A walk in the park

Kate Mendeloff was the brilliant creator and artistic director behind Shakespeare in the Arb. She passed away earlier this month, and I’m feeling the loss, though we’d never met. This veteran of U-M’s Residential College gave Ann Arbor one of the most precious and charming gifts in 2001 when she conceived this outdoor mobile experience in which cast and audience trek through the woods en masse as the play unfolds.

This video from 2015 gives a terrific overview of Kate’s vision and her impact on Shakespeare’s biggest fans.

A comedy of errors

After years of planning and years of forgetting to buy a ticket to the annual production, I finally convinced a friend to join me for “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” in 2022. More than once she asked for clarity: “So you walk around in the Arb during the show?”

As newbies, we over-prepared for every eventuality, packing our purses with snacks and cans of those sparkly spritzers. I grabbed a metal folding chair from the basement of the office (it seemed like a good idea at the time). She had a blanket and an umbrella. I tied my hooded jacket around my waist because it was too humid to wear.

Soon after we arrived and claimed our spot by the Peony Garden, the sky, as predicted, opened up. Secretly pleased with ourselves, we smirked in our seats, sheltered under the umbrella. Our less-prepared comrades, seated on the wet grass, grew increasingly drenched. But no one seemed to mind.

True to form, the Michigan sky cleared within minutes. Undaunted, the cast and crowd picked up where we left off. I shook off my jacket and cracked my first seltzer. Just a few sips in though, a flag appeared in the sky, a member of the company shouted some directions, and the entire soggy crowd stood up and started to walk. It was then our rookie mistake became crystal clear. Each time the group was called upon to move, my friend and I inevitably brought up the rear, laden down as if we were in “Fiddler on the Roof,” trudging through the forest with — of all things — a metal folding chair.

All the while, the actors gamboled like fairies through the breathtaking green meadow, crawling along felled logs as if they were bridges and fleeing into the brush as though darting behind the curtain on stage. The landscape was put to beautiful use and the performers reveled in the natural setting.

It’s striking to consider the lush and creative wonders right here in our own back yard. Nichols Arboretum is so precious — even Arthur Miller waxed poetic about it — and it’s such a kick to see the ways in which such talented people at U-M put it to use. As my colleague noted in her text to me about the news of Kate’s death, “People like Kate make Ann Arbor ‘Ann Arbor.'”

Next act

Moments like this make me acutely aware of my tendency to procrastinate. Why hadn’t I ever interviewed her? What could I have learned from a conversation that I’ll never have? Sadly, I’ll never know. I’m so foolish in that regard, taking for granted that time will always be mine to do what I wish.

Luckily I overcame that tendency last summer and witnessed the wacky and wonderful joy of Kate’s vision-come-to-life. How blessed we were to have her and all the talented people who contribute to this classically Ann Arbor program. Get a ticket this year if you can. And don’t bring a metal folding chair.

I’m sure the Bard greeted Kate with a hearty “Huzzah” when she made her debut at the great Globe Theater in the sky. And I’m willing to bet Will thanked her for turning him on to the Arb.

(Lead image of a Midsummer Night’s Dream performance by D. Holdship.)