Sunday morning, 26 July 2026.

The Geneva expedition well in the rear view mirror. I have renamed all photos to put them in a sequence, which is very close to the sequence in which they were taken. Along with a *brief* narrative, I am attaching a map of my journey.

I had a bad knee that day, the result of playing a lake game called Beers-bee with my older brother and his sons while up north (up north is a common Wisconsinism referring to the northern third of the state, which is heavy with small lakes and coniferous forests—many families from the metropolises of Milwaukee, Racine, and Madison go up north for summer vacation, somewhat as a right of passage for children…I feel sorry for those who don’t, which are undoubtedly more than those who do, because it was a vital part of my childhood and to this day I absolutely love being on and swimming in lakes…I am grateful for the experience). Beers-bee involves standing waist deep in the lake and throwing a frisbee at a beer bottle that is standing on a piece of PVC pipe roughly 30 feet away. The objective is to knock the bottle off the pipe, while the opposing 2-person team must respond to a successful hit by catching the frisbee and the bottle before it hits the water. Players must have a bottle (or can) in hand while playing. Lakes have sandy bottoms and the footing is tricky with the weight of the water all around your legs. These things combine to challenge compromised knees which are critically involved in the twisting motion of frisbee throwing and the movement through water to catch frisbees and falling bottles. It’s still sore today.

I mention this because it was a factor in my exploration of Geneva Township in Wisconsin on Thursday, July 23, 2026. Perhaps it wouldn’t have mattered much if my knee was in any condition to walk any distance because, like everything in the United States of America, the territory is designed for transportation by motor vehicles, not by foot, and barely by bicycle; there were no sidewalks in the entire township and bike lanes, where there were any, were narrow.

So, like a good American, I drove around the township and stopped here and there to take photographs to document the experience.

I entered the township on Highway 50 from the west (number 1 on the map), where automobile traffic is warned that there are deer in Wisconsin that sometimes attempt to cross the road. I often wonder what the criteria is for placing one of these signs because deer are everywhere. I suppose it’s good to be reminded of it now and then.

It happened by chance that my dad was able to pick up a package in Milwaukee (he lives near Milwaukee in Muskego) to deliver to me, and we agreed to meet for lunch at an Irish-themed pub on the highway along the southern edge of the township (2). This was a classic Wisconsin pub with the wife and assumed co-owner of the pub being our bartender, server, and cook, with half an effort to be pleasant about it. It was plain to see that pub life had taken a toll on her and she was going through the motions with a certain amount of acceptance of her lot in life, which had become excruciatingly mundane. The food was surprisingly very good, and as we finished our meal at 2pm I began to get excited about my exploration of Geneva. I don’t mention a word of it to my dad because, frankly, it would confuse the shit out of him, I would get exhausted trying to explain it, and he really couldn’t care less anyway.

Before leaving the pub, I noticed that the lawn outside, right along the highway, featured a wrestling ring, complete with red-white-and-blue ropes and padded turnbuckles. This was rather unusual and perhaps set the tone for the afternoon. Professional wrestling happens to be a very common American entertainment that all young boys are exposed to at one time or another. We watch in awe as one man bounces off the ropes to acrobatically kick the other man down, as they beat each others’ heads into the turnbuckles, and perform body slams. It is quite an exaggeration of legitimate wrestling and now it’s gone so far as to become real fighting in the form of UFC as displayed on the White House lawn by our draft-dodging but exceptionally macho presenting President Donald J. Trump. A comic tragedy to be sure. In real life.

Upon leaving the pub, I traveled along the highway back towards the west where I entered the township (3) because there were a few notable things there, mostly signage to indicate that I was in Geneva. Here we have the Geneva National hotel or golf club or international business center or all three…whatever it was it was big BIG BIG and the expensive cars coming and going from the parking lot area indicated that this was place for the very wealthy class. As I stood in the middle of the highway taking photos of the entrance sign, a woman shouted to me out her car window something like, “ARE YOU TAKING PICTURES OF….” but I didn’t catch the end of it because the car was in motion and she was still yelling as she drove away. I told her I was taking pictures of the sign but she was long gone by the time I said it.

At any rate it was amusing to see not only Geneva, but also Interlaken are Swiss names of things in this small pocket of Wisconsin, which looks nothing at all like Switzerland…it is nearly flat as a pancake. But in case there was any doubt, there is always a flag of the United States of America on display as a symbol of pride and to remind us all which country this is.

I looked to my handy mobile device to assist with navigation and found an historic dam indicated at the eastern end of Lake Como, and decided to make that my next stop as I traveled along the southern edge of the township. As I turned north off HWY 50 onto minor roads, just before entering the wealthy and bustling city of Lake Geneva, I stopped to take a picture of the first “Welcome to Geneva” sign I saw. Nothing much else to see here other than a few homes along a wooded road.

The dam (5) was certainly historic as it appeared to be very old and in need of freshening up. But speaking of fresh, how about a pair of cardboard vases to greet me with freshly picked flowers, signed and dated with the day’s date? Can’t say I’ve ever seen anything like this and it’s quite a nice thing to leave behind for other visitors…there are nice and thoughtful people in the area.

A rusted old sign warned against doing something around the dam, but it was too difficult to read, so doubtful if anyone could obey it. This sign, to me, is symbolic of the decline of the United States, from a purely aesthetic signage perspective—something I have become desensitized to during my lifetime. As rusty as it is, it is easy for me to see that this sign was created by a person skilled at lettering signage. Sign making in the capitalist culture of the United States, as we shall see later in this photo-documentary, has become the realm of any person who wants to run a small business and knows how to operate a computerized plotter that can cut out vinyl letters to be applied to some substrate. It no longer has anything to do with any artistic sensibility, and no one really cares. We just live in a world of shitty typography, which subconsciously makes us all feel shitty about ourselves. Or so I think, anyway.

On a brighter note, who can be unhappy when blue skies with puffy clouds are reflecting on a calm lake? The spinning earth among the heavens remains a beautiful thing.

Back in the van and plotting my course to the northeastern corner of the township, I passed by the Geneva Office Mall. This fine example of practical architecture is home to an architectural firm and a dance studio. It also features another fine example of American signage.

The property for sale at W2970 Springfield Road (6) seemed worthy of inspection. Something about a run down barn, off-plumb newspaper boxes, and an apparently vacant old farm house appeals to me. Closer inspection revealed a sign taped to the back door indicating that the mortgage lender had been there earlier in the day on suspicion that the property is indeed vacant (I guess we’re on the same page). I thought about taking the triangle or maybe just ringing it but I only took a couple photographs. And old tractors are fun to admire.

Across the Springfield Road was a sea of corn as far as the eye could see, which is a common sight in Wisconsin. If it’s not corn it’s soybeans or hay. Crops are doing well this summer, though things are getting quite dry. If we don’t get measurable rain soon the crops will suffer.

And in that northeast corner (7), another abandoned barn…or at least the silos of the barn, which looks to have collapsed years ago. Farms don’t use silos anymore. Instead they wrap all the silage in heavy plastic and let it lay on the ground. Sure covers a larger footprint than a silo does, but I suppose they’ve done the math and are choosing efficiency over aesthetic.

More corn, more road in the northwest corner (8). It’s fun to make compositions of green and grey triangles with blue rectangles on top.

Next major attraction within Geneva Township was an abandoned Cold War Air Force base (9). There was a heavy set older fellow with yellowish-grey hair talking on his phone outside the garage (picture 33) when I  pulled up and got out of the van. He told me this was the highest point in the county and there was at one time a radar on top of the building in the photo keeping an eye out for Russian missiles in the sky. I still don’t understand (because I don’t really try, honestly) how there could be a threat of missiles from foreign countries in Wisconsin, then or now. Countries can’t really launch missiles half way around the globe, can they? Anyway, the guy left before I could get much more out of him (other than he told me he “works on stuff” in that garage, and the entire property is owned by some company that rents out the buildings). The old Dodge sedan parked alongside the garage looked to be in pretty good shape for its age (early 60s?), and it had registered Wisconsin license plates, so I’m guessing it runs and it was his car. He had the right look for that car, so I hope it was his. He also told me the other “wagons” next to the old machines and tractors (along the other side of the building) were for sale. So if you know anyone who’s interested…

I got back the van and drove around the base a little more because I wanted to see what that smoke stack was associated with. That’s a shop that works on motorcycles, ATVs, snowmobiles, and boats.

After leaving the Air Force base, I drove due east to the heart of the township, the “census-designated place” of Como. This is where I thought I might finally find the Main Street but to my surprise I was already back at the dam before I saw anything of the sort. I took the opportunity to photograph the boats I saw in yet another crappy looking lot. So far what I’ve seen is that there’s this beautiful lake with shit (and corn) all around it, except for the Geneva National Golf Club where all the wealthy people go in their expensive automobiles.

Finally, into the heart of Como to find out if anything interesting is happening along the north shore of Lake Como (10). It’s about 4pm. A reminder that the skies are blue with puffy clouds and temps around 80° F. It’s an absolutely beautiful afternoon. I think the tetherball pole sums it up pretty well. Along the lake side of Lake Shore Drive there are quite a few play structures for children but no children. There are stations to get free bags for your dog’s poop nearby, with receptacles for depositing it. There is a sand volleyball court just in case someone wants to gather some friends to play volleyball. They don’t. There’s a horse shoe pit because in the olden days people used to pitch horse shoes to pass the time and the Lake Como Beach Property Owners Association (the LCBPOA) must believe the sport is due for a resurgence. There’s a beach with a swimming area with no one in sight. There’s a disc golf basket with three full size frisbees in it. There are bike racks with no bicycles, and many grills with no sausages, no hamburgers. And there are plenty of flags to remind us all that we are in the United States of America, accompanied by poorly designed, mismatched signage to inform you of the things you cannot do, and that these spaces are strictly for members only.

Towards the end of Lake Shore Drive there is a pier for the Police boat (only) just in case they need to use it for something.

And that’s about all I could glean from Lake Shore Drive in Como. I wish I had brought my swim trunks. The water was inviting.

As I drove back towards the main road through the township I stopped to photograph one massive tree that had fallen and taken out a portion of the roof of the modest home on the property. There were a lot of trees down in the area, so apparently there was a major storm through here not too long ago. The residential area was interesting, but I didn’t feel right about stopping the van to take photographs of people’s homes. Many of the homes were very reasonably sized, and some were quite small and cottage-like. I’ll estimate that maybe 10% of the homes were of the oversized variety, slightly extravagant, and enjoyed by the idle rich. But truthfully, all in all, as a regular old middle class American citizen, I didn’t feel completely out of place in Como. I actually kind of liked it. I have this thing about feeling at ease in places where it feels like I’m the only person alive.

Finally, after reaching my arms high above my head to try taking a photo of the Welcome to Geneva sign on the west end of the township without my shadow in it, I climbed back in the van to head back to my hotel in Beloit as the sun began to sink in the sky.

Over.