Of course we humans have had it tough this year, even if we have been blessed and our loved ones and ourselves have remained healthy and unscathed by COVID-19.
This beautiful Eastern Tiger Swallowtail butterfly pictured above apparently has not fared so well. I’ve seen many butterflies in my day, flitting around my butterfly garden, to sipping nectar from wildflowers on my treks, but I’ve never seen one with such tattered wings.
First it crossed my path, then I watched it alight on this leaf. Despite the massive tears on its forewings and hindwings, the damage didn’t seem to impede it in the least. I watched this butterfly open and close its wings and I was able to get this shot where its tattered wings don’t seem as bad as in the photo up top.
I saw this butterfly during my very long trek at Crosswinds Marsh and Nature Preserve on August 8th, that I wrote about this past Monday. Click here for the post in case you missed it.
You’ll recall during that long post, I mentioned the many butterflies I saw along the way. At one point in the trek, there was a flurry of Red Admirals that zipped past me, then landed in a meadow area where they began sipping wildflower nectar.
Then, there were a few butterflies that decided to dance, fly or flit alongside me, or even land on the trail ahead of where I was walking. One such example was this Red-Spotted Purple butterfly.
At times it seemed this butterfly was playing a little game with me, i.e.“Catch me if you can!” I was careful not to tread on this delicate creature each time it placed itself square in my path. Luckily I was still fairly fresh in my trek and it was not at the tail end of my eight-mile journey, especially after I got lost in the hot sun in the middle of nowhere!
In the distance, meadows were filled with colorful wildflowers in vibrant shades, mostly yellow or purple, and, as I walked on the various trails, wildflowers grew everywhere. Some of the blooms would bend ever so slightly when a butterfly or bee settled down onto it, or the wind gently stirred the stem or leaves.
I took many pictures of these wildflowers, but these were my favorites and this last photo of the wild Black-Eyed Susan with the droopy petals looks like I felt at the end of that eight-mile walk.
Here’s a little factoid for you about Black-Eyed Susans: they are considered a symbol of encouragement and motivation, which can be attributed to the plant’s adaptability and widespread availability. Well I was motivated to get back to where I began that trek and I made it!
I crossed another venue off my “Parks Bucket List” on August 8th. For several years, I have wanted to visit Crosswinds Marsh and Nature Preserve, in New Boston, Michigan, which is a 50-mile round trip from home.
Crosswinds is not one of the 13 Metroparks in this region. It is a county park and highly touted as being a go-to spot for everyone who likes nature. It is comprised of 1,050 acres of wetlands, which includes an open marsh, wet meadows, forested wetlands, and upland forests. There are one and a half miles (2.4 km) of wooden boardwalks that cross ponds and streams and seven miles (11 km) of hiking trails. What wooed me most was the opportunity to see 240 species of birds and 40 species of mammals and perhaps a chance sighting of the pair of nesting bald eagles who have lived at Crosswinds for over 20 years.
So, with a large bowl of oatmeal and a couple of cups of coffee under my belt, I drove there, eager to see all that this place had to offer. Admittedly, I could have picked a cooler day, but I went anyway.
The focal point of Crosswinds is the marsh.
I have followed Crosswinds Marsh on Facebook for several years. Although there have been almost no posts this year due to COVID-19, thus no interpretive programs, Jennifer Panek, the Park Manager, often posts tidbits of facts, plus photos of what she sees in and around Crosswinds in her daily walk. This could be snakes, turtles or even one or both of the pair of nesting bald eagles. What fascinated me the most were Jennifer’s photos of Great Egrets walking on lily pads looking for their next fish dinner.
The camera was ready and so was I, as I stepped up to the wooden overlook.
There is a looooooooooog wooden walkway that stretches across the marsh. Every picture online you see of Crosswinds features the shot you saw in the header image.
This is one of the additional wooden overlooks.
From the walkway, I peered into the water where it was wall-to-wall Pond Lilies. Unlike Lake Erie Metropark’s Water Lotuses that rise high into the air out of enormous leaves, these are smaller and daintier lilies that sit near the pads. Here are a few of them.
Though it was a hot day and the venue was a marsh, meaning it would be buggy, I still wasn’t keen on slapping on a lot of bug repellent while handling the camera, so I wore long pants and a long-sleeved shirt to thwart bug bites. Whew – it was already warmish and not even 9:00 a.m.!
I used my hand to shade my eyes when I noticed a white blur in the distance. I honed in and no, it was not a Great Egret, but a Mute Swan alternately gliding through the lily pads and diving for aquatic plants that flourish beneath the lily pads.
I stood on the wooden walkway, peering into the water intensely, figuring that lily pads equal frogs, right? No frogs, but there were lots of swallows flitting about and as I neared the wooden structure, swallows were either darting all over or sitting on the wooden railing.
You see the large wooden building which is at the end of the wooden overlook? This screened-in building with picnic tables inside is where interpretive programs are held, or you can just go in and catch your breath and step out of the searing sun if you’d like. I didn’t stop here, but just kept plugging along, keen on seeing as much as possible before the heat of mid-day.
Like a fork in the road, you had a choice which trail to choose.
So I hopped off the wooden walkway and opted for the Mallard Trail. It was short, just a half-mile …
… so I soon had to make another decision. Hoping to see one or both of the bald eagles, I chose the Bald Eagle Trail.
According to the trail map posted near the parking lot …
… this was a 1.80-mile (2.9 km) trail. It began on a boardwalk and ended up in a wooded area which was great as it cooled me off a little.
Along the way I ran into a scene reminiscent of the rock group ZZ Top. This is “Angel” sporting her very cool sunglasses and her owner, that I asked to pose with her, but didn’t get his name. We had a fun chat wherein he told me his last dog had 20 pair of sunglasses – Angel only has two pair.
It seemed all the humanity was at the marsh overlook and not too many people had ventured onto the trails. Then, amazingly there was another set of signs to choose which trail to go to next.
I was already about two miles away from the marshland area and began following behind a young couple – he was explaining to his female friend where the trail would eventually lead.
We chatted briefly and he told me he’d been to Crosswinds twice, but this was the first time for his friend. I said “first time for me too – I was enjoying your tutorial and I’m awaiting the next trail as I’ll tag along behind if you don’t mind.”
Well that idea fell flat, because the woman was not as enamored of the woodsy area as he was and he next asked if she’d like to go back. I saw a head shake, so there went my guided tour. I asked if he’d ever seen the bald eagles and he said “no, but go this way and you’ll enjoy the hike.” His suggested route was “go right, then left, then right all the way and that will take you back to where you started.” That trek sounded easy enough, so I thanked him and set off once again.
Oh no – I strayed off the beaten path big-time!!
Soon I would regret that impetuous decision to stray from the beaten path and go it alone. I actually ALWAYS make it a point to never go too far into a wooded area, unless I’m on a 5K walk or there are other people around.
So, just like the proverbial fork in the road, there was a fork in the path – hmmm. Though there were a flurry of signs leading FROM the marsh overlook to guide you to various trails, there were signs like this …
… sadly, none of them offered much direction to get back to square one and the last one was a wee bit disconcerting.
The trail meandered as I went along – for a while I’d be hiking through a shady woodland area which cooled me off, but then I’d go through areas of gravel road or dirt trails with the sun beating down on me. It was getting very hot, but I was more uncomfortable with the fact that I was lost than I was getting very warm and I never carry water. As I walked along, I hoped I’d see that wooden structure or one of the wooden overlooks – but all I saw were trees and trails.
As I went through the multiple meadows, there were wildflowers aplenty and butterflies flitted around my head and a few landed on the path as I walked which was kind of fun. And there were a few dragonflies and damselflies too. In between grumbling to myself about being lost, I appreciated these delicate creatures entertaining me, but was surprised that even common critters like squirrels or songbirds were nowhere to be found, leading me to blurt out to no one in particular: “where are those 240 species of birds, and 40 species of mammals that are supposed to be here?”
I spotted the “Horse Trail” signage and remembered that marker from the map and saw hoof prints leading into yet another trail. The Horse Trail is 4 1/2 miles (7.2 km) … well fine, if you’re astride a horse. Thankfully I am used to extra-long weekend treks, but I was not going down this trail and tacking on another 4 1/2 miles to my meanderings, even though this trail might take me back where I started. I soldiered on, though I was getting really hot and a couple of droplets of sweat slowly rolled from my forehead into my eyes stinging them. I thought maybe I’d remove the bandana face mask and fashion it into a sweatband, but thought better of that idea in case I ran into a crowd later.
So where in the heck was I and where was the *&%# marsh?
I finally saw a human – yay! Hopefully it was someone who was familiar with Crosswinds Marsh or had a smartphone with a map. Since I have a flip phone I had suddenly become quite needy. This was a runner and he kept running in place as he explained breathlessly that I should return the way I came from and go back to the “grassy cut” and I’d be good to go … I thanked him, apologized for making him break his momentum, then walked the suggested “3/4s of a mile” back where I just walked. (Sigh.) By then, in the hot sun, it felt more like twice that amount to walk, but I found the rather nondescript grassy cut.
I remembered seeing it before, but I was sticking to the trail, so just ignored it. I must tell you that initially there were wooden signs everywhere with the names of the trails and directional arrows on the signs, but out here in the boonies with the bugs, butterflies and blooms, there were no signs, especially back to the central area where the marsh was.
I went along the grassy cut only to see this sign about trespassing. Great, just great!
I was exasperated and next I saw a couple with a baby … I went over and said “I’m a little frustrated at still another fork in the road – can you tell me if you came from the marsh to get where you are now?” Yes, they had and suggested I turn left and follow that path and walk “about a mile and a half” and I’d be there. I thanked them profusely and said they set my mind at ease.
There must be some kind of way outta here!! (Channeling some Jimi Hendrix here.)
I walked, pausing to take a few shots of the many fields of wildflowers as well as individual wildflowers, as I still craned my neck to see the high overlook and wooden structure to no avail. I kept plodding along like an old horse on the trail, with considerably less spring in my step than had been when I stepped out of the car some three hours earlier.
Finally, a wooden walkway and some reeds poking through the slats gave me a sign of hope that indeed the marsh was near and a woman named “Sue” and her dog “Pepper” came up behind me as the walkway was quite narrow. I once again told my tale of getting lost and she said “no worries – Pepper and I walk here all the time and we know our way around. Did you want to return to the marsh or the parking lot?” I said “back to the marsh please – oh thank you soooo much!!” She said “that’s how I’m going – we can walk together if you’d like.” So, we walked at least another mile. I wondered how many miles I’d walked but my pedometer was under my shirt, hooked onto my pants and covered by my fanny pack and the camera bag.
Finally in the distance, the wooden structure was in view, rising high into the air. I breathed a sigh of relief and my comfort level increased immediately. Sue and I walked along companionably, chitchatting about the marsh and how many times she’d seen the eagles and told me that I “just have to return in the Fall to see the colors and the Canada Geese stepping across the marsh on the lily pads.” Finally we reached the entrance to the marsh where I also saw the second couple I’d asked for directions. They had taken a shorter trail – I, on the other hand, looked, and felt, like I’d walked the entire 1,050 acres of Crosswinds Marsh!
Sue, Pepper and I parted ways – I had one more stop to make.
Check out this interesting wild bee hotel.
If you Google Crosswinds Marsh you’re sure to see either the long wooden overlook and wooden building pictured above, or the entrance to the marsh area.
I wanted to visit this part of Crosswinds Marsh last since I figured the mid-day sun would bring out more butterflies. So, at the end of this very long trek, I stopped to view the “wild bee hotel” which was situated near that wide swath of colorful perennials.
The butterflies were also busy sipping nectar. I’d have stayed longer, but I just wanted to get back to the car and put the A/C on, cool off and sit down.
Finally, I plopped down on the car seat, pulled out the pedometer – a little over eight miles! It seemed like it should be double that amount. The perfect end to this long trek should have been a cool car before I drove home. But the A/C was on the fritz and it was horribly hot in the car. Talk about an inopportune time to need an air conditioning recharge!
Once home in the cool house, I conceded it was a long trip to get there, and getting lost was not fun, but I’m glad I went anyway.
P. S.: I had butterfly and wildflower photos, but left them out as this post is already picture laden and long – maybe down the road.
… but you could have fooled me, as we’ve had a very warm weather week and temps will climb to 80 F (26 C) today!
Last Saturday, on the last weekend of Summer, I added two layers of clothing and even broke out the gloves – I’ve never worn gloves on the 19th of September. I don’t usually wear a coat, nor do I turn on the furnace, before Autumn’s arrival, but I made an exception since that morning we tied a longstanding record of 38 F (3 C) – brrrrrr!
That brisk weather quickly moderated and now we have Summer-like conditions once again – go figure.
The cicadas are very loud this year. I did some yardwork last Sunday and the noise was almost deafening at times with their continuous buzzing/rattling sound. The invasion of the 17-year cicadas does not happen until 2021 (and no, their arrival was not cancelled this year due to COVID-19). I swear that thousands of cicadas must have converged into the trees in the ‘hood. Have you ever seen or heard cicadas? If not, you can see what they look like (ugh) and hear the noise (OMG) simply by clicking here – it’s a long video but interesting and the buzzing noise I referenced can be heard at 1:40.
Enough of bugs … how about some pretty blooms and butterflies?
Before Summer took that brief pause, I went to the Taylor Conservatory & Botanical Gardens, hoping to get a few more shots of blooms and butterflies before the cooler weather settled in.
I also hoped to see a hummingbird or two hovering about the Cannas, or on the Cardinal Flowers, but I was out of luck. There were no hummers at the Cannas and this year, no bright-red Cardinal Vine was climbing over the top of the mesh-like Conservatory structure like it usually is. Perhaps next year?
By the way, I managed to get a few shots of Hope, the female hummingbird here at the house, but the photos were taken through the screen door and it was drizzly and gray. I believe Hope is still here, having seen her buzz by the other day; I asked her to send me a postcard when she arrives in Florida or Mexico, whatever her Winter destination of choice is, so I know she arrived safely and I can take the feeders down.
A little bit of eye candy to close out your week.
Nothing says Summertime like beautiful blooms and butterflies. The Botanical Gardens never disappoints.
Cabbage Whites, while not as colorful as some butterflies, are every bit as dainty as they flit from flower to flower.
Suddenly there were five butterflies enjoying nectar for breakfast.
This is a Painted Lady butterfly.
A second Painted Lady arrived as I was ready to leave.
Here’s a collection of flowers found inside the Conservatory.
Sayonara Summer … we miss you already. Only 268 days from today ’til Summer returns. Hurry Summer!
It’s funny how one little item might trigger a special memory sometimes … a person, place or thing that you’ve not thought of in many years. First it was that old willow tree that was damaged in one of Mother Nature’s many fits that she’s had this Summer. I guess we are all worn and weary from being immersed in our COVID-19 woes and Mother Nature’s miseries, a bad combo that has likely shaved a few years off my life and likely yours too.
I’ve had a few instances this year where I remembered a person from my past. I dreamed of someone or happened to think of someone from years ago – it was a strong premonition to find out something about them. In both instances they had passed away recently. It was a little unsettling.
Sandra, a fellow blogger who is an avid photographer, recently did a few posts showcasing Cosmos … no, not pictures of the universe, which would not be surprising as she often features shots of the moon. Sandra was experimenting with macrophotography and had up-close pictures of a pink, dainty-looking flower. I recognized that bloom right away – thirty years ago this Summer, there was a sea of Cosmos in the yard next door.
A little backstory – The Mystery Man.
In the 1980s, we got a new neighbor. He never said a word to my mom nor me … in fact, he’d be sitting out on his front porch at night, or on the weekends, and, if I was doing yardwork, or my mom and I came home from an outing, he would promptly turn his chair facing the opposite way. Smart women that we were, we quickly figured out he wanted nothing to do with us … so we did not exactly welcome him to the neighborhood with a tuna casserole and a chocolate cake. Furthermore, we certainly didn’t lose any sleep over his strange and unsociable behavior.
In 1988, the City tore up our street. We got letters from City Hall telling exactly what the project entailed and how long it was projected to last. The easement in the backyard was City property and we could expect it to be torn up as part of this undertaking and possibly the City sidewalk as well. I was upset as I’d spent the Summer of 1985 re-landscaping the front, side and backyard. It was a humongous undertaking and my poor AMC Pacer had to have its springs replaced from lugging home landscape ties, 2 X 4s, mulch, dirt, lava rocks … yes, I could have hired a landscape company to do that work, but I thought “how difficult could it be anyway?” It was a job for much younger legs, but I digress ….
This neighbor left for work before I did, never had people over at the house and, if he and I happened to be closer than twenty feet away from one another, i.e. doing yardwork or shoveling snow at the same time, he scurried into the house before we could make eye contact … he was a bit of a mystery man.
Our good friends/neighbors across the street had a double lot and it was here the construction crew chose to park their heavy machinery in the backyard at the end of each workday. The lady of the house, who prided herself on her longstanding and beautiful perennial garden, tearfully came over the first night and asked if she could park her perennials in our yard until the project was over? We said “of course but what if they likewise rip up our easement area?” She and her husband purchased multiple five-gallon buckets, filled them with dirt and carefully “replanted” each of her clumps of Coneflowers, Daisies and Black-Eyed Susans, then nestled the buckets on the mulch in my backyard between my plants. I had the same exact flowers – it looked like a nursery back there. She promised to water them – I told her not to worry, I would take care of them like they were mine until she reclaimed them. I guess my motives were selfish – all the time I figured my good deeds may mean my backyard was spared.
The construction project was in high gear in August, in the Dog Days of Summer. The dust flew as heavy machinery tore into the easements of neighbors across the street from this house. The casualties were not just to gardens brimming with produce and perennials … a neighbor on the corner had a heart attack when he returned home from work, only to find his prized rock garden, perennials and veggies had been ripped apart. He dropped to the ground and died on the spot.
A little miracle.
A few days later the City sidewalks across the street were munched by the heavy machinery. I cringed when I saw the mess and how the metal jaws came perilously close to tree trunks along our tree-lined street. I was in the backyard watering all the flowers, when the mystery man stalked over to the fence. He didn’t introduce himself, no niceties here, but he pointed at the buckets of flowers and said “where did you get those flowers?” I explained the situation and he gave a little grunt and said “I don’t care for flowers – you spend time and money on flowers, then they die off.” Being raised to be nice to my elders, but also gritting my teeth a little, between clenched teeth I responded “well they brighten up my yard anyway.”
Half expecting him to walk away after my curt comment, he stood there looking at me. It was awkward to be sure. A long moment of silence passed. I felt the need to say something … like maybe introduce myself or welcome him to the neighborhood. But before I did so, he blurted out “they’re doing that sewer replacement job all wrong – I work in construction and you watch … we’ll have flooded basements and all the trees’ll die. Look how they plowed into the roots!” He was all wound up and I said “well good thing you and I don’t have a tree on City property and they must’ve forgotten to work in our backyard for which I’m grateful.” He just kind of grunted, turned and walked away.
Well, as he strode toward the house, I was tempted to say “by the way, my name is Linda and my mom’s name is Pauline … and you are?” But it was too late for that.
Flash forward a year, give or take a month.
The mystery man drove an old, rather beat-up, light-blue, nondescript car. He always parked out front and that vehicle leaked like the Exxon Valdez. In Winter the car never moved, but I now knew it was because he worked in outside construction. There had been no conversation since that day when he spoke his mind. I’d be outside, nary a hand wave, mouthing “hello” – none of the niceties that you do to at least attempt to be polite and neighborly.
But as Spring finally sprung, there was another element added to the mystery man puzzle, when suddenly I noticed a compact car and a stranger, a young man who owned that car and I saw him going in/out of the mystery man’s house. It was Springtime by now and orange barrels were everywhere and construction had started up for the year, yet I noticed the mystery man’s car never budged week in and week out. My mom and I discussed this and wondered what was afoot, but we weren’t going to ask.
I was working in the back garden when the young man came to the fence, introduced himself as Nicky and said he’d come to live with his father, Nick, who had recently been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. I said I was sorry and told him that in all the years he’d lived there, I never knew his dad’s name and told him the gist of our conversation back in 1988. What had just been a rather solemn moment after Nicky relayed his father’s medical diagnosis, suddenly he burst into hearty laughter. He said “Dad never spoke to you since he moved here – no way!” I said “no” and added “he turned his chair around the other way so he did not have to look at my mom and me when he was outside.” Once again Nicky roared with laughter. He then said “please don’t take it personally” then explained that his parents divorced and afterward his dad declared he was “taken to the cleaners” and swore he’d never talk to a woman again. The exception as to women was Nicky’s sister who lived in Indiana with her minister husband.
Nicky told me he was going to law school in Cleveland, Ohio but had transferred to Wayne State University Law School in Detroit to attend classes there while taking care of his dad. He had hoped to do a clerking internship that Summer to help get (and perhaps guarantee) a job with a firm after graduation, but when he moved in with his dad, he realized that was not going to be doable, so he’d just see what was available after he graduated from law school and passed the bar exam. He concluded by saying “family always has to come first – Dad has no one else and my sister has to be there with her husband.”
So, that was the first of many over-the-fence talks Nicky and I enjoyed that Summer. We also argued in a friendly way, as we debated the fate of Lawrence DeLisle, a local father who drove off the pier at Bishop Park, Wyandotte in August 1989, taking his wife and four little children with him. Lawrence DeLisle’s “story” was his gas pedal stuck and thus the car plunged into the Detroit River. The four children drowned, but his now ex-wife, survived. Lawrence DeLisle’s trial was in June of 1990. There was friendly banter across the fence for the duration of the trial, as Nicky, the third year law student and Linda, the litigation legal secretary with a decade of trial support experience already under her belt, debated – each of us had our own opinion. It was a lively nightly discussion as we watered and weeded our gardens. In the end, just as I predicted, DeLisle was found guilty and is still in jail thirty years later. The sordid and sad story can be found by clicking here.
Oh yes, by the way did I say gardens … plural?
Gardens and flowers at Nick’s house? Nick, that mystery man, who hated flowers? Yes, indeed. In the Spring as I gently uncovered my perennials’ tender shoots and removed the yard debris, Nicky said he had had been admiring my perimeter gardens since moving in. He told me he decided he would do the same in their yard to cheer up his ill father. Gulp! Dare I tell him about Nick’s disgruntled comment about flowers or keep that to myself? I decided on the latter. I said “oh, that will be nice Nicky – he’ll appreciate that.”
[A little white lie never hurt anyone.]
So, Nicky worked his butt off to create similar perimeter gardens as mine. He spaded away the grass, lugged home bags of topsoil and packets of seeds. Lots of packets of seeds. He decided on Cosmos flowers because they were fast growing and colorful. Nicky had method in his madness … he aimed to have those Cosmos up to the top of the cyclone fence as quickly as possible. He told me he wanted to surround the yard in color to cheer his dad up.
The seeds were planted and tended by Nicky with TLC and lots of Miracle-Gro. Secretly, I hoped the bunnies would not seize the opportunity to eat those tiny shoots as Nicky was hell bent on creating this garden for his dad to enjoy in the time remaining as cancer ravaged his body.
I caught glimpses of Nick in early Summer – he was a slight man before, but now he was gaunt, bent over, barely walking and one day he shuffled to the chair in the yard, prompted by Nicky to see the flowers. I was pulling weeds and glimpsed this out of the corner of my eye. Nick clung to Nicky’s arm, then lowered himself slowly into the chair. Nicky pushed a table close to him, then said he’d be back in a minute with a cool drink. While Nicky was gone, Nick rested his forearms on the table, then laid his head down and wept, long racking sobs that I was sorry to have heard and witnessed. He did not see me there, so this time it was my turn to scurry back into the house to give him some privacy. I burst into tears once inside the house … the scene really stirred my emotions.
Despite Nick’s initial attitude toward Mom and me, things changed that Summer.
My mom had surgery that Summer. It was a hip revision, a complicated procedure wherein the original hip prosthesis was removed and a new prosthesis put in. In my mom’s case, the stem of the prosthesis had come loose. It required a long operation and a ten-day hospital stay. Every night after work I’d go up to the hospital. On the weekend, I’d spend the day there. On several occasions, I’d come home and Nick was sitting on the porch and in a wavery voice asked: “how’s your mother doing today Linda?” I’d give a brief report and then as an afterthought he’d ask “how are you doing?” I was touched and a few times my eyes welled up from the stress and worry and answered in as calm and steady of a voice as I could and said “I’ll tell her you asked for her Nick.” I had never called him by name before, but yes … it was time to do so. And no, I could not bring myself to ask how he was doing … besides, I got a daily report from Nicky.
When Mom came home from the hospital, I took a leave of absence from work, using personal time and vacation time to stay home with her for three weeks. Nicky took it upon himself to make dinner for us every night. He’d come over near the kitchen window and yell out what he’d cooked that day and ask me to put on my oven mitts and meet him at the door in a few minutes. He was an excellent cook, having spent each of his college Summer vacations working at a resort. He quipped that he was afraid my cooking might send Mom back to the hospital.
Meanwhile it was late July and Cosmos filled the perimeter of the yard.
The Cosmos grew taller by the day and soon they were grazing the top of the cyclone fence. The blooms were a riot of hues in pink and purple, bobbing their delicate heads in the breeze. I told Nicky one night, as we watered our gardens and chatted companionably over the fence, that his sad mission was accomplished. He nodded, unable to say anything and tears filled his eyes. My eyes misted up seeing him.
Nick passed away a few days later.
The estate was wrapped up quickly. Nicky, a weight lifted from his shoulders, awaited taking the bar exam, but not for Michigan, but Florida. His heart was not there for studying for the exam, but he had to move on, without the advantage of having clerked at a firm in conjunction with school. He was able to get into the Prosecutor’s office in Miami and left for Florida a few weeks later. On moving day, he came in the house to say goodbye and hugs were exchanged and tears flowed freely.
Afterthought.
I pass by the Cosmos you see in the pictures above every time I walk to the Park. I snapped these photos, not really thinking about Nick or Nicky and that Summer of 1990. But oddly enough, just a few days after I took these pictures of pink Cosmos in the ‘hood, fellow blogger Sandra posted her pink Cosmos photos and it was while gazing at those flowers, the memories came flooding back. I told Sandra how her post had triggered those sad memories and she urged me to write this post. Thank you if you’ve read to the very end.
Postscript – I finished proofreading this very long post and switched on the radio to hear the news – Ruth Bader Ginsburg has passed away from the same type of cancer as Nick. I have always admired her. She was a fighter in many ways. May we please find a cure for this horrible disease sooner rather than later.
It is no secret that one of the great joys I reap from my walks at Council Point Park is interacting with my furry friends. Sure I enjoy going to the larger parks on the weekends, but they are often impersonal at times. There is no familiarity at those venues, like I find at my favorite nature nook where I know what trees will blossom first in the Spring, or which ones will turn awesome Autumn hues of golden-orangey-red. I know just where I might sneak up on a groundhog snacking on mulberries, or the angle where I might observe Harry the Heron before he freaks out, squawks and leaves in a huff. I know the exact location to peer between the trees to glimpse a long line of turtles sunbathing, or where the bunnies gather to indulge in sweet clover.
And … you can call me crazy, but when the squirrels come racing over to greet me I get a silly smile on my face. I am not the only one who feeds the squirrels. Arnie, a long-time walker at this venue, and I were chattin’ it up in the Park in the parking lot the other day. We both set out on the path together. This fact was not lost on the squirrels who, thanks to the cooler weather, are bright-eyed and bushy-tailed speed demons as they are now gathering peanuts in earnest. I remarked to Arnie that I could hear the squirrels’ brain gears clicking away with a thought bubble overhead that said: “Aah, two walkers bringing us peanuts – who should we go to first – we don’t want to offend either of them – never mind, we’ll converge on Arnie and Linda at the same time!” And so it was; we stopped in our tracks, simultaneously opened our Ziploc bags and watched a passel of squirrels come running to us, dancing around our ankles, clearly unsure where their loyalties should lie, yet not wanting to disappoint either of us by not rushing over.
If squirrels were trolls and peanuts were tolls …
That morning’s undying devotion by the squirrels to their benefactors was not lost on a young bicyclist who has appeared on the perimeter path almost daily since the Park re-opened after the COVID-19 lockdown in May. This young man rides many round trips on the pathway and sometimes, as he zips past Arnie or me doling out peanuts to our eager furry friends, he will wag a finger at the squirrels and tell them to save some room for later when he comes back to feed them, just before he departs the Park. He always has a bag full of peanuts hanging from his bike.
Arnie usually only walks the one loop, so on my second go-around after Arnie left, I was bending down talking to a few skittish black squirrels, who eyed the peanuts in my bag, yet I still had to coax them over to me from where they cowered under a bush. They’d take two steps forward – one step back and I said “for goodness sake – do I look like some ogre who is going to hurt you?”
Unbeknownst to me, the bicyclist was within earshot … he startled me when he said “the way I see it, the squirrels are like the trolls under the bridge, and their toll for you to enter the Park is peanuts.” I laughed and quipped “one day they’re going to gang up on me! Look at them all around, just waiting to pounce if I am not quick enough handing out treats!”
He hopped off his bike, tossed down a pile of nuts and said “well, I’m paid up now, so I’m on my way.” I laughed and said “I’ve probably got a free pass the rest of my days at this Park!” Soon he was on his way, a smile on his face.
There is not a lot of things to smile about these days and, for a brief moment, the ugly images of 2020, a nation gone awry with its wildfires, hurricanes, Coronavirus, political and racial divisiveness, I reckoned that life sometimes was simple and good. Nature is always a calming balm in my opinion.
On this last weekend of Summer, I’ll leave you with this wise quote: “You don’t have to be in school to learn things. With nature, it’s always going to be there. It’s always going to be kind of like our support system. We just need to actually reach out and accept that we’re all connected and have a role to play. We’re all on this Earth together.”~Nicole Jackson, Environmental Educator
I have written at length in my blog about my goals for miles walked each year. So far I have always reached my year-end goal and thus been able to rest on my laurels every December 31st.
As I’ve paired photography more and more with my treks, (as opposed to just the occasional interesting header image in my blog’s early days), along the way I even began creating goals for coveted photos of certain critters and even non-critter items.
I shared my “2020 Birdie Bucket List” with you and checked off quite a few images since that March 5th post, so we’re gettin’ there. And, after lamenting I missed the Spring Peepers back in the Springtime, I’m happy to report that recently I returned home with an image of a frog on the camera’s photo card. I had to laugh out loud when I saw that little green guy on the computer screen, as I sure don’t remember seeing him when I took that photo. I was aiming for a close-up of the invasive marsh aquatic plant known as Frogbit … well he and I were both in the right place at the right time it seems. But more about Mr. Frog later – I am hopelessly behind with cranking out blog posts as I took so many pictures this Summer. That’s a good thing. 🙂
Also on my “2020 General Photo Bucket List” was to take photos of sunflowers. They are at their peak in late August here in Southeast Michigan. Fellow bloggers Andy and Diane wrote about and took photos of expansive fields of sunflowers; fellow blogger Ruth, a Michigander like me, showed us the beautiful Teddy Bear sunflowers in her garden.
Last year, you may recall, I registered in advance to attend an annual sunflower festival in Belleville, Michigan. I’ve never been too swift as to maps and I must have great directions to take me to out-of-the-way places, or for sure I will get lost. Because weekend Fall weather can be iffy and traipsing around in a muddy farm field in the rain to view sunflowers was not my cup of tea, I upgraded to a pass for all four days of the September DeBuck’s Sunflower Festival AND the October DeBuck’s Corn Maze and Pumpkin Patch Fest as well. Surely every weekend day would not be soggy, but I had it covered.
I prefer surface streets to expressway driving, especially if I’ve never been to the area, so I meticulously wrote out the Google Maps directions to get to Belleville, about a 50-mile round trip drive and way out in the boonies.
I hadn’t counted on a fork in the road and an irate guy in a pickup truck behind me, who repeatedly slammed on his horn as I paused a wee bit too long to consider whether to take the left or right fork in the road.
Naturally, I chose the wrong fork in the road.
Yep, there were two options on that bright and sunny day – left or right and I guessed wrong. It is a very rural area and soon, while tooling along the road, I discovered if anyone was outside to ask directions, they likely were toiling in the back fields. Hmm – surely someone was out tending to their late Summer fruit and veggie stands – nope, produce was attractively displayed in baskets or loose in bins. Mason jars of jams or jellies were lined up in rows on wooden shelves, the metal lids glinting in the sunshine, but their purchase was all on the honor system – you simply filled the brown paper bags provided and left your money. You could even make change if need be. Well, farmers are busy and likely don’t have time to deal with this small business venture. So, I decided to “wing it” and just relax and see where the road would take me. I had a full tank of gas, so no fears of running out of gas and ending up in a real pickle. I relaxed and rather enjoyed the ride in the country and ended up at Lower Huron Metropark (which was on my “Parks To Visit Bucket List”). Yes, so many lists – so little time.
Driving home that day, I came upon a farmer’s field close to the road. The many gardens were filled with tomatoes, beans and cukes and a smaller plot consisting of corn and tall sunflowers. I pulled over to the side of the road and decided these sunflowers would soothe my wounded feelings of map misreading, plus complement my tale about my misfortune. Granted, up close, they were a tad dilapidated from the rain, but I took photos anyway.
So, I never made it to either DeBuck’s festivals in 2019, even though I had paid in advance. It’s not like me to be frivolous like that, but I assumed I’d try again this year. I bought a paper map and planned to memorize that route. Then COVID-19 arrived. I decided I was not going to mix and mingle with any crowds during the pandemic, so I realized I needed to find something closer to home.
I put my thinking cap on.
I was still looking for a sunflower opportunity and recalled many years before, while attending Henry Ford Community College in Dearborn, Michigan, as I drove along the Michigan Avenue service drive, there was a vast field filled with sunflowers. I always had my pocket camera with me in those days and though I never took a shot of that lovely scene, I kept the image in my head instead. As far as the eye could see were sunflowers, lined up like soldiers, all facing the same way, toward the sun, evoking a smile on my face, every time I saw them. The land was owned by Ford Motor Company – their world headquarters is in Dearborn and they planted the sunflower seeds every Spring and created a little greenspace along a well-traveled service drive. There was no charge to see this colorful feast for the eyes and those black oil sunflower seeds were also a feast for the birds once they had ripened.
That was many years ago and since then, the plot of land was plowed over and a building was in its place. Recently, I Googled around and discovered a news story that confirmed Ford Motor Company still planted those seeds and this massive, 20-acre sunflower field could be found in a different location. So, I was ready – surely I could not get lost going to a City I’d been to hundreds of times throughout the years.
Construction … here, there and everywhere.
There are currently 200 ongoing construction projects in Michigan. I know that fact as 155 of them were temporarily suspended for the Labor Day holiday. Although Dearborn is a big city, unfortunately there were three big construction projects, all which I would encounter, should I choose to visit Ford’s sunflower fields.
So, should I stay or should I go?
I decided to put on my big girl panties and just grin and bear it; I mean, how bad could it be on a very early, hot and humid Sunday morning? I figured the sunflowers should reach my shoulders and would be growing so close together that I’d best wear long pants and a long-sleeved shirt in case of any creepy crawlies or bees as I walked through. Not the best day for that clothes combo due to the heat, but nevertheless that is what I donned. Thankfully, I wore a sleeveless tee-shirt under the shirt, so I could remove it after I left the sunflower field.
I headed to Michigan Avenue and Mercury Drive – Michigan Avenue is a busy thoroughfare, more so with only one lane open and a portion of the Southfield Expressway was closed and dumping traffic onto this already-busy street. To make matters worse, free COVID screening from your car was at the Henry Ford Centennial Library right across the street. Grrr. I regretted my decision as cars zoomed past me as I drove along, watching traffic, orange construction cones and barrels, the signage and all the while expecting to see yellow sunflower heads bobbing in the distance.
Well, you’ve got to be kidding me!
Finally, patience wearing thin, I arrived at the destination. I parked at Henry Ford Elementary School and looked across the street – this is what I saw.
“I drove through all that construction for this?” Those were the first words out of my mouth (along with a few words that I won’t mention in this post). I’m assuming the sunflowers won’t be ripe until October and no, I’m not returning.
I took the few pictures above and noted, as you probably did, the “Private Property – No Trespassing” sign as well. I scurried back to the car, grumbling all the way, but, I was not to be deterred – a quick trip to a plot of land that is filled with sunflowers gave me a smile as big as these beauties. So where did I go to get these photos? A Speedy gas station on the corner of Dix-Toledo Road and Northline Road – every year the owner plants sunflowers, corn and pumpkins and when I go to Heritage Park I see this colorful display during the growing season. Look at the miles and aggravation I could have spared myself!!
I’ve made an executive decision – next year, I’m growing my own sunflowers!
Well, this post has not even a whit about walking, or nature, but once a year I do honor this Hallmark-type holiday known as “National Grandparents Day” in spirit only, since my last grandparent passed away in 1986. That would be my grandmother, Wilhemina Godard. No one ever called her “Wilhemina” – she was “Minnie” to all who knew her and “Nanny” to me. I’ve written many fond memories about my grandmother and told about the traits we shared: we both were fond of squirrels, gardening and neither of us could cook or bake. Oh – minor correction … my grandmother made a mean pot roast every Sunday and that’s likely beyond my expertise, (unless I try to experiment cooking one in my new crockpot).
You’ll never see warm-and-fuzzy memories about my grandfather in this forum, as he was an old coot and I hated him. Though I’d never had a temper tantrum or “sassed back” to my parents, he was the only person who truly set me off so much that I bit him. Yes, that’s right, the ever-polite Linda Susan Schaub bit her grandfather on the ankle after he criticized the pronunciation of words learned in French class in Grade One. You see, he was born in St. Jerome, Quebec, and, though he had moved to Toronto many years before, never spoke to my grandmother in his native tongue, (nor anyone else for that matter), he considered himself an expert in speaking French. Admittedly, Quebec French and the French we studied in class was different in the way the vowels are pronounced … but, for goodness sake, I was in the first grade, so cut me a little slack!
On that particular day, he was sitting at the kitchen table smoking his pipe and waiting on dinner and asked me “so what subjects are you learning in school these days?” I rattled off some of my classes, among them French, which was a mandatory class in Canada. So he challenged me to say something to him in French and when I responded, he said the teacher was stupid and I was too, as THAT was not French. I was never permitted pouting, outbursts or temper tantrums as a child, so I just took his words, digested them and without batting an eye, as he continued his verbal assaults, I simply slid out of my chair, onto the floor and bit him on the ankle (yes, like I was the family dog who was denied a few tasty table scraps). Then I climbed back onto my chair just as he let out a yelp and cried out “you little bugger – you bit me!”(Really? As if I didn’t know and no, I didn’t draw blood.)
Nanny was tending to the pot roast and quickly wheeled around to see his red face and irate demeanor and me calmly sitting there. In between poking at the carrots and potatoes she asked “Linda, did you bite Omer?” “Yes Nanny – he laughed at me and said I didn’t know how to speak French and I was stupid – so I bit him.” Her response was “okay then, run and tell Mommy and Daddy dinner’s ready.” This story was relayed to me many times through the years.
Omer was a bully and a brute. From the moment I could form words and sentences I was told to call him “Omer” – yes, this irascible man never earned the moniker of “Grandpa” or “Gramps” or “Granddad” … but no big deal, as I adored Nanny and she more than made up for his boorish behavior.
Pictures speak louder than words.
In going through my online photo albums to find some pictures for this post, I came across these two images taken the first year of my life. It is common knowledge that animals have a sixth sense about people and deciding whether they like them or not. Evidently I had that same sixth sense about Omer.
I laughed when I compared these two pictures. The first, likely one of the earliest pictures of Nanny and me; I was all smiles, with my meager amount of hair swirled into a jaunty curlecue. The second picture is a rather sullen me on Omer’s knee, sporting a curlecue just as flat as the expression on my face.
This photo was taken at a cabin where we stayed one night when my father drove my grandparents to Cleveland. Nanny had expressed a desire to see a shrine in Cleveland and my grandparents didn’t have a car, nor did they drive, so we took a weekend trip. Taking a closer look at my face reveals a wrinkled-up nose, most likely from the big, fat cigar resting between Omer’s fingers. Once again, there was no happy-go-lucky grandfather here and my grandmother, on the other side of the shot, looked like she just tolerated being there. Mom wore a blasé look with a wan smile and there I was, clutching my favorite doll “Tilda Jane” and hating the cloud of cigar smoke that wafted into my face. My father, took the photo and, as usual, managed to take a picture of the cabin wall and sliced off part of Mom’s head and Nanny’s arm.
The header image, which I would be wont to entitle “Grumps, not Gramps” was the last picture of my grandparents, taken in the late 60s, shortly before he died in April 1969 – I hated him even more, as he died just days before my birthday where I was turning into a teenager and he messed up my big day – at 13 years old, birthdays were big stuff … now not so much.
Good things come in small packages.
It is hard to remember a time when I was shorter than my grandmother. I was a tall child, and grew to 5 feet 9 inches (175.26 cm) tall once I reached my teens. I towered over Mom and Dad, who were 6 and 7 inches shorter than me respectively. I grew like a weed and my grandmother seemed to shrink each time I saw her.
This photo was taken in 1983 of the two of us in Nanny’s backyard.
As I flipped through the old photos, they evoked many good memories. It turns out I finally found one picture where I was not the one towering over Nanny, though even when I knelt, I came close to her chest as you see below. She was posing in front of her prized Hollyhocks.
Happy Grandparents Day to those to whom it applies. I know it is especially tough this year as visits and well wishes may only be done by phone or Zoom or FaceTime. Hang in there – hopefully brighter days are ahead.
Linda Schaub
WALKIN', WRITIN', WIT & WHIMSY 