The promised a.m. drive-time storm hadn’t arrived yet, so timidly I ventured out.  Once again, I strayed to my usual stomping grounds, Council Point Park.

The sun was high above, but looking like a pale imitation of itself, and, it certainly was not as bright, nor as vibrant, as a glossy yellow bag of peanut M&M’s.

I know you shouldn’t play favorites, but, I will confess that I have a favorite squirrel at Council Point Park.  He lives in a tree by a blue metal bench, and he always come bounding over to greet me, much like a beloved pet does when you return to the house after a long day at work, or even just a simple errand.

Thus, this peanut pal has won my affection, so unabashedly, the sentimental fool that I am, I dispense a few more peanuts to him than I do to the other squirrels (which no doubt accounts for that “undying love and affection” by him).

About  a week or so ago, I got the bright idea that my favorite furry critter might like some peanut M&M’s for a special treat.

But, first I Googled around to ensure  that this candy with the chocolate that “melts in your mouth, not in your hand” would not be dangerous to him.  Nope, the general consensus was it was a treat and there were several YouTube videos of squirrels happily chomping M&M’s (albeit with bad manners since they had their mouths open), which confirmed to me that it was A-OK to give them to him.

So, I picked up two packages of peanut M&M’s, just in case some of his brethren showed up, and, yes, I even got one package in the “Share Size”.

Once at Council Point Park, I rounded the first bend, and, there he was, sitting on the blue bench, smack in the middle of his domain.  As I approached the bench, he ran lickety-split over to the path to greet me.  I dug out bag #1 from my fanny pack, while he impatiently danced on the tip of my shoe and looked up at me.  “Wait ‘til you see what I have for you” I told him and jiggled the bag to announce the treat was almost ready.  I ripped the package open and soon a half-bag’s worth of those brightly colored nuggets were strewn across the pathway.  Ha, ha … well, I could just read his mind, the gears churning as he tried to figure out what these misshapen objects were, and, whether he should try one.  He was confused, but still sniffed appreciatively, then looked up at me for guidance, or, at the very least, to say “thanks, but no thanks – I’ll take ballpark peanuts if you don’t mind!”

While this experiment/photo opportunity seemed to be a no-brainer, I had discounted the fact that perhaps he was more of a meat-and-potatoes-kind-of-squirrel, and would have just preferred plain old peanuts, and not these strange dots, despite their dazzling candy-coated allure.  My thinking was “who could resist M&M’s?”

So, reluctantly, I gave in to him, then reached into my Ziploc bag and shook out about a half-dozen of peanuts which I intermingled with the M&M’s on the pathway.

“Ahhh, that’s more like it” he seemed to say.  He grabbed a peanut and dashed off to bury that treat.  But, curiosity got the better of him, and he soon hurried back.   I figured he’d hone in on the rest of the peanuts, and ignore the M&M’s, but, in a most-charitable manner, likely so he would not offend his benefactor, I watched as he grabbed just one M&M with a long claw and pushed it into his mouth.  Crunch, crunch, crunch … and he didn’t spit it out!  Success!!  I kind of felt like I was reliving the old Life cereal commercial, where the two boys watched to see if Mikey liked that new cereal or not, and when he did, they cried out “he likes it!”

Well, those first few M&M’s must’ve passed muster with my furry friend, as he abandoned the peanuts altogether and finished off a few more M&M’s.  He then snatched a pair of green ones and confidently took them “to go” with a look back at me, as if to say “thanks for the treat, but I thought Squirrel Appreciation Day was back on January 21^st?”

Sure, I left a little litter behind, but it joins the bottled water empties and energy bar wrappers that one sees when there is a bit of a breeze, and besides, … you know what?  Sometimes tricks and kicks aren’t just for kids.

Though our little heat wave certainly does not rival that of the Southwestern states, it sure is hot and sticky out there.  When I set out on my walk this morning, the temperature was already 73 degrees.  While 73 may be a good number for my graduation year from high school, it’s not too pleasant for walking, especially when you tack on some humidity.  But, thankfully it was overcast which helped to keep the sun’s hot rays at bay.

Once I arrived at Council Point Park, I sought out the shady side loop first to cool off a bit.  Almost immediately, I heard a lot of plops and splashes in the water as I travelled the perimeter path that runs parallel to the Ecorse Creek.  Hmmmm.  This is the more-scenic portion of the Park, and, at some points, the bushes and bulrushes are so dense, you can’t even see the water.  So, when I hear big splashes,  my mind gets to imagining over-sized turtles slipping off logs, bullfrogs leaping off lily pads, or, maybe  even muskrats emerging from beneath the surface and splish-splashing away.  I hear these noises lurking behind the canopy of foliage, but know nothing of their origin … it’s a little eerie sometimes.

I got my steps in and hurried on my way.

Yesterday, I was happy to discover that Pagel Avenue was finally free of construction after almost a year’s time.  The City began this massive project last Summer and worked until around Thanksgiving.  When the construction resumed in the Spring of 2017, workers, earth-moving machinery and cement trucks have monopolized nearly three City blocks.  The street was cordoned off and the sidewalks were always mud-covered or missing, and it was quite messy, so I began detouring my walk along Memorial Park.  Now, Pagel Avenue is an easier and quicker option to get home when I have dawdled at the Park too long on a workday, or the weather takes a turn for the worse.

So, on that first trip home along Pagel Avenue, what did I find, but some worthy chalk art to share with you.  It is that unmistakable response to the question: “So, how hot is it?”  and is featured in the accompanying photo.  Though it may not be hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk in Southeast Michigan, here is a realistic sunny-side up egg created in chalk.

And, … yes, I was careful to step around it so it didn’t break the yolk!

Stay cool.

When I left for my walk, there was a stiff breeze and the sun was slowly filtering through a dark and dappled sky.  I even hesitated when shutting the door, since a quick glance at that gray sky gave me cause to pause whether to lug along an umbrella or not.  I opted to be an optimist, but, in retrospect, I could have used that umbrella on the trip home, since a bird behaving badly decided to use my clothes as target practice … if you know what I mean.

The cooler temps and breeze sure felt good, and I even had a few goosebumps as I wended my way down to Council Point Park.  Within a few minutes after my arrival, the sun suddenly put in a commendable appearance and the entire sky lit up in just a matter of moments.

Several times the subject of birds has crept into my Monday.

I saw that as a “sign” of sorts, so I decided today’s blog post topic would be about bully birds.

Last night, after I shut down my computer, my friend Marge sent me a video which I viewed early this morning.  That video was about “Canuck the Crow” who is terrorizing Vancouver, B.C. with its scary antics.   In one neighborhood, the mail can’t get delivered because Canuck dive-bombs to peck the mail carriers.  He also likes to swoop, then swipe food, and otherwise enjoys disturbing the peace at Mickey D’s … hey, this critter is fond of French fries.  Canuck is full of swagger and strut and his antics are well documented.  He even has a Facebook page and a Twitter handle, or you can read about him here:   http://www.ctvnews.ca/canada/canuck-the-crow-causes-kerfuffle-at-vancouver-mcdonald-s-1.3478270

I commented on Marge’s post that now I had to worry about pesky crows, just like Pit bulls, when venturing outside.

Many years ago, the neighbors across the street had a family of Blue Jays living in one of their tall maple trees.  We loved watching those brightly colored Jays weaving in and out of the trees and flying around the neighborhood.  But, one day, a bald-headed man passed below that maple tree where the Jays had built a nest which was filled with little ones.  The male Jay suddenly swooped down, and pecked the man’s head with a vengeance.  This gentleman had blood dripping from his head and fell to the ground.  Someone called for help, EMS arrived and whisked him away.  What provoked that Blue Jay to wage war so savagely on this poor man who merely walked down the street?  It is anyone’s guess what threat that Jay perceived.

I like birds – don’t get me wrong, even if one ceremoniously left his droppings on me while I was walking home from the Park today … no, I wasn’t amused.

Thinking about these two wild and wily birds and my little “incident this morning propelled me to expound on the story about the Red-Winged Blackbird at the Park, who tends to get a little too big for his britches sometimes.

First, this bird is fearless.  While the other Red-Winged Blackbirds are content to sit in the trees or atop the bulrushes, and you hardly know they are there, that is until you hear their loud and unmistakable call, this fellow is about as cantankerous as the Canada geese.

People can identify Canuck the Crow because he has a bright-red tag on his foot, so, I know you may be thinking that I am merely guessing it is the same Red-Winged Blackbird who not does not discriminate from bullying the squirrels or the Canada Geese.  No, I recognize this bird who is a small and mighty force to be reckoned with at Council Point Park.

When I scatter peanuts along the path and this bird sees me, he does this swoop-and-scoop maneuver wherein he places himself in the center of the peanuts, grabs what he wants and flies away.  The squirrels are flabbergasted since it happens so fast, but, if he lingers, they back off and wait, because they know this bird is not greedy and won’t come back for seconds.

However, on a walk along the perimeter path in late May, I witnessed this Red-Winged Blackbird, who, from his perch on a tree branch in the marshy area of the Creek, got irritated with the goose family who paraded through the tangled grassy area as they returned from paddling in the water.

I watched his demeanor change in the course of a less than a minute’s time.

He went from downright mean and ornery (as pictured above), to opening his sharp beak …

… then pointing his whole body down in “attack mode” and then he swooped down on the hapless goose.

That blackbird began to attack the lead goose, probably the male, who was simply guiding his little family to land from the water’s edge.

He pecked mercilessly at that Canada Goose, who in turn waged some histrionic behavior of his own, hissing and wing-flapping to bat that blackbird away.

The Red-Winged Blackbird returned to his tree where he sat, clearly all puffed up with importance.

Here, he rested with a few minutes, then zoomed down, once again landing onto the back of the goose, aggravating it even more.  Though I was initially fascinated with the interplay, I then put the camera away and left the scene, as it looked as if it was every bird for himself and I didn’t want to witness a bloody massacre.

This Red-Winged Blackbird is about as feisty and gutsy as Canuck the Crow.  Whether walking down the street, or venturing into the nature nook, I now know I have to watch my back for more than one reason!

Today’s humidity was oppressive, but I mustered on – must get more steps in!  It’s all about the miles and adding steps in between bouts of wacky weather, or these frequent hot and humid mornings.  But, I try to stay mindful, that come January or February, we’d give anything for this heat and humidity, while we freeze and complain about the temps, ice and snowy weather.  Are all Michiganders malcontents, or is just me when it comes to the weather?

There were very few people out this morning … perhaps the muggy and buggy morn kept them hunkered down at home.  It was so quiet you could hear the cicadas sing.  I saw these small pine cones hanging from a branch and wondered if it was dew or sap dripping from them.  A closer inspection suggested the latter, but I didn’t want to touch those pendulous drops and get my hands all sticky and then use the camera.

I shortened my walk, not just due to the tropical-feeling air, but my basement chores also had me scurrying home a little earlier than I would have liked.  Yup, the basement beckoned me.  I could imagine the big red shop vac welcoming me and whispering in my ear “hurry, come finish this job Linda, and your reward will be orderliness and harmony once again.”

Sounds like a plan to me.

It was picture perfect this morning, and I was anxious to get out and enjoy a long walk, before reluctantly heading back to deal with the basement doldrums.  On this third weekend of the decluttering and cleaning odyssey, I am still making progress, and predict I will be done with everything downstairs by month end.  Yeah!  Maybe in August, I can then reclaim my weekends for some much-needed “me time”.

I packed extra peanuts to feed my furry and feathered friends.  You might recall, that I’ve told you about one Red-Winged Blackbird who dive-bombs for peanuts just as soon as I place them on the perimeter path for the squirrels.  Nervy … yes, a little.  But, I’ll save the story about that peanut-grabbing bird for another post.

I hustled down to Council Point Park while enjoying the slightly cooler and less-humid morning.  Can we please keep this weather for longer than one day?  Those high dew points this week, compounded by the rain, made my steps dwindle significantly.

The perimeter path was crowded, and each person who waved “hello” also had a comment about the beautiful morning.  I chatted with a few of the regular walkers and tendered peanuts as I moved along the pathway.

On the second loop, I spotted those same two women picking black raspberries from a bush.  They gestured to come over, then pointed to the bush to show how plentiful the berries were.  They had no buckets or bags, and, just as before, they were picking those ripe berries and popping them right into their mouths.

No one joined them, so I imagine they had the entire bush full of berries to themselves.  The second time around, on that same loop, those ladies were still harvesting black raspberries and I could see their berry-stained mouths and palms.

Once again, I wondered what keeps the Park critters from enjoying those berries?  This berry bush, as you see in the picture above, is tucked between other foliage and off the beaten path, so perhaps the critters’ eyes do not hone in on these edible treats.

After I passed the berry-pickin’ women, I thought of three generations of women in my own family.

My great grandparents owned a farm in Ariss, Ontario, a rural area near Guelph.  My grandmother used to tell tales about “farm life” back when she was growing up.  Her father would chastise her and her sister for naming the chickens and treating them like pets.   Sometimes, in a rather heartless move, he would ask Minnie, Margaret and Loretta to help him choose which chickens would be on the Sunday dinner table, as he stood there, axe in hand.  The young girls would run back into the house in tears whenever this happened.

My grandmother would also tell stories of how her mom would line up black currant coffeecakes along the ledge in the back kitchen to cool, and the flies would be buzzing around, and you couldn’t tell if there were flies or black currants on that cake.  (As a germaphobe, I’d have a real problem with that!)

Also, my grandmother used to relay tales of how her mom would send her and her eight siblings out every Summer morning to pick berries.  Each child would lug a metal bucket, and, when it was prime berry-pickin’ time, and the bushes were laden with berries, the children took a hearty lunch with them, so they could pick every last berry and not waste precious time traipsing through the fields back to the house for lunch.

But, no matter what type of berries were hanging heavy on those bushes, the Klein kids knew better than to enjoy those ripe, plump berries while picking them.  Instead, they filled their respective metal buckets and obediently presented them to their mom, who would bake pies and cobblers, plus “put up” jams and jellies for all Winter.

As each of my grandmother’s siblings left the nest and bought their own farm, or moved to the Big City, a/k/a Toronto, they all returned with their families to the homestead every August to help bring in the crops, and, eventually it fell on their children to assume the monumental task of collecting the berries.

This faded photograph is my mom with her grandparents Andrew and Catherine Klein at their farm in the early 50s.

For years, Mom would hanker after red currant pie, because those berries were in season and plentiful when her family visited the farm every August for two weeks.  So, we scoured the produce markets Downriver, and finally found one that carried a few dozen pints throughout the growing season.  Well, that discovery made Mom berry happy, so we’d beat a regular path to Andy’s Farm Market in Southgate to load up on red currants, so she could bake and enjoy her favorite pie.

I’m not a betting woman, nor am I a meteorologist, but, I could have predicted the recent morning bouts of sloppy and stormy weather.  After all, the Wyandotte Street Art Fair began on Wednesday morning.  This annual event always gets at least one or two days of wet weather, or wicked winds, that threaten to wreak havoc on vendors’ booths, driving the crowds away until it clears up again.

Perhaps I am feeling extra lucky that we dodged that severe weather bullet that was predicted for overnight Wednesday.

Or, I am feeling fortunate that we missed that proverbially unlucky “Friday the 13th” by one day.

Whew!

And today, luckily there was no rain to spoil my morning routine, though the heat and humidity still continue to linger.

As I rounded the bend on the perimeter path, I saw this big rabbit at Council Point Park.  He looked up, but was content to nibble on some long grass, and did not bolt away, even though I was in close proximity to him.  I got the camera out, and suddenly he stopped eating and stood upright on his haunches and leisurely began to groom himself.

Fearless, he looked at me a few times, then continued on, much like a cat would conduct its personal hygiene routine, slowly along each paw, even extending it out as I watched.

This rabbit was neither shy nor scared.  He finally finished, then this now-beautiful bunny nonchalantly went back to enjoying the Park grass once again, so I moved along on my journey.

As I was walking, I was musing over the rabbit’s cleansing ritual, and clearly remembered seeing him extending one long front paw.  That triggered a memory of a ratty old rabbit’s foot I used to have when I was a kid.  I remember it was on a chain and I had a couple of keys on the chain, probably old ones that belonged to my parents.  As I think about that “lucky rabbit’s foot” as it was termed, I wonder why anyone, including me, would want to carry around a foot of a dead rabbit, complete with toenails?  I have to say that very idea now disgusts me.  As I ambled around the perimeter path, I struggled to recall who even gave me the rabbit’s foot, or what became of it.

Funny, seeing that big rabbit made me dwell on that lucky rabbit’s foot, something I’ve not thought about, in at least a half century, if not longer.

Did you ever carry such a good-luck token around?

Back in 1973, my mom, a devout Catholic, gave me a St. Christopher’s medal to put into my very first car.  She told me St. Christopher was the patron saint of travelers and would keep me safe from harm while I was travelling in the car, so that good luck charm has been aboard since the very first day I ventured out on the road on four wheels.

We are officially immersed in those dreaded “Dog Days of Summer” so, no wonder this wicked heat and high humidity is so unbearable, leaving us wilting on this Wednesday.

I would like to know what the above young lady’s secret is?

This flower child always looks as fresh as a daisy when I pass by on my daily jaunts to Council Point Park.  I may feel perky enroute to the Park, but on the return trip, not so much, and, on days like today, I’m draggin’.

Today is National Simplicity Day, so I am keeping this post short and sweet, just like my walk this morning, but I’m leaving you with a message:

Don’t hurry, don’t worry.  You’re only here for a short visit, so be sure to stop and smell the flowers. ~ Walter C. Hagen

The muggies are back bigtime, and the morning air felt oppressive when I left for my walk.

I’m sure the Parrotheads are lovin’ this tropical-like weather, as they don their coconut bras and grass skirts in anticipation of tonight’s Jimmy Buffett concert.

This morning, the sky was dull and dismal looking, with about thirty shades of gray creating a blah and boring landscape.  What a contrast to my last blog post which was all about the sunshiny day.

Enroute to Council Point Park, I passed the house where the chalk artist had created the “You are my sunshine …” artwork.  A man was outside smoking and I asked who the chalk artist was, then told him I had featured the picture on my walking blog.  He smiled and said it was his 12-year-old daughter who was the artist, and she uses a special “spray chalk” which can be applied to snow, grass, asphalt or sidewalks.  He told me the design lasts for days, until you hose it off or you have a heavy rain.  “Wow!” I said, then pointed to the sidewalk where a faint outline of that cheery artwork was all that remained after  several bouts of rain.

The humidity made the air heavy and dew drops dripped from leaves and eaves along the way.  When I arrived at the Park, there were large areas of damp pavement evident along the perimeter path.

The lily pads were motionless on the surface of the Creek.  I mused about the contrast of the murky water to the delicate petals of this lily.  It seemed inconceivable to me that such a pretty flower could grow in this marshy area.

This lovely lily was right up close to the cement precipice and an abundance of pond lilies floated atop the opposite side of the Creek.  It will be a beautiful sight if they all open at once.

On this muggy, misty day I ventured out, vowing the atmosphere would not become a missed opportunity for a walk.  Instead, the more miles the merrier, as I hear a couple of rainy, and even stormy, days are on the horizon for us, which, unfortunately which may put the kibosh on my morning meanderings.

Another gorgeous morning!  On cold Winter days, we will remember these moments and wish we could bottle up days like today.  I believe Summer should be defined, not by those blistering hot and humid days, or scary severe weather events, but instead, by picture-perfect blue skies, puffy clouds and sunbeams.

I’ve encountered a few more creative chalk artists displaying their talents on the pavement I pound during my back-and-forth daily trip to Council Point Park.  These sidewalk squares are so full of life that how can one not feel a little lighter in step when faced with this cheery message?

I know that seeing this sidewalk scene just put me in a better frame of mind.  Sunshine, in any form, brightens the day and stirs the soul.

Upon my arrival at Council Point Park, I waved good morning to a few fellow walkers, then was alone in my thoughts as I enjoyed the sounds of the Park “wildlife” … well, the term “wildlife” may be stretching it a wee bit.  I’ve yet to see the big bullfrogs that belong to those croaking noises on a still morning.  Their belching is enough to make you jump out of your skin sometimes, like this morning.  I was day-dreaming just a little, when a big bullfrog’s voice reverberated as I walked parallel to the Creek.  Then, a big splash with water droplets had me assuming it was the turtles escaping once they saw this big, bad human, but it was a muskrat.  Shortly after the splash, he resurfaced to come up for air, and, with his water-soaked, bristly fur slicked back, and those beady eyes, he had a rather menacing look.  I didn’t drag out the camera since suddenly I heard a thwack and he slipped back into the water, swimming slightly below the surface, a long thick tail trailing behind.

Muskats don’t make my morning brighter, but the birds sure do, especially when they are plentiful and birdsong fills the air.  The trees are full of birds and their sweet song is pleasurable to my ears.

My parents rented a cottage at Rush Lake in Northern Michigan for back-to-back Summers in August 1967 and 1968.  The first year, the owners of the property warned that the black flies were usually so bad you could not sit out after dusk, and suggested we bring along some board games, a deck of cards and a few good books.  The TV reception was spotty there as well.  While sequestered in the cottage after dark every night, we heard a lot of wildlife noises.  Boisterous moose calls were the nightly norm, as were the eerie and mournful calls by the loons.  The loons’ voices sounded like a wolf howling at the moon and stirred your senses and made you feel as if you were one with nature.

I’ll leave you with this quote by the philosopher George Santayana:  “The earth has its music for those who will listen.”

Friday’s soggy start wiped out my morning walk.  The sun eventually put in an appearance, right around the time I logged in at work, then we got another dose of stormy weather around dinnertime.

Oh well … there will be nicer, and more-temperate, days to get my steps done … like today.

Now, this morning was just glorious, and I wanted to linger at the Park, rather than scurry home to have a snack and get hydrated before traipsing back down into the basement.

I began my day with a few stretches, hoping to thwart that stiffness that resulted from last weekend’s marathon session of decluttering downstairs.

From the pictures featured in this blog post, it appears that I was not the only one incorporating some exercise into the a.m. routine.  On the second loop of my tour around Council Point Park, I heard a rustling noise near the top of this tree, so I glanced upward.  Obviously, my inquisitive peanut pal saw me coming, thus he had to hustle to get down to ground level before I walked on by.

After I looked up, first a staring contest ensued.

Through the branches, I saw a pair of dark eyes, and, at first this squirrel was very still and quiet, except for that twitching tail.

I pulled out the Ziploc bag of peanuts, shook it, then told him to take his time, and he did just that.  I watched him carefully navigating his way down the tall tree, gripping the bark, or precariously dancing along some skinny branches, and deftly grasping onto other twiggy shoots with his sharp claws.

Sigh … all the stretches in the world would still not leave me as nimble as my furry little friend.

A couple of times he glanced my way as if to say “I’m gettin’ there, just gimme a few more minutes, okay?”

He finally joined me on terra firma and I spread out five peanuts for him to enjoy.  Like many of his brethren, he hesitated a second, figured he’d take some to go, then return for the rest later.  I watched as he picked up two peanuts, clasped them firmly between his sharp front teeth, then raced away to hide them.

I know that peanutty treat did double duty … it made his day and it gave me a photo op to share with you as well.