WALKIN', WRITIN', WIT & WHIMSY

A beautiful day dawned and I was up and at it, just straining at the bit to get out and enjoy a nice long walk. I targeted my journey for the neighborhood streets instead of the Park, hoping to ward off any mosquito bites due to those pesky critters that might be lurking in the dense brush near the Ecorse Creek. As I walked along Fort Street, a Model T passed me up. It looked to be in excellent condition, and seemed to be tooling along at the same speed as the other cars. Well fancy that – a horseless carriage right before my very eyes! My guess is that Model T’s owner was probably scoping out potholes in advance of Saturday’s Cruisin’ Downriver event. I also saw several roadsters, some muscle cars and a few very old pick-up trucks. Ahhh … the prelude to the Cruise begins earlier and earlier every year. The good ol’ days and nostalgia make for big events and big bucks nowadays. Everyone wants to wax nostalgic about an era that might have been before their time, or maybe they just want to relive the “good old days”. We’ve all received those e-mails or Facebook posts that start out “remember when?” and they speak about a simpler life – a life devoid of electronic devices, sitting around the supper table with your family, playing outside with your friends or cruisin’ with your buddies because cars were king. There were no locked doors, one black-and-white television set which everyone crowded around and people respected one another. Everyone longs for the good ol’ days and it seems the phrases “back in the day”, “Throwback Thursday” or “Flashback Friday” have crept into our everyday vocabulary, almost too much sometimes. Do you and your social media pals post old-time pictures of yourself, family members or friends on “Throwback Thursday” or “TT” as it is sometimes called? I often reflect on good times growing up and like to choose pictures from my youth, or as a young woman, to accompany my posts. Most of the pictures are treasured family memories or glimpses of past events or places I have visited through the years. On one occasion, the former Community Editor of the hyper local news site “Patch” sent me an e-mail: “Linda, I just love when you use vintage pictures with your posts.” Ouch!! Well, Joanna is only 28 years old after all. Through gritted teeth I thanked her for the compliment, though I didn’t know whether to cringe or bristle at the word “vintage”. Now, I certainly don’t feel like vintage material and the photos were circa mid-1950s and beyond. Nonetheless, that comment, even though it was meant as a compliment, smarted somewhat and really didn’t sit too well with me. I had that same empty feeling I get when I take a survey and must plug in the year I was born. In that drop-down menu, now I must scroll down and keep scrolling and scrolling ad nauseum until I reach 1956. Well, as the saying goes “you are only as old as you feel” and I feel young at heart, so the word “vintage” does not apply to me. My interpretation of a vintage picture is some of those crinkled-up, creased, black-and-white photos of my great grandparents standing in front of the wagon they hitched up to their horse Mable to go to church every Sunday or maybe my grandparents on their wedding day. Those old photographs paint a picture of life on a farm or in a rural town. This picture that I’m using for this “Throwback Thursday” blog post is from a venue called “Frontier City” in Oklahoma where I visited with my parents back in the mid-60s. Frontier City was a town recreated from right out of the Old West and you could watch a gunfight, take in a rodeo, sip a sarsaparilla in the saloon with some cowboys and their cronies, or have a go on the “bucking” bronco. The photographer, decked out in such garb as an old-fashioned morning coat and high-buttoned boots, took this vintage-style picture above, using a huge box camera à la Matthew Brady. It was all great fun. That photographer tinted the picture in sepia tones to make it look old and rustic – no Photoshop or Pic Monkey to enhance photos back in in those days. Ride ‘em cowgirl!

A quick glance at the sky confirms that more rain is on the way. I sure wouldn’t want Mother Nature’s water bill these days. I just took a short stroll … got up later expecting to see and hear torrential rains and rockin’ and rollin’ thunderstorms respectively, but our Tuesday weather, thus far, has been tame. The threatened severe weather did not materialize last night and the only booms and lightshow in the sky were the result of the fireworks on the Detroit River. Last night I was working on a document for work and finished up at 10:00 p.m. so I hopped on Click on Detroit to watch the extravaganza with the “sunshine” theme. Wow!! I enjoyed the fireworks immensely, but I still think I’ll watch them from afar on my computer screen rather than in person. I took this picture at Bishop Park early on Sunday morning. It was overcast from the recent rain and dark gray streaks were still prevalent in the sky. Well, I’m no Ansel Adams, but I thought it would be fun to tweak the picture to a black-and-white format to really highlight that angry-looking sky hovering over the trees with the pier in the foreground. I’ll close this post by this awesome quote by the aforementioned B&W photographer Adams: “Sometimes I arrive just when God’s ready to have someone click the shutter.”

I’ll preface this post by paraphrasing the old saying “seven days without a trip to Council Point Park makes one weak” … I figured since we are having a spate of stormy weather over the next few days, I’d best take a trip down to the Park while the conditions were dry before my feet forgot the way. I grabbed my camera and a Ziploc pack of peanuts to take along for the trip. Now that I am no longer wearing my coat with the big cargo pockets, I’m at a loss how to carry all the peanuts that I like to toss out to my squirrel buddies along the path. On days when the mercury is creeping high on the thermometer in the a.m. and the humidity drags you down as soon as you step outside, a coat sure is not needed. I keep my camera in a pouch on my waist so it is handy and my pedometer is affixed to my waistband on one hip. Carrying a bag is awkward if you want to take a picture, so I tied a larger bag onto my belt and off I went. As soon as I got to the Park, a squirrel came bounding over to see me, leaping high in the air over the fields of clover and coming to a stop at my feet. I tossed out some peanuts and he just sat there. No expectations I guess. Since I’d made this peanut pit stop and he was just looking at me, I pointed at the peanuts on the path and said “those are yours” … he just continued sniffing at my shoe and sitting by my feet on his haunches. Well, who could resist that wistful face, so I tossed out some more peanuts, but not before I snapped his photo. This young fella suddenly seemed intent on climbing up on my shoe, and since I’m not looking to have a squirrel for a pet, I stepped aside and continued on my way so he ran over to grab some goodies. There were no more squirrel encounters today, so technically I think you could call my gregarious little companion my “sole mate”.

Sure there is “Detroit River Days” happening along the riverfront this very weekend. But for those of us not inclined to travel to Detroit to worship the river, there are plenty of walkways along the water Downriver as well.

Today, I got up at the crack of dawn … well, once again it rained last night and I peered outside at daybreak and the cement was still damp, the grass was soaking wet and it was rather gloomy looking. So, Wyandotte became my destination for the day. As I got dressed and ready to leave, my intention was to walk all the way down to Biddle Avenue to get a glimpse of the Detroit River after hearing about all the hoopla happening at River Days. What I didn’t know was that Trenton and Ecorse and their waterways were also in the cards for me.

I left the house about 8:30 a.m. and was moseying along, checking out a tree that literally looked like it was covered in polka dots because its bark was peeling off, when suddenly, I saw a car slowing down. It was my friend and neighbor Marge. She was headed to Wyandotte, breakfast beside her on the seat, to just relax and watch the world go by from her favorite primo vantage point near Bishop Park. Now Marge often goes down to watch the sun rise in this very picturesque setting, and we had planned a “date” of sorts for some time, but the rain and other things seemed to always interrupt our plans. “Hop in” Marge said and I was happy to do so. Our mouths were running a mile a minute catching up on unfinished e-mail chatter and soon we were in downtown Wyandotte and at Bishop Park. Marge waived off strolling on the sidewalk that runs parallel to the Detroit River, electing to enjoy her breakfast from the comfort of the car, so I took off for a brief tour of the early Sunday morning setting along the Detroit River. I hopped out of the car almost as soon as it stopped because a huge heron was perched on the guard railing. His silhouette was striking in the very gloomy, darkish sky. Figuring he’d spy a fish and take off on me, I snapped a few pictures of him from afar. He looked like a still and solemn sentry watching over the waterfront. Before I could get any closer, and just as I predicted, he flew off, huge wings helping to propel him off that railing and glide effortlessly in the bruised-looking sky. The pier was abuzz with several fishermen stationed along the guardrail. Most were casting and re-casting their respective lines, while simultaneously being mindful of a second fishing pole, which, in most cases, was propped up between a tackle box, a five-gallon bucket of water and a makeshift bait container. Those “virtual fisherman” likewise patiently waited for a nibble. I do think most of the fishermen were strictly there for the sport of it this morning, as I didn’t see any small or big fish being reeled in, nor did I see a pile of silver bass being anyone’s catch of the day. After meandering along the river’s edge sidewalk, I headed back to the car where Marge was enjoying the view while savoring that last sip of coffee.

She then asked “how about if we go to Elizabeth Park?” Well I was game for that as well, so off we went, winding our way along Biddle Avenue which morphs into West Jefferson Avenue, until we drove through downtown Trenton and straight through to the entrance of this very scenic park. By now, the sky had brightened and people were arriving in their cars or atop their wheels – be it bicycles or rollerblades. There were walkers and joggers galore as we made our way slowly around the perimeter of Elizabeth Park. Looking down by the water, we saw many ducks and geese had congregated under beautiful large weeping trees which cast stupendous reflections upon the clear water. It was so scenic and peaceful and my head swirled around and around as I tried to take it all in. My digital camera was overworked as I sought to capture the beauty of Elizabeth Park, and, in reviewing my many shots, some which I will share with you in later posts, those photos simply do not do justice to this pretty place. After we travelled once around the Park’s perimeter, we started on the journey along Jefferson Avenue toward home.

Then Marge said “it is also pretty at Ecorse Park and sometimes there are swans there” so we just kept going and going until the road twisted and turned and we arrived in the City of Ecorse. Marge pulled over and the same ambiance was at this Park – many families and more fishermen, all out enjoying the first full day of Summer 2014. We drove through Ecorse where Marge was born and raised and she shared some stories about the people she knew back in the day and we drove past their houses before we headed home.

I enjoyed my unexpected sojourn today to these beautiful Downriver parks which border the Detroit River. There is something soothing about seeing the buoys bobbing amongst the waterfowl in the sparkling water and hearing that water lapping up in waves as each power boat zooms by in the distance. Time is forgotten while fishermen while away the hours, patiently waiting for a tug on a line, and if that wait takes several hours and produces no fish … well, … so be it. A trip to the river’s edge makes us all richer for our time is well spent enjoying any one of these natural gems.

Downriver Daze – Part 2 will happen next weekend when our 15th Annual Cruisin’ Downriver takes place next Saturday, June 28th. I plan to walk the length of the Lincoln Park portion of the route that day.

Summer finally arrived at 6:51 a.m. Hallelujah … how many times during the Winter did we long for this day? When I awoke to the shrill sound of the alarm, I found myself swaddled in blankets – it got a little chilly during the night. I glanced at the thermostat as I padded down the hall to the kitchen, and it was 73 degrees, so I nudged it up a smidge to run for a couple of cycles to ensure the little nipper, fast asleep in the den, stayed warm and cozy. It was still a little foggy when I looked out at daybreak. When I set out at 8:00 a.m. there were puddles everywhere and the sidewalk was still wet so we must have had another shower overnight. Due to the damp conditions, I decided to skip the trip to Council Point Park again and opted for a long walk to “The Dot”, i.e. Wyandotte, instead. As I walked down Emmons Boulevard toward the river, I noted that the lawns were soaking wet and dew drops dripped from porch awnings, then trickled along railings. The smell of the large Pine and Blue Spruce trees in front of the stately homes on that street emitted a strong scent, making it seem as if it were two seasons ago and I was strolling through a Christmas tree lot. As I kept walking, I heard a train whistle and the sound was long and drawn out in the still morn and I knew it had to be close as I could hear the wheels clickety-clacking as the train rattled along the track. By then I had reached Alfred Street, the crossing gates were slowly being lowered and a long train with no caboose in sight was imminent. I turned around and headed back up the Boulevard toward home. A friendly group of older cyclists rode by, each waving and calling out “good morning” as they passed me. All were clad in various fluorescent-colored shorts and tees, their collective heads all sheathed in protective helmets. A handful of hounds were out for a walk, tugging on their leads as their masters and mistresses followed close behind. I was forced to hug the lawn as these grinning pooches, pre-occupied with spending some quality time with their owners, were wont to hog the sidewalk. Quite frankly, you would not be expecting to need to give wide berth to the Fox Terriers and Chihuahuas, but they are the worst offenders. They march straight down the middle of the sidewalk exuding much confidence, leaving me to sidestep them. A few joggers and walkers passed by as well, but noticeably missing were the mayflies, which I understand are slow arriving on the scene, due to the cold Winter. I didn’t miss them. Mayflies are a fixture this time of year in Wyandotte and they were also absent at “The Crick” near the small bridge which is the boundary of Wyandotte and Lincoln Park. As I entered Lincoln Park, the sky suddenly brightened and the sun popped out. Well, hello Mr. Sun … it’s nice to see you again. It got very sunny in a matter of minutes and I checked my pedometer to find I had already racked up nearly four miles wending my way to and from Wyandotte. By now, the sun was beating down, so I detoured to walk through Ford Park, seeking a little shade from the large trees there. I stopped and removed my light jacket, looped it around my waist, intending to finish off the trek in a short-sleeved shirt. While looking for a shady tree for a brief respite, I saw a large shadow on the grass. The shadow was me and it was so sunny that my shadow was very dark. With the ¾-length coat sliding down from my waist and looking much like a long gown, and my hair fastened into a bun atop my head, my shadow looked every bit like the matronly Mrs. Butterworth whose likeness is shaped into a syrup bottle. I recognized her immediately since this is the syrup I use every morning to sweeten my bowl of oatmeal. Betcha didn’t know Mrs. Butterworth was such an awesome gal to take her own selfie did you?

The rain is slated to make another appearance later today. I believe we’ve had rain every day this week. In that 24-hour period from Tuesday through Wednesday night we logged 2 ¼ inches of rain and I was ready to grab a hammer, nails and some two by fours if it didn’t let up soon. Did you see the pictures of the flooded-out Lodge with vehicles slowly rolling along? Scary stuff! Yesterday, it finally brightened up but today is nothing special … rather cloudy and dismal looking to close out this final day of Spring. Again, no trip for me to Council Point Park as I figured it would still be too soggy and perhaps the reeds and bushes by the Creek might be laden with mosquitoes. So, like yesterday I trekked along the sidewalks in the neighborhood and along Fort Street – not as picturesque, but it gets the steps and eventual mileage done. I was able to get in three miles today. All the neighborhoods in my area appeared to be unscathed from the wind and torrential rains from Tuesday and Wednesday and I saw no fallen trees or large limbs on the ground. I was fortunate to not lose power, or have flooding downstairs, nor in the street, though I can’t speak to the neighbors’ basements. We sure lucked out, especially after hearing about and seeing all the tornado damage that wiped out two small towns. The neighborhood sights are not nearly so fun, nor photo-worthy, as a trip to the Park and since it was so cloudy I didn’t even take along my camera, so for today’s post I’m sharing my picture of the Mama duck and her ducklings I found while peering through the reeds at the Park about a week ago. I was checking out the little family and nearly lost my balance and landed into the muddy water as the banks of the Creek were a little slippery from the wet grass and some mud. Oops! There is always something wondrous to take away from a trip to the Park … it is just necessary to keep your mind and eyes open to each of those blessings. In that vein, I’d like to share a favorite quote with you:

Never lose an opportunity of seeing anything beautiful, for beauty is God’s handwriting. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

This morning I went walking with the worms. Well, first let me clarify – it isn’t as if I invited a worm, or two, or three to join me in a walk on a dreary, drab, misty, rather murky-looking morning (just pick your adjective … they all describe the conditions I encountered in my early a.m. walk). The worms, unlike me, didn’t lace up their walking shoes, strap on a pedometer and set out to muddle along and gain some mileage for the ultimate goal. Nope, it is more like they owned the sidewalk and I was sharing THEIR space. There were worms everywhere just like “The Worm Song” says: “short, fat, juicy ones; long, slim, slimy ones” … they were slithering out of the lawns and stretching across the sidewalk, inching slowly along to parts unknown. Their journey may have taken them to another grassy area or perhaps eventually into a robin’s stomach, because out of the corner of my eye I watched several intrepid robins licking their chops hungrily and just waiting for me to get out of their way. Those robins had it figured out that I was the early bird who was there to catch the worm and thus intruding on their meal … not I fellas, not I. Now, worms have never bothered me and many times I’d be out weeding or deadheading my annuals and I’d see a worm deciding to cross the sidewalk, and I’d pluck it from the cement and stick it into the soil, probably saving its life. How silly of that old worm to think the grass was greener on the other side of the sidewalk, thus risking dehydration or becoming a robin’s breakfast. I do remember from all those years ago in middle school Biology class, that a worm can be bisected and the side with the head remaining will live on without its tail end … what a fate, but a fascinating factoid nevertheless. Unlike my fear of crawling insects, I can deal with worms, probably because they move slower than me. So worms have never really scared me, even the stiffer-than-a-board dead ones sprawled out on the dissecting tray in 8th grade. My lab partner and I heard our teacher’s chilling words “pick up the blade and slowly slice the worm down the middle, then open it up and pin each side of the skin onto the dissecting tray” … oh, now that was a bad memory. My lab partner shook her head vehemently, and, with tears welling up her eyes, silently mouthed to me “no, I can’t do that – you do it” so I had to be the brave one to do the “slice and dice” … a few weeks later this same lame, lily-livered lab partner also couldn’t dissect the frog, nor that cute fetal pig. Now, honestly, couldn’t we just have watched a film about these critters’ innards – more humane, less gory and less stinky. The whole lab reeked of formaldehyde and our clothes smelled of it after bending over that dissecting tray for an hour or so. I wonder if Biology teachers still subject the middle school students to these horrors? Seeing all those night crawlers in the early a.m. made my skin crawl a little and got me thinking all these years later of that silly class and its dissecting sessions and anatomy lessons and I regretted their appearance caused me to dredge up that sorry can of worms from circa ’68. Unfortunately, I can’t produce a photo of me slicing up that little bugger some 45 years ago for “Throwback Thursday” so you’ll just have to be amused by this stock photo instead. While I strolled along on my walk, albeit a short one, I struggled to concentrate on a more-pleasant subject, but the musty smell of worms in the extremely humid air kept assailing my nostrils – yuck! Plus that silly “Worm Song”, which I first learned as a youngster while attending day camp for two weeks back in the early 60s, kept coursing through my brain and has become an ear worm which has stuck with me the rest of today.

It was not so very long ago that we were chugging along in our chukka boots or sporting our fleece-lined Uggs, and now suddenly we are barefoot and wearing minimal clothes. Well Summer is just around the corner, arriving this Saturday … it sure feels like it is here already – whew! When I stepped out of the house this morning to leave for my walk, I glanced over at my neighbor Marge’s deck to check out the thermometer … it read 75 degrees and it was only 7:30 a.m. My eye caught the beautiful dark purple Jackmanii clematis climbing up the trellis in Marge’s yard and crawling along the fence between our respective houses and I couldn’t resist snapping a picture – they are just beautiful aren’t they? The larger clematis blooms in the foreground are from a potted plant I had enjoyed all Summer many years ago. That Fall we planted the large clematis in Marge’s garden near the fence to see if it would “take” and return to wow us in the Spring. It did and has since never failed to disappoint. My daily treks take me through several neighborhoods and the perennials are blooming much later than usual due to the harsh Winter, so hopefully, they all come back eventually. For sure the hibiscus and other tropical varieties of ornamental bushes and trees are thriving in this heat and humidity. As to me, I returned home from a short walk feeling much like the Wicked Witch of the West when she slowly melted into a pool on the ground.

My posts are often related to the weather, because weather is often the decisive factor to determine whether or not a walk will be taken and how far to stray from home. Will it be hot? Cold? Sunny? Rainy? Sigh … too many variables go into the decision and I usually rely heavily on the weather folks. Too often they’re wrong. Some need to go back to meteorology school. Last night I consulted multiple forecasters from two radio stations and two TV stations. All predicted storms overnight and in the early morn, so I decided to indulge in extra snooze time, only to awake to sun filtering into my room. So, I did some scramblin’ so I could get ramblin’ before I needed to start my workday. I only managed to get in a two-mile walk since I left so late … tomorrow, I’ll just get up and go with the flow. (P.S. – watch it rain.) As a ramblin’ woman, seeking to put some serious mileage on my walking shoes and keep myself healthy as well, I’ve got ultra-possessive of my walking time. It was already difficult and dicey to factor in housework, let alone the inevitable garden chores that must be done. I gritted my teeth yesterday while spending two hours’ time trying to restore some order to the backyard, where wild ivy and creeping Charlie had meandered through the perennials and bushes grabbing on for dear life with a death grip since I’d last been out there two weeks ago. Purple nightshade had invaded as well and woven itself in and out of the barberry bushes and thorny pyracantha. Still other weeds resembling a bean stalk had huge leaves and one-inch thick stems which emitted a milky substance when I lopped them off with my pruning shears and it was stinky to boot. I’m embarrassed to say I filled a yard waste bag to the brim with these wicked weeds before hustling off on my walk. But, if there was a bright spot on Sunday morning, it was admiring my handiwork in restoring my beautiful clematis and bringing my rosebushes back to life after giving them up for dead. Yes, the Nelly Moser clematis has climbed back, kicking and clawing and ramblin’ up the trellis as I crowed about in my June 2nd post about mauve twinkles. On Mother’s Day I cut eight rosebushes down to six inches tall. The stems on the four light pink Bonica rosebushes at least were supple, but they looked sickly; they have revived and are already blooming profusely. The stems and branches of the red Knock Out rosebushes were brown and brittle with many black canes. It was a longshot and I was gamblin’ mightily that they’d even come back at all, and in my mind, I sadly pronounced my four Knock Out rosebushes down for the count after loading nine bags of dead branches into yard waste bags. I lamented their demise in the next day’s post. But I persevered, put blinders on as to how they looked and continued to bury organic rose food around the base and I kept my fingers crossed. It seems that three of the four Knock Out rosebushes are alive and kickin’ … they will not reach the top of the chain link fence for awhile, as you see in the picture above, but on Father’s Day, a mere month after I whacked them back, I observed a dozen blooms and they are thriving. My heart is happy. My faith is restored. Who says you shouldn’t mollycoddle your plants? It’s a tough world out there and a little TLC never hurt anyone or anything.

What’s good for the goose is good for the gander, so since we honored Mother’s Day, we must also fête our fathers as well on their special day. It appears this is what you do in the avian world as well, because look what we have in the photo above … . at least fifteen, full-size geese racing down the perimeter path at Council Point Park so that they could break bread with their respective fathers. Given the amount of geese at the Park, there could be several generations of geese gathering to wish Dad their best blessings on this Father’s Day. Just sayin’.

Truthfully, I guess you could say that I staged this event. I followed up a two-hour morning session of yanking weeds, which were here, there and everywhere in the backyard, with a trip to Council Point Park. I often tell you in my blog posts how I feel like the Pied Piper of Hamelin when trodding along the perimeter pathway and the squirrels start dashing to and fro, waylaying me in an effort to ply me for treats. (P.S. – they really don’t have to ply me too much, as I’m always willing to shell out for them.) Often, if I don’t act quickly enough and toss a few peanuts to them, because I happen to be visiting with someone, looking the other way, or perhaps taking a picture, they seek to distract me and get my attention. It is all about them sometimes. These Park squirrels are not shy about walking behind me until I turn around and acknowledge them. Sometimes I see their shadow. Sometimes I hear the click, click, click of their toenails, and still other times … well, you know how you get the feeling someone is trailing behind you …well, I get that feeling and I’ll swivel my head around. Sometimes I know I have a follower because a walker approaching from the opposite way on the path will smile and say “looks like you’ve found a friend” so I turn around then. Well, I enjoy interacting with those squirrels.

But … as for the geese, well, that is a different story. I cannot conceal my disappointment that the mallard ducks are gone because that was kind of nice to stand on the cement landing, toss bread out and watch them diving or paddling over to grab some pieces, their beautiful, iridescent, teal-colored heads glinting in the sun. The geese are okay – a little disgruntled, loud and often a tad too animated, but I enjoy watching them interact with their offspring . I defrosted some stale bread I had saved in the freezer and then crumbled it all up this morning to take “to go”. When I set out on the perimeter path, there was nary a goose to be found, but as I rounded the bend I saw at least two dozen Canada Geese grazing on the grass in the “donut hole” of loop #1 of the perimeter path. I thought to myself “how nice – perfect timing since I’ve got all this bread to share and there is a crowd” … so, I reached into my bag and got a hefty handful of Aunt Millie’s whole grain bread and pitched it at the eager group. One goose, who was accidently pelted with a piece of bread, turned around and hissed at me. As he quickly snarfed down the dried yeasty tidbits, I thought to myself “well, you big baby … man up, it was just bread” and I kept tossing out handful after handful. I had a good-sized bag of bread, and, as usual there were takers … a few too many actually. Soon several more geese came waddling over, then a few more, and more … quickly geese were surrounding me as they awaited a second helping. Amused, I tossed out more bread chunks. At first this gaggle of geese caused this girl to giggle. But, by now, I could hear the gears clicking in the brains of the remaining unfed geese as they stared at me as if willing their benefactor to toss out more tidbits. Well they certainly have my M.O. don’t they? The very accommodating person that I am, I repeatedly reached into the bag until I had hefted out the second-to-last handful . It was then they all charged from the center of the grass to come over to the path where I stood. Oh-oh. What to do now? Geez – this was more like a horde on the rampage than a few geese, who, like me, were out for a Sunday stroll. I grabbed up the dregs of the remaining bread and threw it in the opposite direction, hoping to distract them from me, as I grew wary watching their expectant and rather annoyed faces. One even flapped his wings at me. Yikes!! I stuffed the empty bag into my pocket and loudly proclaimed “all gone” and started to turned on my heel to leave. Their honking and hissing continued. Curiosity got the best of me and I did it – I just had to turn around and look to see if they were following me, and they were. About fifteen Canada Geese walking down the center of the perimeter path and me empty handed, with nothing to offer them. Suddenly this gaggle of geese was not making me giggle. Gulp. I waited for a group of three women walkers to round the bend and get closer to me so I could quietly join their group. As they came upon the scene, one elderly lady threw up her hands, and said “oh my goodness – will they attack us – why are they all together like this?” Since the ladies obviously hadn’t witnessed my interplay with the geese, I just played dumb, merged into their group and commented on the beautiful weather, while stating “oh them … they are just looking for a handout – I wouldn’t worry about them at all.” Whew! I’ll lay off feeding the geese for awhile and instead will wait for the ducks to return – they are much more docile. After reviewing the many pictures I managed to get of the group, it appears that the lead goose who waddled in front of the others was saying “Charge!!!” I am now rethinking taking bread to the Park going forward.