You are currently browsing the monthly archive for October 2009.
Autumn leaf on snow
Yes, yes, yes.
We woke up to snow on the ground. At least two inches of the white stuff on the cars and the deck. Maybe one inch on the warmer earth. We stared mesmerized at the beauty. And caught our breaths as we walked outside into the freezing cold. It’s Autumn in the U.P. of Michigan. Snow can spread her white beauty on us any time it desires.
And it desired this weekend.
Snowman near Houghton
Remember how I blithely told you yesterday that the snow never stays on the ground in mid-October? How it melts away so quickly?
Mother Nature made me a liar within three hours after writing that sentence. My visiting Mom and Dad, Barry and I headed up to Houghton to meet my nephew Doug and his roommate Gabe for dinner at the North Shore Grille. We barely passed into Houghton County before we began to witness Snow on Cars. Then Snow on Lawns. Then snow–Everywhere.
When we spotted the above snowman, I begged Barry to turn the car around for a photo. He is so used to this request these days! He easily turned the vehicle around. He, however, wanted me to walk up into the front lawn of the snowman-builder and take a picture with a red-leafed tree in the background. I was too chicken. I stood closer to the road, ready to make a get-away in case anyone came out of the house.
Instead, you can see another red-leafed tree surrounded by snow. This is the scene to which we awoke this morning.
A dash of color in the snow
After we shared our morning coffee, I headed downstairs to dig out Grandma’s old blue snowmobile suit from the 1970′s from the closet. Time for the snowmobile suit! I pulled it over my pajamas, grabbed a pair of winter boots, hats and mittens and dashed outside for snow photos. (It’s truly amazing how beautiful the first snow of the season looks. Compared with the thirtieth snow of the season when all you want to do is buy a ticket for southern Florida.)
View from the deck just before searching for the snowmobile suit
Oh how exhilarating it is to romp in the snow just after dawn! (And later in the day Mom and I walked up the road for a good half hour…but by then every last flake of snow had melted and disappeared.)
Snow and grass
It’s funny how quickly it melts. One minute there is a white frosted snow-laced world. The snow hangs heavy on the red and orange and yellow and green leaves. Some trees lean over like hunched-back men, straining under the weight. The white snow cleans and scours everything. You breathe out a cloud of breath-smoke. Your boots squish in the water-laden snow.
By noon, it’s all gone. It’s a memory. The cold north wind still blows frigid, but you’re suddenly back in autumn. Thank goodness! Stay away for another month, Winter, at least. Please stay away. We beg you.
Red-orange leaves heavy in the snow
I just asked my mom if she wanted Grandma’s snowmobile suit back. I mean, maybe she was the one who gave me this precious object. Maybe SHE wants to wear it downstate in HER backyard when it snows. But she just stared at me dumbfounded with her eyebrows raised. Guess she doesn’t want it back. Maybe she thinks the neighbors would stare. Guess I better keep it here in the woods…
And it all melts away...for now...
Barry just said, “I think we need a picture of you in the snowmobile suit!” I said, “TOO LATE!!!”
Hi Mom and Dad! Welcome to the U.P.
It’s not suppose to snow until October 15th. We thought we had an agreement with Mother Nature. No snow until mid-October. We thought she signed on the dotted line, especially after our summer-less summer. (Except for Beautiful September, in which summer finally decided to pay us all a little belated visit.)
But no! Mother Nature cheated. First she doused us with a hard frost last night and sent the temperature down to the upper 20′s. Then, this morning, the snow flurries started blowing in on the north wind. It looked like mid-winter for a few minutes there. Except, of course, nothing was sticking to the ground. The snow just looked fierce.
And actually, I admit, we were all a little exhilarated. Snow!! Like children we stood outside enjoying the flakes, taking photos, getting some red in our cheeks as the wind blew here and there. My parents, I think, were secretly glad that they could return to the Lower Peninsula next week with the exciting news of seeing October snow.
Snow against the spruce tree
We lounged inside much of the morning, enjoying the warmth of the woodstove, good conversation and laughter. After a lunch of yellow split pea soup (mine) and Povety Sop* (my mother’s) Mom and I decided to go for a brisk walk. I insisted she put on my heavy winter Columbia jacket. She was glad to comply.
We walked down to the Eagle Pond. I pointed to the house where the two roaming dogs used to live and smugly said, “Well at least they’re gone now. Now we can walk without dogs accompanying us!”
We turned off into the woods to the sound of a nearby dog collar tinkling through the trees. And, sure enough, we soon had a new wild and crazy puppy joining us on our walk.
Hello doggy
We aimed back toward the lake repeating to the dog quite sharply, “Down!” “Sit!” “Get away!” as he threatened to knock us off our feet. We didn’t dare throw sticks in case he decided to adopt us and follow us home and live here forever. We tried to be stern and yet friendly. What a crazy big-footed slurpy fellow he was.
The minute he saw the waters of the Huron Bay (ice cold though they may have been) he romped in for a little swim.
Dog in lake
My mom knew we were looking for photos of red trees reflecting in Lake Superior. We had a little problem locating red trees along our path. There were plenty of yellow-leafed trees, but no red ones. Then Mom said, “Oh, look at that beautiful red reflection in the water!”
I peered down by the dog. No beautiful red reflection. Just looked like waves and brown water. What was she talking about?
We peered longer. She was about to suggest something might be wrong with my eyes. When we remembered the polarized sunglasses she wore. I put them on and, sure enough, what a beautiful red reflection on the water!
It's a different world out there with polarized sunglasses
On the really really brisk walk up the road (oh weren’t we glad we wore our winter coats?) we spotted a wooly caterpillar. You’re suppose to be able to predict the length and severity of the winter by the coat on these caterpillars. I am posting this picture so you can make your prediction. Will winter be over with by March? April? May? What do you think?
And how long do you think winter will last?
* P.S. “Povety Sop” is an ancient family recipe passed down from generation to generation.
Blog readers, this is Pedro. Pedro, meet the blog readers.
Strangers are turning up on local porches. Hanging around front doors. Looking a little…how do we put it politely?…different. Not like your usual Yoopers. (A Yooper, for the benefit of any new reader, is a resident of our beloved Upper Peninsula of Michigan.)
The other night at Book Club at Sue Bollech’s house we met Pedro Gonzales swinging on a porch swing and looking rather interestingas the rain poured mercilessly all around his perch. I think he’s a cigar-smoking sheriff from some western town. Unfortunately, I came to Book Club camera-less. This is a huge mistake. One must carry one’s camera EVERYWHERE. Even when it’s pitch dark, raining and you’re going to be spending the evening inside.
So yesterday I backtracked to Sue’s house to photograph Pedro. And here’s where it gets tricky. Pedro isn’t really Pedro. At least not entirely. He’s only Pedro in October and early November. Then he changes his clothes and becomes The Hunter for hunting season. He wears his hunting garb and, who knows, maybe carries a gun. Then just when you get used to seeing The Hunter, he transforms again in December to become…anyone want to guess? Yes, you’ve got it right. He metamorphosizes into Santa Claus. So he’s a changing fellow.
You may be interested in viewing a natural wreath made by Sue, which hangs near our Pedro. I so admire folks with talent who can put together such objects of beauty from natural items. (Sue is really an artist and loves to create.)
Natural wreath
Yesterday, after Pedro’s photo shoot, I convinced my friend Lyn that we should walk through downtown L’Anse. In order to discover if there are other seasonal visitors of interest. She probably raised her eyebrows, but happily complied and even pointed us toward a couple places where the “tourists” might be visiting. But first we paused to photograph two pumpkins lounging between a sprawling rose.
2 pumpkins and a rose
Then we spotted One of Them. One of those interesting-looking visitors. Actually TWO of those visitors. I wondered if it would be acceptable to creep close to the house to photograph. Lyn said: Of course. It’s so-and-so’s mother’s house. I only vaguely figured out who she was talking about. But here are the visitors on this home’s front porch:
Oh no! (and look at that little Pumpkin Fellow)
After our brisk walk and endless catching-up, we drove back out Skanee Road toward our homes. But we had to pause in front of Mary Fran Menge’s house to greet a rather ghoulish-looking bride and groom. To think they came all the way to the U.P. for their wedding! They probably like the Cold and Rain and forecasts for Snow. Some people…go figure…
Are we all invited to the wedding?
The immaculate spotless refrigerator
OK, this is the scoop. We’re getting company tomorrow. And you all know what that means, right? It means you need to Clean the House. All that dust needs to get outa here! You need to vacuum, to scrub, to make everything spotless and shiny and beautiful.
It’s the advantage of having company, you know. The rest of the year you can let the windows get cloudy and dirty. The rest of the year you can let the dust collect. But when Company comes, get out your brooms and vacuums and dustpans and rags. Chop, chop! Get a’moving! You can do it!
So you work an hour or so, and pretty soon you’re tired and your inner voice is whining, “Why DO we have to do this ANYWAY?” So what do you do? Open the door and walk outside. And there, just outside your front door, is a riot of red and orange and yellow color. It’s breath-taking. You breathe deeply and admire the autumn leaves.
Beauty
Then, when you feel relaxed and easy enough, you return to your check-off list. Have you vacuumed upstairs and downstairs? Washed windows? Dusted? Scrubbed countertops and toaster and stove and frig? Have you cleaned the bathroom? Swept the steps? Windexed the glass table? How about the lights? C’mon now, times a’wastin’! Get cleaning!
Can you hear that vacuum cleaner running?
My mom and dad are coming to visit tomorrow. We are excited about their visit. They last came in September, 2008, and Barry took my dad out on a friend’s boat for a fishing trip. This weekend it doesn’t look like the weather is going to be extremely cooperative. Possible snow. Hmmm….what the heck are we going to do? What outdoor adventures might appeal? Nothing too strenuous like a hike up a mountain, but perhaps a color tour? Or a drive out to Pt. Abbaye? We will be driving up to Michigan Tech to pick up my nephew Doug and his roommate for dinner on Saturday night. But other than that…please send me inspiration as to what we can do!
Red leaves
About 2 p.m. today the house was 80% cleaned. I needed some photos for tomorrow’s blog (after all, I’m not going to sit down tomorrow night right after Mom and Dad arrive and say, “Excuse me, guys, entertain yourselves, I need to write a blog.”) so when my friend Lyn called wanting to take a walk, I agreed. Much photo-taking ensued. So tomorrow’s blog will be written about 8 a.m. from a Houghton coffee shop before a work-related meeting. (Even though it won’ t be posted until its usual time–don’t get impatient!)
Whew, this commitment gets a little dicey at times… A little hard to fit in outdoor activities and blogging EVERY SINGLE DAY. But, so far, 292 days later, it’s still working.
There is only one place in the house that I’m refusing to clean. The upper windows. They’re about sixteen feet above the floor and guess why I’m on strike? They’re buzzing with dozens and dozens of crazy live flies. We usually wait until they die and then knock them down with a long long handle and vacuum up the corpses. It’s not time for their funeral yet, so the flies will have to remain as background music.
The joys of living in the middle of the woods! Mom and Dad, hope you don’t mind. I know…you come to see US and you don’t care what our house looks like. Right?? (oops, and watch out for those flies!)
Our upper windows. OK, a little dirty. But do we really care?
The Blackened Land
It’s been four months since the Pinery Lakes wildfire which seared 685 acres about ten miles from our house. My daughter and I were lounging in her Manhattan apartment when we heard the news via Facebook: “Pinery Lakes Fire, 2009“. I remember feeling so sad with memories of cross-country skiing (and falling on my butt way too many times) and hiking with Denise and her dogs and the Anishinabe “spirit houses” in the nearby cemetery. How could the land be burning? How could this be happening?
Please read this FIRE!!! blog if you would like to learn more details about the actual May 20 fire.
Lately I’ve been wanting to return to the fire scene. To see what difference four months (well, almost 4 1/2 months if we want to be a bit more accurate) might bring. My last memories were of ash and smoldering logs. Fried landscape. The acrid smell of fire. The remnants of fire crews standing by.
What would it look like now?
Black trees, black stumps and green ferns
OK, here’s what it is like. You get out of your car and head into the woods. Ferns and plants are growing up everywhere. Some of the brambles are already chest high! The ground still lies covered in black ash, but Mother Nature has waved her magic wand across the landscape and there grows wintergreen, labrador, ferns. There bloom asters, raspberry, Queen Anne’s lace. New life springs up everywhere from the ashy soil. Ahhh, the soul sighs in relief: Life Returns!
Yellow flowers bloom against black trees
I wandered for a long time, up hills and down. Let me tell you, it’s a bit dangerous. Roots have been up-rooted and holes punctuate the earth everywhere. If you’re not very careful, you will trip in a hole. (Yes, I tripped. But not to the point where I fell unto the ashy earth.) You must, I repeat, be completely alert. The fire has consumed so much. It’s not a hike for the unwary.
Looking up...
I really wanted to show you photos of the Native American Spirit Houses which sit atop the graves at the Indian Cemetery. But I can’t. For some reason it seems sacrilegious to do so. Perhaps not to me (after all I casually put in photos of cemetery graves from the Marquette Cemetery for a June 26th blog). But it seems this might perturb some of the local Native Americans who do not believe the graves should be photographed. So I shall leave them photographically undisturbed.
Half burned
The weather has turned lovely today, by the way! The temperature soared to 52 degrees and the sun nudged the clouds away for a while. The weather forecast has the “S” word in it for the weekend (that would be “SNOW” for any of you non-Upper Peninsula folks) but we’re thinking that means the Highlands. Not the lowlands around the lake. Surely we won’t get snow. It’s not even October 15th for goodness sakes. And my parents are coming to visit. No, snow is not allowed.
One charred pine cone on autumn leaf
That day, last May, when my sneakers almost started smoldering while taking photos of the fire seems so long ago. How strange nature is. On that day in May the temperatures soared up into the 90′s and the fire sparked. How many other times did we reach the magic 90 degree mark during the summer? Once? Never? How very unexpected the weather can be.
The bones of a tree
I think of us humans and how fires sometimes sear our hearts. How death and pain and suffering can uproot our trees, our sense of security, our confidence. And how, if we let them, the ferns and the wildflowers and the trees grow back. The landscape heals. Perhaps slowly, but it heals, if we let nature ease our sorrows.
Up close and personal
I am glad the land heals. New seeds sprout. New flowers bloom. New life bursts forth from the wildfire ash and the ancestors smile in their graves as the cycles of life turn again and again.
Lost? Found?
Let’s face it. If you live in the middle of the woods and like to wander…you’re going to get lost. Sometimes a little bit lost and sometimes you start wondering if you’ll ever find your way home. Sometimes that fear of being lost begins to rise like the inland tides and you suddenly remember the Wizard of Oz. Like Dorothy clicking your magic red heels together you begin to chant, “There’s no place like home. No place like home. No place like home.”
They say the mineral deposits beneath our Keweenaw earth will confuse even a compass at times. Your trusty reliable compass might suddenly go wacky, refusing to point to True North. What can you depend on when the compass fails you? Or, worse yet, when you’ve stupidly left the compass at home pointing to True North in the cluttered desk drawer?
You gauge the sun (if you’re lucky and the sun is out) or the slant of the ravines. All of our ravines near the house run down to the bay, so you’re pretty safe if you remember this. You listen for far-away cars. This can help identify the location of the roads. This helps when there is ocassional traffic. Doesn’t help much when one car crests the hill every half hour. You become alert; you look for signs. You try to remember the landscape. You remember that you know how to build a debris hut out of leaves from your Wilderness Survival class. You know somebody might come looking for you if you’re not home to cook dinner.
But, best of all, you can surrender to a Higher Knowing. And let that Higher Knowing guide you out of the woods. Thank goodness we have that!
Yesterday. Enjoying the turning leaves...just before I got lost
Just so you know…I haven’t been lost walking in the woods…at least not in the last month or so. But yesterday came another encounter with Being Lost. Sigh. Do we ever get used to it? Do we ever simply laugh and say joyfully, “I’m lost!” Hasn’t happened yet to me. Usually you have to deal with low-level fear, even if it never blossoms to full-fledged panic.
One lone tree at end of road to...where are we now? Hmmm.....
It started because I was looking for photos of stunning leaf colors. Trees turning red and orange and yellow. The color-changing season is upon us. The trees are starting to zing! Just beginning to peak, but I wanted to document the way the woods is starting to shimmer. Especially when the sun shines bright between rain showers.
So the car turned here, and there, and around this corner, and up that way, and down this hill. I thought I knew exactly where I was. Isn’t that always the case? Until suddenly the road petered out into a muddy two-track and it became apparent…I only vaguely knew where the car might be.
Road and shadow, and what is that in the distance? Is it the lake?
Then some niggling thoughts began warning, “It’s been so rainy, what are you doing back here in the woods without four wheel drive? You’re going to drown in a mud puddle! You’re going to be shot by hunters! You’re going to be lost here FOREVER.”
Oh honestly. Here’s what you say to reassure niggling thoughts, “Calm down, you guys. I think we’ve been here before. I think that’s the lake up ahead. We’re somewhere near Pike’s Peak. We thought we were on Ford Farm Road, but we must have turned on Haataja Road. There really aren’t any challenging mud puddles and since when do we worry about hunters?”
So the thoughts calmed down and I didn’t even have to start remembering how to build a survival debris hut.
Deep in the backwoods, cattails and trees
And ten minutes later, there was hard pavement and familiar houses. I was “found”, yet once again. The magic clicking heels or the Higher Knowledge or the road had wound its way back to comfort, a sense of safety, a Knowing of Where I Was.
But truly, folks, do we ever know where we are? Is it possible to simply relax and know that we’re always lost and we’re always found? Ooops…getting way too philosophical on this outdoor blog! I’ll leave you with a photo I may have already posted on this blog. Can’t remember. But Jessica of Jessica’s Nature Blog asked to see some photos of pebble-faces or shell-faces. This is the only one I have.
We shall call it “The Scream”. How we sometimes feel when we’re Lost.
The Scream
Look closely at this picture. More closely. Anyone see It?
Late this morning I was driving down Main Street in L’Anse, suddenly desiring two scrambled eggs and homemade whole wheat toast from the Nite Owl. With a cup of steaming hot tea. However, to my dismay, not a single parking spot presented itself. The car was forced to turn right and steer down by the Keweenaw Bay.
When suddenly, directly ahead, There It Was! A rainbow of beautiful colors arching across our Lake Superior. The wild and dark rain-laden clouds filled the sky, but there was a slice of sun shining through. I lurched out of the car at full speed and sprinted toward the shore. It looked like the rainbow was about to fade. I fumbled to turn the camera on and snapped and snapped and snapped, attempting to will the bright colors into the camera lens.
But no. Only a faded arch showed up against our tumultuous sky. My camera sighed and turned to look for other possibilities.
Red bench, lake and sky
At first, I only noticed the lake and clouds and benches. Breathed in the fresh October air and thought, “Ahhh, it’s good to be here in downtown L’Anse along the lakefront. I should stop here more often.” (How often do we think that? Once we’ve actually veered off our usual route and stopped some place where we don’t interrupt our routine often enough.)
How close can we get?
Then I noticed Them. A beach-full of seagulls. They looked so intriguing. And then my tracking instincts from Tom Brown Jr.’s Wilderness Survival School came back. I would track those seagulls. See how close it was possible to sneak before they burst into flight.
Seagull Track in sand
Perhaps a “real” tracker could sneak close enough to stroke a feather. Maybe a tracker with some experience could approach within a foot or two. You move very slowly when tracking, very slowly. I moved way too quickly in this attempt, although paused repeatedly to look nonchalantly out to the bay as if to reassure the gulls. She’s not really getting that close, they certainly thought. She’s just admiring the waves.
Seagull feather and stones
Feathers littered everywhere on the sand. And other seagull remains, of which we shall not discuss in a polite blog. The birds shifted. Began to look a little perturbed. The stalker was getting much too close. A few creatures waddled away, squawking. I really should have stared longer and more nonchalantly at the clouds and waves, but suddenly the thought of scrambled eggs and homemade toast re-surfaced. The Nite Owl has really good homemade toast. What am I doing stalking seagulls anyway? Surely there are available parking spaces now.
Fly away!
Off they flew, a flurry of white wings rising in the sky, gulls flapping and squawking toward the disappeared rainbow. I turned back toward the car, headed for strawberry jam on homemade toast.
Catch a falling leaf and put it in your pocket...
The Anishinabe (or Ojibway) call this October moon “The Moon of the Falling Leaves”. This one isn’t hard to figure out. The leaves are falling everywhere. They’re not falling like they will fall in a week or so, but now they trickle down from the trees, splashing their red and orange and yellow colors everywhere.
It’s still raining. Here’s what happens: rain pours non-stop from the sky in a flurry of wet showers. Then it ceases. The sun even sometimes peeks briefly from behind the cloud-studded sky as if to say “Is it safe for me to come out yet?” But then quickly ducks back in just as another rain shower pours from the heavens. Yep, that’s how it’s been for days now. The temperature stays in the upper 40′s or lower 50′s.
Three Leaves
Today, in between rain showers, we pulled up the brown tomato plants and threw them in the woods. Most of the tomatoes were rescued from freezing the other night, so the ripe ones already sit inside on the kitchen countertop and the green ones lie in the basement sandwiched between newspapers. Just before we finished, the rain unexpectedly drenched us as another shower passed through. I don’t know why I said “unexpectedly”. These rain showers are getting quite expected every twenty minutes.
Colors lined up in a row
Good news! The phone just rang and it was my mom. She and dad are (hopefully) planning a trip up to visit next weekend. Hurray! (This, however, means that I will need to spend a great deal of time INSIDE in the next several days cleaning up the house.) But don’t worry, the outdoor commitment will still happen.
Here are some interesting photos from our trip to Houghton last night. We drove down near the lift bridge when Barry said, “Look at that girl! You have to take a picture.” He prepared to stop the car. I was full from dinner and muttering something like, “I don’t WANT to take a picture…” but the car was stopped and he gestured over toward the bridge supports. I reluctantly opened the door.
But what a surprise! How cool! Some graffiti artist had drawn cool-looking figures on the supports. Now, I know some people think this is defacing public property, and maybe it is. But I loved all three figures! Great art on the construction site. (Much nicer than looking at all the construction vehicles.) What do you think?
Girl playing violin in construction zone
Somebody wants Change
The Inspector looks around, wondering who the artist might be.
Rainy impenetrable world
Sometimes it seems to rain, and rain, and rain. Wherever you walk, you’re soaked. The wet soaks into sneakers, socks, jeans. Droplets pour off rain jackets. It’s a Wet World. Wet sky, wet foliage, wet branch, wet life, wet river.
Is Mother Nature crying at times like these? Or is that too much of a projection of human attributes on nature?
I pondered crying today. Not because I was feeling persoanlly sad. But simply because many folks in our Upper Peninsula county may be suffering right now. Struggling. Trying to figure out what to do next.
Stumbling upon a hidden boat
Here is why people in our community may be crying in the rain this weekend, lamenting the passing of summer. Approximately 24 percent of Baraga County’s population is unemployed right now. Up to 90 more folks just lost their job recently at Terex, a local employer, when the company decided to pull out and close its plant.
We’ve always had high unemployment figures in this area. Our numbers traditionally top the state’s statistics. On a good year, our unemployment hovers around 7-8%, and during slow seasons (like winter break-up when the loggers can no longer operate their heavy equipment on the roads) the unemployment tops around 9-11%.
It’s not a job-laden area. People make a living in the woods, the state maximum-security prison, the casino, a few companies and shops, the mines over toward Marquette. You might work in the hospital, the school systems, the county, the stores. But it’s not like there are infinite choices.
Often tensions have sparked between those desiring more jobs for our people, and those trying to protect the environment from companies without sustainable nurturing practices. It’s a fine line which brings out tension on both sides. How do we care for the earth, but not at the expense of the people? How do we care for the people, but not at the expense of the earth?
Dried flower merry-go-round
In July we made national news. Our county had the third highest unemployment in the whole country, unless you added Puerto Rico. If you toss in that little island, we were number four.
Strangely enough, shop owners have complained that they can’t hire enough skilled workers from our area. They insist they advertise for workers–perhaps welders–and must hire out of the area to get enough skilled employees. Many folks do not want to work and find ways to minimize their time on the job. Yet, for every person who doesn’t want to work, there is a person who does. They just want a job. A way to put food on the table. To educate their children. To buy gas for the car and heating propane for the house. To realize the “American dream”.
Splash of autumn reflects in the Silver River
As the rain pours from the heavens and autumn temperatures dip down, how is the man feeling across the bay who doesn’t know where to work next? How is the woman feeling who is pregnant with her third child and no longer has a job? Can you imagine the panicked thoughts which might play in your mind? What to do next? How do we survive? Is our world falling apart?
Shiny leaf suspended
I try to imagine what this must feel like. What about the people who love the land, and don’t want to leave to find work in the larger cities? What about the people to whom family ties and closeness mean everything? How do you learn to live with the pressure of not having a job, of not feeling the safety net of employment? What if your skills are minimal and you have no time or money to go back to school? How do you survive?
Cedar tucked away in a stump
The Anishnabe people who have lived on this land for centuries often turned toward nature in times of need. Cedar and sweet grass were burned, kindled with flame, the prayers of the people wafting upwards on smoke toward the heavens. “Help your people,” the smoke whispered to the Great Spirit, “Help us. Help all of us to survive and thrive during time when the rains come.”
Fallen tree ~ roots exposed
Blessings to those who are scared today. Who hunger. Who worry. Who wonder: what next? May those of us with jobs keep our eyes wide open to see what help we might share, if the opportunity arises.
Frosted brussels sprout leaf
My blog tonight is about Two Things.
#1: Preparations for my next trip. To visit the firstborn son out in San Diego.
#2: Frost.
Which one shall we discuss first?
REALLY Frosted Brussels.
When talking with my son a few hours ago he said, “I can’t believe how much my friends from the Midwest are complaining about the weather!”
The poor lad has been settled in the southern reaches of California for the past two or three years, so he’s already forgotten our Midwestern suffering when Summer departs and autumn settles in with her icy grip. He’s living in a place that basically lingers at 70 degrees, year round. Can we imagine that? No, we can not.
Frosted lawn
However, I am happy to announce, I will finally get to visit his un-frosted home next month! For the cost of an airplane ticket of $354, the blog will now travel to sunny San Diego in mid November to visit the first born son. (Yes, yes, I know some of you are shaking your heads muttering “Didn’t she just get back from a trip? Didn’t she just go to Georgia? How can she afford that? Is she rich or something?”) The answer is, sadly, No. But happily, her dream is to travel at least five to six times a year to visit beloved family members spread across the U.S. of A. And, happily, this dream has been realized this year. Thanks to two part-time jobs which allow flexibility. And she hasn’t been out to visit dear Christopher yet. It’s more than Time.
Very limpid squash just before their ultimate demise
Christopher began to share his plans for our Outdoor Adventures in San Diego. We would start with Balboa Park and go here and there, and here and there, and here and there. My legs suddenly started aching and I hadn’t even left the living room. “Umm,” I ventured softly, “You know I’m not in as good of shape as you are…”
Meaning, Mama can’t run a mile. And if we walk five miles, she might immediately require a Nap.
“Well!” he replied cheerfully, “You have a month to get in shape!”
Squash harvest
So today’s Outdoor Activity involved some snappy walking up the road in the rain. Quick, quick, quick! Run a little, will ya? Let’s get those muscles moving! San Diego here we come! Move a bit more quickly, can you? Don’t mind the drizzling rain and cold!
See, here’s the thing about going outdoors every day for 365 days. (Lean closer now; I’m confessing something.) You don’t necessarily get in shape. Burn calories or anything. Especially if you have a camera and like to dally slowly looking for close-up intimate photos. You can’t necessarily walk for ten miles without huffing and puffing.
It's possible to survive frost. Ask the black-eyed Susans.
The muscles may get a little workout from hauling squash vines out of the garden. Or pulling up frosted tomato vines. But not much.
I have tried to imagine living on a land that doesn’t frost, a place where snow refuses to fall. A climate which remains tepid year-round. A landscape of desert and Pacific surf. It’s so different from our place in the woods where seasons shift like clock-work turning from frigid to warm to frost to snow. There’s always something new here, something different. I love the changes; the dance of it all!
But don’t get me wrong. Just because you love a place doesn’t mean you don’t want to visit OTHER places. Especially places where family live, less than $400 away.
