Victory, WI

All hail the crumbling stone monument to the Battle of Bad Axe, the wooden helve long rotted and burned, the short walk to the river, where we can bathe in its brown, where a steamboat ghost huffs out a stream of bullets. We are invulnerable to their spectral lead, descendants of fur traders (beaver, ermine, skunk). Our lungs are clean and pink. Let’s visit the saw shop, the greenhouse with bluff views, the pines and stacks of firewood, the Blackhawk general store, named for the warrior who waved a chalky, misunderstood flag and eluded capture for weeks. In winter, eagles dive here, gathering lift when the wind hits the bluffs: all hail the migrating raptor, its piercing talon and yellow cere.