Anyway. That was 2004. I kept a loose eye on various island-related developments (the wheat, the beer, the vodka) but it wasn’t till 2007, when I realized I was still thinking about this (and, really, starting to feel a little nuts for doing so), that I got it together to do something about it. One weekend last May I rented a car and drove up to Madison to visit Leah Caplan.

I wanted to write a book, I said. Or—quickly realizing that she had clued into the fact that I was nuts—another article. A series of articles. How about a cookbook? Something. I knew there was a story here. I just needed the time, space, and access to figure out what it was.

Caplan, who must be a fearsome poker player, barely blinked. She’d have to run it by Brian Vandewalle, she said, but it would probably be fine if I came up and hung around for a bit.

I spent a long weekend on the island in June; then a stretch of two weeks in July. During those two weeks I pestered various islanders with questions, landed four monster salmon on a charter excursion with Fantome Farm’s Anne Topham and Judy Borree, and spent a lot of time getting in the way in the kitchen at the Washington Hotel. Then one brilliant morning near the end of my stay Ken and Jesse Koyen took me out fishing for whitefish and lawyers. As I scooted around the See Diver, taking notes and perfecting my getting-in-the-way skills, I had an unfamiliar burst of confidence. This running back and forth to Wisconsin was a good idea. I wasn’t nuts. There was a story here and I was just barely starting to peel back a layer. And on the heels of this realization came another—how on earth was I going to do this and keep my job, which I loved?

I got back to my shack behind the hotel around noon and checked my email. All hell had broken loose in Chicago. By the time I made it back to the island for Capital’s Harvest Fest, in mid-September, I no longer had a job. As signs go, you could do worse.

In March I got in touch with Butch and Lorel Gordon, to see if they could maybe point me toward some long-term rental prospects on the island; most of the advertised summer rentals go by the week, at prohibitively expensive rates, even for northern Wisconsin. They shot back in a flash with three, two of whom I contacted, and one of whom then got back to me about, oh, 45 whole minutes after I’d initiated this whole process. Once I had the house there was no turning back.

(more TK)