My sister Marilyn came to town a week ago to mark an Ann Arbor milestone, the dedication of a newly built fire station. What made this worth the trip from out of state is that the station is dedicated to Mindy Kerr, Ann Arbor’s first female firefighter. Mindy and Marilyn have been friends since high school.
The fire station itself is an entirely rebuilt version of Station 4, where Mindy served for fourteen of her twenty-five years with the AAFD. It’s the first carbon-neutral, net-zero firehouse in Michigan, with geothermal heating and cooling, solar panels on the roof, and other design elements that ensure it generates at least as much power as it uses.
One innovation is visible from the street: the doors through which vehicles enter and exit the building are arranged so that those vehicles can pull right through the station. That is, an engine can enter from the north and exit from the south, or vice versa. No more having to stop traffic in both directions to back a truck into the station.
Another innovation visible from outside is that the big firehouse doors themselves, the ones that open to let vehicles in and out, aren’t overhead doors. They’re the kind that fold in accordion pleats. Whether there’s an ecological reason for this, I couldn’t say, but they’re glass and very tall and look excellent in both the folded and unfolded positions.
Various AAFD, city, state, and national VIPs showed up to laud Mindy and the new Station 4. Marilyn only reported on Mindy’s speech, though, describing it as excellent. When Mindy was posted to Station 4, it was known within the fire department as “the penalty box” because of its sorry condition. It was dark. Windows looked out on brick walls. The kitchen counter was the top of a portable dishwasher. The place was too small and otherwise inadequate. Despite this, Mindy came to love it. With the rebuild, Mindy says, AAFD now refers to Station 4 as “the luxury box.”
Marilyn and Mindy caught up with each other over lunch the day after the dedication. They dined on leftovers from the ceremony.
The Ann Arbor District Library hosted a performance of Native American dance, last Sunday afternoon. Reg Pettibone of the Ho-Chunk nation, narrated the program and was the lead dancer. With him were his wife Marca Pettibone, a Paiute, and their daughters Autumn Hart and Coral Pettibone.
The dancing came with a healthy dose of theology. God, known as Creator, Pettibone said, created all the creatures on earth. And under the earth. The creatures of air and of water. The four-legged ones and the two-legged ones, large and small. Creator gave to these creatures everything they needed to live together in harmony with the earth and each other and to respect and care for the earth and each other. And everything was clean and as it should be.
Then, about seven hundred years ago, new people came to the land, bringing with them the concept of prayer. Pettibone said the idea was baffling. How could people presume to ask Creator for more, when Creator has already given us everything we need? It made no sense.
Pettibone went on to say that Native American dances are not prayers. They tell stories, mark life changes, honor elders, celebrate hunts or harvests, remind us of our connections. But they are not prayers.
I found this difficult to reconcile with, say, a healing dance. Perhaps the dance itself promotes healing? You can only cover so much in a few minutes of remedial theology.
The dances presented on Sunday were danced either by Pettibone or his daughters, never by all three. If there are dances for both men and women, we didn’t see any of them performed. Regalia worn and carried varied dance to dance. Pettibone donned a horse mask/headpiece and a tie-on, bustle sort of tail for the horse dance. His daughters wore fringed shawls for the butterfly dance and jingle dresses for the healing dance.
All the dances were fascinating, and Pettibone answered questions for a few minutes after the program, but I couldn’t help but wish for more information. Then again, that’s the mark of good programming, right? Leave the audience wanting more.
Around our neighborhood, householders are dismantling their Halloween displays. The funny ones, in particular, will be missed. Some folks have succeeded their jack-o-lanterns and spiders with Thanksgiving decorations. And, here and there, enthusiasts have put up Christmas lights. Once there are Christmas lights, will Christmas trees be far behind?
With dedications, dancing, and decorations we find ways to mark what’s important. All in good time.
6 November 2026