I’m feeling a little weary this morning. Over the weekend I walked almost 15 miles, drove about 80 miles and stayed up late to describe my adventures in two very long blog posts. It is raining right now, so here I sit, in my jammies, taking a load off my feet and writing about Sunday morning.
As
you know, in a separate post I detailed my tour of the historic Grosse Isle
North Channel Lighthouse and our delightful trip as we wended our way along
East River Road through the historical neighborhoods and saw sites marking
history-making events from long ago. We even caught a glimpse of a freighter
and tug barge steaming down the Detroit River.
My
lighthouse tour was at 1:00 p.m. so I had time to sneak in a walk at the Island’s
nature preserve. I hoped that on a peaceful
Sunday morning I might be lucky enough to see a family of deer, but that didn’t
happen. Instead, I found it amusing that
later in the day I would see deer in the exclusive neighborhood near the
lighthouse, as our group waited to board the bus to return to the museum where
we began the tour.
Earlier
this Summer I’d made a few trips to the island looking for a good place to park
and walk along the shoreline and/or trek through the woods. A fellow walker at Council Point Park lives
on Grosse Ile and had been showing me family of deer he kept seeing near his
home. So, he gave me some pointers on
nature preserves and quiet places to see deer – this is one of them in a Grosse Ile Open Space area. These pictures were taken on a sunny day, the
last time I visited this venue, but I took the same trails yesterday, but never
took the camera out of the pouch as it was very dark and gloomy the entire day.
Grosse Ile Wildlife Sanctuary.
The
morning was quiet as I pulled into this small nature preserve at Horsemill and
Thorofare Roads. It was woodsy, but not
so dense that I didn’t feel comfortable walking there alone.
The
occasional car whizzed by on Horsemill Road, but other than that, it was dead
silent as I meandered through the woods.
Now, if you’re looking to immerse yourself in a
little nature, just barely off the beaten path, this is the place to be. It was quite humid and the scent of fresh
mulch on the trails and heaped up nearby made for a heady experience.
The dappled sunshine showed me some of what this little nature preserve had to offer, like glimpses of water and sure footing as I walked along.
There were signs of interest, as well as facts and figures to make you say “wow – I didn’t know that!”
Unbelievably, both hour-long treks yielded no deer pics, as I had hoped; in fact, I saw no squirrels or birds, nary a bug or a butterfly, and not a single human either.
After yesterday’s trek with a country twist, today’s
offering promises something out of the ordinary. For me anyway. Not a hint of nature, unless you want to
count some shots of the Detroit River. I
didn’t even see a seagull cruising in the skies above.
I went to visit the Grosse
Isle North Channel Lighthouse, located on the Detroit River’s biggest
island, a/k/a Grosse Ile, which, according to Wikipedia, is 9.6 miles (24.9 kilometers) long
and 2.5 miles (4 kilometers) wide.
The Lighthouse was decommissioned in 1963 and is now closed to the public and its structure sits on private property. However, the Grosse Ile Historical Society, once a year, on the second Sunday in September, conducts their annual Lighthouse tour. There are four groups of twenty-four people, who are taken by bus and escorted by a member of the Historical Society along the narrow dock to this Lighthouse. All donations paid for the tour are used for upkeep of the structure.
Commemorating 1906 and celebrating Grandparents Day.
I booked this trip a month ago and kept my fingers
crossed the weather would be good. Last
year, I likewise registered/paid in advance, and the day of the tour was rainy so
I didn’t go.
I was happy the event was taking place on the same date as Grandparents Day, (here in the U.S. a day to honor your grandparents), because the Lighthouse was built in 1906, the same year my maternal grandmother was born.
I often mention my grandmother in my blog posts. She was born November 19, 1906 in Ariss, a tiny farming community near Guelph, Ontario. She had eight siblings. Six of them were boys who grew up and bought their own farms near my great grandparents, living in that rural area until their deaths. Likewise for her two sisters, who moved closer to town, but never forgot their Ariss roots. Wilhelmina, or “Minnie” as my grandmother was known, was the exception, as the only one of the Klein kids to stray to the “Big City” … that “Big City” being Toronto, where she worked in the manufacturing industry and met my grandfather. This picture is from 1926 of my grandparents with my mom.
So, the way I figure it, 1906 was a very good year
for new beginnings … Minnie Godard, née Klein,
and the Grosse Ile North Range
Lighthouse. Technically, a portion of
the Lighthouse was built in 1904, but the permanent fixture, the Grosse Ile
North Channel Front Range Lighthouse, which I toured today, was built onto its
current concrete foundation in the year 1906.
The Lighthouse.
Originally
there were two lighthouses on this island.
They were known as the Grosse Isle South
Channel and Grosse Isle North Channel Lighthouses and their range lights guided
mariners sailing along Grosse Isle. The
South Channel Lighthouse structure is gone and only this historic structure
remains. The black-and-white photo by the U.S. Coast
Guard, featured in the header image shows the Lighthouse, circa 1904, on its
original structure.
The Lighthouse may look tall in this old photo, but its actual height is just 40 feet. It is not as narrow inside as I suspected it might be. If anything was narrow, it was the dock/pier upon which you must walk carefully to get to the Lighthouse. As you see above (and below in my photos), it is a skinny pathway and on either side is a lot of water, perhaps a little daunting to one that does not know how to swim (like me). I wondered how close the water would be to the pier area, as we are five inches higher than normal due to heavy rains in the Spring. I was surprised to find plenty of clearance. My worries were unfounded (as usual).
I arrived shortly before our tour departure time of 1:00 p.m. There were many people milling about on the front lawn of the Grosse Ile Historical Society. I figured they were just like me, early arrivals for the 1:00 p.m. tour. I guessed wrong as they were actually tour members of a lighthouse club. I didn’t know that I would get a crash course in lighthouse lingo and meet some people who are enthusiastic about visiting lighthouses around North America. Who knew? Of the four groups of 24 persons that would tour the Lighthouse today, the first two groups were members of a club known as the “United States Lighthouse Society” and this was news to me. So 46 members of this group were on the first day of a seven-day tour, beginning in Detroit. The tour was entitled “Lake Erie North” with stops along Lake Erie in Chatham, Dunville, Simcoe and then on to Niagara Falls. They will visit a whopping 25 lighthouses this week.
I learned that all persons in this group have “lighthouse passports” which resemble a regular passport, and just as you get stamps at various ports of calls or countries you visit in a regular passport, they similarly covet a stamp marking their visit at each lighthouse. One woman in our 1:00 p.m. group, was not with the tour group, just attending as she is a lighthouse aficionado, and she wanted her passport stamped with today’s adventure. She told me she was already on her second passport of lighthouse visits and showed me her last entry which is the Grosse Ile Lighthouse.
So I was the only person who was a “newbie” in our 1:00 p.m. group, as I’d never been in a lighthouse before. The group was warm and friendly as they regaled me with tales of where they had toured in the past and what they would see on this trip. They will visit two lighthouses in Michigan today: the Grosse Ile Lighthouse and the Belanger Park Lighthouse in River Rouge. I was rather red-faced when I told them I never knew River Rouge, (a nearby city), had a lighthouse.
We
left the museum, which is actually a former train depot built in 1904.
Vintage-type
signs all around the depot/museum describe life back when this was a bustling
depot and commerce in the area was done by train until 1931 when the Grosse Ile
Parkway and “free bridge” were finished.
The bus driver stopped along the shoreline as we traveled to Hennepin Point. Our guide, a member of the Historical Society, narrated stories of historical significance to the island, including the homes of the wealthy homeowners who made their fortunes in local products like Vernors (soft drink) and Kelsey-Hayes (automotive parts).
We traveled along a row of stately homes on Lighthouse Point Drive. Once off the bus, we walked toward the Lighthouse. Once a year, the owner of the home (who owns Mans Lumber) permits these four tours to be conducted. We assembled on the homeowner’s front lawn by the shoreline, approximately 50 feet from the Lighthouse which sits on a 25-foot square concrete pier. The wooden walkway is actually a private boat dock. I asked if the five inches of above-normal rainfall covered the pier in the Spring and it did. Good thing no one had to light the lantern if waves were lapping at the pier!
I had read up on the history of the lighthouse and its restoration through the years. I knew it sustained much damage this past Winter, when the Polar Vortex froze most of the Detroit River solid and the ice piled up and thick chunks plowed into the Lighthouse base and railings causing much damage. You can see the ice chunks and damage by clicking here:
I
saw the solid ice and ice chunks at Bishop Park, also on the Detroit River, and
did a post about it. I was amazed at
such a sight of the entire River being solid ice and waves had frozen in
mid-air. It was a sight to behold. The Lighthouse was partially repaired and tomorrow
the scaffolding will go up and painting and further restoration will begin.
We
followed our guide who allowed eight persons access at a time. We were told there were 51 steps to ascend to
reach the eight-sided lantern room, where all but two are the original
windows/casings.
The
steps were steep in the circular staircase.
The inside was not well lit and the wood paneling was dark making it
difficult to ascend the steps. This was
a view along the way.
The last 11 steps had no railing. My tour buddies were all good with the steps, having done countless lighthouse tours in the past, but I was dealing with my eyeglasses, still dark from being outside, and the steep stairs. We arrived in the lantern tower. This is how it looks from the outside.
This is the view from the lantern tower:
Here at the lantern tower we were given a lecture on the Lighthouse, its significance in guiding mariners, as well as its various Lighthouse Keepers through the years. And then there was the trip down again. I was dreading it and I have to tell you that my legs were still wobbly as I walked across the wooden ramp which is a private boat dock used to access the Lighthouse
Here
are some photos of the Lighthouse against a very dark sky with many brooding
clouds.
When we finished the tour and waited to board the bus back to the depot, some tour members spotted four fawns in the bushes in a neighbor’s yard and the Mama deer loped across the driveway as we were boarding. I’d already tucked the camera back in the case, so no pics. It was an interesting and fun trip.
[Photo
credit for header photo: United States Coast Guard]
Everything was going great, and
then there was that proverbial fork in the road.
Decisions, decisions … I’m
horrible at decisions, especially when I glimpse two vehicles behind me in my
rearview mirror and their drivers are honking.
Patience is a virtue people – cut
me some slack! Especially because Google
Maps never mentioned no stinkin’ fork in the road in those directions I so
carefully copied from my computer screen early this morning.
Well there was no time to dawdle,
nor risk more horn honking and maybe even a stray finger showing up when I next
glanced in the rearview mirror.
So, I chose the right fork, though I saw nowhere straight ahead that I was supposed to be making my next turn. I knew the last part of those directions would be problematic … every few tenths of a mile, it was either a left or right turn. Well, I put on my right blinker and moved along, just to get those drivers off my tail and also figure out what to do next. After all, nobody said I had to be the first one standing at the gate when the DeBuck’s Sunflower Festival opened this morning.
Just relax Linda!
But, soon I found myself on Waltz Road and I knew I was on the wrong track – sigh.
But I kept rolling along anyway.
A big sign said “Welcome to Huron
Township” and before the afternoon was done I would pass through the villages
of New Boston, Waltz and Willow, all part of Huron Township.
I conceded I was enjoying this
road trip, though it was not getting me to the sunflower farm anytime soon.
I continued on my journey, past
all the tall corn stalks bending with the breeze. Okay, I could do that too … bend with the
breeze, I mean, go with the flow.
Oh look – a turkey farm and a pig
farm.
A sod farm too.
And a ton of road kill – eww! The road kill was gory enough to see, but I
had to roll up the window, shutting out that cool breeze, when I smelled a
skunk. “P.U.!” as we used to say when we
were kids and smelled a skunk. (I know I
just lost a few of you and I had to check Urban Dictionary to ensure it didn’t
have some other meaning in 2019.)
Wow – I was really out in the boonies!
There were multiple roadside stands like this one.
The stand was unattended, so you bought your goodies on the honor system as you see from the sign. Across a narrow gravel road was a huge garden brimming with a bounty of beefsteak tomatoes in different stages of ripening on many tangled vines. A few cukes were suspended by stems that grew between large leaves that wandered around the floor of the garden. I looked for a “no trespassing” sign and there was none. I saw no humans or big dogs and the only sentries “guarding” the garden were these sunflowers. I decided to take a few pictures just in case I didn’t make it to the sunflower farm today – at least I’d have a mini sunflower fix.
Back on the road again, I passed
through the tiny town of Waltz, Michigan.
I haven’t been this way in decades and my head swiveled back and forth
as I drove down the main street in this quaint town. There was The Waltz Inn, just as I remember
it. On our Sunday-drive-in-the-country
jaunts, my folks and I sometimes went there to eat. The Inn is over a century old, rumored to be
haunted and has a colorful prohibition history as well.
I decided I was hopelessly lost by now and of course I did not have a paper map in the car, no GPS tracking device, nor a smart phone, just my flip phone. All I had was my written directions and I had already strayed far from my original route.
Before I turned around to head back to wherever, I saw a sign for Apple Charlies, a popular cider mill. It’s been years since I was at this venue either, so what the hay, maybe I’d make a pit stop here as well. That side trek didn’t happen since I got to the intersection to turn and it was blocked off by a brigade of police vehicles with lights flashing, but no sirens. I waited in a long queue as 100 motorcyclists with their riders rolled in front of us. Wow – pretty impressive. I wondered what the occasion was – funeral of a fellow biker, maybe a ride for a cause?
Since the police diverted traffic to accommodate the bikers, I went down still another road – “this will be interesting” I thought, glad that I had a full tank of gas.
Before I had too much angst, I saw a sign for Lower Huron Metropark – well, this was on my Trek Bucket List. Dare I go here and just skip the Sunflower Festival until another day? Sure, why not?
It was the first time here and just like the other Metroparks, it did not disappoint. I took in the sights as I walked along a pathway that wound parallel to the Lower Huron River. I was wearing a long-sleeved shirt with cuffs, long pants with cuffs and socks to thwart any mosquitoes, as the health department is warning everyone to keep covered when walking near any woodsy areas as we had a death from EEE, (the mosquito-borne virus), yesterday and several other cases have been discovered.
I said “good morning” to a few walkers or bicyclists, but I pretty much had the trail to myself. The occasional colorful leaf fluttered down onto the pathway and the refreshing cool temps were reminiscent of Fall. The camera was clicking away as I inspected wildflowers near and spilling over the split rail fence and the bees and butterflies were plentiful. I’ve included a few of those shots below.
Blooms, butterflies and bees.
The wildflowers were so vibrant …
… and a few Monarch butterflies danced and hovered over them.
Bees busied themselves, burrowing down into the blossoms.
Signs touted fishing in the area where I walked along the Huron River, but it was catch-and-release only due to PFAS contamination in the water.
You see one fellow fishing, but the dock where most of the fishing is done was empty.
There were a few oddities along the way worth noting.
We’re happy to yield to turtles, but it sure would be nice to eliminate these tent caterpillars which seem hellbent on ravaging all the leaves on this bush.
As I passed each mile it made me want to savor the perfect Summer day as this season is on the wane now.
Peaceful is the word I’d use to describe these three canoeists paddling down the Huron River Water Trail.
I walked seven miles before hopping into the car to head home. I’ll get better directions and try again next weekend – how difficult can it be? After all, this Park and the Sunflower Festival were in the same city and same zip code!
Tranquil time in nature versus the busy festival atmosphere was just perfect. In retrospect, I believe I did NOT take the wrong fork in the road after all.
Today all the schools are back in session. I don’t have to look at the calendar date –
nope, and I don’t even rely on common sense – just my senses: who can miss that yellowy-orange bus amid a
sea of SUVs, all grinding to a halt as they enter a school zone? And look at the school kids hefting brand-new
backpacks and not even attempting to hide their sullen looks as they trudge to
the door where the principal greets them with a smile. Those scowling kids see right past that
principal’s silly grin as they anticipate 179 more days of tests, homework and alarm
clocks going off at the crack of dawn.
Next, while I wend my way to the Park, of course I
could hear that school bus, chugging up and down the street, gears grinding
like it was hauling a load of middle linebackers, instead of just a group of
school kids.
Once that bus had passed, in its wake was the unmistakable
smell of diesel fumes as huge plumes threatened to choke every squirrel and
bird in the ‘hood … and Yours Truly too.
Yep, school is back in session, the 2019 version.
Many moons ago it was the first day of school for me too.
I didn’t take the bus, as E.A. Orr Public School was just a stone’s throw away from the cul-de-sac, a/k/a Sandmere Place, where I lived. All us kids in the neighborhood were around the same age and someone’s older sister would herd us along to school every morning and again at the end of our school day. Big sister Monica was puffed up with importance as she walked alongside all of us fresh-faced tykes. We giggled aplenty and childish squeals erupted as we tripped along Sandmere Place, but when we got to Tansley Drive, we obediently did as our parents asked and clasped onto a friend’s free hand. Then, with Monica in the lead, we were a brigade of munchkins marching across this busy street. We arrived safely at our elementary school (pictured below) simply because there was safety in numbers.
I wasn’t scared in the least and I figured I had this kindergarten thing licked, because we’d already practiced spelling and vocabulary words, plus I learned math by adding and subtracting animal crackers or Smarties, the Canadian equivalent of plain M&Ms. (Despite those fun exercises, math has never been my strong point and evidently I was not a stellar speller, despite Mom’s coaching, because I enlarged the photo to check out the name tag on my dress for the first day of school – I’m pretty sure I wrote my name, not Mrs. Kellett and I made an abomination of it.)
Long before I started kindergarten I could rattle off: “My name is Linda Susan Mary Schaub, and I live at 497 Sandmere Place, Oakville, Ontario, Canada. My phone number is Valley 7-3219.“ (Oh my, but the human brain is pretty amazing isn’t it after all these years?)
When just a handful of days remained before kindergarten
began, and I would finally don my new plaid dress and sport a barrette that was
positioned just so, to pin some wayward strands of hair from my eyes so I could
see the blackboard, Mom sat me down and said that yes, I was a big girl going
to school, but she had something important to tell me. No, it was not a spiel on the birds and the
bees, nor to bust the myth about Santa and his reindeer, but instead, it was a lesson
on “stranger danger” even though this was decades before the term “stranger
danger” was coined. Sadly today’s 5-year
olds are much savvier about such unpleasant subjects, than we were circa 1961. That’s thanks to the internet which they readily
access on smart phones and tablets. Face
it, they know a helluva lot more about life in general than we ever did at
their age.
So, after Mom imparted her wisdom
to me, she said “now don’t be scared,
learn lots of new things and make Mommy and Daddy proud of you.”
So, off I went, leaving behind my
comfort zone of Mom, “Romper Room” and “Captain Kangaroo” and began
kindergarten with Mrs. Kellett and all my new classmates. Some were already my playmates from the
neighborhood. We learned a lot and had
mid-morning milk and cookies and a nap on a pad that was placed on the
classroom floor.
So what advice did Mom give me all those years ago?
As I recall, it went like this:
“If someone tries to give you
candy or sweets, politely say ‘no thank you’ and then run away!”
“If someone tries to lay a hand
on you, scream as loud as you can and then run away!”
“If someone calls you over to
their car, you run away!”
“Don’t get into anyone’s car –
ever. That means even a neighbor’s car,
even someone you know – don’t get into their car. You know what to do Linda, right?”
“And, if someone tells you Mommy
or Daddy were hurt and they’ll take you to them, run as fast as your legs will carry
you!”
“If you are lost, look for a
policeman, or ask someone to find a policeman, then tell him your name, address
and telephone number that you memorized.
You can always trust a policeman.
When Mommy was your age, all the kids wanted to walk across the busy
street in front of the school with the policeman and hold his hand.”
“So, have you got all that Linda?”
Wow, that was a lot to absorb and I obediently said “yes Mommy” … a lot to fill a little kid’s head with.
As a kid I always toed the line –
my parents were strict and with no siblings to back me up or help forge new
trails, I was all on my own. I never
forgot Mom’s warnings as I advanced through elementary, middle and high
school. Even as I wandered the halls of
Old Main on Wayne State University’s campus in Detroit, her words echoed in my
mind. I was always aware of my
surroundings and I was always careful.
Until one rainy day.
I was wearing a brand-new outfit, a sky-blue sundress made of silk voile fabric. There were at least a thousand tiny white polka dots splashed across the bodice and a swirl of tiny pleats that swished when I walked. A white linen bolero blazer completed the ensemble. It was the first day after the Memorial Day holiday and I was excited to get dressed up with white sandals and a white purse since it was now acceptable to “wear white” … suffice it to say I thought I was “all that”! 🙂
Because the dress had an under
liner it had to be dry cleaned … in fact, a warning on the label said “do not
wash!” There were no worries as it was supposed
to be a beautiful and sunshiny day. But
alas, the weather forecasters didn’t always get it right (even back in the 80s). I was sitting on the bus on the way home and
out of the corner of my eye I could see dark clouds gathering. I couldn’t concentrate on my book as I stewed
and fretted over the fate of my dress once I got off the bus, since I had to
cross busy Fort Street and walk a block or so after that.
As the bus pulled over to my stop
and I hopped off, the big fat drops started a’ flyin’ and soon there was a rumble
of thunder as well – just great. I
dashed to take cover under the drive-in bank’s concrete canopy, prepared to plant
myself there until the storm was over, even if it took all evening.
But, after hunkering down for a
short time, I heard a horn honk and a police car pulled into the bank’s parking
lot. I watched the rain-spattered window
roll down and a young police officer gave me a toothy grin and said “it looks
like you’re going to get your pretty dress all wet – want to hop in and I’ll
give you a ride home?”
Casting all sense and sensibility
to the wind, I smiled sweetly and said “sure” and got into the police cruiser. The officer asked my name and address and we
were off, (thankfully without the sirens going), and not a thought in my head
except how I was salvaging my new outfit.
He pulled up in the driveway and I said “thanks a bunch – I appreciate
it immensely” and I hopped out.
When I got into the house, my mom
said “I thought about you coming home in the rain with your new outfit – why,
your dress is bone dry. Did someone from
work give you a ride home?”
I told her about my good
fortune.
She said “oh, was it one of the
cops you knew from Carter’s?” (I worked
at a diner through college and we prepared all the meals for the prisoners, so
I got to know all the police officers who came to pick the food up.)
“Nope, just a young officer,
likely fresh out of the academy, who was being polite, considering I’m a lot
older than he was – he was just being nice Mom.”
She didn’t miss a beat and said: “well I thought I raised a smarter kid. Didn’t you pay attention to me all those
years ago?”
Hmm …. well, I didn’t miss a beat either and said “but you always told me it was safe to trust a policeman when I was a kid, so why is it any different now, if I may be so bold and brazen as to ask?” (My mom and I didn’t always see eye to eye on everything.)
She sighed long and loud and took
a moment to respond, and when she did, she said “Linda dear – sometimes you
just have to use your head for more than a place to hang your earrings.”
Well, chastising me like that
stung a little, but I have to admit it was a bit reckless on my part. No, I was not a babe in the woods, so blame it
on vanity, or even stupidity if you will.
Or perhaps I was just too trusting.
After that episode, I got a fold-down golf umbrella and a lightweight, full-length raincoat and they stayed in my bus tote bag year around for the rest of my commuting days. Of course, if you listen to the news these days, there are the occasional rogue cops, or persons impersonating a police officer who stop women for traffic infractions. This was just a nice officer being a good guy. But yes, I do concede you have to have your wits about you every time you step out of the house, no matter what age you are.
So why did I relay that silly story from eons ago?
Saturday morning I got to Council
Point Park and soon thereafter, a truck carrying a crew of grass cutters arrived
and began to unload their large and noisy industrial lawn mowers. Well that was a bummer because I knew the
squirrel interaction would be zero, because once the machines started up, the
squirrels would beat a hasty retreat to their respective nests to cower in
silence. I knew the grass cutting would
continue even after I departed, so I deposited peanuts on the picnic tables, a
few park benches and a cement wall to give my furry friends a snack later.
But one squirrel, either oblivious
to the roar of a half-dozen large lawnmowers, or very hungry, threw caution to
the wind and came to see what I offered, though he appeared a bit wary to this
tall stranger, obviously a “newbie” to this venue. As I stood there trying to coax him over to
the park bench for some peanuts, he gave me the once-over to determine whether
I was indeed trustworthy enough to come down from his high perch atop a
chain-link fence, where he hightailed it once the noise began.
He looked down at me with a hint
of disdain.
Then he tip-toed along the top of the fence, treating it like a thick tightrope, and I pictured the gears in his brain simultaneously matching the soft clicking noises I made to try to woo him to the short tree next to where I stood since he didn’t seem to like the park bench.
Alas, he deemed this stranger posed
no danger, so, with a little fancy footwork …
… he joined me on the ground where I coaxed him closer
to me with peanuts, many more than he could stuff into his mouth (though he would
surely try to do so).
Unfortunately, the fellow with
the weed whacker came along and fired that baby up – the noise was deafening,
and my furry friend took off, the half-eaten peanut shells scattering to the
wind. He beat it up the tree at the
speed of sound, and, heart pounding, he looked around …
… so, was he looking for help,
(the squirrel equivalent of “phoning a friend”), someone to come fetch him from
the horrible noise and a stranger who was way too close for comfort?
His safe haven became a fork in
the tree and that cranny seemed tailor-made for him.
There he perched, just waiting for a chance to bolt and be done with all these intrusive humans. When I tried to put some peanuts up there for him, I obviously intruded into his personal space, and he shot right to the top of the tree. He’s no Parker and we’ll have to work on establishing some trust here. I tried to find him each successive time around the walking loop to no avail.
So here’s a quote to close this longish post: “Safety is as simple as your ABCs – always be careful.”
… a special anniversary. More about that at the end of this post.
I stayed close to home and didn’t venture far on this first day of the long holiday weekend. There is construction everywhere, and, with so many of our parks still soggy and swampy and the media advising us to stay away from woodsy and marshy areas due to the EEE mosquito-borne virus crisis, I figured it was prudent to just stick close to home.
Honestly, driving isn’t very fun anymore between dodging
orange barrels and cones and then there are all the potholes. There are so many road construction projects
in the Mitten State right now, the traffic reporters are tongue tied by the
time they relay them all and “the Game of Cones” is how the media refers to Michigan’s
current road construction woes.
Our new governor’s campaign promise was she would “fix
the damn roads” so drivers, fed up with car-swallowing potholes, flat tires and
broken axles, were buoyed by her proclamation.
To gain revenue to repair those roads, Governor Whitmer had proposed a
gas tax of $0.45 cents, ($0.15 at six-month intervals beginning in October),
but it likely will not be implemented as scheduled. So, our roads will continue to crack and
crumble and they are even a walking hazard.
Corncobs, ‘maters and cruising on a country road.
So you hop into the car to get from Point A to Point
B, but driving has lost its appeal in my opinion. Back when I was a kid, and even a teenager, I
remember my folks and me going on a Sunday afternoon drive. My father had a 1972 Chevy Impala and it was the
Sunday car. During the week he drove a
VW Fastback stick shift and that was because he worked near a cement factory
and didn’t want the cement dust collecting all over his “baby”. So every Sunday, we’d take a long drive out in
the country.
Long before the large produce markets were available,
and even before the tiny farmers market set up shop in our city, come August, a
Sunday drive in the country was the ideal way to get the pick of the produce
from the roadside stands.
We would pass by dozens of roadside stands, trying to accomplish “one-stop shopping” and, as my father slowed down the car, my mother craned her neck to peer at each stand’s offerings. Sometimes there was a sign advertising their produce; other times you could see the husks of corn, their silks riffling in the breeze, or the bright red tomatoes spilling out of a wooden basket. There would be cukes big enough to put a knot on your head if you chose to wield them just right. Sun-ripened peaches and plums would magically become a cobbler or kuchen before week’s end. My mother would call out “do you have green beans, I’d love to make a stew?” And, if it was time for new potatoes, she’d be salivating thinking about those too. Mom would boil them with the skins on, split them open and spread pats of sweet butter which formed golden pools on our dinner plates. When we finally stopped the car, I remember you’d just point at a basket and they’d have it turned upside down and the contents emptied into a brown bag in a heartbeat. No cash registers were around as the tallying of all produce was done in the proprietor’s head, or on a scratch pad.
My mom was a tough customer and wanted to check out the beefsteak tomatoes herself – she was not going to take their word that there were no mushy ones on the bottom. Her inspection tended to rile the vendor and he grimaced while he said “lady – I throw the bad ones out or eat ‘em myself!” She’d reluctantly relent and grab a basket and off we’d go, returning the following week, weather permitting. This continued through September. Often the vendors had bouquets of Fall flowers for a song, so sunflowers and cheery mums, the occasional daisies or Black-eyed Susans would grace the kitchen counter until the next Sunday outing.
I had such vivid memories of those roadside stands while passing some enroute to Oakwoods Metropark last Saturday morning. I couldn’t help but flash back all those years ago, as it was such a regular ritual and an excuse to run “Old Betsy” at the same time. We’d get home later in the day and Mom would have those tomatoes out of the basket, washing the field dirt off and slicing them with the long, serrated knife in record time. Occasionally she’d swipe one for herself, leaning over the sink with a huge tomato in one hand, the salt shaker in the other, a happy grin on her face and juice dribbling down her chin as she savored that guilty pleasure. Mom was like the character of Edward X. Delaney in the Lawrence Sanders novels, the Detective who liked devouring sloppy deli sandwiches over the sink as he pondered his tricky cases. Our tomato slices were stacked on hot, crispy buttered toast, no bacon or lettuce … a no-frills treat.
Trek bucket list.
It is eight years ago this Labor Day weekend since I
began my walking regimen, so I decided to write about that special anniversary.
Just like last year, in the
Spring I made a mental list of what walking or miscellaneous events I would
like to attend and parks I wanted to visit.
The incessant Spring rain annoyingly messed up my weekend walking agenda,
and, when finally the torrential rain ceased, the lakeshore flooding kept me
away from several of the state parks and Metroparks as well. It seemed wherever I did venture, parks were
soggy or muddy or worse, mosquito laden.
So I may have not fulfilled my trek bucket list, but, a constant in my
walking regimen is Council Point Park, my favorite nature nook, and it never disappoints. Though I began my walking regimen on Labor
Day weekend of 2011, I never started walking at this venue until May of 2013.
Rules of the road.
No walk is the same, nor is it
mundane. If you are mindful of your
surroundings, there are endless things to notice and take delight in at the
Park, or even along the way, as you will see in the captioned photos below:
AVOID One eye opened, one eye closed SYNDROME. Always have that robust cup of coffee in the morning before heading out; otherwise you might mix up your favorite squirrel’s treats!
have a big breakfast. Load up on lots of protein and carbs.
AVOID JACKRABBIT STARTS. If you dilly-dally on WordPress in the morning, this is how you will look bolting out the door.
BE SURE TO STAY HYDRATED. You’ll keep a spring in your step that way.
GET LOTS OF SLEEP. Or you’ll look and feel bedraggled even before you leave.
set a goal as you step out. Strap on that pedometer – you go girl!!
start every day with a clean slate. No worries, no thoughts, just let your mind be a blank as you stroll.
remember to practice mindfulness. That way the joy from your walk will stay with you the rest of the day.
always be curious. Pretend you’re a kid again and explore everything.
don’t litter! It’s okay to feed your furry and feathered friends, but don’t leave any messes behind.
always stay vigilant. Don’t go off the beaten path on your own and watch for Mute Swans who may chase after you. Surprises are not always fun!
don’t ever stop. Why? Because you’ll lose momentum.
always be filled with awe. Stand up and take notice of everything that crosses your path.
remember not to sweat the small stuff. And remember to watch for small stuff along the perimeter path.
don’t blow your own horn all the time. It’s good to be proud of your walking regimen, but keep it to yourself, except when you’re blogging about your total steps. 🙂
always watch for photo ops. Especially when fellow walkers pour Cracker Jack on the perimeter path.
always look behind you. A passel of squirrels might be following at your heels.
The road trip was long (for me anyway) … it was 20 miles from my house to Oakwoods Metropark in Flat Rock, Michigan. I had been leery of visiting there as so many of our parks are still flooded or swampy from May and June’s incessant rainfall. I figured I’d take a chance and try and make a day of it, so I took my red vinyl boots in case I needed them. It was beautiful weather, with low humidity and refreshingly cool for a late August day. I aimed to take a long hike, then settle in to learn some sketching techniques and implement them on the nearby trail.
Because I sometimes get lost when driving, as I am definitely directionally challenged, I left extra early. Oakwoods Metropark has been on my Trek Bucket List for over a year, so when I spotted this sketching class called “Walk, Talk & Sketch” … well, I was all in. I figured I could also fulfill something on my future Retirement Bucket List, i.e. learning to sketch or paint as a hobby in my golden years. Not only did I treat myself to the event (a mere $5.00), but I bought a sketch pad and some number two pencils too. I thought it would fun, and believe me, I was not ready to quit my day job and become an artist at the end of the day. If you read my most-recent post, you’ll see why. You can click here if you missed it.
I found a place to
park near the Nature Center where we were to meet, so I left the art supplies
in the car and went off to explore.
Outside the building I checked out the enclosures and discovered an Owl
and a Red-Tailed Hawk. I’ve never seen
an owl before and this one preferred the darkest corner of its enclosure, so mostly
all I could see were glowing eyes and tufted ears. I am going to ID it as a “long-eared owl” (no
surprise there), but there was no name on its enclosure. I later learned it was injured, then rehabbed
and this is its permanent home, since it cannot survive on its own in the wild.
The Red-Tailed Hawk
was singing me a song here … it has a rather evil grin, doesn’t it?
I only knew this raptor’s name and ID because I passed its permanent home in the woods earlier that day. Because enquiring minds want to know, I asked Paula, our interpretive guide, if this was indeed “Hawkeye” and yes it is.
I meandered down the pathway where I saw a hut made entirely out of tree bark. I don’t know if it serves a purpose, but, as you can see it was roped off. I peered inside but there was nothing to see.
So what might be awaiting me in those woods anyway?
The preliminary exploration over, it was time to hit the Long Bark Trail. I had researched about Oakwoods Metropark in the past. There are three trails and reviews stated that it was a haven for critters.
So, I started on this trail which links up with the Sky Come Down Trail (one mile long) and the Big Tree Trail (3/4s of a mile long) depending on which fork in the road, er … trail you pick. I wondered what critters would cross my path? Furry, feathered? Perhaps a deer – now that would be nice. What about a friendly raccoon? That would make a great photo op. Maybe a cute squirrel? Metropark rules forbid feeding the wildlife, so I always leave the peanuts at home.
The Long Bark Trail had an overlook at a portion of the Huron River and watershed area.
At this wooden overlook, I could see a marshy lagoon and some pond lilies. Unlike Lake Erie Metropark which has several water lotus beds where the water lotuses rise high above the elephant-ear-sized leaves, these were just large lily pads floating on top of the water and there were no lilies blooming and since the pond lilies and reeds created an all-green and almost blah background in the marsh, it was very easy to see the stark white color of a pair of Mute Swans and a Great Egret who were companionably fishing in the lagoon. They were quite far away, so I was lucky to get this photo.
There were many
benches dotting the River’s edge, but seating was also found throughout the
woodsy areas. I found it interesting
that every one of the wooden benches had a weathered look with splotches due
perhaps to lack of sunshine as the wood never completely dries out.
Soon I was back onto a more defined path in a woodsier area. There were mushrooms in many areas where sunlight was scarce.
There was a definite Fall feel in the air and the leaves and acorns scattered about looked more like a September scenario.
The breeze made it seem a mite chilly so at mile marker #2, the sun felt good.
It was quiet and peaceful and the only critters around were the mosquitoes occasionally attacking my bare arms and hands, or buzzing around my ears. Sometimes I’d be startled by an acorn plopping to the ground from one of the many oak trees. It was very still and I saw just a handful of hikers or Saturday strollers as I meandered along, likewise on the Sky Come Down Trail and the Big Tree Trail.
Here is a view of
some of the trees on the latter trail.
I lost count of the
amount of trees that had fallen in the forest and I noted they were left as if they
had just toppled to the ground. In many
cases, those old logs presented an interesting pattern of decay …
…. or
mysterious-looking holes …
… and sometimes branches or twigs looked like an over-sized game of Pick-up Sticks.
But what I found
fascinating was the abundance of moss.
It was everywhere, on old logs, and on the pathway. I’m guessing it was because only dappled
sunlight was able to filter through the trees so there was moisture in
abundance, especially given all our rainfall this year.
Moss was even on one
of the walking paths. The sunlight made all
the moss look almost emerald green.
A grasshopper caught
my eye when it hopped onto some gravel.
Once it saw the hulking human looming over it, that grasshopper went
airborne but landed against my leg. A
faint fluttering against my shin seemed to stun it and it landed on the gravel
and scrambled off for good this time.
Just a gal and her butterfly.
The highlight of my Saturday morning meander was the butterfly which alighted on the ground next to my foot. I’ve never seen a blue butterfly, so I’m guessing, based on my research, that it is a Red-Spotted Purple. Yep, you and I know it is blue, but that is its name. It first alighted near a dried-up oak leaf, as you saw pictured above. That butterfly stayed in place for the longest time and I watched it opening and closing its wings. It was as if it was rejoicing to bask on the warm gravel in that patch of sun. Back when I had my butterfly garden, the experts advised to place large flat rocks around the garden so butterflies visiting your garden can bask in the sun. It was a chilly morning, by August standards, and this was the only area of the trail that was not moss covered or mulched up and in the direct sun. So Mr. (or Ms.) Butterfly was enjoying those sunbeams that were streaming down. It stretched leisurely, opening and closing its wings, then leaving the wings spread out, its beautiful colors displayed. It was during this display of colors that I noticed this poor creature’s wings were tattered in many places. However, when it finally flitted away, it did so by delicately landing on a wildflower without any hint of wing impairment.
I insisted on taking a selfie with my fluttery friend, albeit a shadow selfie.
The butterfly had
his/her own shadow magic going on.
I found the most human activity at the paved bike pathway which winds around the Park. There were many bicyclists out and I walked along that bike pathway when I was done with the rustic trails. The flowers interspersed with cattails blowing in the breeze was picturesque considering it was a ditch.
It was a large park,
350 acres altogether, and I would have explored it more, but I didn’t want to get
lost or be late for the sketching event at 2:00 p.m. I would have liked to visit the Butterfly
viewing area and Monarch waystation on the other side of the Park, but I was
lucky enough to see the blue butterfly so no need to stop there.
Meanwhile back at the Nature Center …
Had I arrived just a few minutes earlier to the Nature Center, I would have witnessed the release of four Monarch Butterflies into the woods behind the Center. I entered the building and saw the back door open and a few people gathered at the doorway. A Monarch butterfly was sitting on a woman’s hand and as I reached for my camera, she said “here, let him sit on your hand and I’ll take a picture of it.” Remembering what happened with the last friendly butterfly, I jumped at this chance and extended my hand only to have to fly up into the air. Maybe next time. The butterfly exhibit inside the Nature Center still had one Monarch that had just emerged and several chrysalises where caterpillars hung in their pale green sacs and will soon emerge as Monarch butterflies and be released just as these were.
I took pictures of the snakes and turtles inside the Nature Center, but this post is way too long already, so I’ll write about them my next time to this venue. We had a very rainy morning today – not lucky for racking up steps, but with a stormy day ahead, at least I was able to wrap up and put a bow on this post.
Prior to publishing last Sunday’s post about creativity, where I introduced you to Brian and his paintings and a few of the vendors at the “Art in the Park” event, I was perusing my Metroparks newsletter to see if anything captured my interest.
One event, which name I used for this post title, drew me like a magnet: “Walk, Talk & Sketch – Take your art outdoors. Learn some of the basics of field sketching; then hit the meadows and woods of Oakwoods Metropark for inspiration.”
Michigan’s Metroparks are comprised of
nine separate venues, with a total of 84 miles (135 kms) of rustic and paved
hiking and biking trails. The adjoining
waterways make it perfect for fishing or boating activities. I bought my first park pass last July, and
sadly, I’ve only been to one of their venues (Lake Erie Metropark). Since I wanted to try out Oakwoods Metropark
and Summer is slipping by, I signed up for this event.
I’ll do a separate post about the
six-mile long hike I took after arriving there around 9:15 a.m. I wasn’t sure how long we’d walk while
sketching, so I cut myself off after walking six miles. The woodsy areas were not so dense that you’d
worry about getting lost, or being alone in the middle of nowhere, so I walked
all of the trails, taking a lot of pictures.
I found it amusing that the reviews about Oakwoods Metropark mentioned
lots of critter activity. I found a
grasshopper and a butterfly and took their photos. Then I saw a Great Egret breaking bread, er …
fish with a couple of Mute Swans in the distance, all which will be fodder for a
Part II post about this jaunt.
After hiking the rustic trails from
about 9:30 to 12:30 and reaching my six-mile, self-imposed steps cutoff, I realized I still had 90
minutes to kill before the sketching event began. So, I took out my sketch pad and pencil and
parked myself on a picnic bench under a tree while the breeze stirred the wispy
tendrils around my face and a cacophony of insect noises, (maybe cicadas), were
music to my ears.
I didn’t sketch a thing, but instead
began writing a post in longhand that memorialized my hike to hopefully publish
it last night.
In the past I’ve written about a
sketching class I took as a teen. It was
sponsored by our city and every Wednesday, the bus took us to different
historical or scenic locations in nearby Wyandotte, Michigan. Maybe it was free, but likely my parents
ponied up for the lessons; we just needed to show up with a sketchbook and
charcoal pencils or pastel crayons, whatever was our preferred medium. I was sorry to see the class end at Labor
Day, and my parents, eager to foster my interest in art, bought some sketching
how-to books and more art materials, but schoolwork often intruded on free time
and the class was not offered the following Summer. I began sewing as a hobby shortly thereafter,
so there was just no time for artwork. On
occasion I’d think about reviving the sketching but the pastel crayons weren’t good anymore and
we used the sketchbooks to make diagrams
where to hang the pictures and knickknacks in the same location as before the
house was painted and wallpapered.
Back when there were bird feeders in the backyard and we watched the beautiful jays and cardinals feasting on sunflower seeds in the Winter, Mom suggested that I get interested in sketching again. As an incentive she bought me this book for Christmas.
It has been on the coffee table since 2005, and occasionally I’d pick it up and page through it, marveling at the beautiful sketches of birds and waterfowl.
I promised Mom that birds would be my
first subject to tackle when I began sketching again, but I would wait until I
retired. Back in 2005, that was a
promise that was easy to make.
So, fast forward a few years … I registered for this event, figuring that even if the $5.00 fee was a waste of money, I wanted to visit Oakwoods Metropark anyway. I even invested in a sketchbook and some number two pencils. Woo hoo – I was all in.
While on that 20-mile drive to Oakwoods Metropark yesterday morning, I envisioned sketching a pair of mallard ducks or a Canada goose, the likes of what I’d seen in A Sketchbook of Birds. I even kicked it up a notch and fancied myself being one of those women painters who sit on a short stool, watercolor paints at the ready, their sketchbook balanced on their knees, as they sketch and paint one of the many flower gardens in the historical area of Heritage Park. Every time I’ve seen those women I am envious, while thinking “I want to be that girl” … even if being “that girl” will be in my retirement years.
So I went to this gig with that mindset ….
My first mistake was assuming “Walk, Talk & Sketch” was a class, combined with a follow-up interpretive walk. I’ve gone on several interpretive walks at Lake Erie Metropark and they are enjoyable programs to learn about the Park’s natural resources.
We assembled in a room where paper, clipboards, number two pencils and erasers were available; however, we all arrived with our own sketchbooks and pencils. Then Paula, our interpretive guide, showed us a few of her sketches she’d done in the past.
She then announced “we’re off to explore and sketch!” (What? Wait a minute – with no tutorial, or no sketching instructions first?) Logically, I next assumed the sketching instructions would be at each point we paused on the walking trail – ah, yes … that made sense. So the six of trailed behind Paula as she picked a place for us to sketch, then chitchatted about the park.
(Note to self: next time re-read the program and reach out with questions beforehand.) I chastised myself inwardly … “well, silly me for thinking instructions may be Paula peeking over our respective shoulders and offering some guidance.”
Nope, that didn’t happen either.
Only one person in our group had any drawing experience and that was a preteen who’d taken some art classes in middle school and dabbled in pen-and-ink drawings as a hobby. Her mom was eager to show pictures on her phone of her young prodigy’s artwork. The rest of us, another mother/daughter combo, plus a woman my age, obediently stood where Paula stopped, making quick sketches of what we saw. We learned what tree or berries we were sketching. My eyes glanced over to the others’ sketches which looked about the same as what I’d accomplished.
My sketches are pretty simple, but I am putting them here anyway to go with the post. I made sure to label them as you’d likely never guess what they are – we had about seven minutes to sketch each one.
Long Bark Trail: Raggedy Tree and Pond Lilies
Long Bark Trail: Buckthorn Bush
Long Bark Trail: Oak Tree
Long Bark Trail: Split Rail Fence with Knothole
Long Bark Trail: Black-eyed Susan
Long Bark Trail: Mushroom and Dead Oak Leaf
Long Bark Trail: Old Tree Stump
My next “real” stab at drawing will have to wait until I take an organized class, or even after watching some videos like this on YouTube on sketching basics and that’s because I still aspire to be “that girl” … (using the moniker “girl” loosely here), but when I have more time to play.
What the hay, it was a beautiful day, a trek to a new venue and I added more miles to my tally. I had a really early evening as I was worn out from the long walk and all the fresh air and kept nodding off when I finally got online. 🙂
Look at this Canada Goose go! You’d think he had a walking goal with all those
purposeful goose steps he’s taking.
He was pretty funny to watch while he was stomping
along and it reminded me of being a kid and going to the shoe store just prior
to heading back to school. I’d be
parading back and forth in those uncomfortable shoes to ensure they fit
properly, hoping to avoid blisters once the socks were on and slipped into
those new Mary Janes, after a summer of easing my bare feet into running shoes
or flip flops.
Watching this goose and his brethren, including a mess o’ mallards at Coan Lake, gave me the “waterfowl fix” that I needed. I’d already been at Heritage Park for several hours checking out the Taylor Conservatory & Botanical Gardens and that City’s Community Garden. Then I decided to meander over to lovely Coan Lake and check out the “wildlife” there.
As you may recall from prior posts, once our Canada Geese
at Council Point Park begin moulting, they lose their flight feathers, so they
must find a safe haven to stay until they are able to fly and escape land
predators once again. They are absent
from this venue for many months, as our City dissuades their return to graze and
live on site by applying a distasteful substance on the fields where they
graze. This is so Park patrons may enjoy
amenities like the soccer field, baseball diamonds, inline skating, playscape
and walking paths because people are either fearful, or even resentful, of the
often-fractious Canada Geese that wander about.
The geese hiss and flap their wings, especially when their goslings are
in tow, but as long as you don’t feed them, they’ll often simply glare at you, and
it is up to humans to take the high road here, and just give them wide berth
and move on. They’ll return in
September.
The mallards in the Creek are similarly missing as they are moulting as well. But don’t fret, all this Park’s fine-feathered friends are enjoying their Summer vacation at larger lakeshore locales where they gather in abundance. Even man-made and fish-stocked ponds, like Coan Lake at Heritage Park, provide a safe haven for these waterfowl during this annual moulting process which takes from four to six weeks.
These are some of the mallards I saw that day. They were in “eclipse phase” which happens during moulting, because they, just like the geese, lose their wing or flight feathers. The eclipse phase plumage means while moulting, the male and female mallards look alike. The usually beautiful drake, (or male mallard), with its elegant, teal-colored head, white neck ring and striking plumage, now looks like the drab-colored female mallard (sorry girls, I don’t mean to diss you). It was quite peaceful at Coan Lake since the seagulls, which are usually squawking and disturbing the peace, were absent and the heron who has quite a screechy call himself, was also MIA. The barn swallows flitted about and the mallards either snoozed or paddled in this lake.
So, it’s been forever since I reported on how I’m
progressing toward my ultimate goal of 1,242 miles/2,000 kilometers walked in
2019 … May 31st to be exact.
I usually do mention my end-of-month tallies, but early June began ten
weeks of mishaps and mayhem here at this house and at work. Then, when my primary computer had a disk
issue and I could not remote into work, I had to abandon it and its contents
and have finally retrieved my walking miles document to merge with my
handwritten daily steps tally I’ve been keeping the past month. Sigh. This
Summer’s been full of fits and starts; don’t even get me started on the weather,
but all these events hampered my progress and I am hopeful to still reach my
ultimate goal by December 31st.
One month from tomorrow is the first day of Autumn – well, that makes me think that I’d better hustle a little more because I have walked 732 miles (1,178 kilometers), but still have 510 more miles (821 kilometers) to walk before yearend; the sun is rising later, so soon I’ll decreasing my daily miles from five to four miles, but will keep the longer treks for the weekends or holidays, weather permitting. We’ll see how it goes, but once we get to late October, there is often black ice on the perimeter path and last year we had our first snowfall in early November. I’ll keep walking my socks off and report again by the end of this quarter.
I also want to update you on Mike Posner’s progress. You may remember I profiled Mike’s ambitious walk across America earlier this year. Click here if you missed it.
Mike had an ambitious agenda when he set out from the Jersey shore on April 15th, as he aimed to plunge into the ocean in California before year end. I’ve followed Mike’s daily progress on Twitter since his journey began. He was averaging 24 miles a day and already walked a whopping 1,797 of his 2,833-mile goal when he crossed into the state of Colorado. Each time Mike crossed a state line, he launched a new song for his Twitter and Instagram viewers. But the joy of that latest song released became a distant memory after he was bitten by a baby rattlesnake on August 7th. Mike was airlifted from that rural road and received the anti-venom in time but was forced to recuperate at the hospital and released on a rolling walker one week later. Mike is progressing nicely and plans to resume his walk once he can manage six to seven miles a day. What a guy, and I’m complaining about walking in this Summer’s heat and humidity where I have often felt wilted before I even left the house.
I’m hijacking my nutty friend Linda’s blog today to tell you
what she did. She won’t mind – she loves
me. Trust me on that.
So, the other day I saw Linda coming around the corner, getting ready to cross River Drive to enter Council Point Park. Linda had a white plastic grocery store bag hanging off her fanny pack. “Yippee” I thought – lots of peanuts and probably Nutter Butters too. So, I hurried over to greet Linda before the other squirrels reached her first. I must ‘fess up, that I thought I should slow down a wee bit because of my sore foot. It’s way better now, but I hurt my left hind foot a few weeks ago. I was up in a mulberry tree chowing down on those sweet berries and I turned around to reach some more and saw a groundhog! Yikes! I made a misstep and landed on a lower branch and twisted my foot at an awkward angle. It hurt! A lot! So, I spent a few days up in the nest with the wife and kids and when I was back on ground level again, Linda saw me and asked where I’d been. She noticed I was limping a little in the parking lot. Of course she said “poor baby” and cooed and clucked her tongue and told me about how she smashed her finger in the garage door, so she was sharing my pain. I was lovin’ it – all the attention and extra peanuts, so I’m gonna play the “sore foot card” a little longer.
Anyway, Linda spied me and called out “Parker – you’re still
limping a little, poor kid. I’ll meet
you halfway, stay there!” See, I told
you – Linda’s nice like that. I’ll just
hold that foot in the air a little longer – after all, Fall is coming and I
must stash away peanuts for Winter.
So anyway, I waited, just like Linda told me to, and when she got closer, I slowly walked over, swishing my tail a little, then sat on my haunches, ready to receive peanuts. Linda was talking away to me and said “Parker, I left in such a hurry this morning, I didn’t have time to pour the peanuts into a Ziploc bag, so I’m bringing the original peanut bag instead and I stuffed that bag in here, in case I want to take pictures of you.”
So, I just sat there patiently waiting, thinking “c’mon already!” Sometimes I wish Linda wouldn’t talk so darn much – I mean, I like the attention and all, but my tummy was growling and there she was talking away. Talk after you feed me! So, she opened the Meijer plastic bag and cried out “OMG!” Hmm – was something wrong? Maybe she saw a spider? Then Linda gave me the bad news. She said “Parker honey, Linda grabbed the wrong bag – I bought myself a couple more pair of garden gloves the other day when I went shopping and hung them in a bag to take downstairs. The bag with peanuts is still hanging on the cellarway railing. What a dummy I am, and there you are, waiting patiently and looking so darn cute.”
Well, what could I say?
Flattery will get you everywhere, but I gotta admit, that was dumb. On the other hand, falling out of a tree when
you’re a squirrel is not so smart either.
I know she felt badly, and truly, if I could have patted her on the
shoulder with my paw and said “there, there … I understand” I would have, but I’m
only about one foot tall and Linda is about five feet taller than me. She said “I have to leave before anyone sees
me and asks why I’m here, but not walking.”
She decided to save face (with them, not me) and she left.
So, I went back to eating pinecones … they’re kinda growing
on me. I eat them when Linda goes to the
big parks and doesn’t show up here. I don’t
know if she’s friends with the squirrels there.
I don’t ask her because jealousy is not my style.
I’ll forgive Linda this time because she loads me up with extra treats, like peanuts and lots of Nutter Butters, and the time she gave me the whole bag of peanut M&Ms just for me. When she brings apples for all of us squirrels, she always gives me the biggest and shiniest one and sometimes she’ll slip me an extra baby pumpkin too. That Linda – she’s okay in my book. ~~~ Parker
P.S. – Linda has been here every day since her peanut faux
pas – guess she really feels badly, huh?
Did you know the official name of Woodstock was The Woodstock Music and Art Fair?
I didn’t deliberately
set out to publish three posts in a row that reminisced about the 1960s and the
Woodstock era … it just kind of fell into place. Especially this weekend’s posts. I have a ton of photos collected from my
Summer treks that have languished in my computer pictures files, as I struggled
to get any posts published the last six weeks. So, I decided to parlay some of those photos
into today’s 1960s art theme.
Although I don’t have a photo of a garment I created back in the 60s when tie-dying was an artsy-fartsy way to show your creativity with colorful tee-shirts, or long, gauzy dresses that nearly swept the floor, I can churn out a post with an arty creative theme, so here goes.
Tie-dye
was all the rage – just a few simple steps and a little messy, but it was your
time to shine and show just how creative you really were by simply dying
material, then twisting it to form one-of-kind, dyed creations. When I asked my
mother if we could make a tie-dye shirt for me, it was an emphatic “no, you’re
not making a mess in my washing machine.”
My father backed up her answer by chiming in with “no Linda, we are not
raising a hippie here!” … so that was the end of that topic.
Thus, there was some teenage angst as I was denied showing off my creative side, except for a brief foray into charcoal sketching in the late 60s and then after the sewing bug bit me. More about that later.
Art exhibit in the ‘hood.
On a Friday morning, three weeks ago, I was headed
home after a five-mile walk at Council Point Park, having secured some close-up
photos of a groundhog munching on leaves.
A post was already bubbling around in my brain about Mr. Groundhog, and,
as I rounded the corner at the cross-street, I stopped in my tracks. Whoa! A
sign advertised “Original Art 4 Sale” and a row of brightly colored canvases
were either propped up against the chain-link fence, or hanging along it.
Now, I had passed that same house, about 90 minutes
before and there was nothing out there – I would have noticed. So, as your roving reporter, I had to dig out
the camera and take some photos and that was when I met the artist of those
colorful canvases, Brian Spicer.
We made our introductions and I asked if I could
take some pictures of Brian and some of his artwork and he was happy to oblige.
I perused those paintings, then asked Brian which
was his favorite. He didn’t hesitate and
said “wait a minute – it’s inside in my studio” so he was off in a flash and
when he returned, this was what he produced.
I told him the painting reminded me of the marshy lagoon
areas with all the cattails and endless reeds at Lake Erie Metropark. All that was missing was the invasive, frothy
Phragmites that are everywhere at that venue.
While visiting with Brian I just had to mention that
I always look at this house when I pass enroute to Council Point Park, because
I like the chalk art that is often displayed there. I told him that I had just used the cute
chalk art bunny with the ice-cream message the weekend before, then slipped him
a card with my blog name on it so he could check out that post. Brian told me he had drawn that bunny and I
remarked that I’d been photographing the chalk art at their house in recent
years for my blog, and was impressed that the chalk artist had gone from childish
scrawls to ramping up their drawing skills this Summer. He laughed and said “no, that was me this
time; before it was my niece!” He also decorates
rocks and hides them at the local parks, just a small part of this painted rock
craze, which, in year #3, continues to enthrall those who paint, hide and find
those stone treasures.
Now, as a general rule, Brian does not line up his
paintings on the fence, but did so that day because our City was having its
annual, two-day “Art in the Park” event at Memorial Park and he thought he just
might snag a few passersby who would be parking on the side streets to attend
the event, which featured art, crafts and also local bands. Brian had tried to register for a vendor
booth at the Park, but he had just missed the registration cutoff. They didn’t promote this event unless you
happen to follow our City’s Facebook site.
So, Brian said he displayed some of his paintings on his Facebook page from time to time and I encouraged him to start a blog at WordPress. Since it took me so long to get this post done, Brian has already created and posted in his new blog entitled “Blue Dog Creations”.
Art in the Park.
The next day I headed to Lake Erie Metropark and
after a morning of walking and taking photos, I came home and headed over to
the “Art in the Park” event at Memorial Park.
There appeared to be a lot of vendors’ tents outside
and a sign said crafters were inside the Kennedy Memorial Center as well.
Now, I don’t consider myself hard to please, but
nothing really struck my fancy, so that I was willing to part with some
money. I strolled the grounds where
there were food trucks and bounce houses and it was more of an arts and crafts
show as you see below.
What did intrigue me a little was a vendor who sold
vintage-style aprons, so it was here that I lingered the longest.
I saw this simple apron, just a square of fabric
with two long ties. I told him I made
one of those for my mom for Mother’s Day in 8th grade Home Ec class,
circa 1969. Mom’s apron was
pink-and-black-striped, which sounds a little gawdy now, but it was perky
looking. She saved it in her dresser
drawer for decades. I looked all over
the house to see if I could find it for this post, as it resembled this simple
apron which was going for $20.00. Unfortunately,
it was nowhere to be found. We had several
assignments to be completed under the tutelage of the very patient Mrs. Baldwin
and that apron was my first creation.
This crafter’s vintage aprons were interesting and I looked around at his collection.
I told him I never made those frilly, old-fashioned cobbler’s aprons, but I did make no-frills cobbler’s aprons for my mom for years during my sewing hey day. Those I found and I’m able to include a picture of three of them and they were well worn. I figured I’d keep them to protect my clothing from whatever.
I sewed all my own clothes for years because I was always tall and I didn’t like my pants looking like I was waiting for the floods, or having my jackets appear that they belonged to a little sister. He said he was self-taught and never used a pattern. I said I was not good at hand sewing and finishing off my sewing projects and the joke in the family was that I did all the machine sewing and my mom did all the hand sewing, like basting in sleeves or gathers, sewing the buttons on, hemming the garment, yet I would crow about how I sewed the outfit all by myself.
While walking home I reminisced a little about aprons in the Schaub household. My grandmother and mother always wore a cobbler’s apron while cooking. At an early age, because I was curious about everything, I asked each of them why they wore an apron while cooking. My grandmother replied “Nanny doesn’t want to get splatters all over her clothing while she cooks” and my mother explained in better detail “Mommy has a big chest and she’s short – when she leans over the stove to reach the pots on the back burners, she drags the front of her clothes into the open pots.” Since I’ve never had a big chest, and it seems I’ve been 5 feet nine inches tall forever, and, especially, since I don’t believe I have ever had four burners going at one time, I have never needed an apron. Just sayin’. 🙂
I did the whole “Art in the Park” in about 20
minutes and didn’t hang around for any of the bands because I could hear them
from my home several blocks away.
Linda Schaub
WALKIN', WRITIN', WIT & WHIMSY 