by Cory Kemp

Created on: November 01, 2008

Recognition

On a recent trip to Wisconsin I fully realized just how much things change while staying the same.

Where once there was one bridge to link the Door Peninsula to the mainland there were now three, the last completed only the week before I arrived. But its original predecessor stood patiently waiting for the state to roll in and begin repairs that would bring it back to full use.

Where Peterson Builders, Inc., once stood was now virtually open ground with a bay view for the cluster of condos that had sprung up. No more ships were going to be constructed at a company that once employed hundreds of people. Even the Fred J. Peterson Memorial Pool right next door was in the middle of demolition the day I arrived. Mr. Peterson had donated the indoor facility to the city at least forty years ago and many of us had learned to swim there.

Where Draeb's Jewelers, the Bank of Sturgeon Bay, Woerley's Bookstore and Boehn's Pharmacy once resided now found another jewelry store, Harmann's Photo Studio, Book World, Inc. and the Inn at Cedar Crossing, the last a beautiful combination restaurant/bed and breakfast. Online pictures I had seen hadn't done it justice.

Where other shops, restaurants and local businesses had been new ones had taken their place as if they had been there all along. Despite the enormity of turnover the transition still felt seamless, a convincing portrayal of small town life from then to now. Enough was still left to make me feel I had been a part of things, but enough had changed and improved to keep up with the times, such that they were. The town was still recognizable.

But some of the people weren't. And I wasn't to them.

Take. for example, the three people who approached me while I was sitting outside the Kick Cafe, sipping my fresh, strong coffee on a gloriously sunny Saturday afternoon. Their question: Are you a tourist or a native? Of all the questions I anticipated on this trip that was not on the list. And it was a tough one to answer, especially when the people asking it were looking for answers to touristy questions like where the nearest bathroom was located and how to get back to the highway out of town. I was dumfounded. All I had was a garbled version of, "I'm from here, but I don't live here anymore, blah, blah, blah.

Then there was church, a place that hadn't moved in the shuffle and still contained a whole lot of people that I knew and who would know me. Or so I thought. Although I don't look much different than I have for the last

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