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Hummingbird feeder
You know what happens every year on September 10th? The hummingbirds leave. Vamoos. Scoot. Depart. Off they go, toward the southern warmer climes, headed off to sunbathe in Florida or maybe Mexico.
In other words, they desert us. They know frost and snow are waiting around the corner, and they’re out of here!
Why, you wonder, do I say September 10th?
Because that’s always the day we determine the hummingbirds leave. They come on May 10th and leave on September 10th. The males come first, and depart first. Their flashy red and green jackets have long flown south. The females are juicing up at the feeder, reading to vamoos. We saw maybe two today.
Will we see any tomorrow? It’s been such an odd cool summer. Maybe they’ll stay a day or two later. What if the females are still around next week? Will we declare it an Incredible Year if they don’t depart until September, say, 2oth?
It’s always challenging trying to figure out when you’ve seen the last one. You have to write it down and then keep your eyes peeled. Any more buzzing ’round? If not, you go back to the scribbled-down date and announce (as we usually do) “Yep, they were all gone by September 10th.”
Barry said he was perusing the Internet for an article about hummingbirds recently. Although I can’t quote the exact site, he found a place which was requesting hummingbird migration sightings. Apparently it was too challenging. Someone would email in and say, “We saw our last hummingbird!” and then three days later write in and say, “no, we saw one more,” and two days later, “Just saw another hummingbird!” Here’s a website which maps hummingbird migrations for interested readers: http://www.learner.org/jnorth/humm/index.html
Queen Anne's lace doing her "curtain call"
OK, I also want you all to know I am less stressed out today. (Didn’t even go in the garden!) But I did blanch beans and broccoli, make zucchini relish and dry mushrooms. Plus we ate tons of vegetables for dinner including red cabbage, carrots, cauliflower, broccoli, lettuce, cucumbers…surely I’m forgetting some.
It’s almost Time to post the first blog advertising our blazing red and orange leaves which are starting to sprout on random trees alongside the roads. But am trying to postpone the inevitable as long as possible.
Because it’s warm.
It’s summer.
It’s incredibly beautiful weather.
Wild mushrooms flung to the earth
Before putting the wild mushrooms in the dehydrator, I followed my friend’s advice and threw the leftover stems and wormy heads onto the earth, cut in little pieces. She swears it helps propagate the crop, sprouting new ‘shrooms next year. A mushroom expert told her: absolutely not. It doesn’t happen that way. But she continues to fling the scraps hither and yon, and amazing new growths come up every year.
(I wonder if it might have more to do with the Native American practice of giving back to the Earth. They so often teach that when you give back to the Earth, the Earth responds.)
Mushroom...so what is it?
The above photo explains perfectly why I feel inadequate to pick mushrooms solo. Do you think this is a boletus edulis? A red cap boletus? A sullius? Or something slightly more poisonous? No thank you. Simply can’t take the chance; not yet.
White leaf on green moss-covered rock
I will let you know if we see another hummingbird after today. Even if we do, September 10th is a good day to remember. It’s always within a week before or after. The little buzzing creatures fly off, escaping frost and snow, and we only see them in our dreams until May 10th.
Ahem. It’s hard to talk about these things, you know.
Especially at this time of year. We’re suppose to be grateful and happy and delighted.
We shouldn’t be having feelings of…overwhelm.
But I am.
It’s Harvest Time and the garden is overloaded with vegetables to harvest. There were beans, green onions, lettuce, cucumber, kale and tomatoes to pick today. Oh, and don’t forget the broccoli.
I’m afraid I got a little stressed this afternoon. Too much to do.
Gangly green onions
One shouldn’t even be complaining this year. It’s not like the garden is on over-drive or anything after our incredibly almost record-breaking cold summer. Canning isn’t even happening yet! Freezing is only moderately happening. I’m not making zucchini relish, pickled beets or pickled beans, as in past years.
But there is still a mountain of vegetables to pick and wash and cook and eat. A never-ending supply. I spent…how many hours was it in the kitchen today? Two, three? On and off, trekking between the garden and the kitchen sink. The refrigerator is over-flowing.
The tomatoes are finally turning lovely shades of orange and red. We have picked and eaten maybe four of the luscious globes.
Look at this orange one! Should be ready to pick in a couple days.
And I discovered the first of the zucchini poking out under all those huge leaves today. Imagine that! A month ago there were dire predictions that we would not see a single zucchini this year. But, there she is:
Zucchini growing out of its flower
Here is my problem. I want to do be doing other things, rather than slaving in the garden and kitchen for hours. Here is what I wanted to be doing:
1) reading a really good book called “The Help” on the lawn chair on the deck in the lovely warm weather with a cup of tea. I tried. For five minutes. Then the 1001 other chores took precedence and the day’s relaxation was abandoned.
2) reading other people’s blogs. I am once again ‘way behind on the adventures of friends and acquaintances.
3) calling certain friends. It’s been too long since some of us have caught up.
4) oh this list could go on and on. But I was in the garden and kitchen.
Wouldn't it be nice...?
Every September I feel this way. My two part-time jobs are at their busiest. And the garden is always a hard task-master, demanding you keep up every single day, whether you feel like it or not.
At the top of the list for tomorrow morning is: dehydrate wild mushrooms. That must be done, pronto. And then there’s all those tomatoes coming on which means salsa. All before I leave for Georgia in one week to visit my in-laws. (Really looking forward to outdoor adventures near Athens, Georgia!)
So, anyway, thank you for listening to this confession. I really do feel grateful for all the vegetables and mushrooms and berries. Honest. If only the harvest didn’t come all at once. But it does sure taste so wonderful…
P.S. almost forgot to tell you! It’s our anniversary today. We’ve been married…how many years now?…31 years!
Red cap boletus mushroom
Last night I faithfully scribbled down all the day’s photos. Which, as you can ascertain, involved a wild mushroom hunt. HOWEVER, just as I prepared to upload the first photograph (the above photograph, in case you’re interested), WordPress revolted.
On not just one of my computers, but on both. It was a high tension moment! I have a commitment, you know. To post this blog for 365 days. And I have made it for…let me check…262 days. The computer(s) have been extremely cooperative, up to now. But last night they start hiccuping and carrying on and refusing to allow simple posting.
What to do? Call your backup force. That means my daughter in New York City. (And hopefully everyone has viewed yesterday’s blog to which she so delightfully contributed.) My son was coming back from a hike in the California mountains north of San Francisco, so he was obviously not available. But Kiah has “stood ready” before and this time she more than cooperated with rescuing her mama the creation of an outdoor blog.
Baby puffballs
What I was actually doing for several hours yesterday was…stalking zee wild mushroom. I am not capable of this by myself. Am too afraid of poisoning us. But, with the invitation from a friend, I was able to drive around an extended area on her four-wheeler and find dozens and dozens of wild mushrooms. Most notably the best-eating Boletus Edulis (also known as the King Boletus or King Bolete as she referred to the beauty.) But also the Red-Cap Boletus (birch boletus) and the Suillus.
A rather large boletus edulis in foreground; basket full of 'shrooms behind!
Unfortunately, I cannot reveal the name of this kind friend. Or where the mushrooms were found. Sorry. You know how it is. True mushroom folks won’t tell anything. They dare not. Two dozen local folks would show up at their door (or, worse yet, follow them to the mushroom grounds!) if they share. So it’s all incognito.
You get used to this when you’re talking about stalking zee wild mushroom.
Wild asters, close up
My anonymous friend said that you can always tell when the mushrooms are ready to be harvested. Two signs: one, the wild asters are blooming. Two, the blackberries are ripening black and juicy on the brambles. Then it’s time. Although some years, it’s in early September. Other years, October.
The ‘shrooms like rain. They explode in size after a good rain. And this year, apparently, is perfect. My friend couldn’t stop exclaiming at the large numbers of mushrooms in places she’s never seen ‘em before. (And I can attest to this! Last summer I traveled with her on a mushroom hunt. We came back with maybe a dozen mushrooms, if that. This year we carried out dozens upon dozens.)
Underside of "Angel of Death" mushroom. Do not eat.
See the above mushroom? I turned it over, briefly touching it, after my friend said, “You may not want touch that one.” Yikes!! I spent the last hour feeling rather nervous, hoping the poisonous juices didn’t travel through the skin and result in a hospital trip. She graphically described a slow and painful death after eating this particular mushroom…
I do have a healthy respect for mushrooms, you see. Do NOT want to touch. Do NOT want to eat. Do NOT want to harvest any, unless this expert friend is at my side, sharing her wisdom.
Half our booty near red geraniums
Actually, it’s good that this blog was not posted ’til tonight. Because we ate our first dish of mushrooms sauteed in olive oil. Oh my goodness. They were so good. Incredibly delicious. You could never compare them to the store-bought white button mushrooms. Ever.
And, you will be happy to know, we are both feeling fine! Chipper! Not sick. (At least not yet.)Thank goodness for friends who have taken classes in the fine art of wild mushrooming. And who have hunted wild mushrooms for at least a dozen years.
(She thinks I’m going to try to find mushrooms around our house and harvest them! I don’t think so…not without her holding my hand…)
P.S. today I did work out on the deck and ate out on the deck and talked to my husband on the deck. That’s all!
Don’t worry, my mom isn’t on another trip. She expresses regret that she can’t regale you with tales from the Upper Peninsula this evening. Unfortunately, her computer–both of her computers–are rebelling against her blog. She kindly asked me to pass along a message to her dear readers. She promises she’s been outside today–cross her heart. She’s been outside on a wild mushroom hunt and will hopefully be able to share all the photos and exciting stories with you tomorrow.
That’s it. That’s all she wanted to tell you. But I can’t post a blog with less than 100 words can I? (By the way, this is Kiah, Kathy’s daughter.) I didn’t have much of an outdoor adventure today myself (although it’s plausible to say that every day you leave your apartment in Manhattan is an adventure) but I did have an amazing outdoor adventure last week that I’d love to share.
I participated in a three day sailing course with Offshore Sailing School. I took the course with two men in their 30s and our instructor. We sailed off Chelsea Piers (midtown Manhattan) in the Hudson on a 26′ sloop-rigged keelboat. The weather was gorgeous each day; 70s to 80s and sunny. Each morning we met at 9 AM, participated in 2 hours of classroom sailing theory filled with powerpoints, boat models, charts, lectures, discussion and pop quizzes. Around 11 we hurried down to the boats to get a few hours in before lunch. Normally the wind was light in the morning and we tested the limits of crew weight distribution in order to heel the boat.
After lunch break, we were back on the water until 530 or 6. The wind generally picked up in the afternoon and we had a few good hours of sailing. We tacked and jibed, we reached and ran, the main was reefed, the jib eased. We learned the practical application of airflow and the rules of the waterway (only once the hard way, when we tacked into the course of an NYPD powerboat on official business).
The Hudson is a fascinating river with tugboats, ferries, cruise liners, tourist boats, NYPD, fireboats, private boats, kayaks, and windsurfers doing their best to avoid and (I’m optimistic) respect each other. We sailed by the crumbling pier that was to have hosted the Titanic once upon a time. We sailed by a volunteer-run boat building school. We sailed by Times Square and down to the Financial District. We sailed by a mooring that charges $75 per minute to dock.
On the last day we took an 80-question test by the U.S. Sailing Association for our Basic Keelboat Certification. We all passed and are certified to captain a daysailing boat up to 28′. I’m hoping to gain some more practical experience for the rest of the season by joining a sailing club in Jersey.
It’s been lovely spending the evening with you. Let me know if anyone needs crew for a grand sailing adventure. See you on the seas!
Peace & love, Kiah
P.S. Happy birthday Grandpa!
The last place on earth
How many of us have seen this sign before? At some outpost or outreach of the known world? A sign will declare we’re at the “Last Place on Earth”. And some of us, sometimes, believe it.
When you’re headed up the Keweenaw Peninsula (like I was last week) you begin to feel like you’re getting as far away from civilization as possible. Maybe northern Canada is farther away, but that feels like the nether-lands. Wherever you are when that sign presents itself is far away from the comfortable cities, far away from established coffee shops, far away from places where you can have a hundred choices of restaurants to visit. You’re in an Outpost. And that, in itself, can be charming.
And where shalt thou park?
And if you’re in this northernmost outpost, where shall you park? If you’re visiting a monastery (or the Jam Pot–see previous post) you must obey the sign. Do not park here. Or the Lord shall possibly have His revenge, if you believe the sign. Instead, follow the other signs to the parking lot at the other side of the building. You’ll be closer to Heaven if you do. Or so I assume.
Sign on the Harbor Haus restaurant door. Do not touch.
If you visit the Harbor Haus restuarant in Copper Harbor, do not touch the copper door. You’ve been warned. Do you know how hot copper gets in the sun? I tell you, beware. This sign is not just here for entertainment.
Follow US 41 from the Upper Peninsula and guess where you'll end up?
Answer to above caption: Florida. Yes, it’s true. I have spent days in Fort Myers, Florida and guess what highway runs through there? You’ve got it. US-41. It stretches down through many a state and ends up in Florida. 1990 miles to Miami, or so the sign says. I don’t know about you, but I think I’ll fly. Much quicker.
Keweenaw Vortex, eh?
And then there’s the Keweenaw Vortex. Who would have thought? Turns out we’re in the midst of a vortex, which probably explains Everything. Any weird behavior you sense from this area…well, it’s not the fault of the receiver. It’s the vortex spinning round and round.
That happens at the Last Place on Earth. So they say.
(P.S. outdoors today–in the garden, and on the deck. I even fell asleep on the deck in mid-afternoon in the shade in the 78 degree weather. How wonderful is that?)
Wild rice moon shines on the Keweenaw Bay
The September full moon shines upon us now. With her lovely white orb, she brightens our nights. Some call her the “Harvest Moon” honoring that many of our plants reach their full zenith now. The garden produce finds its way into our kitchens, canning jars and freezers.
The Anishnabe or Ojibway people of this land called this the Wild Rice Moon. It was time to harvest the wild rice, known as manoomin, growing to full maturity in the small lakes or slow-moving streams. The natives would often utilize their canoes harvest the staple seed which would nourish them through the long, cold winter. They would bend the ripe grain heads with wooden sticks called knockers, threshing the seeds into the canoe. For a more detailed explanation click here.
Many folks think that wild rice is a grain, but it actually is a seed. We’ve been eating it more frequently in the last three or four years. I like to add it to long or short grain brown rice and cook for 50 minutes. In a separate skillet, saute some vegetables such as chopped onions, garlic, diced carrots, celery or other favorites. Toss in the cooked rice, your choice of spices, and perhaps some soy sauce or vinegar. Very good. (Thinking about having some of this tomorrow with veggie and shrimp shishkabobs on the grill!)
Wild rice in wooden bowl
The wooden bowl in the picture belonged to my grandpa. It was a bean bowl. I am not sure what that means, except he grew up in farming country in Michigan’s Thumb where navy beans grew plentiful. We often enjoyed meals of baked beans while visiting on Sundays and holidays. I am wondering if they sorted through the beans in this bowl, picking through the beans to discard the blemished or rotten specimens. I am also wondering if the natives had wooden bowls like this in which they picked through the wild rice in the same manner.
High school football game
Right before the full moon rose last night, I traveled with Barry for an hour west to Ontonagon. He had to take pictures at a Baraga High School football game, and wanted to keep him company. Even though I was tired of traveling. It was kinda like a date. We ate fish at Syl’s Cafe and then caught the first half of the game.
He suggested that I might want to title my blog “This was Once My Life”. Because for many long years it seemed like we spent many a fall evening at football games. Our son played for maybe five or six years before a knee injury required surgery. And then I continued to attend many games that Barry had to cover for the newspaper. Just so we could spend time together, you know?
The enthusiastic cheerleaders
On to today, Saturday. Here’s the wrap-up. The most delightful indoor activity of the day was going to the new coffee shop in L’Anse. I have been so excited that we have been blessed with the first real coffee shop in Baraga County. Yes, the restaurants serve coffee. But we haven’t had such a selection of lattes and cappuccinos and wireless internet service. I parked myself down there this morning for an hour with Ms. Laptop and we had a great time. People in big cities (or even medium-sized cities) don’t understand what it means to get a coffee shop in a tiny little town. It’s big.
Outdoor activities today: harvesting the garden and sitting on the deck. Yep. And I’m sitting outside on the deck right now with the traveling laptop and it’s still 74 degrees at 8 p.m. Life doesn’t get any better than this.
Happy Labor Day weekend, all.
The Fort Wilkins Fort
Sigh. It’s sometimes hard to figure things out. Especially when you come late to Fort Wilkins in Copper Harbor and the guided tour has already started. I had just enjoyed a leisurely lunch at the Harbor Haus overlooking Lake Superior. Scribbled extensively in my journal on the blue tableclothed table, a party of one eating a succulent feast of seared grilled whitefish, wild rice and mixed vegetables.
Our tour guide, returned from the nineteenth century just to share tidbits of history with us
Our tour guide had already led the small group through the first of the fort’s buildings. It was 1:45, and the tour started at 1:30. Obviously I should have finished the whitefish quicker. Because then I would have known the date.
The fort was built ‘way back in 1844. Oh dear. You’re going to want real factual historical information, aren’t you? Even though you know that’s my weak point… Never mind, I’ll mutter through something and we can only hope it’s accurate. The fort was only occupied for a few years after its construction in ’44. I believe the nice costumed interpretive guide said it was built to help protect the mining interests which were just beginning to go full-steam ahead. It closed after a stretch (mostly because it was so expensive to keep running ‘way up here on the peninsula!) and opened again somewhere after 1865 for a few post-Civil War years as a place to send some wounded soldiers.
The blacksmith's shop
The costumed interpreter, I believe, spoke to us from the year 1870. But he also spoke as if he’d been stationed at the fort ‘way back in ’44. He told us lots of entertaining stories as we wandered through the white painted buildings. One of my favorites had to do with Fanny Hooe.
Fanny Hooe was a beautiful seventeen year old relative of a camp commander back in one of those years. Half of the fort fell in love with her on the spot. When it came time for her to return to Virginia, apparently she didn’t say “fare-thee-well!” with enough muster. So rumors began to surface. The natives had stolen her away, a bear ate her…and so on. To memorialize her beauty and presence, they named the adjoining lake after her. Lake Fanny Hooe.
The enlisted men's quarters
The above photo is where the enlisted men slept, probably dreaming of Miss Fanny Hooe. Our guide told a fascinating yet terrible story about the way the wind and snow and ice and cold would blow through the fort buildings. Men were even known to get frostbite while they slept!! Can you just imagine how cold it must have been? Even though it was one of the warmest afternoons of this summer, all of us shivered. We could imagine. We felt, for an instant, like we suffered along with the soldiers.
Checkers for those long freezing winter nights...
So they played checkers. And cards. And dreamed of their sweethearts far away. Counted the days until they could return to their homes elsewhere. Maybe a few of them fell in love with this farthest-most northern outreach post and decided to settle here. Maybe some of their descendants live in Copper Harbor now. Maybe they served me lunch at the Harbor Haus…
The ice house (lots of shadow play going on here!)
As the guide continued to regale us with stories, I saw the shadows playing on the ice house. He had just shared yet another fascinating story about the delivery of maybe 25 sheep to the fort. And how the pen was not built to hold the rather short-legged creatures and how they all immediately discovered that they could escape and…are you ready for this??…jumped in to Lake Fanny Hooe, all two dozen of them! And how the soldiers dove in after them and the heroic rescue of all but…excuse me, facts are disappearing now…a handful. And how one of the camp commanders was going to have to pay for the sheep out of his own salary (almost his entire year’s salary!) until officials determined it really wasn’t his fault.
Our guide said, “I like mutton as well as the next fellow, but…”
They put the butchered sheep or cows or other animals in the ice house to keep the meat fresh.
All we are is just a feather in the wind...
So I went over to take a photo of the shadows playing against the ice house wall, and–the next thing you know, I was looking for beads and baubles in the dirt alongside the fort’s perimeter. As the rest of the tour continued on its way.
The feather says it all, doesn’t it? We’re just feathers blowing in the wind. One minute it’s 1844 and the next 1870 and suddenly it’s 2009 and who knows what is coming next?
Picnic table overlooks Lake Superior at Five Mile Point
‘Twas a leisurely morning at the AmericInn motel in Calumet. I really liked that place. The folks were so friendly you kind of wanted to move in for good. It was nearing 9:30 a.m. before the Buick chugged up US 41 aimed indirectly for Copper Harbor.
However, like on all good driveabouts, the car had a mind of its own. It knew where it wanted to go. It was driving along to the north, nice and easy, and suddenly it veered to the left toward a sign which said “Five Mile Point”. You all know how exciting this is. Suddenly you wake up and pay more attention. You’re on a road where you’ve never traveled before. Oh my, what sights to see! (I did, I admit, check the map to make sure the car didn’t have to turn around and backtrack. I don’t like backtracking. It brings out the worst in me.)
So the car and I leisurely reached Five Mile Point, along the western side of the Keweenaw Peninsula. Then I departed Ms. Buick and went exploring at a local roadside park. The rocks and water were waaaay down there, so I didn’t venture too close. But look at the exciting find at the Point:
A baby mouse! What do you know!
I started making up this huge exciting (rather sad) story about a lil toddler who lost this mouse. One minute he or she was clutching the prized creature tightly while mama (or daddy) tightly clutched baby’s hand. The next minute…the stuffed mouse fell to the ground, face down. Lost. Lost perhaps forever to the toddler who cried and whimpered in the car seat and daddy went back to try to find it…but, alas. Gone. I moved the mouse closer to the picnic table for some other three-foot high child to find. Or maybe this very child will return! And there will be the mouse, waiting, waiting, still waiting to be loved and hugged and cuddled once more.
Ahem. Excuse me. Let’s get back in the car and drive on. To Jacob’s Falls. And some of you, I’m sure, know what’s at Jacob’s Falls, right? But first let’s pause to view the falls.
Jacob's Falls
See, the best thing about a driveabout is that you actually get OUT of the car to view the falls. We’ve probably driven by these falls maybe eight times in our tours of the Keweenaw. We’re always on a mission. Got to get here. Got to get there. On a driveabout, you are led. You are moving so much more in synch with spirit, outside of obligation. You pause by the falls and the lake and the lighthouse, getting out of the car at least a dozen times during the day. Sometimes you just sit and watch the waves. You have no itinerary.
That’s what makes it special.
Society of St. John monk selling really good jam and muffins at the Jam Pot
OK, I told a big fib in that last long paragraph. There kinda was a rough itinerary. And it involved stopping at the Jam Pot. Because they make and sell such delicious baked goods and home-canned jams and jellies. Oh yum. I don’t know how anyone could drive by this place. The monks belong to a Catholic monastary here along the western Lake Superior shore of the Byzantine Rite. I could probably try to explain it, but go here to read more about them. Or click here to read about life in the monastery. That interests me tremendously.
The church with its golden steeples (they might not really be gold, but they look like it in the sunlight)
They also tend lovely flower gardens, through which I wandered for a short while. Autumn is fast approaching here on this penisula which juts out into the Big Lake; many of the flowers were starting to wane. My favorite was this escapee. It wound itself through the fence, bringing beauty to an unexpected place.
Pink
I have just written almost 700 words and it’s not even lunch time on the driveabout. Instead, if you peeked inside the car at this moment you would see me nibbling (well, munching steadily!) a bran cranberry delicious muffin which the monk assured me was low fat. Yep, right. He actually said it was lower fat than the others. Those were his exact words.
I will show you one final photo and you shall have to wait ’til tomorrow to hear of my fun at Fort Wilkin’s State Park in Copper Harbor. You’re guessing correctly. It was a time warp, a back-in-time adventure to the nineteenth century.
Back to a time before cars, before anyone ever heard of a driveabout.
Eagle Harbor Lighthouse
Before dawn near the Baraga Marina
Have you heard how the Australian Aborigine people go “walkabout” when they undertake a vision quest? They undertake a spiritual journey to renew their relationship with the landscape and their Dreaming.
We modern-day folk here in the U.S. of A don’t usually “go walkabout”. But recently I felt called to do a “driveabout” through the Copper Country, following random roads, letting the inner spirit guide the journey. Wherever the spirit pointed, I drove. Up hills and down. To the lake and the coffee shop and the Goodwill.
The secret is to listen intensely and deeply to where you are suppose to go next and what you are suppose to do. Without letting the planning organizing Mind take control.
Dawn on the Keweenaw Bay, behind the Pow Wow grounds
First stop: dawn meditation. Watching the sun rise over Lake Superior. Many insights and visions and thoughts and knowings arise as a driveabout happens. Your inner voice may share, teaching you many things. Sometimes Silence teaches. Sometimes you watch what appears: the trees, the lake, the hawks, the stones. You always stay alert to glean what the Universe may be attempting to teach you. Sometimes you can’t figure it out, but a lot of the time you can.
Why is there a crutch leaning against that stop sign and what does it mean...?
OK, there were a LOT of stops along the way. I was guided here and there, there and here. Bought a lot of strange and cool clothes at Goodwill in styles that I have never worn before. Delightedly sipped lattes and coffee at two coffee shops along the way.
Heed what the coffee cup says
Ended up along a mostly-deserted stretch of beach near Gay, Michigan. I haven’t been to Gay since 1997 and it was a definitely spiritual experience back then. Today I found myself exploring the rock beach (it’s so amazing how every beach is so different with its own individuality and colors and textures!) Spent at least a couple hours alongside Lake Superior gazing our to sea, eating a picnic lunch from the Keweenaw Co-op, picking wild blueberries, meditating.
Expanse of rocky beach
It would take six blogs to share everything I’ve learned today. It’s been such an incredible day. One of the best days of my life. (I know, I say this all the time.)
Swirl of stone
Rock and shadow
Red rocks with designs everywhere...so beautiful
So tonight, after a day of following my heart in its many directions, I am resting (complete with wireless Internet!) at a lovely motel in Calumet, Michigan. Two of the final events of the day involved (a) swimming in the motel’s saltwater pool, after thanking all the powers that be that I remembered my bathing suit and (b) eating chicken fajitas with rice and beans at Carmelita’s restaurant. The spirit of the the driveabout insisted upon both.
View of the saltwater pool (first one I ever swam in)
Jeez, I have 53 photos I could show you. But this shall have to suffice. One final photo before departing. It turns out that Carmalita’s Restaurant boasts that it is the home of the original Thimbleberry Margarita! A thimbleberry margarita, can you imagine that? I might have had one if I had noticed the sign…but that might have been a bit too much of an experience for the driveabout.
Heading up to Copper Harbor tomorrow. You might want to get out your map to see where that is. It’s waaay up here. Waaay up at the very tip-top of the Upper Peninsula. You can’t go any further. In fact a sign along the way will declare that this is the “Last Place on Earth.” Hmmm, I wonder what that means?? Hope to see you tomorrow!
On another website, gaia.com, Siona asked a question the other day. She always asks Questions and Reflections designed to make us think. In fact this is how she says it: Every day, we offer an inquiry designed to push you to think deeply about those things that matter most. We’ll encourage you to continue to discover and follow your calling, to explore and connect with yourself, to envision and attain your goals, and to craft, passionately, your own extraordinary and unique life.
The question of the day was this: What do you love about nature? What about the natural world appeals to or calls to or nurtures you?
So how would you answer that question?
The forest on a September afternoon
I have sat with that question for at least three days, pondering it. Turning it over and over, around and around. You might think that it would be an easy question to answer. Not so!! I have thought about this one upside down and all around and am barely getting ’round to a satisfactory answer, one that seems to feel the most like “the truth”. (Don’t get me going on what is “the truth”! That’s another essay for another day…or maybe not…)
The eye peers knowingly out from the tree
As I read through the comments about nature, it seemed like everyone likes something different. You would think it might be more similar. I would have thought people would say “I like nature because it’s beautiful and makes me feel more connected spiritually” or something like that. And some people did say that. But there are so very very many reasons we humans feel connected to nature, drawn to her, inspired to open our doors and spend time in the elements.
The surprise of red thread-like creatures growing up in moss
I guess I love the surprises of the natural world. The way nature enthralls with amazements like strange plants, creatures, roots and rocks. There are eyes looking out of inanimate objects like trees, staring at us with all-knowing intelligence. You can’t walk six steps without something intriguing appearing. This can be anything from the still shimmer of sunset against the lake or the tiniest insect crawling against a fern.
Expanse of jutting stone
Whether you’re inside or outside, you can still be surprised every moment if you cease your torrent of habitual thinking and just observe. You can be just as surprised and amazed by the expression on a loved ones face, a wrinkle, the gleam on a pen, the way the calculator clicks. You can be enchanted by the mix of indoors and nature: the angle of the sun against the wood floor, the breeze wafting through the open window.
Let there be fungus among us
Turning the question around: what about nature do you not really like as well? Hmmm….well, I do not like mosquitoes and black flies nipping and biting and drawing blood. I have learned to respect that they are a part of nature, and to keep moving when they come out in hoards, but they are sometimes challenging. I suppose we can add wildfires, tornadoes, blizzards and hurricanes to the list of natural events which can sometimes disturb equanimity. And large animals in close proximity…like bears and moose and wolves…I would prefer a small amount of distance between us. Just enough for safety.
A single rose hip hovers
Nature has the ability to bring many people closer to their sense of the divine, of sacredness, of spirituality. Perhaps it’s the beauty, the openness, the expansiveness. For me, almost always doing things backwards, I found the sacred deep within…and am now learning to see it reflected outward into the natural world. That has been a big part of the gift of this year.
Beyond the forest...
What do YOU love about nature? How would you answer that question?
