MAY 8, 2025 – Although I’m a long-time “dirt” lawyer, as real estate attorneys call one another, eons have passed since I last did my own tract search of a piece of property. We dirt lawyers rely on title insurance companies to undertake that effort in conjunction with examination of title. But today I needed to track down an easement on family-owned property Initially, I attempted to complete the task online and made substantial progress . . . in being charged for the privilege; no progress, however , in finding what I needed. A glitch in the computer system, as I was later informed, caused me to fall short of my goal. I was miffed about the spent money, but I didn’t want to fall into the trap of spending $100 worth of time trying to recover $10.
Foiled by the online service, I jumped into my car and drove the eight miles to Hayward, the county seat of Sawyer County in northwest Wisconsin. In front of the low-key courthouse at the end of the town’s main drag, I pulled into a diagonal parking slot between two new extended-cab pick-ups. The Register of Deeds office is immediately to the left as you enter the building. An older codger than I shuffled ahead of me into the office. I wondered how long he would take before my turn, but he had a question about dog licenses. Good, I thought; an entirely different window—the one under a sign that said, “Dog Licenses Here.” My category was “real estate,” which one generally associates with the office of the Register of Deeds.
A woman at a desk some distance from the counter saw me and said with a genuinely pleasant tone, “Can I help you?” It turned out to be the Register of Deeds herself, one Rachel Thompson. I won’t bore the reader with the details and context of my quest, but what deserves special mention is the extraordinary service I received from Ms. Thompson.
In short order she established her intelligence, competence and expertise. She was as efficient as she was proficient, and within a few short minutes I had a copy of the rather ancient document I’d sought. Moreover, Ms. Thompson executed the task with good cheer and a ready sense of humor. With genuine caring and interest, she answered my questions cordially and treated me—a total stranger off the street—like a valued customer.
In this day when certain elements of the political establishment denigrate “government workers,” I like to push back; I like to herald “government workers.” Across decades of experience dealing with public servants in many different offices across our great land, I’ve found that the vast majority of them deliver five-star service. They care about doing a good job and serving the public the best that they can. Rachel Thompson is yet another example of a top-flight “government worker,” and I, for one, as a member of the public who benefits from her vital service, appreciate her fine work managing a key government role.
On the drive back to the cabin to resume my tree-planting operation, I pondered the remarkable system that has developed in this country regarding land records. In a culture that assigns a high premium to private ownership of real estate, proper record-keeping by the Register of Deeds (or its equivalent) goes to the heart of integrity of this essential system. Down the winding road I felt a measure of professional pride in having worked within this remarkable method of keeping track of property interests.
But just then I caught myself. I recalled the Native man who exited the courthouse just as I entered. While my ancestors recorded sacrosanct documents granting a bundle of rights and interests (a bundle of “sticks,” as we were taught in law school), his ancestors were hunting game on the land and harvesting its fruits but without destroying the land in the process, as the Europeans and their progeny have done. Then came the ultimate irony: the white system of recording and preserving real estate interests, a system so highly developed, so carefully refined, so nearly foolproof, it renders theft exceedingly difficult, is itself traceable back to . . . theft from the indigenous or by fraud and swindle under subsequent “treaties.”
Upon returning to the Red Cabin and Björnholm, I jumped back into my planting gear. Soon I was planting another round of white spruce seedlings. When I moved from one site to the next, I’d take a mental snapshot of the beauty around me. I thought back to the Register of Deeds office, and the system of which that office and my livelihood—are inextricably bound. And then I laughed. The trees and all the flora they shade have no need for me or the Register of Deeds. All they require is air, earth and water—and protection against “human progress.”
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© 2025 by Eric Nilsson
