Fall 2011

Cover Story – Kristin Donnan Standard: A Well-Scripted Life

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By Kristin Donnan Standard

Childhood included defending oneself from Lady, my dad’s beloved appaloosa, who once sat on our kitchen table. The scar in the main house’s kitchen countertop remains proof that Lady broke out of the corral because she hated the suitor Dad had chosen for her—honestly, she hated everyone but my father—and she...

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Learning Curve: Dungeons and Dragons 101

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By James Van Nuys

On the specified evening I went next door and wended my way through the racks of comics to the back room where I sat down at a long table with six other players. Normally Jordan would discourage a beginner from trying to jump into the middle of a game because it requires him, as Dungeon Master, to give a lengthy synopsis of a story that has been developed by the group over a considerable period of time, two years in this case. He made an exception for me...

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Jennifer Hanson: The Ice is Right

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By Darla Drew Lerdal

I believe it is sometimes best, when telling a story, to start in the middle. Since I met singer Jennifer Hanson in mid-career, that approach seems to make sense. At the time our paths first crossed, I owned and operated a band booking agency called Black Hills Talent. In the 80s and 90s, bands continually changed members; it was the rare group that actually kept the same band members for more than a year. When I heard that a local group called...

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Dayton Hyde: Mustang man

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By Judy Love

There were few boys Dayton Hyde's age in the late 1930s in his hometown in northern Michigan, and of those he knew not many wanted to be pals. While other youths talked incessantly of cars, sports and other "manly" pursuits, Dayton expounded on the behavior of cedar waxwings and Blackburnian warblers. He shared the love of all things wild with his father, who taught him to identify the birds of the north woods by their calls, but many of Dayton's peers thought...

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Bob H. Miller: It’s (Bob H.) Miller Time!

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By Chris Pelczarski

“What do you mean I’m not protected against rattlesnakes?”

This statement, printed on a veterinary-type brochure and hanging on the wall, was the first image that greeted me when I walked into Bob H. Miller’s home and art studio. It showed a black lab whose facial expression was giving me the guilt trip of a lifetime. The goofiness hit me with the suddenness of a rattlesnake strike.

“This brochure is a cultural gem!” I...

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