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Hollandy: Part 4

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Adventures in Culture Shock

By: Sarah Aarssen

“It’s not all Holland, it’s not all Illinois, it’s just a little Holland-y”

According to www.dictionary.com, culture shock is “a state of bewilderment and distress experienced by an individual who is suddenly exposed to a new, strange, or foreign social and cultural environment.”

That’s the sissy version of what culture shock is. To me, culture shock was letting off a long list of obscenities about the Netherlands and how I hated the country, the people, the food, the language, the roads, the weather, the _______ (insert just about anything) for the first two years of my life here any time something would go wrong. And plenty went wrong.

Being unable to ask the teller at the post office if they have Christmas stamps, led to a tirade about stupid Dutch language and their stupid spitty mouths and why can’t everybody speak English.

A job interview, went horribly wrong, brought on a rant of how everything in the U.S. is so much easier and I don’t understand why I am living in this stupid country with their stupid interviews for their stupid jobs!

I accidentally told the woman at the hospital that I was going to blow her up when I thought I was asking about parking clearly (true story) means I’m never, ever going to get this. I suck. I want to go home.

Moving to the Netherlands was one of the most exciting, tumultuous, extreme, trying, pressing, fun, emotionally charged “things” I have ever done in my entire life. I was starting a new adventure and man, was I ever naive. Just green as the grass. Completely unprepared for the jolt of Dutchness that I was about to embark on. I guess that’s not totally fair to myself because I did try to prepare for culture shock, but much like childbirth, until you’re actually in the position of gripping your husband’s head by his ears, screaming “God help me, I am dying, I can’t do this, I want my Mom, don’t freaking touch me you ignorant cow” (and I do quote) you really can’t prepare yourself for the emotional roller coaster ride of moving to a foreign country.

“Bewilderment” is going from a 28 year old sophomore in college who was supposed to be spending one semester in Wales to becoming an immigrant in the Netherlands who was now, suddenly, illiterate. I couldn’t read a street sign or a package in the grocery store or any piece of mail that came to the house.

I couldn’t read a thing. I was a three year old searching for a picture to show me the way. That will knock you down a peg.

“Distress” is needing to go to the toilet while on a shopping trip and finding out that no stores have public toilets and when you finally find somebody nice enough to point you into the direction of the nearest place to relieve yourself you discover that you must have change to PAY TO PEE and all you have is your bank card so you’re stuck holding it. (Tears don’t work, I tried, but a big pregnant belly can sway even the toughest Dutch toilet trolls).

“Suddenly exposed” is: your loving fiance letting you drop him off at work so you can have the car when you’ve only been in the country for two weeks because he showed you the way home ONCE so you should be able to find your way back easy-peasy and when you drive down that first road and get mixed up and you knew you were doing it wrong but the cab driver scared you and you drive into the wrong exit ramp to which there is no spot to turn around and end up just driving for miles (or freaking kilometers!) on a street because you are too scared to stop and you can’t read the street signs because you’re illiterate and the signs are hiding on the buildings instead of at the intersection and you almost got hit by a tram because there are no trams in Gillespie and you just want to go home! Yes, it would suffice to say that I felt suddenly exposed.

Not all the culture shock was negative, don’t get me wrong. There were things that I really, really loved about my new life here but it really took just one little “thing” to make it all go downhill quickly. I had to really force myself not to jump on the “Hate Holland” bandwagon every time something didn’t go quite right and that is not fair to the Netherlands at all. It wasn’t a Dutch issue at hand, it was MY issue.

In all seriousness though, I have never shed so many tears in my life as I did those first two years here. Between missing my family and friends, friendships back home quickly slipping away, and Marco’s parents not speaking English, I felt isolated, stuck and very sad. Pitiful. Depressed. That’s a hard cycle to get yourself out of.

Neale Donald Walsch said “life begins at the end of your comfort zone.” (don’t worry, I had to Google him too). That was what saved me from my big, lonely depression of culture shock. I forced myself out of my sad little pity party and made myself do things that I wouldn’t normally do, here in Amsterdam or at “home” in Illinois. I joined an expatriate group on Yahoo and met up with a bunch of strangers, fellow expats., for evenings of fun and socialization. I started going to, and eventually participated in, open mic nights at a local cultural center, reading poetry which I wrote myself. I stumbled upon an English speaking radio show, sent in an email and eventually found myself as co-host of the morning show, twice. (Sidebar: the first things Mick, the radio host asked me, live on the air was “Sarah, what brought you to The English Breakfast morning show” and I replied with “I was always told I had a face for radio”. Laughter ensued and I believe I may have said one more sentence that day. The second show was much more eventful).

Once I stepped out of that comfort zone, that had held me all swaddled up warm for those first two years, I began to see what an opportunity I really had in front of me. It helped that I had found a job and loved the people that I worked with and had a bit of routine in my life finally, but it was those new adventures that were the most spirit altering for me. I discovered that my comfort zone wasn’t all that comfortable and I kind of liked wearing the coat of torture every now and again. It was exciting. It was liberating. It was that little flip of your stomach when you stepped out of the tram into this new street to meet up with people you have never spoken to in person for the very first time. It was offering a stranger on the bus one of your truffles just to see if you could make a new friend (that always works by the way). It was making eye contact, giving a compliment and starting a conversation. It was becoming more comfortable with the unknown in the world. It is something that I strive to do to this very day.

You know, I vividly remember all of the hubbub around Gillespie when the flashing four-way stoplight went up on main street. I was young, too young to even drive, but I remember how cool I thought that blinking red light was. We had an actual stop light in our little town! We were moving up in the world.

When I drove to work this morning I had to dodge pedestrians and parent’s on bikes loaded with one, two and sometimes three children (all on one bike!). I had to keep an eagle eye out for scooters and motorcycles, who seem to know an entirely different set of rules of the road than the rest of society. I had to give the right of way to buses and trams, lest be run over because, well, they just will. And heck, I drive under a runway at the airport, so let’s throw airplanes in there just for kicks. And that seemed perfectly normal.

Dictionary.com says adventure is “an exciting or very unusual experience. participation in exciting undertakings or enterprises. a bold, usually risky undertaking; hazardous action of uncertain outcome.” I simply have to agree.

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Community News

Beaver Dam hotel was landmark of bygone era in county

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A view of the hotel at Beaver Dam, south of Carlinville, in the early 1900s. A landmark of the area, the hotel was a popular overnight spot until it closed in 1938.

A century ago, a hotel was a landmark at the area that became Beaver Dam State Park in south-central Macoupin County. The structure has lived on in various incarnations since it closed in 1938.

The two-story, sixteen-room building opened for business in 1906.  The exterior of the white-frame structure was spartan in appearance, which likely reflected the interior. But the hotel was a favorite stopover for visitors to Beaver Dam Lake.

Advertisements for the hotel were found in the St. Louis, Alton, and Springfield papers and attracted guests from miles around. “There must have been some business there,” said Jim Frank of the Macoupin County Historical Society in an interview before his death in late 2024. “People came from all over to visit the lake and stay in the hotel.”

Frank, who lived south of Beaver Dam, notes that guests arrived by train from Macoupin Station, a mile to the north. “They would be met there by a horse-drawn coach,” he remarked. “That would take them up the hill to the hotel.”

Though the hotel was basic, its surroundings were scenic. A tree-lined lane met visitors on the approach to the building, which sat just inside the current park entrance, on the right.

The hotel was operated by Frank Rhoads and his wife Sarah, whose father, Henry Brayford, played a pivotal role in the development of the lake for recreational purposes.

In 1881, some eighteen leading Carlinville residents leased the property from Brayford to create the Beaver Dam Lake Club. The members spent an estimated $2600 to construct earthen dams on either end of the lake to raise the water level.

Brayford, a coal miner who began to sink a new mine in 1899, died of a lingering illness on Dec. 23, 1901 at age 84.  When Frank and Sarah Rhoads inherited the property, they ended the lease to the Carlinville businessmen and built the hotel, which opened as the Beaver Dam Fishing Resort.

The Rhoads, who had no children, took extra steps to ensure their guests’ enjoyment. “Mrs. Rhoads was quite a musician,” said Frank. “There was a grand piano and an organ in the hotel parlor, and she would play those to entertain the visitors.”

It was not the only way in which Sarah Rhoads put her stamp on the hotel. When meals were served, she called the guests and fishermen inside by blowing a large fox horn that sounded across the lake.  A taxidermist, her mounts of local wild animals were displayed in the hotel and in its guest rooms.  She was also adept at photography and for a fee, provided photos of her guests and their catches of fish.

Guests to the lake could fish for a dollar per day, while lodging was two dollars per night. Outdoor camping was permitted, but Sarah, owing to customs of the day, would not allow female campers.

Some individuals tried to avoid the fishing fee by sneaking into the lake grounds.  However, the Rhoads posted watchmen who would collect the fee as they scaled the fences.

The completion of the Shipman Blacktop in 1937 doomed the hotel, as many guests began to spend the day and drive home at night, rather than staying over.  Fee fishing continued at the site for several years, In 1947, the state of Illinois acquired the 425-acre property, which opened to the public as a state park the following year.

The second floor of the hotel was torn off, and the rest was converted into a residence for park rangers. The state also reconstructed and raised the earthen dams to create a lake of 56.5 acres.  In 1955, additional land was acquired, boosting the park to 737 acres.

When capital improvements were made to Beaver Dam State Park in the late 2000s, the old hotel structure was sold to area residents and moved off site. The building now sits on private property.

Tom Emery is a freelance writer and historical researcher from Carlinville, Ill. He may be reached at 217-710-8392 or ilcivilwar@yahoo.com.

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Letters to the Editor

Letter: The power of showing up, what local protests are really like

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When people think of protests, especially in small, conservative towns, they often imagine tension, anger, or conflict. But what I’ve experienced at our local protests is something else entirely. 

There’s music playing. People are smiling, waving, and offering encouragement. Cars pass by and honk in support. There’s laughter, conversations, and a shared sense of purpose. It’s not chaotic. It’s not hostile. It’s community. 

These protests have become a place where people come together to feel connected and hopeful. We don’t just hold signs. We bring canned goods for food pantries. We share resources. We check in on each other. Many of us also make a point to support local small businesses before and after the protests , grabbing coffee, dinner, or doing some shopping…. because we know they’re part of this community too. 

For many of us, especially those who’ve felt isolated in our beliefs, these gatherings are a lifeline. 

I’ve had countless people tell me how much this helps them. They say coming out to protest gets them off their phones, away from the news, and back into the world with purpose. They feel less alone. Less hopeless. I see it in myself too. Being around like-minded people, standing for something that matters, has improved my own mental health. Protesting reminds us that we can still make a difference. 

This isn’t about causing division. It’s about connection. It’s about choosing to take action instead of watching history repeat itself while we sit by in silence. For many of us, this is about making sure our kids, neighbors, and future generations know we tried. 

When I first had the idea to bring protests to Macoupin County, I reached out to Andi Smith in February. She had already taken the brave first step of standing with a sign in Edwardsville, and her quiet courage lit the way for so many of us. Andi has been a lighthouse of support, not just for me, but for others who are learning how to use their voice. She didn’t do it for attention. She did it because it was the right thing to do. And that kind of leadership matters. 

Now, we have weekly protests across the region. And it all started with someone deciding to show up. That’s how movements begin. That’s how change starts. Not all at once, but with one person and then another. 

I invite you to join us at our weekly protest every Tuesday from 5:00–7:00 p.m. at the Macoupin County Courthouse in Carlinville. We are building this movement with love, hope, and action.  I’m proud to be working alongside Kelley Hatlee and organizations like The 50501 Movement, Macoupin Pride, Macoupin County Action Alliance, and Indivisible. 

Weekly protests take place rain or shine every Sunday in Alton from 12 noon to 2 p.m. at the Lincoln Douglas Square, every Tuesday in Carlinville from 5 to 7 p.m. at the Macoupin County Courthouse, and every Friday from 12 noon to 2 p.m. in Edwardsville at the City Park. I encourage others to show up to one near them. You don’t need a crowd to begin. You don’t need permission to care. Just show up. Bring a sign. Start the conversation. You might be surprised how many people were waiting for someone else to take the first step. 

Because when we show up, we remember who we are. And when we come together, we realize we were never alone. 

Chelsa Pruden 

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Letters to the Editor

Letter: Common ground

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To the Editor:

There is common ground for those who voted for, or against, Donald Trump to be President of the United States again.  First, we can all agree that he won the election.  Second, Kamala Harris did not whine and lie to the American people that she really won.  And third, since it was a free democratic election, the American people will get the government they deserve.

For those citizens who feel disappointed that a majority of voters chose as their leader a demagogue who believes the rule of law does not apply to him, your duty now is to bear witness to the consequences.  And remember.  For history’s sake.

Stay awake as the herd nods off, and avoids evidence of an insurrection that happened before their very eyes.  Observe the idiot wind that blows constantly from the mouths of all those Trump-pets pretending that traitors are patriots.  Don’t fall for the false equivalencies, like convincing you that their retribution is the same as real justice.

And stop thinking about King Rump.  Entertainment is his game.  He’s the best at keeping everyone distracted while he performs his con.  He knows what he’s doing.   Also, don’t waste your time trying to convince your friends and relatives who have slid down the rabbit hole of self-delusion.  This election proved Mark Twain was right when he observed: “It is easier to fool a man, than to convince him he has been fooled.”

James Tweed

1512 Wesley Ave.
Ocean City, NJ 08226
(609)398-3124

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