Next we went to Wisconsin, to meet with the family of Ken Hatcher.  The morning of the first day, it was 14 degrees below zero, with wind chill making it 30 degrees below.  We instantly had doubts about our decision to come their in early February, but of course, we had to charge on.  We watched with astonishment at native Wisconsinites who were outside in just flannel shirts and not even hats, while we, who were bundled up in jackets as thick as pillows with layers of long johns underneath, ran back in our van every ten minutes to warm up, and loaded up on hand and toe warmers at every gasoline station we stopped at.

We met with Bill Hatcher, Ken’s son.  Bill never knew his father but has formed an attachment to him just the same through his letters and stories he was been told.  Bill told us about the accident that left him permanently in a wheelchair, and how depressed he became.  With tears in his eyes he explained that what enabled him to cope with this life-changing injury was the thought that if his father could go through what he did, surely Bill himself could make it through this.

Bill explained that Ken had been a dairy farmer, and noted that Ken must have felt connected to the people of Normandy, who were farmers themselves.  To celebrate this connection between Normandy and Wisconsin, we bought some butter and cheese from Normandy, and gave it to the Hatcher family to try.  The verdict?  Well, just because you like Wisconsin cheddar doesn't necessarily mean you will like blue cheese from Normandy, but they did agree that the butter was very creamy.

Later, Bill's family took us to a dairy farm run by Robert Murphy.  It was quite an experience for those of u
s used to the city.  But Robert was very hospitable, and Max grinned with nervous anticipation as Robert gave him the opportunity to milk one of the cows by hand.

When Ken’s wife Betty revealed that Ken had been a good dancer, and that had been one of the things that attracted her to him, Max began to wonder where we could find such a scene today.  So with the help of Bill’s half-brother Mike Murphy, we went to a bar called Nappy's in Noshkoro, where some locals danced the Shoddish and other dances just as Ken and Betty had done more than 60 years ago.