This journal entry was written while traveling through Juneau County.
                                                                       We hope you enjoy the journey with us.

 
    It’s one of those special spring days in Wisconsin when the last thing you want to think about is working so we’re going to play a little hooky. Since we’re the boss, we don’t even have to feel guilty. We’re in Camp Douglas, Wisconsin, a little town in the west of Juneau County. It’s a town we visit a lot but most of the time, we jump off the interstate at exit 55, turn west on Hwys 12 & 16 and then into town. When we leave, we just reverse the route. We’ve always thought we’re missing something and today it’s going to be different. We’re heading south out of Camp Douglas on Highway H and our mission is to follow this highway until it ends. Down go the windows and off goes the radio; we’re going exploring..

One of the things that strikes you almost immediately is how fast the scenery changes into rural Wisconsin. We haven’t gone a quarter of a mile and we’re beginning to see beautiful farm fields, old farm houses, new farm houses and of course, lots of activity farmers plant their corn and soybeans. On our right is a century farm that according to the sign was established in 1853. We know enough about the Century Farm program to know that this place has been in the same family for at least 100 years. That’s remarkable when you think about all the things that have gone on in farming over that period. It’s a tribute to all those generations who weathered some tough times to keep that farm going. It’s speaks a lot about the area and people around here whose roots go deep into Juneau County’s farmland. We just passed over the Little Lemonweir River and we know for a fact that there’s some nice brown trout lying in its deep pools. The stream is a perfect place to poke your rod through the brush and wait for a strike. Even if you don’t catch anything, there’s enough peace and quiet here to make you forget about your troubles and isn’t that what fishing is really all about?

We’re coming up now on our first intersection. If we go left, we end in New Lisbon and back to the interstate and the rat race. If we go right, we’re still on Hwy H so there’s really no choice. On our right is a quaint old cemetery with a crooked wrought iron fence. There are a few folks in there cleaning up around some graves. Memorial Day is coming soon and a lot of us seem to know that the places where our loved ones rest should be mowed, the flags honoring the veterans replaced and new flowers planted. It’s the least we can do and besides, we’re probably hoping that somebody does the same for us.

A sign that could use a fresh coat of paint announces that we’re coming to Hustler, “the one and only one in the world”. Hustler is one of those Wisconsin villages that seem to have only one street. Most of those are called Main St.; did you ever stop and think that maybe someplace has a street like this that’s called Only Street? It’s early enough in the spring so that most of the lawns along the street still have their covering of dandelions. Their fresh yellow color reminds us that Hustler once had a creamery that made some of the best butter in the world. We were told that people used to come all the way from Tomah to buy the butter in big blocks. Imagine that, all the way from Tomah. The creamery still exists as a cheese factory and store and the cheese curds are wonderful. A hint of the time of the railroad comes up on us as we cross the Omaha Trail. Now it’s one of the several bike trails that cross this area. Stay on this trail and  end up in Elroy, some ten miles away.

We also find out that Hustler has the Hustler Fest every year with a parade, tractor pull and carnival rides. We’ll bet the population is a lot more that weekend. We were going to leave Hustler behind until we spotted a sign for the Hooterbowl. We’re old enough to remember Petticoat Junction and the Hooterville Express so we just had to stop. Well it’s not Hooterville but it’s a bowling alley (Can we still say that?) with a restaurant and bar. How about that, a bowling alley in Hustler, what more can we say about that. After a chat with some nice folks, it was time to find Hwy H again. A left out of the Hooterbowl and a left on H got us back on our adventure. Looking south, we see a line of hills that seems to stretch for miles in either direction. If we squint really hard and use your imagination, they look like a mountain range way in the distance. We know they’re not mountains but its fun to dream.

As we get deeper into our adventure, our senses seem to sharpen. The sky is bluer here than in the city and the air smells like what one of those room deodorizers promise and never deliver. Sure, once in a while we smell a little manure but even that smells like it belongs. The beautiful thing about traveling around here is the unexpected. We had to slow down almost to a stop as a small flock of wild turkeys decided to cross the road. These beautiful birds act like they own the road and you know, maybe they do. While we’re waiting for this stately procession to cross, we realize there are rock outcroppings just ahead. As we start our climb up those pretend mountains, the road seems to narrow as the rocks close in on both sides. There are places where it seems like the temperature is a few degrees cooler. Must be a perfect place when our summer heat makes the asphalt shimmer. We can still see farmland but the fields are smaller and look tough to farm. There are a lot of little potholes and swampy areas glistening in the sun and you can see the mallards and woodies paddling around their little piece of real estate. Soon, a little train of ducklings will be following them and learning what ducks learn. Makes us glad we’re alive.

As we continue our journey, we start to notice all the town roads with names laced with history. We’re tempted to take a detour from this detour but maybe some other day. We’re going under an old, rusty railroad bridge covered with moss and graffiti. Today, that bridge is part of the Omaha Bike Trail but if you stop and listen, you can hear the whistle of a steam engine huffing and puffing up the gentle grade on its way to Elroy. You know, if we were an artist, there would be a lot of places to stop and sketch and paint. The shoulders are wide enough in lots of places for a stop and the views are great. Whether it’s an old barn or one of those rolling hills, your muse would be working overtime. On our right is Thompson’s Bird Haven Farm. Maybe they raise birds or maybe they just like the name. Whatever the reason, it’s a piece of this beautiful drive. We’re at the top now and another detour tempts us. Highway S heads down and away from H and looks like it drops out of sight into another valley. We resist the temptation and our dedication is rewarded with yet another temptation. Off to our right, the road to Fountain Lutheran Church promises a country church in a pastoral setting but we’re true to our adventure on H. There’s a farm pond on out right surrounded by barbed wire but an old boat lies half-submerged in one end so somebody must have fished it. Hope they had better luck fishing than boating. There’s a bunch of little streams that seem to follow the road to wherever they’re going. Not enough water in any of them to float a boat but we bet there’s a fish or two hiding somewhere under their banks. We wonder if they have a name and who named them.  As we descend back into the valley, we spy a bed and breakfast in a farmhouse. The sign says Waarvik’s Family Farm B & B and what a beautiful setting for a relaxing stay. The house sets against a hill off the road and the hillside is dotted with those black and white cows that have made Wisconsin famous. The stress seems to be lifting the closer we get. Is there a better way to spend a weekend? Just think, relaxing and recreating without exercise rooms, water parks, or plastic pink flamingoes.

We’re only about five and one-half miles out of Hustler and the scenery is still changing. A cadre of round bales of hay stand guard at the entrance of a pasture, a silent reminder of how much farming has changed. A whitetail deer stands by the side of the road, munching on the grass and ignoring us. A hawk circles lazily in the sky, eying the field below for his chance of lunch and we are relaxing with each breath. On our left, a herd on longhorn cattle dines on some of that hay while a shaggy maned bull stands proud in his pen with a satisfied and arrogant look on his face. The road turns easily and a sign says “Stop Ahead”. We know that our trek is ending and is bittersweet. We know that a left turn takes us back to New Lisbon and the real world but duty calls. We’ll endure the never-ending sameness and safety of the interstate as we return to reality, but we know that this short trip into another world will make that journey tolerable. The whole trip took us about thirty-five minutes at speeds we’re not used to. We also know that we’ll be back. Maybe next time, we’ll take one of those detours.