WALKIN', WRITIN', WIT & WHIMSY

It was peaceful and quiet when I slipped out the door this morning … just pure bliss.

A treeful of birds warbled daintily, filling the air with their sweet song, and there was absolutely NO street noise.

I intended to take the car for a spin to Council Point Park and then walk two full loops. I drove my usual route and soon I had arrived at the Park and started on the trail.

There was only one other person there – Todd, a runner who is there only on Saturday mornings. Several times we passed one another, like two ships in the night, me breathing at a normal rate and he, huffing and puffing as he zoomed past me.

The bright-yellow dandelions have all gone to seed and they were everywhere, standing up straight and tall like soldiers in the field, their wispy heads wiggling slightly in the wind. There were some portions of the grassy areas that have not been mowed, and the dandelions almost obliterated two Canada Geese who were grazing and lazing around there. One goose had dandelions that reached its knees. The head of the resting goose looked eerily like a periscope coming out of the white filmy landscape.

The first lap around the Park was unremarkable, but, the second go-around was chockfull of the magical ambiance that draws me there as often as I am able to visit. By that time a few walkers and bikers were on the perimeter path and there were some Kodak moments to be had – by me anyway.

As I began my second lap around the Park, I was walking parallel to the Ecorse Creek, when I saw a huge mute swan coming out of the sky for a landing on the water. I saw that wingspan, and anticipated the big splash once its massive body hit the surface. I heard the noise and hurried to peek between the trees and bushes to find that swan and get some pictures.

But, surprisingly … that huge bird was nowhere to be found.

Next, I travelled as close to the edge of the Creek as I dared, and still no sign of that mute swan, so I ambled over to the concrete precipice because that open area gives you a great view of the Creek from either direction.

There was no swan.

Well, it was too big to just vanish into thin air, or hide behind some reeds.

But, it was my good fortune, to still be standing on that landing when Mama Duck and a passel of ducklings came paddling out from beneath the precipice where I stood.   They streamed out, one by one behind her, but they were soon scattered all over the place, and the male mallard was attempting to reign them in. I counted eight of those cute ducklings in the picture up top – how about you?

After taking perhaps a dozen pictures to ensure I got at least one or two good shots, I climbed back up onto the trail to resume my walk. I decided that the first loop was a happenin’ place this morning, so I’d walk it again – in fact I ended up walking it three times today. I was bound and determined to find that swan.

Within a few minutes, I discovered some goslings and their parents nibbling on the grass. My, how big and gangly-looking they were … all legs with stubby bodies. I wondered if they were the same five goslings I saw in the water, lined up between the reeds, hugging the Creek bank this past Monday?

Unfortunately, the family was in a shady area, but the goslings sighting caused a flurry of picture-taking nevertheless. They moved around continuously and within a few minutes, had finished grazing, and toddled after their parents down the hill, behind a tree, and out of my view.

Timing sure was paramount this morning.

I continued on my way and soon had a pair of squirrels waylay me. They had both scurried over to my feet, one approaching each shoe, clearly trying to get my attention with the mindset “perhaps if we climb over her shoe, she’ll feed us some peanuts?”   I realized then I was remiss in paying attention to my furry friends, since I was busy investigating water fowl, so, no doubt the squirrels were miffed at my lack of attention. I made up for my faux pas by offering extra peanuts and this pacified them, so there were a few more photos taken, and off I went once again.

When I was finally done with my steps on the perimeter path, I walked to the car so that I could drive home. When I pulled into the driveway, I heard music that was much louder than all that horn honking earlier in the day, when I disturbed the peace and solitude momentarily after my car alarm launched all on its own.  I craned my neck to see where it was coming from. In the next city block up, there were members of a marching band, dressed in Lincoln Park High School’s colors of orange and blue. They were playing excerpts from Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” and Gary Glitter’s “Hey Song”. They even played the fight song for LPHS which I haven’t heard since the last home football game I attended circa Fall of ‘72. Maybe they were getting ready for next Sunday’s Memorial Day Parade.

My Saturday stroll was perfect in every way; glad you could tag along with me today.

As we creep closer to Mother’s Day, Mom is certainly on our collective minds, whether one must recollect Mom via cherished memories or photographs, or, if you’re lucky, Mom is reachable simply by calling, texting or visiting that woman who gave you life.

I often share the tidbits of my mom’s wisdom and “momisms”, both which were liberally dispensed through my formative years – heck, she was still giving me guidance and good advice almost ’til her dying day.

Those morsels of Mom’s wisdom and wit will stay with me forever. She was fond of giving predictions and warnings as well.  She often prefaced those cause-and-effect tidbits by saying “I will no doubt be long gone, but mark my words ….”  Amazingly, many of them have come to fruition.

You may recall that one of my New Year’s resolutions was to get my house in order for 2017. Disorganization ruled and I was sorely in need of getting a roadmap to every nook and cranny of this house.  I began in earnest the first day of the newly minted year and have finally concluded my long journey through every dresser and bureau drawer, every closet and cupboard.  Those recent rainy days helped fulfill that promise to myself, but, not the basement – oh no, that is too big of a project to tackle right now, but it is waiting in the wings for me.

Over the course of the last four months, I have taken every item out of said drawers and closets, perused them, even paraded around in each one. I have been revisiting clothes, shoes and accessories that I’ve not seen in nearly a decade.  Working from home has its obvious benefits – not only do you save yourself the hassle and expense of the daily commute, but you also save on dry-cleaning bills, lunch with the work bunch, morning stops at Starbucks (even though there is perfectly good coffee brewing in the office kitchen), shoe repair, makeup – the list goes on and on.

I must confess I love my fresh-scrubbed face sans the array of cosmetics that took forever to apply to look “natural” and I traded in my high-heeled pumps for moose hide moccasins with no regrets. Those heavy-duty-beauty pantyhose and underwire bras are a thing of the past, as are slim pencil skirts and form-fitting capris.  Shorts and tees, sweat suits, and even polar fleece PJs in the dead of Winter, had me embracing elastic waist pants and eschewing waistbands or button-up discomfort.  The sleek and coiffed hair has been replaced by a messy bun, and the hard contact lenses tossed in favor of eyeglasses.

But, revisiting my closets had me lamenting over these items which languish there, unworn, yet they brought such joy in the many shopping excursions I enjoyed with my mother through the years. Could shopping be a hobby?  I think it was. Maybe it was a habit – one I couldn’t quite kick.  Though Mom tried to instill the “buy something new but get rid of something old” rule many times, it didn’t really happen.  The house is small, the cupboards crammed … and still there was that one terrific top or perfect pair of pants that were begging to come home with us, and they did.

Through the years, when Mom kicked into predictions-and-warning mode, she often told me that clothing and shoe material was not made to last forever. I can hear her saying “eventually you’ll go to put on that beautiful coral-colored nylon raincoat and it will fall apart in your hands – wear the &^%$ thing … it’s a raincoat!”  I would look at her and reply “in the pouring rain – no, I’ll keep it for nicer weather as the rain will ruin it.” “You’ll see” was her retort.

Flash forward a few decades …

In going through every item in my closet … shoes and accessories included, I discovered she did have a point, and, yes, (as I look toward the Heavens), I’ll concede “you were right-I was wrong (again) Mom!”

For example, what about those bright-red patent leather rain boots I coveted to keep my feet dry when I waited on the bus on those torrential rain days, yet, hated to wear them in case they got ruined by that same rain? Silly girl!.  Well, I opened the box and the patent leather had turned from shiny to dull with a heavy film on them – ugh.  Not only that, they had shredded around the collar of the boots making jagged edges which rubbed against my ankles.  Yup, I did not heed Mom’s advice on simply enjoying your possessions and not tucking them away, or saving them for a rainy day.  The hat that matched those rain boots was similarly ruined … the brim stuck onto the hat where it was folded, and when “unstuck” took parts of the material with it.  Well, it made me feel kind of sad to be honest.

And then I spied a pair of two-toned flats that I always loved – they were soft leather with a color combination of cream, taupe and celery green and perfectly matched a light-green pantsuit. Admittedly, they were always a little tight at the back of the heels, but I kept them anyway – what price beauty, eh?  So, I lifted them out of their shoe pockets, slipped off the plastic bags, then slid them onto my nylon-stockinged feet.  Ouch!  I wore these? Well, I decided to traipse down the hall for old times’ sake, then put them with the other ill-fitting items destined for donation to the Salvation Army.

That trip down the hall was indescribable.

Why?

I got the feeling I was wearing flypaper on the bottom of my feet as I walked along. I was literally sticking to the carpet, and, by the time I’d walked that ten or twelve feet down the hall, there were dark-brown and cream-colored bits littering the beige carpet.  What in the world?

It looked like someone had been chomping on Oreo cookies and left a trail of big crumbs on the carpet.

I removed the shoes and saw the problem immediately. It appeared the original soles of the shoes were gone, and what remained had some type of coating, making me stick to the carpet, and the heels had literally crumbled and fallen off.  Disintegrating shoes!  Something like in a bad spy movie.

Next, I rummaged through my clothes closet. I took several tops  from their hangers and a spray of green gook dumped onto the floor and the garments as well.  It seemed that the foam that had secured those silky shirts from slipping off their respective hangers, had long since rotted, sending plumes of  green dust everywhere.  At least the clothes were salvageable, the foam hangers not so much.

Then, there were the brand-new black dress pants which I saved for years for a special occasion. I tried them on, checking them out in the dresser mirror.  I smoothed my hands down the front of them – a perfect fit.  I hung the pants back on the hanger and noticed my fingers and palms were jet black.  I figured it was from handling the metal hangers, but washed my hands and when they were dry, on a hunch, I patted down the pants again – once again, my hands were jet black.  What were they made of?  I’ve got to figure that if I wore them, my body, and wherever I sat, would be covered in black dye.  They didn’t end up in my closet, or for donations, but in the garbage.

There were no more clothes calamities to speak of, but of note …

I tried on all my dress pumps, and, as each pair pinched or rubbed me the wrong way, I groaned, not just from the potential blisters that I felt were erupting just by virtue of slipping them onto my feet, but, also because Mom’s dire predictions about my ugly white “Earth Shoes” bought for waitressing back in 1973 were ringing in my ears … “Linda, if you wear those wide shoes with the stupid heels, you’ll regret it years from now – your feet will spread like a Clydesdale horse and you’ll be sorry!”  But, you couldn’t tell me anything – besides everyone wore those ugly shoes.  Yup, my feet did spread and the wide walking shoes and soft moccasins haven’t helped much either.  Quietly, I replaced all those high-heeled, and even mid-heeled, shoes back in their shoe pockets for another time.

Though I have a whole drawerful of hair baubles and ornaments from when Mom would French-braid my hair, or she wound my long locks into a French twist, most of those hair doodads, like their owner, are past their prime. I must say that Mom outdid herself when coiffing my long hair – it looked nice from early a.m. until I was ready to go to bed, no matter the humidity level, even during a Summer storm. Personally, I just think that she was trying to make up for having me endure those horrible-looking bangs she and my dad created when they teamed up with scissors and scotch tape and snipped away between regular haircuts.

Mom, how could you?

My mom had as many warnings through the years as those soothsayers did for Y2K, and, just like that anticipated catastrophe never happened, many of Mom’s predictions never did either.

But this clotheshorse should have heeded her advice.

I’ll check out that coral coat downstairs later this Summer and hope for the best, and, by George, I’ll wear those clothes and accessories again, and hopefully they don’t self-destruct while I am wearing them – that could be mighty scary!

That’s the facts folks …

I’ve been walking through Council Point Park the past week or so, looking left and right for nests where the Canada Geese might be sitting on their eggs. About a month ago, I searched the past year’s blog posts to refresh my memory when those goslings may be visible and Mother’s Day seemed to be the target date for their debut.

Well, it looks like I get a big goose egg for my estimations, since we are beyond mere goose eggs …the young ‘uns have done hatched, and left the nest for goodness sake! This morning I glimpsed one set of proud parents, with five fuzzy goslings in tow, near the banks of the Ecorse Creek.  I barely saw them since they were nestled near the dried up reeds, which provided an excellent camouflage for moving their youngsters around.  That is, except I heard some honking that quickly grabbed my attention and I was lucky enough to see the whole family.

I got the camera ready, but they remained close to the banks of the Creek, and, due to the recent rain, it was a little muddy in that area, and I sure didn’t want to lose my footing and land in the cold and murky water.

But, I was persistent and kept the camera handy, and my patience intact, while silently sliding behind a tree, still hoping to get a good shot for today’s blog post.

However that idea was quickly quashed once a couple of squirrels came bounding over for peanuts. I whispered “shhhh” but those words would not quell their enthusiasm.  After a few cute poses, sitting on haunches and wistful looks, they were ready to scale up my ankles in their quest for a treat, so I was forced to dig into my pocket, fumble with the Ziploc zipper and grab some peanuts to toss out to them.  I quickly resumed my stance, but those squirrels had blown my cover once the plastic bag had rustled and startled the parents.  One goose looked right at me as you see in this picture.  Unfortunately, the goslings were lined up along the reeds at the Creek bank, clearly out of sight.

I’m sure there will be plenty more opportunities to see those goslings and get some cute photos of them.

Meanwhile, there are (or soon will be) babies again at my neighbor Marge’s house, and, if she doesn’t already know this fact, she will after she reads this post.

After my walk, as I was opening the door to go inside, a wren’s sweet warble pierced the quiet morning. I listened appreciably, as their birdsong is one of my favorites since it is so melodic and strong for such a tiny bird.  I saw a pair of wrens perched near Marge’s decorative birdhouse.  Those wrens were so tiny and delicate, and, if I’d have blinked, I might have missed the one that disappeared right into the hole near the roof.  Soon thereafter, another wren followed suit, but this one had some dried grass hanging from its long beak.  Home sweet home!

It sure may not feel like Spring to us, but to Mother Nature’s critters, it is a season for starting a family and raising a brood, whether that locale is a rustic nest by a murky creek, or a tall, white wooden birdhouse with a half-dozen entry holes, a mere six feet from a homeowner’s door wall

All things bright and beautiful,

All creatures great and small,

All things wise and wonderful,

The Lord God made them all.

[excerpted from Mrs. Cecil Alexander’s “Hymns for Little Children”]

Brrrrrrr. This morning dawned brisk and bright, so that forecast was all I needed to set off on a walk.  Thank goodness the rain has finally departed, probably all week the weather folks say.

Yesterday was devoted to errands and I needed to go to the mall. Though I’ve often popped into Best Buy over the years, I only access that store from the parking lot, so I’ve not been inside Southland Mall in almost a decade.  I figured since it was gloomy and cold, I’d be a “mall walker” and check out the stores, so I got there early before the crowds arrived.

If you plunked me in the middle of that mall, I would not have recognized where I was, although I was a regular shopper at Southland for years. Most of the stores I frequented in the past were gone, and, there were tons of kiosks and stores that I had never heard of.  I wasn’t going to have a Cinnabon  Bakery cinnamon bun, but that store had simply vanished, and, in its place was Pretzel Peddler and Dinky Donuts.  Hmmmm.  How I loved the smell of cinnamon wafting through the mall and up my nostrils when I walked past and the bakers were taking hot cinnamon buns out of the oven.  I did smell a rich roast of coffee brewing and sure enough, I discovered a Starbucks.

Well, the mall walking was great, and, if Southland Mall was closer, I’d probably consider doing it more often, especially if we have a scorching Summer like 2016 was.

But today, it was back to Council Point Park. I knew the squirrels probably missed me since I’d not been there since Wednesday.

I was on a mission of sorts … not just to follow the perimeter path and gain some steps in the process, but to deposit my rock along the way.

There is a new craze Downriver that is called “Downriver Rocks”.   The idea is people paint small or flat rocks with pictures and sayings and then hide them where people will find them.  On the back of each rock is a note to post a picture of this found rock on a Facebook site called “Downriver Rocks” and then you either keep it as a unique paperweight, or hide it again so someone else can find it to make their day.

Downriver is not unique in that there are similar groups in Florida and Washington who started this trend. I asked my friend Evelyn who lives in Richmond, Virginia if they have this craze there.  She replied “no, but we have yarn bombing.”  This is knitting or crocheting colorful huge woolen coverings and wrapping them around tree trunks on a tree-lined city street, or, draping historical monuments in the middle of the night.  That was news to me.

I found out about this new craze just a few weeks ago when I met a pair of women who asked me if I was on Facebook, and, if I had discovered “Downriver Rocks” yet? Melissa and Cheryl were members of the group, which today numbers 1,369 rock fans.  Melissa quickly whipped out her phone, found the site and scrolled down the page, then handed me her smartphone so I could check out what she deemed to be the best of the bunch.   I joined the group that day and it has been fun watching the slew of stones that are painted or bejeweled and ready to be hidden, then watching what stones are found and where.

There are real as well as amateur artists in this rock-painting-then-rock-hiding crowd, so the decorated rocks run the gamut of elaborate and ornate …

… to just plain fun or funky.

It all depends on the size and shape of the rock as to how many polka dots or thought-provoking messages you can fit on that sometimes irregular surface.

There are even painting parties where people pay a small fee to gather and drink coffee, with supplies provided, and they paint to their heart’s content, crafting stones like these. Still others  just collect or buy their own river rocks and painting supplies, then go to town, letting their inner “artiste” surface.  Just as soon as the paint dries, they hide their rocks, then wait … will their creation remain hidden, be found, kept or hidden once again?

I found my first rock last Wednesday at Council Point Park. I rounded the bend on the first loop, and there on the blue metal bench was something round and glistening in the dim morning light.  My curiosity piqued, I went over, and sure enough it was a decorated rock – a little whale.  I wasn’t carrying my camera that morning as it looked like rain, so, I tucked the rock into my coat pocket, then when I got home took a picture of both sides of the rock, and promptly posted it on the Facebook site.

In record time, the “hider” and the “creator” both came forth. It turned out the person who planted this rock is a regular walker in the evening at the Park.  Tami Jacobs found that rock in Wyandotte, where Laurie Bondy, who splashed the initials “L.B.” on the back, originally hid it.  Tami decided to hide it in Lincoln Park this time.

So, today it was my turn to re-hide that rock at the Park, but in a different place, and, I will now await if someone finds it.

Honestly, I thought this time of year I only had to keep my eyes peeled for goslings at the Park, and, now in my peripheral vision I must also scope out rocks along the way. Who knows what one finds hidden amongst the tall grass, dandelions and wild violets … perhaps a witty or whimsical treasure that will make my day.

So, who says a rocky road is just a flavor of scrumptious ice cream or a definition of one of Michigan’s many pothole-laden highways?

Our weather of late has been for the birds and that does not apply only to ducks.

I’m not merely using the derogatory expression “for the birds” because often birds embrace this rainy weather.

Of course, after a big rain the Robins seize that opportunity to scrounge around the soggy grounds where they can extricate fat and juicy worms. I interrupted a Robin’s endeavors momentarily yesterday, when I walked out the door, laced up and all geared up for a walk, but, Mother Nature had other plans for me.  After running the car and taking out the garbage, it started to spit, then drizzle.  But that Robin persevered with his breakfast and afterward was clearly in Hog Heaven.  He pulled, tugged and yanked at one poor worm and I imagined the worm inside the ground, trying to hang on with all its might, refusing to meet it fate.  Finally it just succumbed, sliding slowly through the moist earth and right into the red-breasted bird’s mouth.

Yup, it’s a cruel world out there sometimes.

But other times, life is like a musical.

First, we have “Singin’ in the Rain” … this is the smaller-sized birds who love to tuck themselves along the back bedroom window ledges where they are protected from the elements because they are under the patio roof. Sunday, and, again early Monday, I heard the birds warbling way before daybreak.  It was pouring raining and they were singing right behind my head, not even mindful of the raindrops.  At first, I reached over and grabbed the alarm clock, thinking I had somehow overslept, but no, the alarm hadn’t gone off, the sun wasn’t even up yet.

I had to admit that birdsong was melodic, and, by then I was wide awake, so I laid there listening to the peaceful sound. The birds’ sweet song reminded me of the first pair of radio headphones I got from Radio Shack.  It had memory settings for your favorite AM and FM stations, but, it also had a “Relaxing Sounds” channel.  There were several buttons for relaxing sounds like a babbling brook, singing birds, rain, the seashore and even a train rolling along on railroad tracks.  I tried ‘em all – liked ‘em all, and many times I’d put the headphones on to enjoy those nature sounds and imagine I was in a locale many miles away.

I like to hear the pitter patter of rain on the patio roof as it is soothing, especially if thunder and lightning are not in the mix. I even like Eddie Rabbitt’s song “I Love a Rainy Night”, especially if I am hunkered down in the house and don’t have to go out in that inclement weather.

Those birds seek refuge from the weather and feel they have a safe haven, and, I’m happy to provide it to them, as long as they are not building nests in the coach light elbow. So far this year, those pesky Robins have stayed away, but Spring and bird birthin’ season is not over yet.

The other safe haven for birds is next door at Marge’s house. Last month I wrote about the Mourning Dove that built a nest and laid an egg inside an ornamental wire mesh planter on her deck.  Marge was excited to see the egg and quickly researched “Mourning Doves” online to determine their nesting habits and incubation period for the egg.  She pinpointed the “hatch date” for Good Friday.  We learned that Doves mate for life and share responsibilities.  The male sits in the nest on the eggs during the daylight hours; the female incubates the eggs overnight.  Marge documented their visit with near-daily photos.

Every day she witnessed what I referred to as “Dove love” wherein the parents took turns warming that egg, then staying close to their baby, a/k/a a “squab” after it hatched.

Surprisingly, that baby was not to live a life of Riley for long, however. Within a week, the fledgling was kicked out of the nest, and was photographed sitting on the rim of the mesh basket, having already aced Mom and Pop’s flying lessons.

Sadly, it was only a matter of time before the Dove family was ready to abandon the nest, with their offspring in tow, and, thus “Bye Bye Birdie” was the theme last Saturday.

This onslaught of rain sure has wreaked havoc with my walking goals. I was close to reaching 250 miles walked in 2017 before all this wet weather put a kibosh on my morning routine.  Hopefully I can get back on track tomorrow, otherwise Sunday might be the next best chance to walk.

Rain is not always music to my ears, unless it is overnight, so … just sign me “Soggy and Saturated”.

Oh, those April showers – it sure has been a rainy month. Last weekend we were lucky to escape a soggy Saturday and Sunday, but this weekend, not so much.  I may eke out a walk tomorrow morning, so will keep my fingers crossed for that, but the rest of the weekend looks to be a total washout, and Monday and Tuesday don’t look too swell either.

Thursday started out fine, then suddenly the skies opened up around mid-day and it soon became a torrential rainstorm … in fact, there were a couple of them throughout the day.

That, my friends, is weather for ducks.

It wasn’t the prettiest (or warmest) late April morning when I set out on my walk today, but the sun showed up and tried its best to take the chill off the morning air. I just hurried along faster than usual to make my own heat, as I wended my way down to Council Point Park.

The sun soon warmed me up as I scurried around the perimeter path. I was on the first loop of the trail, pretty darn close to the Creek banks, when I saw some movement in the tall grass.  Though most of the Park has been mowed, this area is quite close to the Creek banks, plus there is an electrical tower nearby, so perhaps it is dangerous to hone in on this grassy area with a riding mower.

That sudden stirring in the grass caused me to stop in my tracks, unzip my coat, reach for the camera and click its power button on … all in one fell swoop.  Yup, I was ready, and would be patient, while hoping for an early morning photo op.

And that photo op was soon heard before it was seen.

A pair of mallard drakes, their teal iridescent heads shimmering in the glimmer of the morning sun, waddled out of the tall grass, walking together companionably, while quacking noisily at no one in particular. In fact, their heads were turned facing toward one other, almost as if they were carrying on a conversation.

But suddenly, one of them began quacking with great gusto, loud noises emanating from that bright yellow bill. With much wing-flapping and no further ado, he suddenly stalked off, that is, if you could describe waddling very fast as “stalking off” … now, there was a male mallard with a colossal attitude!

If there was a thought bubble over the duck that remained, it likely would have read “alright already – so we agree to disagree, but are you really that thin skinned?”

The testy mallard, having separated himself from his pal, simply waddled along, his comrade several paces behind him.

Suddenly, there was more movement in the tall grass and a female mallard exited from those tall grass blades. Evidently, she wanted no part of the fracas, so she waddled along, just taking in the scenery.

The female mallard eventually caught up with the second (and scorned) mallard, and joined him, and they walked side-by-side, with no obvious concern for their friend, who seemingly vanished into thin air.

Hmmm – I wonder if there was originally a trio of ducks and this little scenario certainly gave some credence to the expression “two’s company, three’s a crowd?”

I started to put away the camera and resume walking, when I suddenly spotted The Fractious One as he ambled down a path that parted the tall grass all the way to the water’s edge.

Soon those wide webbed feet were paddling, not walking, and he was bobbing along in the murky waters of the Ecorse Creek.

So, did that cantankerous fellow even miss his friends, or did they care about him?

Hard to tell, but, this little duck tale tells you that our feathered friends are sometimes just as fickle as humans.

For years, my morning was not complete if I missed broadcaster Paul Harvey’s daily human interest feature called “The Rest of the Story”. Mr. Harvey’s unique delivery, and the content of those newsy and informational tidbits, made you stop and think sometimes.  After he passed away, my morning ritual was not the same.

So, I went up the AM radio dial and gravitated to WWJ-950.   At this CBS station, I discovered Charles Osgood’s “The Osgood File” which is a similar, thought-provoking feature which appears several times daily.  I always learn something from these short, witty and informative nuggets, some of which Mr. Osgood delivers in rhyme.

Yesterday, the teaser for “The Osgood Files” topic really piqued my interest. The subject would be the medical benefits of  getting outdoors, and enjoying nature, especially by walking in a park.  Mr. Osgood said that his doctor, as well as other medical practitioners, have a different type of prescription these days to reap physical and emotional benefits; the Rx is to head outside, discover nature, or go to a park to cure what ails you.

Here, have a listen and I’m sure you’ll agree: https://audioboom.com/posts/5848095-the-osgood-file-04-24-17-6-25-am?t=0

Mr. Osgood doesn’t have to convince me to go on a walk and commune with nature. I began a walking regimen in 2011 because my life had become way too sedentary since working from home, where my entire office area exists in my small kitchen.  So, I began to walk and escape the confines of the kitchen on a daily basis.  The following year I expanded my horizons, from the ‘hood to Council Point Park, where I could enjoy that nature nook and come home refreshed and ready to take on the day.

I know that discovering Council Point Park has changed my life. That escape from the neighborhood and into a natural habitat within a few short minutes of leaving home, is the perfect way to start my morning. The two-mile figure-eight walking loop takes me past a wooded area and up close to the Creek which runs the entire length of the Park.  It is more than just visiting with a few squirrels or dodging the ducks and geese who cross your path.  No, it is the feeling that you’ve escaped the hustle and bustle of daily life and infused your mind with nature, if only for the time it takes to walk the loops that cut through the 27 acres of land that the Park encompasses.

I was hooked after my first trip there, and soon began toting a camera, bread for the ducks and geese, and some peanuts for the squirrels.

The more I walked, the more I was inspired to share my experiences about walking, thus this blog was born in February 2013.

This morning, the sky was gray and the air was crisp when I set out for my daily excursion.

I opened the screen door and glanced across at my neighbor Marge’s gazebo where, suspended from the tallest horizontal bar, are multiple bird feeders. Within the past few days, feeders filled with niger thistle seed and sweet nectar have been added to the other feeders, in an effort to lure the goldfinches and hummingbirds.  Marge says that if the hummingbirds arrive this early, they will surely be wearing earmuffs.  But, who knows?  I saw a pair of Cabbage White butterflies flutter by just as I arrived home on Sunday and it was not that warm.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of yellow and black and watched a goldfinch dart over from the magnolia tree to hone in on those seeds, clinging to the thistle feeder as it rocked gently.

I saw no action in the wire mesh basket which houses the Mourning Dove’s nest that I wrote about earlier this month. The sole egg did not hatch on Good Friday as expected, but a baby dove did emerge last weekend, so the nest is crowded now and Mom sometimes sits lopsided on her offspring.  A wooden birdhouse blocks my vision as to the goings on in that nest, but Marge had a bird’s eye view of the baby which she shared with me.

My eyes strayed from this next-door bird haven and I hurried down the sidewalk to begin my walk.

Who can resist the urge to get out and enjoy the beauty of nature? In a four-season state, even with our mild Winter, but cold Spring, we all share the same exuberance when the magnolia blossoms pop, or the leaves unfurl, or those hardy perennials poke their heads through the semi-frozen and yet-untended soil … it’s all good, and just makes you glad to be alive.

Nature’s wonderments leave us in awe sometimes, and beckon us to retreat to a place where life is simpler, and, for me that go-to place is Council Point Park.

This morning, I was an early bird and the Park was peaceful, the sounds were plentiful, and not a single utterance came from a human. The frogs were up, already croaking in the Creek water, their deep voices resonating in the quiet morn.  The woodpeckers were drilling into the tall trees with staccato-like precision and the songbirds were trilling from their respective perches.  Even the squirrels chattered at me while scurrying along a tree branch or while playing tag as they raced up/down and around the tree trunks and across the dandelion-laden grassy areas.

Every time I think I’d be wise to pick up the pace and get more steps onto the pedometer in an effort to get five miles walked in under one hour, I find myself meandering, both in my mind, and with my feet. Like investigating the origin of a big splash … my head swivels around, and there I go, off that beaten path once again, usually with a passel of squirrels following close behind.

But that’s a good thing.

As to the squirrels, after all, I feed those furry critters enough peanuts that soon I will have the ability to claim them as dependents for tax purposes.

Council Point Park is my refuge, a place to bulk up the steps on the pedometer, pump up my heart, and, yes, even do some soul searching.

As to soul searching, I do it while I walk along, but the benches that are strategically placed along the pathway are a welcome respite to gaze into the sparkling water and dream of faraway places, take a load off your feet, or, your mind. It’s a perfect spot to do some serious soul searching.

There is also sole searching. As you well know, if you throw a few peanuts on the ground by your feet, you’ll have squirrels galore rushing to greet you as you make your way around the perimeter path.  In their exuberance for peanuts, sometimes the squirrels will try climbing up to my ankles, using the soles of my walking shoes like a stepstool.  Whoa!  Stop!  I’m doling out the peanuts just as quickly as I can – geez.

Thus, you have sole searching … for peanuts that is.

The squirrels are needy and they sure know how to work a crowd.

Perhaps we humans are needy too – we need nature to soften our hearts and souls which have become quite hardened by the events of the day.

We were blessed with still another beautiful weekend day.

I left later than usual, thinking I’d wait on Mr. Sun to warm things up a bit, so my fingers didn’t freeze when removing the gloves to take some photos.

It seems to me, that in the last week as I’ve set out on my walk, I’ve worn at least four different coats, one seemingly for each season. A couple of the days there was no coat at all.  Such crazy weather!  This morning, the weatherman said it was 45 degrees, so I had layered up, even digging out the wool headband, (which always makes me look like I’m headed to the slopes), since I took the chenille knitted caps to the cleaners last week.

But, in short order, the layers starting coming off. First, the gloves and headband got stuffed into the coat’s patch pockets, then the coat itself was soon looped around my waist … all that, even before I reached the outskirts of Council Point Park.

The trail was packed with walkers, plus one young girl in a tee-shirt and capris on rollerblades. Hmmm, the younger set are more warm blooded is my guess.  The bright blue sky was absolutely devoid of clouds.  No hawks up there either … I’ve been scoping out the sky every time I’m there for more hawks to get a close-up shot.

I did, however, stumble upon this beautiful Canada Goose, standing still as a statue, taking a gander at the activity on a homeowner’s dock across the Creek.  The goose seemed fixated with whatever it saw, yet all I could see was a big white pail and a couple of kids. This goose was so focused, that it never even looked away as its brethren, a pair of noisy honkers, flew right overhead and made a significant splashdown, skidding along the top of the murky waters of the Ecorse Creek.

What was this goose watching, or was it merely woolgathering?

I stood still as a statue myself, right in my tracks, drawing the camera slowly out of the pouch so I wouldn’t scare that beautiful bird. I inched closer and took a few shots, and it never budged in the least, until finally bending that long and sleek black neck to the ground, to nibble at the ground cover which is already thriving.

I finished my loops and arrived home far too quickly to go inside – how I wish we could just bottle up this beautiful day.

Today was the 47^th observance of Earth Day.

When I heard that little factoid announced this morning, I tried to recall if I might have observed that first day in some manner and just could not remember. But, after all, I was only a teenager at the time, and teens back in 1970 didn’t have many cares about how our earth fared.  Today’s teens are much more in tune with the state of Mother Earth than we ever were.  They sling lingo around like acid rain, energy, fossil fuel and ozone layers.  Did we know that gas tanks should not be filled, nor lawns mowed, on certain days known as “Ozone Action Days?”  I don’t think so.  Today’s kids know about wildlife and extinction, plus are knowledgeable about recycling, global warming and leaving a carbon footprint.

Perhaps these kids already know too much and are scared for how our world will look when they are older and ready to raise their own kids.

Speaking of footprints, carbon or otherwise, I made some of my own. Actually, they were wet splotches along the asphalt perimeter path at Council Point Park, because I strayed off that trail to feed some dried-up bread chunks to the ducks that were congregating near the cement precipice.  The contingent of mallards paddled right over amidst a cacophony of quacks and honks.  They gobbled those tidbits right up, which was lucky for them, since my shoes got soaking wet and covered in grass blades, having traipsed through the freshly mowed and dewy grass.  That first cutting of the season left a fresh smell and wheel tracks in the grass, but didn’t quite shear the tops of the dandelions off.  They were plentiful, probably already numbering in the thousands.

It was overcast when I first arrived at the Park. There were just two other walkers besides me.  Even the squirrels were tucked in their hidey holes.  But, as I progressed on my excursion, the sun came out and the sky brightened.  Dim rays of sun bathed the Park, warming me up enough to unsnap my jacket, even though it was just around 40 degrees.  The second go-around, the squirrels joined me, rushing over to my shoes and looking up at me with a pitiful and petulant pout … okay, it was more of an impatient and pleading look, as my fingers, clad in fuzzy gloves, struggled to get the Ziploc bag of peanuts opened before those squirrels tried to scale my leg.

The trees in the Park have all leafed out now, and, occasionally you’ll see a flowering memorial tree that sticks out like a sore thumb, albeit a pretty sore thumb, amongst the regular trees with their new, bright-green leaves. Of course, those few dead trees are still there, standing up tall, but not so proud, with their raggedy bark and grayish-looking branches.  The jagged trunk of the huge tree that snapped in two from the March 8^th windstorm, remains as a solemn reminder of those wicked winds that day.  Its short and stubby trunk is positioned amongst the taller dead trees that tower above, and their bare branches cast long and dark shadows onto the path as I walk along, shutting my eyes to that area of the Park, but taking in the beauty of this little nature nook that is smack dab in the middle of our City.

[Image by Open Clip Art]

Easter weekend was not a washout as ALL the weather folks predicted, so they get a collective slap on the hands for making some people cancel their outdoor plans in favor of a drier venue.

Sadly, I’ll just bet that many early morning Easter egg hunts were foregone, because who really wants to be running around the soggy grass, peeking under wet bushes, or peering behind dewy daffs and waterlogged tulips in search of Easter eggs?  Those eggs may have been beautifully colored and decorated with a loving touch at one time, but rain would likely have rendered those delicate shells a runny mess.

I’ve written in the past about my grandmother, who followed the tradition of her mother, and, in anticipation of Easter, boiled several dozen eggs in a huge pot where she put in all the onion skins she had been saving from every Sunday’s pot roast dinner. She’d add those onion skins to the water and when the eggs were finally hard boiled, each egg would be a unique shade of brown … some darker than others, depending on how many skins were crowded in that part of the pot.  Nanny didn’t do any more decorating than that, so, yes … the eggs were colored, not beautifully – let’s just say they were functional.  We got a bag of eggs to take home and had egg salad for days afterward.

The poor egg has been maligned the last decade or so. I clearly remember that sing-song commercial many years ago by the American Egg Board, “The Incredible-Edible Egg”, which touted the many benefits of eating eggs.

But, then people worried the egg yolks would raise their cholesterol levels and clog their arteries, so they began eating “Egg Beaters” or egg white omelets. Well, that’s no fun.  I cut down on eggs myself, based on all the dire news stories about them.  Now, just in the last week, the nutritionists say “go ahead and have the one egg a day, if you’re healthy – there are so many benefits to eating eggs.”  Sheesh – if you live long enough, you will hear the good and the bad for every food and beverage, so who do you listen to?

As for the eggs, maybe the revised nutrition benefits by the experts are valid after all … stay with me here. Last week, the oldest person in the world died.  She was a 117-year old woman who lived in Verbania, a town on Lake Maggiore in Northern Italy.  She died in her armchair according to a caretaker who stopped by daily to check on her.

Her name was Emma Morano, and, she was the last known person to have been born in the 1800s. That claim to fame is because she was born on November 29, 1899, so, yes – she just squeaked into that century under the wire.  I listened to an excerpt of a radio interview that had taken place with a CBS newsman a few years before her death.  Of course, you know that one of his questions was “what do you attribute your longevity to?”  So, I listened to hear her secret to living a long life.  The response was that she had a raw egg daily.  Yuck!  So, that’s the secret to longevity?  So, the yolk’s on us that we non-believers either gave up or limited eating eggs after listening to the health experts.  While, I am not sure I want to be around at age 117, I must confess that I did buy more eggs than usual when I went to the grocery store yesterday.

Speaking of eggs, that sun looked like a big, bright-yellow yolk suspended in the sky when I returned from my walk this morning. Yesterday was a blah day which I spent running errands.  Though I hated to waste a perfectly beautiful walking day running errands and grocery shopping, I did manage to eke out three miles from those tasks, plus completing a few laps at Meijer while I was there, and, I put 17 miles on the car as well – woo hoo.  The car needed a long run, as it only gets the stops and starts in the City, and, with the I-75 detour, Fort Street is forever bottlenecked due to the extra heavy traffic.

Spring may finally have sprung and is here to stay, albeit today’s chilly start. My boss was out again this morning, so I went to the Park, camera and peanuts in tow, and escaped for a breath of nature.  Along the way, every single tree and flowering bush seemed to be on parade as I walked past.  At the Park, lots of squirrels were eager to see me – perhaps I should have bought animal crackers instead of two more bags of peanuts yesterday – today is National Animal Crackers Day … do you think the squirrels would have come running for them?  Maybe with a little dab of peanut butter – I know I would have.

[Image of multi-colored Easter egg by Geralt from Pixabay]

[Image of brown Easter eggs by Pezibear from Pixabay]

[Image of colorful Easter eggs by Alex_Fotos from Pixabay]