A few days ago, I started thinking about what I should write about the forest fire on the North Rim of the Grand Canyon and the destruction of the Grand Canyon Lodge and its environs. Yesterday I realized that I have been writing about the North Rim and surrounding areas since I began writing this blog in October 2012. I don’t think you need many more words from me about this beloved place right now. Below, I have gathered links to some of the earlier articles I have written about the rim. I am also including a handful of the hundreds of photos of I have taken of the North Rim.
Arizona sister (Adelpha eulalia) Harvey Meadow, North Rim
view of the canyon from near Bright Angel Point, May 2024
my first summer at North Rim*
our car July 17, 2025
The four classic elements: Fire, earth, air, water. North Rim has them all. Fire now, certainly. Earth is still there and will regenerate. Air: I can almost smell that fragrance of ponderosas in the sunlight at 8,000 feet. Water: I remember the old stone drinking fountain outside the lodge. It was the best water I ever tasted, and this from a water girl from Michigan. Showers at Roaring Springs, the music of Bright Angel Creek, the search for Cheyava Falls on a spring break way back when, and the Colorado River. Changes now, certainly, but the canyon world survives. Love and peace to my canyon friends.
* I am in the second row on the right wearing sunglasses.
Preparations A few hours ago, I separated a pot of anthuriums and made two pots. Yesterday, I picked my remaining little red Thai peppers. I dehydrated them in the oven and now they are ready for spicy winter meals. I also separated my chives into three pots. It’s high time as they have been pot-bound for a year or two. I love chives because, while keeping a low profile and causing no problems, they produce healthy bits of green for salads and soups throughout the year. A week or so ago, I repotted my bay plant and brought it inside for the winter. I am not sure whether or not I will bring the rosemary in for the winter. Our weather forecast is for another warm winter. Besides, through the years, I haven’t noticed that my rosemary plants have enjoyed being inside. Thyme, Italian oregano, and mint are happy where they are, whatever weather comes.
anthurium
Yesterday, when Tom and I went to the grocery store, I stocked up a bit. A few more rolls of toilet paper and paper towels and an extra jar of peanut butter, nothing much. Later on at the drugstore, I picked up vitamins on the the “buy one, get another at 50% off” deal and, as is my habit, I snagged two bags of Starbucks French roast coffee on sale. I received our allotment of free Covid tests several weeks ago. I ordered a new pair of jogging shoes (I mostly walk) that should arrive tomorrow. I also have cleaned two drawers and my closet is next on the list.
I am preparing. I always enjoy preparing for the dark months of winter. I sometimes wonder if this strong need is in my DNA from my German and Scottish ancestors. This year is different, though, I think my preparations help keep me from worrying too much about next week’s election.
In October, I flew to Salt Lake City to talk with dear friends again (See Roads).
I keep reading, most recently Camino Ghosts by John Grisham and Nature’s Temples: A Natural History of Old-Growth Forests by Joan Maloof.
I walk in the beautiful fall.
Romeo and Juliet, Folger Theatre
asters, Red Butte Garden and Arboretum Salt Lake City, Utah
Camino Ghosts and Nature’s Temple
When I was walking in the neighborhood yesterday, instead of Yeats or Wordsworth or Shakespeare, in my head, I heard the words from Small Faces from “Itchycoo Park“: “It’s all too beautiful.” I am a child of my generation. What I really think, though, is that it is all so beautiful. Troubled and complicated as it is, I don’t want our American democracy to end at the hands of a racist, sexist, narcissistic fascist and his collaborators. November 5, 2024 is Election Day and also my 75th birthday. I have been pretty lucky in this life so far; I am hoping the luck of our country holds firm and strong on Tuesday.
Some photos that make me feel calmer and more hopeful before Election Day:
After failed attempts in three successive years, Tom and I recently completed one more road trip to the western United States. While not the year-long or months-long trips of years past, it was (you may say) satisfactory. We drove 6,184 miles through 15 states. For a good part of the trip west, we tried to travel on U.S. Route 50. On the way back home, once we got through Colorado, we mostly followed U.S. Route 30 east.
early morning, Iowa farm country
We heard birds everywhere we traveled: a Baltimore oriole cheeped in the tree above our campsite at North Bend State Park in West Virginia; dicksissels and Eastern meadowlarks sang in the TallGrass Prairie National Preserve in Kansas; and we saw, heard, and acknowledged the ravens at the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. At the Gates of Lodore campground in Dinosaur National Monument, Tom and I camped next to a busy family of black-billed magpies, where, for hours at a time, the parents took turns quickly gathering food and returning to the nest to feed their clamoring babies. I had never seen before this intense behavior so near at hand. I feel lucky to have seen it On our month-long trip we heard and saw warblers, vireos, woodpeckers, sparrows, nuthatches, tanagers, cardinals, owls, Canada geese, wrens, and many more species. Through the weeks and miles–in the woods, prairies, canyons, and mountains–I often would hear a particularly sweet clear song. It was always familiar, but I would check my Merlin app to be sure. It was always an American robin. I love them and thank them for their companionship on this trip and in my life.
On this trip Tom and I made an effort to see not just our favorite places, but also some places we have longed to see. We sought out gardens, arboretums, forests, preserves, parks, and monuments. Some places–like Browns Park in northeastern Colorado–I had been reading about for decades. Other places–like Purdue’s Gabis Arboretum in northwestern Indiana–we searched out as we traveled. Below are photos of some of the places we visited.
cream violet, North Bend State Park, West Virginia
Muscatatuck National Wildlife Refuge, Indiana
southeastern Colorado
Bandelier National Monument, New Mexico
roundleaf buffaloberry, Cape Royal, North Rim, Arizona
Gates of Lodore, Dinosaur National Monument, Colorado
Browns Park National Wildlife Refuge, Colorado
Poudre River Canyon, Colorado
evening, Prairie Rose State Park, Iowa
bur oak, Gabis Arboretum, Indiana
Tom and I were going on a road trip, so we were also planning on finding some tasty road food along the way. In fact, before our departure, Tom had been studying The Great American Burger Book to find iconic burgers in the states we would travel through. As it turned out, we only tried two regional favorites from the book: a GOM Sandwich at Zaharakos Ice Cream Parlor and Museum in Columbus, Indiana and a bierock at Runza, a chain restaurant in North Platte, Nebraska. I found the GOM sandwich pretty good and the root beer float I drank with it delicious. The fast food bierock tasted like nondescript fast food, but the staff members were friendly. If I travel through Nebraska again, I would like to try a slow cooked version of a bierock.
We did come across a handful of good restaurant meals on the road, though. Pepperoni rolls are a thing in West Virginia and we had great ones–for lunch and dinner!–from Tomaro’s Bakery in Clarksburg. If you like good bread and flavorful artery-hardening Italian meat and if you are nearby, it’s worth a drive to the old Clarksburg downtown to try these rolls. It’s a long way from almost anywhere to the generic strip mall in Minooka Illinois, that houses the Dragon Inn. We ate the best dumplings we ever had and the other dishes we had (which escape me already) were also delicious. I wish I had taken more photos, but we were busy eating.
On this trip Tom and I stayed in hotels much more than we camped. Still, one of my favorite meals was our standard camp meal of cheese sandwich, hummus, carrots, and chips.
The Great American Burger Book
pepperoni roll from Tomaro’s Bakery, Clarksburg, West Virginia
bierock, North Platte, Nebraska
dumplings, Dragon Inn, Minooka, Illinois
camp meal and game, Bandelier National Monument
The Other Road We Travel Yesterday was Tom and my 50th wedding anniversary.* As it does happen in this life, we started out young and now we are old. When we were young at the North Rim and a few years later in Salt Lake City, we flew with our friends like a flock of freewheeling birds above our uncertainties, our problems, our pains, and our setbacks. This year, Tom and I needed to get back to the the rim and Salt Lake City (and the Front Range of Colorado) one more time (at least) to where we began together and to see others of our flock.
This was the primary impetus that got us on the road. We feel fine, or fine enough for a couple of old coots, but we don’t know how long that will last. I don’t know the exact words to describe the sweetness and comfort I felt–even in this uncertain, uncivilized, and fraught era–in seeing our friends again. Laura, Art, Howard, and Mark in Salt Lake; Sally in Colorado; and Richard when we were back home in Virginia. I remember with love all our friends from those days–the ones we recently saw and the ones we didn’t. And, I just now recalled a line from Bob Dylan that gets me closer to what I mean to say: then and now, you give us shelter from the storm.
ravens over the Grand Canyon
North Rim, 2018
* Because it was our actual anniversary and the Summer Solstice, I hoped to finish this article yesterday. My excuses for others: It was hot and we went out to dinner. My excuse for myself: I was in an extended period of procrastination.
In early October, I worked on an article about the current rash of book banning. My plan was to finish the post in time to publish it for Banned Books Week (October 1-7, 2023). It turns out that I had too much to think and write about books (and schools and libraries) to complete an article by my self-imposed deadline. I am still planning to complete that article, but I need to ruminate a bit more before I finish. Also, in September, I picked up a case of Covid-19 on our trip to Michigan. A few weeks later, I either relapsed or picked up a crazy bad cold/flu. I can report that I feel fine now and I am back to seeing family and friends, cranking out high intensity intervals at the gym, and transplanting seedlings at the Arlington County native plant nursery. Below are some words and recent photos from Michigan, the Washington, D.C. area, and my walk last week on Theodore Roosevelt Island.
Michigan
Tom and I try to travel to Michigan at least once a year. We enjoy visiting family and the places we love. Each year, we also try to see some places we haven’t been yet. At one of our favorite places–Sleeping Bear National Lakeshore–we hiked in a new area: Pyramid Point. There, the vistas, woods, meadows, flowers, and bugs, were just as beautiful as we have come to expect in this park. After Sleeping Bear, we headed east to Lake Huron. I went to YWCA camp on Lake Huron as a teenager. Tom and I and our children camped decades ago on the Canadian side of Huron. However, it was time to visit Tawas, a place I had heard of all my life. Tawas Point State Park, was yet another pretty and friendly Michigan park where one routinely shoots the breeze with strangers and shares a bit of early morning bird-watching.
For the first time in my life, I camped at Proud Lake Recreation Area. This is notable because the the campground is 3.7 miles by car (it would be considerably less as the crow flies) from my childhood home. The trees, fields, water, and the air itself seemed familiar and comfortable at Proud Lake. I must say, also, that I have not been bitten by so many mosquitos, since I left my lake home. The price we Michiganders pay for all that water!
There is beauty wherever Tom and I live or travel, but I always count myself lucky when I can get a dose of the pleasant peninsulas.
Empire Bluffs Trail, Sleeping Bear National Lakeshore
Pyramid Point Trail, Sleeping Bear National Lakeshore
meadow trail near Pyramid Point
pure green sweat bee near Pyramid Point
silky dogwood, Tawas Point State Park
Tawas Point Lighthouse, Tawas Point State Park
swamp aster, Proud Lake Recreation Area, Commerce Charter Township
Washington, D.C. Area
Reading the newspapers or watching the news, I think a person might possibly get a skewed idea about the Washington, D.C. area. I am not saying that the news is necessarily wrong, just that it isn’t a comprehensive view. Yes, I’ve seen the fences around the Supreme Court, Congress, and the White House. I was under curfew on January 6, 2021. Tom saw military gunboats in the Potomac River before the last inauguration. I saw the Pentagon burning in the days after 9/11. And on and on, but…I have attended an uncountable number of wonderful concerts, festivals, fireworks, and protests. I have visited monuments, memorials, cemeteries, libraries, and parks. Then there are the museums–still a marvel to me after all these years. I don’t forget the gardens. Tom and I walk through the gardens–spring, summer, fall, winter–through the decades. I like all the big things like the monuments and memorials, but the gardens help keep me close to the ground.
bee on tropical milkweed, U.S. Botanic Garden
buttonbush, Quincy Park, Arlington, Virginia
milkweed bugs, Bartholdi Park, Washington, D.C.
maple tree, Quincy Park, Arlington, Virginia
Theodore Roosevelt Island, November 16, 2023
Last Thursday was a lovely day on the island. It is curious to me how this little, overused island–with the jets flying overhead, the Kennedy Center peeking through the trees, and its often filthy bathroom–makes my feet happy and my soul calm(er). On Thursday, I heard many birds and saw a few. I heard one or more Carolina wren, white-throated sparrow, northern flicker, robin, song sparrow, swamp sparrow, yellow-rumped warbler, belted kingfisher, and mallard.
from the walking bridge
lower path
upper path
hickory nut and leaves
mallard
Thanksgiving
In my family we have taken to having potluck meals on Thanksgiving: bring what you want and you don’t have to tell anyone what you are bringing. We started this during darkest Covid times. We would meet outside on a picnic table at Walter Reed Park in Arlington. I was thankful that so many of my loved ones were alive and that we could share food together (alas, Robert and Rebekah were in far distant Pittsburgh). The food, while always delicious, was not the main dish. Seeing dear ones in person was better than all the turkey, dressing, and pecan pie I have ever eaten.
Even with the continuing problems of our country and the world (sometimes it seems like things are getting ever worse), I am grateful, for my family, friends, and this still beautiful world. Happy Thanksgiving.
I’ve been thinking about J. Alfred Prufrock (“The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,” T.S. Eliot, 1915) this morning.* Specifically, I was thinking of the line, “I have measured out my life with coffee spoons.” Tom and I have had a generally good summer so far, but I do measure it out (at least partly) in coffee spoons. Summer around Washington, D.C. tends to enervate us, so we add a spoonful or so of instant coffee to our 11:00 a.m. iced coffee, made from our left-over morning brewed coffee. Every summer, I tell myself that I won’t amp up my coffee intake, but every year I do so. In the scheme of things, this is not too important. In fact, this summer coffee habit prepares us for the cold instant coffee regimen we adopt for our fall camping trips.
summer coffee
This Summer (so far)
Tom and I volunteer at Arlington County’s native plant nursery. We like to plant, transplant, and weed. Working with the native plants and like-minded staff and volunteers, we feel like we are, in a small and pleasant (to us) way, helping our community and the world. So far this summer, Tom and I have helped move native blue flag, pickerelweed, and spadderdock from Sparrow Pond to Lucky Run, both in Arlington. We also helped extract blue-eyed grass seeds from pods for winter planting, transplanted roundleaf thoroughwort and tick trefoil into larger pots, and weeded the nursery beds.
pickerel weed
Susie (a beagle), Connor (a pug/peke), and Phoenix (an orange-winged Amazon) vacationed at our condo. Susie and Connor kept us hopping on our aging toes for the ten days they visited. However, by the time they left, Tom and I loved them to the depths of their little doggie souls. We’ve known and loved Phoenix for his entire 28 years of life. Our ten days with Phoenix settled into a familiar and comfortable–if messy–routine. We shared breakfasts of peanut butter toast and banana and Phoenix harmonized when Tom played Mozart. A good time, I believe, was had by animals and humans alike.
Susie and Connor ready for a walk
Phoenix in the morning sun
As usual, Tom and I watched the 4th of July Parade on Constitution Avenue in Washington, D.C. We stood near the National Archives as we do each year. As usual, I cheered, clapped, and cried. This year I stood in the midday sun a bit too long. I should have taken shade breaks under the big American elm like Tom did. When I finally took to the shade, I misplaced my phone. Instead of life as I knew it ending, a kind citizen found the phone and gave it to Sgt. Ibrahim of the Metropolitan Police Department, who saved it for me. I have a lifelong love of parades and I intend to write a blog about them, but, for now, here are some photos from this year’s event.
marching band
remembering Ukraine
Vietnamese marchers
conductor, 4th of July Parade, Washington, D.C.
words
Like much of the country and the world, the Washington, D.C. area has experienced excessive heat and bad air this summer. Trying not to be old fools, Tom and I avoid staying outside much during Code Red or Code Orange days. We still make our rounds of local museums and gardens, though. We’ve had rain along with the heat, so beauty still abounds in this burning summer.
Bartholdi Park
Bartholdi Fountain, clouds, Capitol, and cannas
coneflowers and others, Mary Livingston Ripley Garden
St. John’s wort and bee
In a post late this winter, I vowed to make potato salad and have a picnic in the spring. Spring passed and I didn’t make the potato salad or go on a picnic. Things happen (or don’t happen). A few weeks ago, though, I took potato salad to a party with some old friends and colleagues, most of whom I hadn’t seen in many years. My potato salad worked out well because I used good potatoes, lots of cumin, and sweet and spicy jarred jalapenos. I had been somewhat anxious about seeing people who had once been close workmates at a job I left 23 years ago. Our work had been important. We taught English, civics, and workplace skills to adult immigrants and refugees. We had felt honored to serve these people. Those years at the Arlington Education & Employment Program (REEP) had been exhilarating and exhausting, but rewarding. There had been something elemental about working so hard alongside friends to assist our students, many whom had faced war, torture, famine, and economic calamity. I needn’t to have been anxious about attending the party. I found myself again within a caring circle, just as in decades past.
my students and I, REEP, circa early 1990s
Tom and I spent two days at the Smithsonian Folklife Festival this summer. We particularly enjoyed a variety of music including gospel, old-time Ozark, and Ukrainian choral. What mostly stays in my mind, though, is a sign and some ribbons.
Remembrance, Smithsonian Folklife Festival 2023
ribbons, Smithsonian Folklife Festival, July 2023
Things happen beyond the planting and transplanting of flowers, the walking of dogs, the marchers marching in the parade, the making and sharing of potato salad, and the hearing of music. Friends die and friends of friends die, even in summer. I tied a white ribbon here and a few days later another loved one left us. I don’t think I am too sad. I do believe like the sign says, “grief and loss are parts of life we all share.”
One more month of summer. I plan on having a picnic, making pickles, and canning peaches–if I can find some good ones for a good price. I will watch the morning sun come up as it does every day, and I will remember.
sunrise from our balcony, July 30, 2023
*It’s not just the coffee spoons that resonate with me. In graduate school, I wrote a paper analyzing “Prufrock.” I have loved the words of this poem for 50 years, but I understand them more as I grow older (but still eat peaches).
I take lots of photographs of trees. I often take similar photos: I look straight up to the sky searching for the circling branches. I also take photos of leaves, pine needles, acorns, nuts, and twigs. I mostly haven’t been satisfied with my photos of trunks, but I keep trying. I’ve had a close relationship with trees my entire life and, if anything, I feel closer to them as I grow older.
Meadowlark Botanical Gardens, Fairfax County, Virginia
First Trees I started climbing trees when I was very young at our home in Detroit. The tree–I think my dad called it a silver maple–was also quite young and I was able to shinny up it and climb pretty far up the branches. I remember being proud of my skill because I was the youngest and the girl. My parents also planted a little cherry tree of some kind in the backyard. I remember swiping a maraschino cherry from the jar in the refrigerator and sticking it on a little twig and announcing that the tree had produced a cherry! I didn’t fool anyone.* The street trees in our Rosedale Park neighborhood were elms. The trees from each side of the street met in the middle and made a comforting leaf canopy. Back in the 1950s Christmastime was still reliably cold in Detroit. One night I walked around the block with my dad looking at the Christmas lights. There was a blue spruce glowing with lights. I must have known it was a blue spruce because my dad told me its name. The magic was so strong that I feel it now, 66 years later. That mix of the cold air, the holiday lights, the blue tree, and my kind father keep me–even through many long and sometimes trying years–looking up at the trees and sky.
A few years later, my family moved to a lake near Milford, Michigan. When we first moved to our house, trilliums still bloomed nearby in the springtime and we saw deer tracks on the beach. My parents made sure that the builders did not cut down any extra trees when they built our house, so our new world was guarded by a grove of tall oaks and hickories along with the odd little sassafras and wild cherry. In most of the lawn, the grass grew a little bit thin, but the trees were almost like benevolent gods to my young nature-loving self. When I miss my home, which is often for a place that I haven’t lived in since 1972, I sometimes miss the trees as much as the people who lived there.**
brother George’s photo of winter dawn with lake and trees from our house
*These early memories are slightly fuzzy; I might not have been the only one involved in the maraschino gambit.
More Trees Through the years, I have been lucky to encounter many trees. I’ve walked through Michigan woods, Appalachian and Piedmont forests, the grand ponderosa pine forests of the Kaibab Plateau, the bristlecone pines of Great Basin National Park, the redwood and sequoia cathedrals of California, and so many more tree lands. Not every forest or tree needed to be grand for me to love it. I fondly remember the single small tree on a minuscule pull-out on U.S. Route 89A–then, the only tree to be found on the Arizona Strip between Fredonia, Arizona and the Kaibab Plateau. I can’t remember the species of that tree; it might have been a pinyon pine.
I only started taking photographs (first on little Nikons, now just on phones) about 13 years ago. Nonetheless, I find that I have hundreds of tree-related photos. Below are some of my current favorites.
Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lake Shore, Michigan
redbuds, Sky Meadows State Park, Virginia
Eastern hemlocks, Cathedral State Park, West Virginia
autumn, Arlington, Virginia
Mathews Arm Campground, Shenandoah National Park, Virginia
sycamore, Theodore Roosevelt Island, Washington, D.C.
cherry blossoms, Tidal Basin, Washington, D.C.
Red Canyon, Dixie National Forest, Utah
Widforss Trail, North Rim, Grand Canyon, Arizona
Frick Park, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
Great Basin National Park, Nevada
Beach Road, Meher Spiritual Center, Myrtle Beach, South Carolina
Sequoia & Kings Canyon National Park, California
North Rim, Grand Canyon National Park, Arizona
red mangrove, Florida
G. Richard Thompson Wildlife Management Area, Markham, Virginia
black walnut, Ft. C.F. Smith, Arlington, Virginia
Enough photos for now, I think.
Old Growth, Part 1 In March 2020, Tom and I heard environmentalist Joan Maloof speak about old-growth forests. Maloof, “Professor Emeritus at Salisbury University, founded the Old-Growth Forest Network to preserve, protect and promote the country’s few remaining stands of old-growth forest. (www.joanmaloof.com/).” Since hearing Maloof’s presentation, Tom and I have been visiting more of these special forests, most recently last month when we walked in the Youghiogheny Grove Natural Area in Swallow Falls State Park, Maryland. I was going to make a bulleted list of the old forests we’ve hiked in, but I realized I don’t really know how many we have encountered. I don’t want to sound like a gaga old woman, but I have two ideas to share. First: not only do forests provide the earth with oxygen, food, shelter, fuel, etc., but they provide me with a sense of wonder and contentment that I don’t often feel elsewhere. Second, while I am a proponent of preserving all the old-growth forests that are left, I also want to acknowledge that a tree, a grove, a forest, doesn’t need a special designation to be awe-inspiring. I do encourage tree lovers to investigate the Old Growth Network and I still want to list a few of Tom’s and my favorite forests below:
Kaibab National Forest, Arizona
Great Basin National Park, Nevada
Porcupine Mountains Wilderness State Park, Michigan
Cascade Falls, Ottawa National Forest, Michigan
Congaree National Park, South Carolina
Red Canyon, Dixie National Forest, Utah
Fishlake National Forest (including Pando and Singletree Campground), Utah
Cathedral Forest, Cook State Forest, Pennsylvania
Mariposa Grove of Giant Sequoias, Yosemite National Park, California
The Giant Forest, Sequoia & Kings Canyon National Parks, California
Old-Growth Forest Network sign, Swallow Falls State Park
Youghiogheny Grove Natural Area, Swallow Falls State Park, Maryland
Old Growth, Part 2 I realize that I think, talk, and write quite a bit about trees. I might even repeat myself sometimes. Part of that may be because I am old and prone to reverie, but mostly it is because trees (and birds, bugs, plants, and rocks) help me focus on beauty amid the terrible news that surrounds me almost daily. Side note: I once had an employer who gave me job–at least in part–because, she said, I was a life-long learner. Maybe I am. Now, though, I just want to grow like a tree–like a tulip poplar in flower or just hang on like a pinyon pine on a canyon rim.
Speaking of peregrinations: When I was child I wanted to be a falconer. I wanted to have a hawk, or perhaps a peregrine falcon on my arm. She would fly off my arm and circle the sky until she was only a dot and then, finally, fly back to me. I didn’t dwell on the hunting part of this fantasy–just on the bold, high flying bird who would come home to me. (I confess that I might have come up with this idea from reading The Hardy Boys: The Hooded Hawk Mystery). I keep alert for birds of prey wherever I am, but I have not had one on my arm. However, we’ve had Phoenix the orange-winged Amazon parrot in our family for the last 27 years, and I have been content to have him on my hand and in my heart, if not in the wild blue sky.
Phoenix Q. Terrill
Tom and I spent much of September 2022 traveling. This year our road trip was at least 4,300 miles and we loved it, as usual.* We only camped by one great lake this year, but we did travel through 12 states. We visited with loved ones and walked on beaches, in forests, and on prairies. We enjoyed our travel on foot paths, back roads, dirt roads, and highways. Tom and I lunched in prosperous Glen Arbor, relaxed in the egalitarian comfort of campgrounds, and talked about sights to see with couple of Wisconsin bikers at Kitch-iti-kipi.
beach, Lake MichiganFayette Historic State Park, Michiganbison and prairie grasses, Tallgrass Prairie Preserve, OklahomaSleeping Bear National LakeshoreKitch-iti-Kipi, Manitisque, Michigan
Besides, Michigan, Tom and I camped in Iowa, Missouri, Oklahoma, and Arkansas. We drank cold coffee and ate cold, but delicious, meals. Furthermore, for most of this trip, we didn’t even bother with putting up the tent; we just reclined on our the Subaru’s front seats and slept when the sky was dark.
dinner at the campsite
One thing was different this year: we had campfires at three different campsites. Tom and I are usually content to have the sunset be the dramatic display of the evening. It’s more environmentally sound, I think, than the big bonfires some campers build. Plus, who needs a campfire for cheese and meat sandwiches, especially when we weren’t packing marshmallows, Hersey bars, and graham crackers. This time it was different, though. I think–damn hot weather not withstanding–we needed the emotional warmth of the fire. The flickering yet steady light, the hopeful sparks flying upward, and feet warming on the firepit rim soothed us. Tom and I are grateful for the year we have had–we are still here and we are still okay. However, we continue to get older, and not so much wiser. How can it be that I have been tagging along with brothers Mike and George for 70 years? How is it that brothers Rog and Dan are missing somehow? Why do I still miss the stubborn and lovely beagle/basset, Randi? Now that I finally finished reading Will Bagley’s South Pass: Gateway to a Continent, I want to talk to him about it and where is he? I just read in the Washington Posttoday that the January 6th berserkers “…stashed weapons, ammunition and hand grenades in a Comfort Inn in Arlington County, Va….” That motel is a 0.9 mile walk from where I am now writing in my living room. What is happening to my beloved country? We needed that fire to comfort us at night just as the water, trees, and flowers did during the day.
Lake Michigan, September 2022post oaks, Osage Hills State Park, Oklahomasnow-on-the-mountain, Tallgrass Prairie Preserve, Oklahoma
We call them “roadtrips,” not just “camping trips.” We do so because although we enjoy camping in less frequented parks, forests, and the like, we also enjoy finding out-of-the-way museums and visiting little towns. I sometimes imagine the lives of the people who live on the farms and in the burgs we pass through. I imagine them to be mostly happy. Early in the trip, Tom and I stayed in Green Bay, Wisconsin for a couple of days. We went to the National Railroad Museum. I was prepared to be blasé about a museum dedicated to trains, but, if–in your peregrinations–you ever find yourself in Green Bay, I recommend it.
Near Pawhuska, OklahomaThe Tree That Escaped the Crowded Forest, the Price Tower by Frank Lloyd Wright, Bartlesville, Oklahoma
Old food service people that we are, Tom and I also keeping trying to find good restaurants and bakeries along the road. I just counted and I find that Tom and I have traveled in 47 states together so far. That’s a lot of states for the number of good eateries we’ve found. That’s okay; we are still searching.
kolache and apple fritter, Rise N Shine Donuts, Amarillo, Texas
I have a list of places we’ve visited that includes, national parks and forests, state parks and forests, trails, monuments, historic sites, museums, restaurants and wonders of all kinds. So far, this document is five pages long. On the other hand, our still-need-to-explore list is eight pages long. It carries a heading that indicates the complexities and course changes of the current era: “Points of Interest for Trips Spring/Summer/Fall 2019/2020/2021/2022.” In fact, I probably originally started the list about ten years ago. We keep hoping and we do what we can. Speaking of course changes, Tom and I had planned on heading west to New Mexico, at least, and then north to see friends before we headed home, but that didn’t work out. Instead, we got to watch the sun rise in Arkansas on our way home.
dawn, Mt. Nebo State Park, Arkansas
I look forward to our next trip. Maybe it won’t be the months long trips we used to take, or maybe it will. I remain optimistic that we will hit the road again together. I feel like we–Tom and I, our family and friends, and our country–are on a challenging journey. My wish for us all may be expressed (yet again) by the Beatles. I wish you good sleep wherever you are.
Last week when I was writing the article about my salad days and Joni Mitchell, I looked at some cloud photos I’ve taken. Below are several of my favorites.
Front Range late afternoon, Denver, Colorado, April 2012Kolob Canyons, Zion National Park, Utah, February 2013The Needles Overlook, Canyonlands, Utah, March 2013Sunset, Antelope Island State Park, Great Salt Lake, April 2013Sangre de Cristo Mountains, Great Sand Dunes National Park, Colorado, April 2013Pawnee Buttes, Pawnee National Grassland, Colorado, August 2015Union Bay, Lake Superior, Ontonagon, Michigan, September 2018Mathews Arm Campground, Shenandoah National Park, Virginia, September 2020Bartholdi Fountain, Bartholdi Garden, Washington, DC, August 2021Sleeping Bear National Lakeshore, September 2021dawn Upper Mississippi River, Pikes Peak State Park, Iowa, September 2021from the grounds of the Netherlands Carillon, Arlington, Virginia, May 5, 2022
I have so many people and things to be grateful for and so many things to be worried and sad about that I find my thoughts and feelings ricocheting around in my aging brain. Because I feel lousy today (two negative Covid tests so far, but, who knows) I am trying to settle down and write. Note: It is now two days later and I am still feeling a little weary, but now I have bored myself so thoroughly, that I am writing again.
Grateful I know I have written this litany before, but here it is again: Family, friends, nature.
Worry and sadness Some part of me has felt worried and sad since the 2016 election. I take that back: I was worried and sad before, after Sandy Hook in 2012. Surely, I thought, we will change our laws and our society now. I had similar thoughts after Abu Ghraib. Heck, I thought things would change after Mai Lai. I must have told you this before as well: I thought we good-hearted and idealistic people would put an end to war (and ethnocentrism, inequality, etc. ) back in the 1960s. I am, of course, reeling over the pandemic, Ukraine, Uvalde and all the rest.
I also worry and sometimes feel sad about those on the my “grateful” list. I worry about my family near and far, friends here and there, and nature everywhere.
My assignment In high school, I was noted among my friends as a “stable” person. Not sure what that actually meant. Most of the time through the years, I have continued to be a glass half-full sort of person. I lean toward the hopeful side. I think I lean that way because my loved ones modeled that stance for me and it has helped me throughout my life. So, now, that I have used this post to clarify my thoughts and feelings, I need to drink from that half-full glass again. My soul drinks in words, photos, and music.
Words
I have been thinking about William Wordsworth lately. That’s partly because my friends Donna and David will be walking in the Lake District this June, but also because my brother Dan loved Wordsworth. Plus, I think Wordsworth has some words for us:
The world is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers; Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon; The winds that will be howling at all hours, And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers, For this, for everything, we are out of tune; It moves us not.—Great God! I’d rather be A pagan suckled in a creed outworn; So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea; Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn. (circa 1802)
sign seen at Van Aken Market Hall, Shaker Heights, Ohio
Photos
native spiderwort, Hillside Park, Arlington, Virginia
redbuds, Sky Meadows State Park
tulip poplar flower
pawpaw flower, Sky Meadows State Park
pitch pine, New Jersey Pine Barrens
planting common milkweed along the W & OD Trail, Arlington, Virginia
Cook Forest State Park, Pennsylvania
swallowtail–first of the season
Photo and music
oak trees Westbound Van Aken Boulevard, Shaker Heights, Ohio
I find myself thinking of the other two springs of our pandemic (e.g., the last trip to the museum in March 2020, the relief with the second vaccination in March 2021). Now, I think about war and children, family and friends–many here and some gone away. Some mornings, I find it hard to get out of bed. This week, however, I can still blame it on the recent change to Daylight Savings Time. I do, by the way, get out of bed–usually by 6:15 A.M. or earlier. I have my coffee and toast with peanut butter and banana, I do my old person stretches as the sun rises, and then I try to do useful things through the day. Generally, the more I do, the better the days are. Now that the weather is warming and the daylight is increasing, I feel more hopeful–in spite of the loneliness of missing far away family and friends, sickness, war, and social strife. I think I am feeling more happy because it is spring in this still beautiful world. Happy Spring!
arugula seedlingscrane-fly orchid, Piscataway Park, Marylandpear tree and fence, National Colonial Farm at PiscatawayParkPotomac River at Piscataway Park, March 2022lobelia on our balconycherry blossoms and branch, Tidal Basin, March 22, 2022morning, Tidal Basin, March 22, 2022Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial, March 22, 2022
Close to the Ground: Living Inductively 