​My journey along Koshkonong Creek began in 2024 when my husband Steve and I bought 26 acres in Albion Township, with the creek marking the northern boundary. Half of the land is high ground with woods, fields under cultivation, and remnants of an old homestead. The rest consists of wetlands—what I sometimes  call “the swamp,” though that term doesn’t quite capture the gentle nature of this place. I truly cherish this place.
Immediately the land struck me as resilient, despite years of neglect. The Emerald Ash Borer had wiped out the black ash forest, so what was there even a decade ago is no longer. Except for four acres of rented, tilled land and a few trails used by hunters, dense vegetation had overgrown everything, including the once inhabited farmhouse.                                         

​We had owned the property for a week before realizing there was windmill scaffolding. A pumphouse was so buried beneath fallen and overgrowth that it was inaccessible. The farmhouse was visible, but half of it had fallen. A silo stood in silent testimony to the once active farming activity. Fortunately, the barn had been removed at some point in the past, so we were not faced with that hazard. Steve and I both saw the challenge and potential. 

​A month passed before we were able to access the creek on the northern border. We knew it was there, but because of heavy rain and thick vegetation, we couldn’t even walk to it until we put on waders and carried machetes. When we finally got there, it was magic.

​As an artist, I find endless subjects on this property to paint, both in watercolor and oil. I expect my desire to capture the surprises and intrigue of this precious place will continue for years to come.

​The 26 acres we purchased in 2024 included a house, which was in a state of utter disrepair. Our granddaughter Raya put her hand on Steve’s shoulder and told him, “Papa, you can’t fix this.” To which he replied, “Oh, I don’t know about that.”
We’re not sure when the original cabin was built, but a little square indicating a house showed up on a plat map by the 1890s and might have been there in 1860.  A lot of research could be done on this topic, and a log cabin expert could probably tell us about its origins from the type and hewing of the logs. We haven’t undertaken that yet. First, it needed to be made safe to enter.
The addition to the original log cabin had collapsed, and it wasn’t safe to get too close. But soon it had been completely removed, leaving only the cabin, clad with wood siding that had probably saved it from complete ruin.
People have stopped by to tell Steve about their adventures in the old homestead: one was raised there, another met his girlfriend there, someone lost his wedding ring there, and a stash of gold coins is reputed to be buried there.  The structure was still inhabited in the 1980s, but after that the story tapers off. Again, research could be done.
After the addition was removed, the roof was replaced, halting some of the cabin's deterioration. Steve repaired the foundation, stabilized the interior, reinforced the beams and joists, and redirected water away from the basement. Thanks to these improvements, I now feel comfortable entering the cabin. I write all this in one paragraph, but really, the work has taken the better portion of a year, with many scraped appendages, aching muscles, and one trip to the emergency room for stitches when old plaster collapsed onto Steve’s head. 

​The daylilies growing around the cabin were the thing that convinced be we should buy the property.  They were everywhere! Even through all the disassembly of the house there are patches remaining, and this spring they are returning to remind us that someone at one time tended to this place. I’ll get around to painting them someday….

​The other beauty that grows all around the cabin and into the woods are the tall violet flowers sometimes called spring phlox. They are in fact, Dame’s Rocket, and – you guessed it – are an invasive species. Nevertheless, we marvel at their prolific beauty as they carpet the forest floor and move along the tree lines. You can learn more about them and the differences between them and garden phlox, which are well behaved and welcome as they bloom in summer and into the fall.

​Meet the Emerald Ash Borer, or “EAB.” This little three quarter inch beautifully shimmery green bug has been responsible for the death of many trees in the Midwestern America’s forests.  EAB attacks ash trees, and the black ash, tolerant of wet soil, is/was the primary tree in the wetlands of our Koshkonong property. 

In 2026 EAB has been detected in every Wisconsin county and in southern Wisconsin it blankets the land.
The bug works by laying eggs under the bark, which turn into larvae that burrow there for a couple of years. These burrows, called “galleries,” cut off the water supply and the tree starts to die.
While most of the trees in the lowlands of our property are already dead, we are watching the death of others. Ironically, the patterns made by the burrowing are strangely beautiful, and sometimes I feel I can read messages in them.
From the Wisconsin DNR Emerald Ash Borer Fact Sheet, we have learned what to expect as we observe this land in the coming years:
“ Heavy ash mortality on lowland forest sites often results in invasive plant abundance, higher water tables or site swamping, and possible conversion of the site to non-forest cover such as brush, sedge or canary grass.”
https://p.widencdn.net/vms2ul/Emerald-ash-borer-factsheet---FR-622f
​

As we started to explore the Koshkonong Creek property, I found plants I hadn’t seen before. I’ve spent plenty of time in many different woods, looking for wildflowers and morels, but these wetlands presented new-to-me species. One of these was on the edge of the wetlands, near the old barn. It looked so exotic I was wondering if I was in a sort of rain forest. The next year it bloomed, and the yellow flowers were staggeringly beautiful in the marshland.

​Then I Googled it. I was dismayed to learn that this beautiful plant has escaped from gardens and can adversely affect the natural environment.
From the Wisconsin DNR’s website:  https://dnr.wisconsin.gov/topic/Invasives/fact/YellowFlagIris

• Yellow flag iris can produce many seeds that float from the parent plant, or plants can spread vegetatively via rhizome fragments. Once established, it forms dense clumps or floating mats that can alter wildlife habitat and species diversity.
• All parts of this plant are poisonous, which results in lowered wildlife food sources in areas where it dominates.
• This species can escape water gardens and ponds and grow in controlled and natural environments. It can grow in wetlands, forests, bogs, swamps, marshes, lakes, streams and ponds.
• Dense areas of this plant may alter hydrology by trapping sediment.

 
So, I did the only logical thing – I painted it!

​Then I set about destroying it. I first dead headed it to get rid of seeds, then I dug it out. Digging in the muck of a marshland on a beast that is three feet in diameter and soundly rooted is not an easy task. When I finally had it out of the ground, I dragged it up the hill with ropes and chains to the high land and laid it to wilt in the sun.
Over the summer I watched it slowly give way to a composted heap. It felt a bit like how I imagine it is to slay a dragon. I have a suspicion that this one plant will not be the end of my acquaintance with the beautiful Yellow Iris.

Koshkonong Creek has been a figure in my landscape for many years. For some time, we lived close to it and often walked along the bike path in London (WI). Now that we own property along the creek, I started looking into it more.
An article in the Hometown News/Lake Mills Leader in 2019 gives some of the history and condition of the creek. https://www.hngnews.com/leader_independent/koshkonong-creek-historic-prairie-waterway/article_008b00b1-e01d-53d2-888e-df524d7ea0f6.html
Koshkonong Creek is a 54-mile creek starting in Sun Prairie and ending at Lake Koshkonong in Busseyville. The upper part of the creek has been channeled and managed as it makes its way to Cambridge. From there, it runs free after a dam in Rockdale was breached in 2000 and subsequently removed in 2004. One of my favorite places along its length is the Cam Rock County Park south of Cambridge, and the walking trails there are fascinating in all seasons.  
Kayakers spend time on the creek, but likely above the section we now own, which is jammed full of fallen trees and debris. It would be tough going, but we hope to clear some of the jams so we can use a little skiff – imagine me, poling upriver, just like a modern-day Tom Sawyer. It’s the stuff of dreams.

​We’ve learned that our wetlands aren’t a result of the creek overflowing its banks. Rather, the land is all part of a watershed that flows to the creek.
I will be painting this creek for years, I hope. I’ve only begun. I have painted it during Cambridge’s Main Street plein air event organized by the Art Hub for the past two summers, and plan to again in 2026.

​Much of the first year’s summer involved mowing. It’s not that we don’t want a beautiful prairie with gently waving black eyed Susans and cone flowers, but the first thing that needed to be managed are the meadow weeds Canada thistle and wild meadow parsnip.

​The property was once the site of a busy farm shown in aerial photos as far back as 1937. Up until 1980, a barn and outbuilding were present.
This downloaded photo from the Department of Agriculture taken in 1937 has been marked up to show the outline of the property. What is missing from the photo is the woods now present in the northwest third of the land and the trees that had taken over the northeast third, and are now all dead. Something happened in between – the farmer stopped grazing cows, or tilling the land? More research!

​What is in the photo: a farm settlement with house, outbuildings, barn and silo. Maybe not the same silo as the one still standing, but the silo in this next aerial photo from 1977 is likely the same one. 

It’s difficult to describe the mess that stood behind the silo when we purchased the property. Barbed wire and fencing surrounded what we were told by a neighbor was a paddock. Weeds and brush and dead trees clogged the ditch leading to the ponds, and even getting to the edge of the property wasn’t possible until the brush and fencing were removed. 
We were delighted to find that the concrete base of the barn was still intact. Grass and weeds had buried the foundation so when we tried to dig, we quickly realized that a base for a new structure was already in place. Over that, we have had built a small new “Property Maintenance Shed,” so named because that is what is permitted by Dane County. The permitting process we went through is what I call a “saga,”  complicated by the proximity to wetlands, and I don't need to recount it.

​Before the shed was built and after the trash was removed, I painted what was left.

​A delightful part of forest, woods and wetlands are the fungi. I can’t name them, nor do I wish to start down that rabbit hole of taxonomy. Wildflower, tree, and bird identification is taxing enough for me, and I don’t want to dilute my fascination with things that spread by spores and can pop up overnight by trying to categorize them.
Sometimes you run into fungi so beautiful you must stop and admire it. I always do that. Sometimes I photograph them. 

​Fungi can be more like a flower than a mushroom, and then I consider painting them. The beautiful specimen in the painting below was so striking I had to ask the Google Machine if it is edible. It’s called a Dryad’s Saddle and is apparently edible and quite tasty if harvested early. Then I read the warnings about not ingesting if not 100% certain of the identification and decided to bypass harvesting and cooking and 100% save myself from the trouble of poisoning. 

​I learned that in Greek mythology, a dryad was a female nature deity, a tree nymph or spirit. I’m going to just enjoy that and leave the cooking of mushrooms for when (I hope) we find some morels. They are worth the risk.
In the painting, you may note the three-leaf poison ivy. It is rampant on this property, and it’s the first time I’ve had to deal with it. Some vines have climbed to the tops of mature trees! I’m both terrified and angry about encountering this beast, and I determinedly carry my sprayer wherever I go, After one season I believe it is being reduced in the areas around the house and shed. I am very cautious, don’t ever burn it, always work wearing long sleeves and gloves, and wash with soap and water the instant I can do so. You must love a place to contend with this enemy.

​This property abounds with wildlife. Sometimes in the morning there are flocks of turkeys on the front “lawn”, and Steve has chased some deer away when he drove up the driveway. Neighbors have reported seeing the largest buck they’ve ever encountered out in the front pasture. Steve had to chase raccoons out of the cabin and there’s a groundhog hole in the bank behind the house.
I haven’t seen these animals myself, so this is all hearsay.
I often see eagles flying above, and I recently named one of the high spots in the ponds “Goose Island” because there are so many noisy nesters there. Frogs are everywhere, as are garter snakes (hopefully that’s the only kind – I don’t mind them). We found the skull of a weasel or martin, and I hear splashes on the creek when I approach, but mostly I have only observed the evidence of the mammals.
Turkey “dustings” in the woods are common, animal (otter?) slides fringe the creek banks, and the deer tracks surround the cabin. Further evidence of deer is the chewed-up trees we planted last fall. Should we protect deer-resistant cedars from deer? It seems so. And I don’t even want to think about the critter that clawed into this tree.

Winter is the best time for tracking, of course. After a fresh snowfall, it’s wondrous to see who is out and about, from the smallest mouse to the largest buck. I plan to install some trail cameras and find out who is out there. Better yet, I just need to sit and watch. I  know where there is an intersection.

​We didn’t realize when we purchased the property that there is a bridge on the northwest corner that crosses the creek. It shows on the survey and aerial photographs, but we missed that detail.  According to the neighbor, it was a covered bridge until some young people fishing accidentally burned the cover down.
We were told it was built to allow two brothers with farms on opposite sides of the creek to share farm equipment and help each other with planting and harvesting. So, it would be a sturdy bridge, capable of handling tractors and equipment.
We just couldn’t get there. It was ridiculous. We had made it to the creek through slashing and wading and had created a walking and four-wheeler path, but the route to the bridge was even more overgrown and tangled. A potential path on the west edge of the property was still underwater. All we had to do was follow the creek's edge to the west, and we'd be there. 

Three months had passed, but knowing it was there, we (granddaughter Raya helped clear trails and was one of the first of us on it!) eventually bushwhacked our way through. The bridge is still robust, and a wonderful place to stand in the middle of the creek. It was worth all the scrapes and scratches to get there. Our grandson Auren is just itching to get his fishing line in the water.

​After a while, dead trees started haunting my dreams. There are so many and they stand for so long. They become silent testimonies of what was and reminders of how casually they may be destroyed. I’ve seen forests in California and Oregon that were destroyed by fire, and I’ve seen those lands come back, not the same, but in a transformed way.

Years. It takes years. The title of this show – Years By the Creek – refers to the years. I’ve just started the journey on Koshkonong Creek, but these trees, this place, this creek, have been here for years and will still be here for much longer than I can enjoy it. “The Land Remembers” by Ben Logan is a favorite book, and I love thinking that to myself as I roam the woods and marshes – the land does remember.
There will be many more dead tree paintings in the future, but these are some in this collection.
“Connections” was painted in a sort of fever dream; I have no other way to describe it. I knew what I saw in my dreams, I remembered what I saw in the fields, and it all morphed and merged and came forth from my paintbrush onto this canvas. Painting in oil allows for that sort of evolution: as the paint flows, so can my thoughts. Mostly those thoughts were about connections and how they are never truly broken, and how mistaken we are if we believe we are not connected.

​This is why I paint. It’s not perfect, it’s never complete, but it is what lies deep inside me, and I am grateful to be offered the opportunity to share it with the world. It’s how I make connections.