The Long Way Home 7.19.24

To those who say that Social Security payments are an entitlement and not an earned benefit, you should see how much I have paid to the Social Security trust fund since my first payroll job in 1970.

In my more productive years, my financial advisers, all of whom sold some type of retirement investment, told me that Social Security was just one leg of the three-legged stool that would give me a financially comfortable retirement—it made sense. 

The trouble is that I'd whittled the other two legs down to toothpicks by the time I was old enough to collect social security. I was afraid to leave the stool lest it tip over on its one solid leg. Financially comfortable was a faded dream.

Living well and living on Social Security are mutually exclusive. To supplement the pension that is my SS income, I’ve cobbled together what the young folks today are calling “side hustles.”  Management coach, business consultant, POS (Point of Sale, not the other meaning) retail, and some people are even crazy enough to fork over a pittance for my writing efforts. 

For the second summer, I’m an Aquatic Invasive Species (AIS) inspector for the Cook County Soil and Water Conservation District. My job is to inspect boats entering and exiting our waters and educate boat owners on keeping pesky invasive critters and plants from moving from an infested lake to any other water body. 

A DNR survey form guides each inspection. My boss uses the survey results to collate data on boat traffic and any invasives we find. Like retail, I interact with various locals and tourists, but I get to do it outdoors.

Each survey form includes a section at the top for my initials, the inspection time, the ramp location, and the date. 

Last Friday was my birthday. It was the 70th anniversary of my first cry, tear, and potty. I worked that day, which is, in fact, no big deal. I grew up in a world where you worked half days on Saturday,  the Friday after Thanksgiving, at least half a day on Christmas Eve, and your birthday. Times have changed; many get Saturdays and their birthday “off from work.” 

So, last Friday, I was stationed at the boat landing on Caribou Lake in Lutsen. After parking, I got out my invasive species banner and clipboard, and the first boat showed up. Pen at the ready, I wrote Caribou for the location, 0905 for the time, SF for my initials, and 7/12/54 for the date. I realized my mistake but left it on the survey, followed by a note saying, “I meant to use 7/12/24, but I’m officially too old.”

The next day was my cousin’s birthday. Rusty Brunes was born eight years and a day after me. Interestingly, after 62 years, I learned he was named using the middle names of his mother's brothers, Uncle Kenny “Russell” and my dad, Donald “Sherwood” Fernlund. Russell became Rusty, and I’m guessing he, like my dad, tends to downplay the Sherwood part.

Rusty had long planned a family reunion on his birthday with relatives on his dad’s side of the family last Saturday at the Grand Marais Rec Park campground, and the day included a potluck gathering beachside, a visit to the Cook County Historical Society, and a drive to see Chicago Bay in Hovland. 

Rusty selected this itinerary so the younger members of the Brunes family tree could learn about one of the first two people to settle in Chicago Bay in the late 1800s, the first postmaster in Hovland, and the builder of the first lodging for newcomers, explorers, and fishermen. I’ve written about him before; his name was Ole Brunes. Despite our lack of blood connection, I take some satisfaction in telling people I’m related to one of the early settlers on our shore.

My AIS shift was at the DNR boat landing at the Rec Park that day, so I got to stop and meet many people I’m related to, many for the first time. And I had a cheeseburger and potato salad—one of the perks of my side hustle.