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A walk along the shoreline ...

By Charlie Haeffner

Bois Blanc Island, Michigan, July 28 -- The days of vacation are dwindling down now, and my mind is turning toward departure to the mainland and the long drive home.

It's been peaceful here -- a much needed rest from the daily grind that I left behind, and which awaits me on my return. But maybe I'll get away again for a few days in August -- after the NASCAR week has come and gone, and before high school sports begin their fall schedules.

I spent last evening walking -- along the shoreline, from my rental cottage to the heart of The Pines, the lone municipality on the Island. As I passed the old township dock, I encountered a familiar Island face -- that of Char Plaunt McLaren, who I first met about a million years ago, when we were both kids here. Her father ran the ferry boat back then; her brother does now.

We chatted about yesteryear, and about the Island today, and then I went on my way, wandering the shoreline, cutting back through the woods (stopping briefly at some property I own) and then out to the main road and back east, toward the rental.

I spotted a deer along the way, foraging in a yard to my left, and he paused every few moments to check me out, but didn't run as I drew nearer. Before I reached him, a westbound SUV came to a stop in the roadway, maybe 20 yards from the deer, and nobody moved -- human or deer -- until the SUV passenger suddenly screamed, "I'm gonna shoot you, Bambi!"

The startled deer moved quickly, back another 15 yards or so, and then gave the man a look that I could only imagine was disapproving. The passenger and his driver laughed loudly and spun their wheels, accelerating away.

I shook my head, puzzled at the moronic behavior of some humans.

Still shaking my head, I regained my former pace, moving eastward, keeping an eye on the deer as he watched me. And having studied me, and judged me fairly harmless, he returned to his foraging as I passed by.

******

I received word from Mark Stephany of Watkins Glen today about an honor earned by his son, Austin, a junior at Watkins Glen High School and a member this past year of the Top Drawer 24 team of scholar-athletes sponsored by this website.

Mark can relate his news better than I. So here's his note, along with a picture of Austin:

Hi, Charlie.

We were just notified last night that Austin has been selected for the US Soccer Academy Development Team for Empire. As you know, he was playing for the Rochester Junior Rhinos, who 3 years ago merged with the Buffalo Football Club and Syracuse Football Club to form Empire Academy. Since then he has been playing with the Empire Academy-Rochester team. They've won State Cup and gone to the Region 1 championships for 3 straight years.

At U16, players have the option (which Austin took) of trying out for the US Soccer Academy Development team, which this year involved competing against 60 premier club players from Rochester, Buffalo, Niagara Falls and Syracuse (and points South). After 4 days of tryouts, they posted a final callback list of 30 players Saturday night. Following a final callback tryout at Rochester's Fauver Stadium on Sunday, they posted the roster of 20 players on Tuesday, and Austin was on it. They will now compete all year against such other US Development Academy Teams as the New York RedBulls, Columbus Crew Juniors, Baltimore Casa Mia Bays, Albertson Academy, etc.

The team flies or buses to games and stays together, without us going along. Austin is down at Wake Forest University Academy Showcase Camp this week, but I called him last night and he was really excited. I've attached the photo from his player profile. It would be nice if he could get some recognition for the achievement.

-- Mark

To which I add: congratulations, Austin.

And just for good measure, I'll list some of his other soccer accomplishments:

--2009 Co-MVP Interscholastic Athletic Conference Boys Varsity Soccer - Large Div. South
--1st Team All-IAC Varsity Soccer - Freshman & Sophomore
--22 Goals & 33 Assists - 2 Yrs. of WGHS Varsity
--2009 All Corning-Leader Team
--2-time Odessa File Athlete of the Week
--NYS Scholar Athlete - Varsity Soccer
--Wake Forest - 2010 Soccer Academy Showcase Camp
--Region 1 ODP Identification Camp 2007 & 2008

******

And earlier:

Deer forage for food in the backyard of the Bois Blanc rental cottage.

A visit from native Islanders...

By Charlie Haeffner

Bois Blanc Island, Michigan, July 21 -- A trio dropped by to visit at my rental cottage Tuesday: a couple of grown deer along with a fawn.

We have in past years occasionally seen deer wandering into the yard, but they've usually realized with a start that they were in an unprotected spot, and bolted back to the safety of the wooded overgrowth nearby.

We get wild turkeys on the lawn, too, sometimes singly, sometimes in pairs, and occasionally as a threesome. They generally cross the entire yard, moving from east to west for a reason that eludes me.

We once saw a coyote chasing a deer across the front lawn. The latter went flying by, angling in from the dirt road to the west, and disappeared into the woods on the east. The coyote blazed by in hot pursuit a moment later. It all happened so fast, I could only watch in wonder; there was no time to fetch a camera.

But the coyote population seems to be down this year, and the deer are as a result a good bit bolder than usual. They appear in fields around the island, go down to the shoreline for a drink, or even meander along the Island roads at dusk, when there is little or no traffic.

Tuesday's visit was emblematic of that boldness, in that the visitors spent several minutes on the lawn abutting the cottage.

I was seated on the front porch, a wraparound structure, when a motion to my left caught my eye. It was a deer foraging in the yard, just beyond the screened enclosure. I stood slowly, went inside, grabbed a camera and managed a single shot before the animal bolted toward the rear of the property.

A couple of minutes later, I glanced out a window in the back of the cottage and saw the same deer again, along with a slightly smaller adult and a fawn. They were taking their time, wandering about the yard, foraging.

I took the deer shots above and below through a couple of different windows. It was several minutes before the deer realized they were on Candid Camera; when they did, they hustled away, heading toward a path that leads beyond the yard's rear border.

Photos in text: Fawn tries to scratch his nose; and a day earlier, turkeys waddle across the cottage's front lawn.

Above and below: The cottage visitors.

*****

And death pays a visit:

Victor Babcock, a lifelong Island resident, was seated Wednesday in Hawk's Landing -- one of two eateries on Bois Blanc -- staring out the windows toward the waters of the Straits of Mackinac.

Behind him was a table full of relatives, but Victor wasn't engaged in their conversation. He just kept staring at the water. His gray hair was unkempt, his blue eyes were misting, and his color was pale.

Another customer entered the restaurant, and Victor -- spotting him -- rose and walked over to shake his hand in greeting. The new arrival said it was good to see Victor, and then added: "I was sorry to hear about your wife."

Victor looked down quickly, tears welling, and turned without a word. He retraced the steps to his chair, reseated himself and gazed through the windows again.

Yes, death visited Bois Blanc this week. Victor's wife, Roberta -- known as Berta -- passed away Monday evening.

An ambulance siren sounding at dusk that day in The Pines -- the municipality of Pointe aux Pins -- signaled that something was amiss, sirens being a rarity here. Then the sight of the Island's two deputies speeding past our cottage on the main road, and ultimately a rescue vehicle passing by slowly on its way to the main dock, supported the suspicion. Something had indeed gone wrong.

I had a strange premonition that Victor himself might have died, for I had seen him the day before and thought he looked spent -- a far cry from the energetic, tireless worker I remembered from my boyhood here. The Babcocks are as important to Island history as any family, with a work ethic that is legendary. Victor's father, the late Eugene Babcock, was the architect back many decades ago -- probably around the '30s -- of a pump house that pushed water from the Straits up to the Pines cottages.

It was the system that enabled my family, when we first came here in the 1950s, to hand-pump water into our kitchen sink, for cleaning and cooking and drinking. The system is long since gone, with wells supplanting it.

"It's strange," said a waitress at Hawk's on the morning Victor was there. "We all thought Victor would go first. He hasn't been well."

As I write this, services in Cheboygan (on the mainland) and on the Island are upcoming, and no doubt a large turnout is in store. People will want to pay their respects to an Island lady, and give their condolences to her Island man.

Photo in text: Victor Babcock earlier this month.

******

And earlier:

The ruins of one of the Dillinger cabins. This is located between the other two.

The start of an Island tale...

By Charlie Haeffner

Bois Blanc Island, Michigan, July 15 -- A friend back home asked that I relate a story set on the island on which I'm vacationing. You know, just conjure one up.

That is not an outrageous request, I suppose, since I've written about the Island before both here and in novels and a novella. The novels were Island Nights and The Islander, and the novella was Cabins in the Mist -- an account of a portal I crossed at the scene of dilapidated Island cabins once inhabited by gangster John Dillinger.

Excerpts from Island Nights and Cabins can be accessed on The Odessa File Home Page, bottom left, as can the entire account of The Islander.

Anyway, about that request: Chances are I might at some point in my stay be inspired to write a short piece based on this 2010 visit; I just don't have it in me at the moment. In the meantime, I will share part of a sequel to Cabins that I've worked on sporadically. I will take you to the point at which I basically ran into a writer's wall -- an inability to find the right plot stream with which to finish the exercise.

Suggestions any of you might have would be welcome. Well, let me rephrase that: I need plot suggestions.

So, if you want to read it, the (partial) story can be found here. Thanks, and enjoy the portal ...

******

And earlier ...

Football is in the air ...

By Charlie Haeffner

Bois Blanc Island, Michigan, July 11 -- The Southern Tier Warriors played Saturday night in Odessa.

Three days before that, the Watkins Glen School Board named a new coach (Mike Johnston Sr.) and staff for the high school football team.

I could point to the undercurrent that connects the two -- the coach of one team (the Warriors) used to be the coach of the other -- but I will steer clear of such a live grenade by simply pointing to the obvious: football is in the air.

It seems especially alluring in the wake of the drawn-out LeBron circus.

I don't know if the Johnston experiment will play out in the form of victories for WGHS. I would hope so, but there are forces at work against it -- the talent drain that high school soccer presents (the recent football rosters have been numerically slender); the late start that Johnston and his crew are dealing with; a feeling among some observers that in this economic climate, the fairly-expensive-to-mount football program isn't providing an adequate return on the dollar (presumably adding to the pressure on the new coaches); and the concomitant suspicion that's bound to exist (at least a little bit) locally when a new coaching staff is brought in -- and its members' resumés have nothing to do with Watkins Glen.

I'm not suggesting any of that is insurmountable -- and I for one (a longtime football fan) will be looking forward to seeing how well Johnston and his crew do once the season is under way.

I wish them luck.

*******

I've been on the Island a week, and have read four books. I don't read that many books back home in the course of a year. I just get too busy tracking the news.

That pretty much sums up why I'm here: to read, and in the reading, to rest.

******

And earlier:

A deer cuts across an inlet as gulls scatter in the background along the Bois Blanc shoreline.

Back on the Island ...

By Charlie Haeffner

Bois Blanc Island, Michigan, July 7 -- I write this from the Island -- Bois Blanc (Bwa-blonk) in Michigan's Straits of Mackinac, where a cool wind is blowing in from the west.

My son Jon and I made the trek here Saturday and early Sunday, arriving in Cheboygan -- our mainland departure point -- at about 3 a.m. After a three-hour nap, we power-shopped at a local grocery called Glen's Market, and then crossed the Straits on the 9 a.m. ferry.

It was the 4th of July, always a nice time to be here -- especially when there is a heat wave back home. (We did, in fact, move up our departure from Odessa a full day in order to avoid some of that heat. It is quite nice up here ... a little too warm for a brief period on Tuesday, but beyond that comfortable.)

The Internet connection here is slow, making work on this website a bit more difficult than usual, but I'm not about to complain. It is a luxury to be able to update The File from paradise.

My first evening here, I shot a deer -- well, with a camera. The result is shown above. He was a skittish subject and didn't stick around very long after I'd spotted him on a finger of land reaching out from the southern shoreline.

Sleep has been a major reward through the first three days here. I grabbed about 9 hours the night before last, a duration I haven't experienced in quite a long time. My sleep schedule, often dictated by my work on The File, normally is a broken hodgepodge of a couple of hours here and three more there. A 9-hour stretch was quite restorative.

I plan to do a lot of hiking, a lot of reading, and a lot of visiting with my eldest brother, Bob, who arrived up here a week before I did. We normally see each other but once a year, so this time is quite valuable from a family standpoint.

I think I will tackle some writing, too -- possibly a sequel to my novella Cabins in the Mist. Or I might pick up where my novel The Maiden of Mackinac left off, placing the focus on a favored character named Tobias, a hairy creature called a Tajahenus who -- when we last saw him -- was living in a cave on Mackinac Island. That's an island two removed from Bois Blanc, off to the west -- every bit the tourist mecca that Bois Blanc isn't.

Speaking of The Maiden of Mackinac, I visited the Bois Blanc Island library/museum on Tuesday -- one of three days each week it opens in the summer. They had three copies of Maiden there (along with my other books) -- which is remarkable considering I only published 100 copies of it.

Finally ... the fog was thick this morning, and hung around until after 10 a.m. I snapped a few photos of it, a couple of which are presented here. I don't imagine I'll be doing much photography up here, but if the opportunity presents itself ...

Meanwhile, I trust the heat wave back home will pass soon. I understand it's supposed to get cooler on Friday. I hope so.

Photo in text: A couple shoves off from the shoreline, heading into the fog.

The Hoover dock on the southwest corner of the Island was visible Wednesday morning, but nothing could be seen beyond it.

******

And earlier:

It's Island time again ...

By Charlie Haeffner

Odessa, July 2 -- This is the time of year when I venture away from Schuyler County for a few weeks -- laptop in hand so I can still update this website with press releases, columns, photos, obituaries and the like -- and visit my Island.

Well, the Island's not all mine. I have a bit of property there, but it's mostly state-owned. Bois Blanc Island, it's called -- a 5-by-12-mile piece of rock in Michigan's Straits of Mackinac.

I've written about it here before; it's a place I loved in childhood and rediscovered 15 or so years ago. I travel there every summer to recharge my spirits and my energy. It is a place I've written about in books, too -- in four of them, to be exact, although it only played a passing role in the last book, a limited-issue production called The Maiden of Mackinac.

I have a very small fame on the Island as a result of those books -- an occasional reader appreciates my written love for the place because he or she shares that feeling. I've encountered very polite folks who've wanted me to pose with them for a photo, and -- in one case -- a gushing fan who treated me like I was a rock star.

Most people, though, keep to themselves on Bois Blanc, which is a large part of its charm. We can congregate as a society at Hawk's Landing -- the Island's lone convenience store, which doubles as a restaurant -- or for game nights on Tuesdays at the Coast Guard Chapel, a converted Coast Guard boathouse out on the east end. Or there is an occasional square dance at the Hoover Building, a structure donated to the Island folks by the family of the late Earl Hoover, the former head of the Hoover Vacuum Cleaner firm.

And there are religious gatherings on Sundays throughout July and August at both the Coast Guard Chapel and the Church of the Transfiguration. The latter is in Pointe aux Pins, or The Pines, the lone Bois Blanc municipality, located on the island's southwest corner.

It was there in The Pines, one day back in the '90s, when I reconnected with a trio of important people from my childhood. It was early in my annual midlife sojourns to the Island, and in fact I had come ahead of the rest of my family in order to honor a fallen friend. Forty years had passed, but the memories hadn't dimmed..

*******

One of the three people was Sally Babler, married name Sperry, with whom I used to paddle around that southwest point on a makeshift raft when we were 6 or 7 years old. I think we were Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn. Anyway, I lost touch with her over the years, but knew she was still a summer Islander. Her family had roots there that stretched back eight decades.

This particular meeting, this reunion with Sally, took place at the Church of the Transfiguration -- at a memorial service for a man named Morgan Poole, who had been a family friend. I was listening patiently to the eulogies when a middle-aged woman walked to the pulpit to expound about Morgan's attributes and eccentricities. I glanced at her -- and didn't recognize her until she spoke.

Even in childhood, there was what I call a smoky quality to Sally Babler's voice; it has a low timbre to it, very distinctive. And this woman at the pulpit had that same quality. I had cast my eyes downward, reading the service program, when she started speaking, and I looked up in wonder -- and saw through the years the young girl with whom I had played. And I smiled.

After the service, I caught up to her just as she was getting into her car in a nearby parking lot, and told her how much I had liked her remarks. She glanced at me and thanked me, and continued to climb into her vehicle. I stopped her with a comment about how her voice hadn't changed in 40 years.

She stopped then, and studied me, and finally asked: "Who are you?"

"The name," I said, "is Haeffner. Charlie. You knew me as Chuck."

She smiled warmly then, and got out of the car and gave me a hug, and we chatted, and she suggested I visit her sister Marilyn, who had been at the service, too -- though I hadn't noticed her -- and had already left. Marilyn's cottage was one I knew well -- it had, in fact, belonged to the Babler girls' grandmother in my childhood years.

Marilyn was a bit older than me, but someone who knew well the Haeffner name, since she had hung out during Island summers in her youth with a crowd that included my older brother Bob. Her parents -- hers and Sally's -- were in fact friends of my parents before we ever visited the Island, and they had encouraged the Haeffner clan to try Bois Blanc's charms. That was in the early 1950s. The initial visit led to another, and another ... until the late 1950s, when my parents built a house alongside a lake in southeastern Michigan, negating the need for the Island.

*******

I drove to Marilyn's cottage, parked in front, and saw a woman on the porch who was obscured by the screen and the shadows -- and I wondered if it might be Marilyn. Then, thinking she looked too young, I called out: "Excuse me, but is Marilyn here?"

The woman -- in her 20s, as it turned out -- turned and bellowed through the front door: "Mom! Someone to see you!"

I walked to the porch door and was admitted by the young woman just as Marilyn -- still beautiful in her 50s -- came from the interior of the cottage to the front door, cell phone to her ear, a man stationed behind her.

She looked at me and asked rather brusquely: "Yes? Who are you?"

I took a step nearer her -- and was about a yard away when I answered.

"My name is Chuck Haeffner," I said softly.

Marilyn shrieked -- the force knocked me back a step -- and tossed the phone over her shoulder, where the man (her husband) caught it. She grabbed me then, and hugged me, and wanted to know, in a rush of words, what I was doing there, and where was I living, and how my mother was ...

... And that was my double reunion, Babler-sister style -- on the one hand very low-keyed, and on the other a fully charged jolt of energy.

******

There was one other reunion that day -- with a man named Bunker Clark, a professor of music out at the University of Kansas who had summered on the Island for many years, dating back, once again, to my childhood. Bunker had kept in touch with my parents over the years, and then, by extension, he and I had started a correspondence. He, in fact, had served as editor on my first Island book, Island Nights. But even after that book's publication, I hadn't had occasion to see him -- not until the Morgan Poole memorial, where Bunker was serving as organist. I had told him in our correspondence that I would try to reach the Island for the service.

It was immediately afterward, after the eulogies and the prayers and the final recessional music, when I approached him; but I had to wait a minute while he completed a conversation with another man. His eyes flickered toward me a couple of times, probably trying to figure out if I was who he thought I was; again, he hadn't seen me in four decades.

Finally, his conversation complete, he turned to me, and we looked at one another, and we smiled; and he knew.

"So," he said. "You made it, after all."

*******

Bunker died a few years later. A brain tumor assaulted and took him. And in the taking, I lost a valued friend, one of the Island folks.

Sally still spends summers on the Island, and Marilyn makes it up there every August. And others from my long ago past wander in and out of my Island visits. But increasingly, there are more and more memorial services involving the faces from my childhood.

Now, with summer here, I am heading out there again, to my Island, to soak up the energy of the place, to revel in the memories, to touch base with old friends, and to rest.

For in the final analysis, that is what the Island is about:

It is a place of peace.

********

And earlier:

Of angels and glass beads...

By Charlie Haeffner

Odessa, June 22 -- We lost an angel over the weekend -- a 34-year-old victim of cancer -- but another angel has arisen. She is a remarkable 10-year-old. Well, she insists on specifying that she is actually 10 and a half.

The lost angel was Judy Lynn (nee Dunn) Chrisman of Horseheads, a 1994 Watkins Glen High School graduate who I had the great pleasure of meeting on May 8th at Bleachers bar and restaurant in downtown Watkins.

She was there for a surprise presentation to her of a $500 donation from a group of police officers from Wayne and Ontario Counties. She was bald thanks to chemo, and smiling bravely, and near tears when talking about the prospect of having to leave her two young sons, Zakkary and Alex, 8 and 5. The prognosis those few weeks ago was not good, but she seemingly had much more time than this. But matters took a turn for the worse a couple of weeks ago, and now she's gone. If you want to read the account of that day at Bleachers, it's here.

The very thought of her passing saddens me. The necessity to run her obituary (here) is extremely maddening. She was a very likable young lady, and this kind of thing ... just ... happens ... too ... damn ... much ...

*******

The young angel who has arisen is Jordan DeMeritt, a 5th grader at the Watkins Glen Middle School. This remarkable girl was singled out at the Middle School Awards Ceremony on June 21 with a Labor of Love Award for her tenacious and very thoughtful avocation: the creation of cancer bracelets from glass beads color-coded to remind us of all of the various cancers we must strive to combat.

She received a certificate and had her name placed on a plaque for her efforts -- efforts that began in earnest in January. The award was engineered by Catholic Charities, which has a hand in the 21st Century after-school program at the Middle School. (For a clarification of the originof the award, see Forum.)

Jordan, daughter of Brian and Connie Mathers DeMeritt, took up her cause -- creating and selling the bracelets to raise money for the fight against cancer -- upon the suggestion of her grandmother, Nanny, but also out of a need to do something in the face of a disease that claimed a 4-year-old cousin named Javier and her mother's cousin Joanne Mathers Fitch (a personal friend of mine who was in her 40s), and has struck another, teen-aged cousin.

Jordan made bracelets before all of this, she said, but not for sale or for a cause. But now they pack a double wallop: they are symbolic of the need to fight the scourge of cancer, and they are practical in raising funds toward that end.

"She's worked really hard at it," said her father after the Middle School Awards presentation. "She's put in a lot of time and effort."

And she has, in the process, raised more than $3,000 -- $500 of it (targeted for Breast Cancer research) at the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure last month in Elmira. She also sold bracelets at the recent Schuyler County Relay for Life, donating her profits to the Cancer Society. The bulk of her earnings are being saved (and expanded) for donation to CureSearch, an organization based in Washington, D.C., devoted to the fight against childhood cancer.

The family hopes to travel there later this year to present the funds in person.

"It would mean more doing it that way than just sending it along," said Jordan's mother.

Jordan's odyssey into the realm of fund-raiser started with a Christmas gift certificate for glass beads, courtesy of her grandparents. She started buying the beads, carefully choosing them for color and quality, and then began producing the bracelets. They sell for $5, even though Jordan has been urged to put a $10 price tag on them.

"I want people to be able to afford them," she says.

She has made many hundreds, and has about a hundred on hand. Sales have been by word of mouth, and through one outlet -- the Flip-Flop store at 15 East Market Street in Corning.

The bracelets are beautiful creations, with the various colored beads and a charm in the form of a ribbon with the word "Hope." Jordan can put one of the bracelets together inside of a minute, but the purchasing and assembly-line preparations require a much lengthier effort.

The colors and cancers are associated as follows (as explained on a card accompanying the bracelets, and signed by Jordan): Pink (Breast Cancer), Teal (Ovarian), Purple (Pancreatic), White (Lung/Bone), Orange (Leukemia), Black (Melanoma), Yellow (Bladder), Dark Blue (Colon), Red/Burgundy (AIDS and Myeloma), Kelly Green (Kidney), Grey (Brain), Blue (Prostate), Gold (Childhood cancers), Peach (Uterine), Lime Green (Lymphoma/Liver), Teal/White (Cervical), and Lavender (Survivor/General Cancer Awareness).

These are nationally recognized alignments. But Jordan has adopted them on a personal level as she taps into the national psyche. Somehow, coming from the freshness and earnestness of youth, her message carries a meaning more uplifting than usual -- more hopeful.

******

Ten years old. And a half. Already a businesswoman, and a humanitarian. She does the heart good, this cancer battler, especially in a time when we are losing so many angels to the disease.

Jordan has a cause, and you can help, if you'd like, by purchasing a bracelet. But as her mother points out, "Just remember that a 10-year-old is doing this by herself."

Meaning ... don't expect instantaneous service if Jordan is flooded with orders. It is, after all, summer, and she would like a little recreational time after the rigors of the school year.

But that having been said, and having observed her, I can add this: Don't be deterred from buying one of her creations ... one of her gems; she is very serious about this, very determined. You can contact her through the following e-mail address: bdemeritt@stny.rr.com. Include your phone number so that Jordan or a member of the family can get back to you to discuss any individualized orders or specifics of the transaction.

The purchase of a Jordan bracelet is -- as we find ourselves saying so often these days -- for a good cause. But it's more than that, I think.

It's just plain right.

Speaking of which, Jordan is also turning her attention to the Make-A-Wish Foundation. She'd like to do something for that organization so that cancer-stricken kids can have a wish realized.

And beyond that, says her mother, there is this:

"Jordan says she'd like to do something for old people and dogs ... because she loves them, too."

Photos in text:

From top: Jordan at the Middle School after the Awards Ceremony; one of her bracelets; and Jordan at work, making bracelets (Photo provided).

Addendum: Since this story was written, word has been received that Jordan's bracelets are now also available at the Schuyler Hospital Gift Shop from 10 a.m.-4 p.m. Monday, Wednesday and Friday, and from 10 a.m.-7 p.m. Tuesday and Thursday. Saturday hours vary.

*******

For recent columns by Charlie Haeffner, click here.

******

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Odessa-Montour Volleyball, for Jo

Jason and Jennifer Signor, Horseheads, in loving memory of Joanne Fitch

Mecklenburg Volunteer Fire Company

In memory of Mary J. LaRue

$20 Donation

Timothy and Lydia Mychack, Ithaca

Marilyn Heers, Montour Falls