Author: admin

Lake Petenwell v. Lake Michigan
Aldo Leopold v. Carl Sandburg
Sand County v. City with Big Shoulders

The perspective from Lake Petenwell shifted this week.

Brenda had to attend a work conference in Chicago, so I took on the role of her Uber driver and joined her for a couple of days in downtown Chicago.

As a lifelong Cubs fan, I’ve always loved the city. As a student of history, I appreciate its past—from the nomination of Abraham Lincoln to the Great Chicago Fire to Al Capone and everything in between. And as a lover of deep-dish pizza and Chicago hot dogs, I’m always happy to spend a few days eating my way through the city.

But this trip felt a little different.

Driving Brenda downtown and walking the streets, I was struck by the contrast between our life on the shores of Lake Petenwell and the constant motion of Chicago. That contrast brought to mind two writers who shaped my journey as a reader: Aldo Leopold and Carl Sandburg.

Growing up, the only thing I read with any consistency was the sports section—mostly Cubs box scores. Through high school, I don’t think I read a single assigned book cover to cover. I was never diagnosed with ADHD, but it’s fair to say my attention was… selective.

That started to change in college.

A geography professor, Professor Studnicka—one of my all-time favorites—recommended Aldo Leopold. It wasn’t an assignment, which made it even more unusual for me to pick it up. But if he thought everyone should read Leopold, I figured I should at least give it a shot.

Around the same time, one of my favorite history professors, Dr. Paula Nelson, suggested I read Carl Sandburg’s three-volume biography of Abraham Lincoln. Again, not required—just a recommendation when I was struggling to find something for an independent reading component.

Those two authors changed everything for me.

Reading was no longer something to avoid—it became something to seek out. I started looking for books that could move and inspire me the way Leopold and Sandburg did.

Now, living on Lake Petenwell—not far from where Leopold wrote A Sand County Almanac—and then finding myself in downtown Chicago, the city that inspired Sandburg’s famous poem, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of nostalgia… and a deep appreciation for the contrast between rural and urban life.

If you’ve never read Aldo Leopold, you should. Not because I say so—but because Professor Studnicka would.

To keep it simple, I’ll share my favorite passage from February of The Sand County Almanac:

“There are two spiritual dangers in not owning a farm. One is the danger of supposing that breakfast comes from    the grocery, and the other that heat comes from the furnace.

To avoid the first danger, one should plant a garden, preferably where there is no grocer to confuse the issue.

To avoid the second, he should lay a split of good oak on the andirons, preferably where there is no furnace, and let it warm his shins while a February blizzard tosses the trees outside.  If one has cut, split, hauled, and piled his own good oak, and let his mind work the while, he will remember much about where the heat comes from, and with a wealth of detail denied to those who spend the week end in town astride a radiator.”

This passage has become a bit of a running joke between Brenda and me.

I like to tell her I’m going to plant a garden—mostly inspired by Leopold—but she knows the truth: I lack both the ambition and the skill to make that happen in the sandy soil around Lake Petenwell.

As for cutting, splitting, hauling, and piling my own oak… splitting and piling is about where my energy runs out. Still, there’s something about putting wood in the fireplace on a cold winter night that brings Leopold’s words to life.

I’ll never claim to be a great naturalist. But I don’t think it’s possible to read Leopold—or spend time in nature—without feeling a sense of wonder. I may not be able to identify every tree or bird, but I can still appreciate the complexity and beauty of what’s happening around me in a “sand” county.

And yet, that same sense of wonder shows up in a completely different form in a city like Chicago.

It was Sandburg’s Lincoln biography that introduced me to him, but it’s impossible to walk through Chicago without thinking of his poem named for the city:

“Hog Butcher for the World,
Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat,
Player with Railroads and the Nation’s Freight Handler;
Stormy, husky, brawling,
City of the Big Shoulders…”

The world has changed since Sandburg wrote those lines—but Chicago still feels stormy, husky, and a little brawling.

I’ll admit, I’m never completely at ease in big cities. There’s too much traffic, too much noise, and too many people moving too fast.

But there’s also something remarkable about it.

The same sense of awe I feel in nature shows up in a different way—in the scale, the movement, the logistics of it all. Steel and concrete replace trees and water, but the complexity is just as impressive.

I’ve never understood the idea that one place—or one type of person—is more “American” than another.

Cities showcase human achievement in art, science, and innovation. Natural spaces reconnect us to something more basic and enduring. Both offer something valuable. Both are worth appreciating.

I’m grateful for our life on Lake Petenwell.

And I’m grateful for the chance to experience what the “City of Big Shoulders” still has to offer.

That’s the perspective from Petenwell this week… even if part of it came from downtown Chicago.

Until next Friday,
Chad Tuescher
aka Coach T · aka Tish

As the calendar has flipped from March to April, and spring continues to wrestle winter into submission here on Lake Petenwell, I’ve been thinking about the idea of excellence.

Spring provides countless opportunities to reflect on excellence in athletics. March brings its customary madness with championship seasons for winter sports at both the high school and college levels. Spring Training baseball gives way to Opening Day, and early April delivers the NCAA men’s and women’s basketball national championships. And now this weekend, “a tradition like no other,” The Masters.

Beyond the examples of athletic excellence, which I’ve simply enjoyed as a spectator, two additional influences have shaped my thinking. The first is a new book by Brad Stulberg, The Way of Excellence: A Guide to True Greatness and Deep Satisfaction in a Chaotic World. The second is NASA’s Artemis II lunar mission. It’s hard to imagine a more powerful example of human excellence than the astronauts on that mission, as well as the engineers and scientists responsible for ensuring its success.

Before going further, I should acknowledge that those who have known me for a long time may find it somewhat amusing that I’m writing about excellence. As a kid, many of my friends were smarter than I was, so I certainly wasn’t an excellent student—by definition, I was below average. As an athlete, as much as I respected the coaches I played for, I don’t think any of them would have used the word “excellent” to describe my abilities. And as a teacher and coach, while I had the privilege of working alongside truly excellent professionals, I never felt I had reached that level myself.

So yes, I’m fascinated by excellence, but I also understand why some might find it ironic that I’m the one writing about it.

I read The Way of Excellence shortly after its release, as I’ve long appreciated Stulberg’s earlier work, along with that of Steve Magness. In many ways, all of their books explore excellence through the lens of human performance and growth. In a world filled with books on wellness, sport psychology, and self-improvement, their work consistently stands out.

What I particularly appreciated about this book is that it isn’t simply about becoming great at a specific activity. It’s about becoming a more fully formed human being.

Stulberg approaches excellence through three lenses—biological, psychological, and philosophical—before diving into the mindsets, habits, and practices that have helped people across disciplines achieve meaningful levels of excellence. What’s especially powerful is how accessible these ideas feel. You don’t need to be a world-class performer to apply them. Instead, they guide you toward becoming a better version of yourself.

Even small improvements, applied consistently, create a sense of growth that leads to mastery, and ultimately, a more fulfilling life. In a world where we’re constantly bombarded with distorted images of success online, Stulberg reminds us of what genuine excellence really looks like.

Closer to home, Wisconsin residents and Badger fans have once again witnessed a remarkable example of excellence: the Badger Women’s Hockey Team. With this year’s national championship, the program has now won three of the last four titles and nine overall since its inception in the 1999–2000 season.

While I’ve never had the opportunity to meet Coach Mark Johnson, from a distance he appears to embody many of the principles Stulberg describes. It’s easy to admire the program’s success, but more than that, it’s inspiring to observe the culture behind it.

I’ve also been fortunate to witness excellence up close through my experience with Coach Mike Turgeon, Director of Track and Field and Cross Country at Minnesota State University. During his time at Winona State, I had the opportunity to observe his work firsthand, and he is, without question, the best coach I’ve ever seen in any sport.

His impact extended far beyond athletic performance. He developed student-athletes who excelled in the classroom and in life. In many ways, he modeled the very path Stulberg outlines, one grounded in purpose, discipline, and perspective.

While it’s easy to celebrate excellence in sports, we must also be mindful of its potential pitfalls. The pursuit of excellence can sometimes blur into something less healthy. We saw glimpses of that during the NCAA Women’s Basketball Final Four. There’s no need to revisit the specifics, but the situation highlighted a challenge all coaches face: managing ego.

Most coaches genuinely care about their athletes and want what’s best for them. I believe that wholeheartedly. But after spending three decades coaching, I also know how easy it is to wrestle internally between doing what’s right for your athletes and being driven by the desire to win.

Competition itself isn’t the problem, it’s necessary. But the line between healthy competition and ego-driven decision-making isn’t always clear.

Coaches must constantly ask themselves: Am I pushing this athlete for their growth, or for my own validation?

The best coaches navigate that line with intention and humility. I’d like to believe I did that most of the time, but I also know how difficult it can be.

That’s why leaders like Mark Johnson and Mike Turgeon deserve recognition. And it’s why voices like Brad Stulberg and Steve Magness are worth listening to.

That’s my perspective from Petenwell this week. Keep striving for excellence. Keep learning. And if this resonated with you, I hope you’ll come back next Friday.

Recommended Reading by Brad Stulberg & Steve Magness

• Master of Change — Brad Stulberg
• The Practice of Groundedness — Brad Stulberg
• Win the Inside Game — Steve Magness
• Do Hard Things — Steve Magness
• Peak Performance — Brad Stulberg & Steve Magness
• The Passion Paradox — Brad Stulberg & Steve Magness

Until next Friday…

We all have light bulb moments at times in our lives.  Those moments—big or small—when you suddenly say, “A ha.”  That happened to me recently, and this blog comes to life because of my “A ha” moment while reading on the shore of Lake Petenwell.

I was reading Blue Highways: A Journey Into America, by William Least Heat Moon, and on his journey, he encountered a man by the name of Mr. Watkins.  As William Least Heat Moon and Mr. Watkins talked about their lives, their travels, and their work, Mr. Watkins stated, “A man’s never out of work if he’s worth a damn.  It’s just sometimes he doesn’t get paid… A man’s work is doing what he is supposed to do…” That was my light bulb moment.

Since leaving the coaching profession, I have aspired to be a writer.  I have worked on a couple of different ideas for books; I have written a series of essays on various topics; and I write in a journal almost every day.  The books are still in a very early rough draft stage, honestly, more of a development stage than even a rough draft.  The essays sit on my hard drive and have never been submitted for publication, and the journal remains private.  Like the old philosophical riddle of, “If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?”  For me, am I really writing anything if I am not asking a reading audience to read what I wrote?

As a teacher and a coach, my occupation was very much at the heart of my identity.  Since leaving the coaching profession, I still exchange my labor for wages in a variety of ways.  I will continue to exchange my labor for wages, but Mr. Watkins reminded me of what I really think of as my work at this point in life.  My work is to read and to write.  I don’t need to get paid for that work to still make it my work. Currently I am a far better reader than a writer, but like with any skill, I hope that my writing continues to improve with practice.

The greatest opening sentence to any book I ever read was Daniel Boorstin’s opening sentence in The Discoverers.  “My hero has always been man, the discoverer.”  As a boy, my heroes were ball players.  As a young adult, my heroes were great coaches.  As an old man, my heroes are writers.  Kurt Vonnegut wrote, “We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.”  All the hours I spent pretending I was a ball player as a boy never made me a major leaguer.  The hours spent coaching (pretending I was great) never really made me a great coach, probably fair to say average at best.  However, I have never regretted those hours pretending/working because they made me who I am and created relationships that I will cherish forever.  So now I pretend to be a writer, and I think of that as my work, and I hope through trial and error to write some things that are worth reading.

You might be wondering—why a blog and not Substack?  One reason is that while there are several writers on Substack that I read on a regular basis, it seems to me that we all get too many emails already.  I don’t want to ask you, the reader, to grant me permission to send you more emails.  If you find what I am writing worth your time to read, I hope you will come back again to my blog, but I will not be adding more clutter to your inbox.

Another reason for using the blog format is that most of the writers I read on Substack are narrowly focused on the topics they are writing about, whether that be about health and medicine, sports, or politics.  They are writing from a level of expertise on a specific subject area, and they stick to their area of expertise.  I am not an expert on any subject area, but I am curious and fascinated by a wide range of topics, so blogging seems to fit me better than Substack.

Finally, I am always behind the times when it comes to technology.  I did not start buying CDs for music until the rest of the world had already quit using CDs and were streaming music online.  My first “smart” phone was a Blackberry, but I didn’t get that until Blackberry was already becoming obsolete because the rest of the world had already transitioned to the iPhone.  For me, using a format that started in the 1990s feels more in line with who I am compared to trying to use 21^st century technology.

The original name for this blog was going to be “Tuescher’s Take.”  The problem with that is it makes my opinion seem far too authoritative.  The reason I chose “Perspective from Petenwell” is because I am writing to crystallize my own thinking more than to offer you my opinion.  There are things in sports, education, and yes, politics that I want to write about.  However, I also want to write about funny stories that happened when Brenda and I travelled.  I want to write stories about my time as an Uber/Lyft driver, as well as my adventures as a substitute teacher now after being away from the classroom for two decades.  These stories are meant to amuse more than inform or persuade.  Time will allow for writing about the serious and the trivial. Whether a topic I am writing about is significant or not, everything I write about is simply me trying to make sense of the world around me while living my life on the shore of Lake Petenwell.

It is my intent to offer a new essay each Friday.  If my writing ability improves to where I can get multiple essays out in a week, I will do that.  Currently, my writing process is slow and laborious, so for now, I would rather focus on trying to get one good essay out a week.  As the saying goes, “quality over quantity.” If this resonated with you, I would love for you to come back next Friday for a new Perspective from Petenwell.