For the third day in a row, I did not follow my feet directly past “go” and head to Council Point Park. I suspect I was still smarting over the lack of interaction with the critters and the resulting kibosh of photo ops the last time I was there.
I decided to just make some tracks by heading to the River and find another time to be creative with the camera, so I left it behind.
The sun was barely filtering through the clouds as I closed the door. After a block or so, I realized I should have left the jacket behind as well, because the humidity made it really sticky out.
I decided to take the long way around and stroll through Memorial Park first. I saw that silly smiling Mr. Sun on the moving marquis and between hopping and bopping across the screen it proclaimed it was 59 degrees. Well, that sure wasn’t what the weatherman said – so query: whom do you trust, the guy with all the meteorological education or some animated figure on the park marquis?
It was a moot point really, as I already felt warmish, so I quickly shucked off the jacket and looped it around my waist. While knotting the sleeves in place, suddenly in my peripheral vision I saw something brown and furry scurry past me. I came to attention immediately, remembering the roly-poly critter I saw here last year. Well, there he was, down on all fours, whisking by me. I watched his fat body and stubby legs made a beeline to a very large hosta plant. He ducked behind it, and after the big hosta leaves stopped moving, all was quiet. I walked in his direction to see if I could rouse him from his protective cover, for whatever reason I don’t know … after all, I had an agenda and was without my camera.
When I told my friend Marge about this critter before, she suggested it was a gopher. So I Googled “gopher” images and sure enough that’s what he looked like. Well, I stood there for what seemed like an eternity, just as still as a church mouse. Soon he dashed from the safe haven the hosta provided and he hurriedly ducked behind a wrought iron trellis, just covered with pretty purple clematis, which were winding up the scrollwork. Well, he was a go-getting gopher for sure, and I wondered if he was truly terrified or just in a hurry to return to his burrow. I figured I’d be best be on my way too, so I looked over one last time to see him on his haunches looking me straight in the face. “Safe at last from the big bad human” is what he seemed to say, though his beating heart probably told him otherwise. I decided not to create any more angst for this creature today, though I was kicking myself for not taking the camera … the zoom lens could have captured his displeasure with me for having upset his Friday morn.
I took one quick trip around Memorial Park and decided then to wend my way down to Wyandotte. It was still early and perhaps I could make it to the River and back.
I thought about stopping home first and losing the jacket and grabbing the camera, but the sky, intermittently a mottled light gray color, didn’t look so great for picture-taking anyway, so I stayed on course, heading east.
There was still another park to pass enroute to Wyandotte and as I walked on by, I saw a Canada goose grazing near the baseball diamond at Ford Park. Nothing remarkable about that, except, as I approached the area, he began flapping his wings wildly at me. Perhaps he thought I was about to encroach on his breakfast. Angry again at myself for not bringing the camera, I watched his antics from afar. With wide webbed feet he waddled over to home plate for a minute or so, then gazed around – no doubt looking for greener pastures to grab some grubs or other goose delicacies, then slowly he walked to first base, where maybe the pickin’s were better. He nosed around a bit, using his long beak to scratch the dirt, then finding nothing good to nibble on, he proceeded to walk in the direction of second base. Perhaps he aspired to be a Detroit Tiger, and maybe he’d do better than the real deal who struggle after succumbing to their recent seventh straight loss.
I continued on my journey and admired the porch pots and planters that decorated most of the stately homes as I travelled down Emmons Boulevard. The canopy of trees provided some welcome shade as I strolled along, but the humidity had already crept in, as evident from the lawns laden with heavy dew and my glasses, which kept slipping down my nose. Every so often I had to zig zag around someone’s lawn, or even cross the street, to avoid being soaked from a too-ambitious pulsating sprinkler – tame that bad boy would you!
At the railroad tracks I was forced to abort the trip to the River when I heard the train rumbling down the tracks in the distance and who knows how many cars long that train might be? Maybe tomorrow, but this time with the camera in tow.
I turned and started for home and just before finishing off today’s four-mile trek, I purposely walked past Ford Park again. I just couldn’t help myself so I stole a glance at third base to see if my little friend had made it to that position yet – he had indeed. I hope he finished up soon before the Little League players arrived and hit a “fowl” ball in his direction.