Author, activist and bioregionalist Stephanie Mills gave the following address as the keynote speaker at the 18th annual Freshwater Summit in Traverse City on Oct. 30, 2025. (Mills will appear with artist and community organizer Seth Bernard at the Grand Traverse Circuit from 6-8 pm on Jan. 14 for a program titled “Starting From and Staying With the Nature of Place.” The event is sponsored by the Michigan Citizens for Water Conservation and TitleTrack.)
This reflection on a nocturnal Alligator Hill ski was first published in our Winter 2000 edition. The alligator’s new look, following the Aug. 2, 2015, storm, prompted us to revisit these words.
“By the time you read this, I’ll be gone for the year. I left with the annual southbound migration. Songbirds, hummingbirds, raptors, monarch butterflies, hand-sized common green darner dragonflies, downstaters, out-of-staters, and me,” writes Tim Mulherin, author of This Magnetic North: Candid Conversations on a Changing Northern Michigan. “About 10 p.m. on a Sunday night in September, a Cedar neighbor excitedly posted, ‘The northern lights are on!’ So I forced myself out of bed and went outside. Peering through the stand of towering sugar maple trees on the northside of our property, I instantly discerned that telltale ghostly glow. Minutes later, I was leaning against my car in a nearby vacant lot, awed by the incredible celestial light show.”
We chatted with the experts, the bookworms, and bookstore owners, and here’s our roundup of local books—or books written by local authors—that were published in 2025. All make great holiday gifts! Find them at Leelanau County’s locally owned, independent bookstores: Cottage Book Shop in Glen Arbor, Bay Books in Suttons Bay, Dog Ears Books in Northport, and Leelanau Books in Leland; or at your local library. Happy reading!
“Gratitude doesn’t always arrive on schedule; sometimes it’s a day late. Somewhere between the boiling pots on the stove, embarrassing memories being dished out, and laughter echoing off the living room walls, my family and I find our own rhythm of Thanksgiving,” writes Isabelle Plamondon. “My mom is a [Leelanau County] dispatcher who often has to work holidays since she’s a single parent. She’s worked on Thanksgiving almost every year, helping people whose holidays may not be going as planned. She, and other first-responders like her, see the dark side to every holiday before celebrating their own.”
You won’t get bedbugs from reading this. Since we all grew up with the nursery rhyme, “Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite,” and were told they didn’t exist anymore, we thought bedbugs were mythical. What did a bedbug even look like? A mosquito? A beetle? And ant? No one knew because, pretty much, there weren’t any.
When I pulled into the Alligator Hill Trail parking lot, it was just me, writes Tim Mulherin. Then the heart-rousing ascent did the trick. When I arrived at the Islands Lookout’s panoramic northern view of the Manitou Passage about 30 minutes later, I ignored the impulse to immediately pull out my iPhone and begin snapping photos. Instead, I just looked. And looked. Then I sat down on the bench and looked some more, imprinting the breathtaking scene for future reference. There would most always be an iPhone in my pocket whenever I felt the need to point and shoot. This moment of my being there, however, would not repeat itself. So, for a change, I wanted to be fully present, not somewhat removed by staring through my smartphone screen’s viewfinder. More participant, less observer.
We live in what we perceive to be an entirely human-centric world. As a result, there is often no consideration for the others—for wildlife, writes Tim Mulherin. Our society is increasingly estranged from nature. Author Richard Louv expressed his concern for this regressive phenomenon in his seminal work “Last Child in the Woods: Saving Our Children from Nature-Deficit Disorder”. Our apathy for wildlife is a key indicator. When the calendar turned to July this year, this new awareness became acute. Fireworks were being set off nightly by can’t-wait patriots in anticipation of the commemoration of the adoption of the Declaration of Independence. Bang! Boom! Domestic pets, especially dogs and cats, trembled whenever the faux bombardment began, desperate to escape the sharp reports punctuating the air. Yet my immediate thought when seeing our aging, red-coated Pomeranian pacing frantically, demanding to be picked up and consoled, turned to wildlife, whose well-being rarely factors into the human experience.
Earlier this year, a group of friends asked Leelanau County writer Stephanie Mills to speak at their regular winter gathering, whose theme was “Pleasure, Presence, and Play.” It was some wild genius on their part to redirect our focus from the cruel spectacle unfolding in the nation’s capital, and other portents of collapse, and to turn our attention to conviviality, wrote Mills. (It was also fairly playful to ask a depressive pessimist to address such a lively theme.) The following essay is derived from that talk.
The last jar of last June’s strawberry jam rests empty on my kitchen counter, clotted and sticky. David looks sad. The dog hangs his head as though scolded though he had nothing to do with the quandary we face, writes Anne-Marie Oomen. It was purely luck that last summer’s strawberry jam made it from last solstice to this one. That jam is holy, that jam is winter survival, that jam is antidote to cloud laden days when sunlight is veiled in some stratospheric turbulence the size of Jupiter. That rosy jam spread thick on brown bread reminds us that light does exist. I lick the rim of the jar. Clearly, the succulence that saves us must be replenished.