought the sound of the water sharply into focus as it lapped the shore or eddied under the piers. All the senses sharpened as the sun reached its zenith, until the only response was to hurl oneself into the lake.

 

Alfred and Ettie loved sharing the generous house and facilities with their family and friends. Daughter Bunny's stories and poems capture the flavor of those days, when mothers and children escaped the heat and fears of the city (this was the time of the polio outbreak and the wartime turmoil) and retreated to the cool north woods. Husbands would hurry up on weekends or for an occasional week. Any of the grandkids can produce memory after memory that is far removed from their "regular" life back home. Nancy Boutelle shares a couple of her stories on these pages too.

 

Eventually the property passed to the three Leland daughters: Bernice, Margot, and Jean, who each enjoyed a summer month at the lake canoeing, waterskiing, swimming, sailing and fishing – interspersed with conversations on the front porch that stretched long into the evening, punctuated by laughter and harmonized songs – sharing hearty meals prepared by Frieda Schilling, and doing chores that were interesting, if repetitive. Friends and other family members would make the trek into the north woods to be renewed with the long shimmering days and the deep, haunting nights. Stories grew as quickly as the children, who in turn introduced their friends to the magical place beneath the pines, overlooking the sparkling lake.

 

Visitors swore they slept more soundly, ate like never before, hiked or swam miles, and emerged smiling, relaxed and glowing with a summer burnish. Adventures sprinkled each visit: encounters with wild creatures (from spiders to bears), outrunning a fierce thunderstorm on the lake, flipping various watercraft (human or wind-powered), learning to ski after learning amazing new ways to cartwheel out of said skiis, and of course, the lunker fish that got away! Finally, the spectacular sunsets would become adventures in beauty and awe – each one different than the last, whether golden or silver _ marking the end of yet another wonder-full day.

 

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. 

 

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!

 

To be continued...