Tag Archives: Arlington Virginia

September 2025

For several weeks–in a messy corner of my mind–I have been working on a blog post. So far, that post exists only as an unruly pile of ideas waiting to straighten themselves out. Fall has come, though, and I need to be reading, writing, and walking out in the beautiful world.

For many years, I have been searching for the right time to read J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings another time. I was hoping that if I waited long enough, I could approach the book with the absolute wonder and absorption that I felt when I read it for the first time in the fall of 1967–fifty-eight years ago. A little over half through The Fellowship of the Ring, and even though I am familiar with every scene and much of the dialogue, I am again wonderfully absorbed in Middle Earth. Turns out, I started reading September 22, which LOTR aficionados may recognize as Bilbo’s and Frodo’s birthday. I count it a fortuitous beginning,

our current copy of the The Lord of the Rings

Mostly what I want to write today are Tolkien’s words that give me comfort. I hope they give you comfort as well.

There they (Frodo and Bilbo in Rivendell) sat for some while, looking through the window at the bright stars above the steep-climbing woods, and talking softly. They spoke no more of the small news of the Shire far away, nor of the dark shadows and perils that encompassed them, but of the fair things they had seen in the world together, of Elves, of the stars, of trees, and the gentle fall of the bright year in the woods. (last page of the chapter “Many Meetings” in The Fellowship of the Ring).

Here in Arlington the oppressive hot weather ended many weeks ago and autumn is beginning in earnest. The walks I take now also give me comfort. Below are some photos from recent walks.

bluestar and mountain mint

mallards at Ballston Wetland Park, Arlington, Virginia

inland sea oats

swamp milkweed

monarch and goldenrod, September 29, 2025

fiery skipper on blue mistflower

Autumn 2023

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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.

October 2022, Arlington, Virginia

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October is my favorite month, and I say that as someone who likes all the months–even February. When I was a child, I tried to like November the most because it is my birthday month, but October wins every year (see my post from 10 years ago here). In the fall I feel nostalgic: I miss my mother and father and a growing host of others. So, there is a little sadness, but–northerner in my bones–I always feel happy about preparing for the ice and snow of winter (whether it comes or not). I have been making bread again and wandering through the beauty in my neighborhood.

American sweetgum, Oakland Park

More Clouds

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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 2012*

*Kolob Canyons, Zion National Park, Utah, February 2013*

*The Needles Overlook*, *Canyonlands*, *Utah, March 2013*

*Sunset, Antelope Island State Park, Great Salt Lake, April 2013*

*Sangre de Cristo Mountains, Great Sand Dunes National Park, Colorado, April 2013*

*Pawnee Buttes, Pawnee National Grassland, Colorado, August 2015*

*Union Bay, Lake Superior, Ontonagon, Michigan, September 2018*

*Mathews Arm Campground, Shenandoah National Park, Virginia, September 2020*

*Bartholdi Fountain, Bartholdi Garden, Washington, DC, August 2021*

*Sleeping Bear National Lakeshore, September 2021*

*dawn Upper Mississippi River, Pikes Peak State Park, Iowa*, *September 2021*

*from the grounds of the Netherlands Carillon, Arlington, Virginia, May 5, 2022*

U.P., Up, and Away

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the view from our campsite on Lake Superior, Ontonagon Township, Michigan

Tom and I have been taking road trips together since 1971: fifty years in and we still love them. We went on another road trip from September 1 to October 2, 2021. This trip could be fairly summarized as: nine family members, three great lakes, two pleasant peninsulas, fourteen states, and 4,500 miles. Also, Tom and I went on six hikes where no one shared our trail; we saw old growth trees including giant, healthy eastern hemlocks and hundred foot birches, and we learned to love the bluffs of the upper Mississippi and the river itself. Our trip was balm to our societal-disintegrated and pandemic-battered minds, souls, and bodies. We mostly took short 3 to 5 mile hikes, punctuated with longer hikes (11+ miles at Sleeping Bear). Still, I was happy to see that my hiker’s leg muscles came back.

Sleeping Bear National Lakeshore

eastern hemlock, Porcupine Mountains Wilderness State Park, Michigan

I have other photos (see below) and stories: happy times visiting brothers and sisters-in-law and nieces and great-nieces; plus eating those delicious camp meals again–hummus, chips, carrots, local sausage, and Amy’s chili. Once we got to the Upper Peninsula, we left the poison ivy behind and found ferns, flowers, and fungus galore. On part of the journey, Tom and I traveled along the Great River Road along the Mississippi River. We had never heard of this road and, now, we have another part of the country to love. A young bald eagle soared near us as we stood on the bluffs above the Mississippi River at the Effigy Mounds National Monument.

dawn, Upper Mississippi River

Other Parts of the Journey Tom and I–fully vaccinated since March–both contracted the Delta variant, probably somewhere in the Upper Peninsula. Also, three of our loved ones died. This trip, even with its aftermath of illness, death, and mourning was fabulous. My major struggle lately has been trying to write the words about the ones who have gone away.

Randi Tom and I camped in Pike’s Peak State Park in Clayton County, Iowa for three nights. Yes, this Pike’s Peak was also named for Zebulon Pike who explored the upper Mississippi and the Rocky Mountains in the early 1800s. The park was an unexpectedly lovely oasis and one of the highlights of our trip. On the first afternoon at Pike’s Peak, we pitched our tent and headed out for a walk. We headed to a lookout point high above the Mississippi. We took a hike to see (and to feel) the Bear Mound (a ceremonial burial site constructed by indigenous people of an earlier time) and to take a look at the Bridal Veil Falls. All of it: the forest and the sun and the clear air and the whiff of fall caught us up into a perfect afternoon. Chinkapin oaks and hickories and butternuts had already been dropping their acorns and nuts. Hearty and vigorous squirrels crashed through fallen leaves with, it seemed, some delight. I had a strong vision of Randi (our daughter Sarah and son-in-law Mike’s dog) and how she would love this forest. Randi, a beagle/basset, likes nothing more than smelling squirrels, barking much louder than her weight class. I didn’t say chasing squirrels: Randi just loves smelling the squirrely trails; she doesn’t need the squirrels themselves. I thought of Randi at least twice on that walk and mentioned to Tom how Randi would love this high forest near the great river. The next day an early morning text came from Sarah. Randi, who had been suffering with late stage kidney disease had died. Through tears, I told Sarah about the prior day’s thoughts about Randi in the forest. The sun and air had been special–as it can be in a cathedral forest. Sarah and I agreed; maybe before Randi left this particular reality, we think maybe she stopped by to share our perfect afternoon. What do I know? I am an old woman crying in a Panera as I write this. One thing I am pretty sure of is that all dogs go to heaven.*

Randi visiting us December 2019

Will I didn’t know Will Bagley very well, but I did love and do love him. Will married my lifelong friend, Laura in 2003.** A few years after that, I was going to be conducting professional development workshops for adult English as a second language (ESL) teachers somewhere in the west–maybe Montana. I can’t remember. What I do remember is that I had a stopover in Salt Lake City where Laura and Will lived. They said they would pick me up at the airport and drive me down to Zion National Park. I was exhausted from my workshops and I slept part of the way. We reached Springdale in the dark of the night and I woke in the morning surrounded by my old friend Laura, my new friend Will, and my red rock refuge for the first time in twenty years. We three walked and talked and I bought a pair of socks at the Zion Lodge gift shop. I haven’t been able to throw away these worn-out holey socks because they remind me of friendship, love, and refuge.

Paraphrasing Wilbur from Charlotte’s Web: It is not often that someone comes along who is a true friend and a good writer. Will was both.

desert socks from Zion National Park

Tom and I got back to Arlington on October 2. In Arlington we tested positive for Covid-19, which was no surprise. In the latter half of September, I had felt like I had the flu with a little cough and aches and chills. At first, it was a little difficult to tell what I had because we were tent camping and a few aches and chills go with the territory. Tom followed with similar symptoms. A couple of day after we got home, we got the call that my brother Dan had died of Alzheimer’s disease.

Dan I have a lifetime of memories of Dan: from early years in Detroit and Milford to the middle years in Ann Arbor, Dodge City, Kansas and Lemoyne, Pennslyvania to the later years on our Deep Creek family reunion weekends. For all his brilliance–and he shone brightly with style and grace and rock and roll songs or poetry ever on his lips–it is Dan’s kindness I remember most. Circa 1970, when Dan and his wife Jeanne lived in Ypsilanti they watched over the baby sister–me–eight miles away in Ann Arbor. They hosted my 21st birthday party in their small apartment. A few years later, Dan and Jeanne’s home in Dodge City was my beacon as I crisscrossed the country between Michigan and the Intermountain West. I could go on, but I I don’t know if I can trust my own words to do justice to this good brother. A couple of months ago, on this blog, I dedicated Dylan Thomas’ Fern Hill to Dan. While not exactly a prince of our apple town, he was the fair-haired and bold youth with the golden ’36 Ford with the corvette engine. Enough. Let Wordsworth’s Tintern Abbey say the words.

These beauteous forms,

Through a long absence, have not been to me

As is a landscape to a blind man’s eye:

But oft, in lonely rooms, and ‘mid the din

Of towns and cities, I have owed to them,

In hours of weariness, sensations sweet,

Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart;

And passing even into my purer mind

With tranquil restoration:—feelings too

Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps,

As have no slight or trivial influence

On that best portion of a good man’s life,

His little, nameless, unremembered, acts

Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust,

To them I may have owed another gift,

Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood,

In which the burthen of the mystery,

In which the heavy and the weary weight

Of all this unintelligible world,

Is lightened:—that serene and blessed mood,

In which the affections gently lead us on,—

Until, the breath of this corporeal frame

And even the motion of our human blood

Almost suspended, we are laid asleep

In body, and become a living soul:

While with an eye made quiet by the power

Of harmony, and the deep power of joy,

We see into the life of things.

*Maybe you caught it: I wasn’t quite able to write all of Randi’s verbs in past tense. Not yet.

**Laura is not exactly a “lifelong” but since our teaching fellow days beginning in 1973; close enough.

Lake Superior, Ontonagon, Michigan

in the Upper Peninsula

yellow patches (Amanita flaoconia?) near Cascade Falls, Ottawa National Forest

asters, Wyalusing State Park, Wisconsin

Summer 2021, Part 2: Photos

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This summer–like all the other summers I’ve known–seems beautiful.* Even with the loss, the sickness, the uncertainty, the worry, the fires, the floods, the wars, and all the rest of it, I am trying (fitfully, I admit) to see some good in this world. I do see it in my stalwart family and friends and in the sky, plants, and animals. I don’t have much to say, at least much that is new, but I hope you enjoy the photos.

*Bartholdi Fountain, Bartholdi Park, Washington, D.C.*

*milkweed longhorn beetle (genus Tetraopes) Mt. Cuba Center, Hockessin, Delaware*

*garden–inside and outside of our condo*

*Regional Garden, U.S. Botanic Gardens, Washington, D.C.*

*bee on pickerel weed, Regional Garden, U.S. Botanic Gardens, Washington, D.C.*

*New York ironweed (Vernonia noveboracensis), Hillside Park, Arlington, Virginia*

*bishop’s hat (Epimedium brachyrrhizum), Mary Livingston Ripley Garden*

*tawny (?) skipper on unidentified flower*

*wingstem (Verbesina alternifolia), Hillside Park*, *Arlington, Virginia*

*Sometimes I find it difficult to be hopeful without sounding like some superannuated, prissy Pollyanna. I really don’t think I am a Pollyanna; I think I am more of an inveterate idealist. Whatever I might be, I still find myself sad and angry quite often. For example, yesterday I discovered that someone had ripped out the two pink fuzzybean plants off a trellis in Hillside Park. I had transplanted these plants from Arlington’s native plant nursery last fall. I watched the plants as they came up in late spring and cheered them on as they grew up the trellis and spread wider and wider flinging out their green leaves to the wider world. Did someone think they were getting rid of noxious weeds? Was some person or persons just wreaking a little casual cruelty on the park? I don’t know, of course, but I was sad and angry. It was a petty little anger amid the current sorrows of the world and of humankind. However, the hopeful part of me is wondering now whether the plants will grow back from their roots in another season. I wish them well.

Summer 2021

Spring 2021

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*spring near the Arts and Industries Building, National Mall, Washington, D.C.*

I started writing a post in early April–it is still in my drafts file–but I got annoyed by WordPress’ new publishing format and let my words and photos dangle in the airless vault of the Internet. Even though “technology” was featured in two of my most recent job titles, I am somewhat of a Luddite. However, I do think that as programs, platforms, applications, and what-all become more streamlined and standardized, it is possible that creative work can become overly lockstep. Enough of my carping excuses for my procrastination: I want to write about spring before Memorial Day!

I might have shaded the truth a bit (above) about the reason/s for my procrastination. What is slowing me down is that I keep thinking about the almost 600,000 people who have died of Covid-19 in the United States and the millions more around the world, and about those who loved and cared for them. Also, I live 4.5 miles away (by foot) from the U.S. Capitol and I was under curfew on January 6, 2021. That spooked me and saddened me. Before the Inauguration, Tom saw an armed gunboat patrolling the Potomac River near Georgetown. When the celebratory fireworks began on Inauguration night, I worried that our country and its institutions were under attack again. I continue to be gobsmacked by lies, disrespect, viciousness, and what-all. Also, I feel somewhat discomfited about how lucky I have been through all this mess and about the–mostly–good spring I have had.

Some Paragraphs

I have been wanting to tell you this for awhile: For months, I got through each day by getting the next day’s coffee ready ridiculously early, like at 1 p.m. I wasn’t sure I had the emotional energy to get the coffee machine ready before bed, let alone the next morning. Not a solution to any problem, but, and this is the truth now, having the coffee ready to go helped me feel ready for whatever might be coming the next day.
I don’t usually pray, but I do try to send good thoughts and love to our children and their families every night. Some nights, I fall asleep before I finish my good thoughts.
It has been almost nine weeks since our second vaccinations. Tom and I have been lucky to see and hug many family members and friends. We have been to Shenandoah National Park, Williamsburg, Pittsburgh, and Shaker Heights, Ohio. We have more jaunts in the works. Now, we are staying fairly close to home. Later, we don’t know where we will go. We are still waiting to find out which way the wind is blowing.

We have had a beautiful spring here. I think we always have beautiful springs wherever we are, but this season has been another one. On April 26 on Theodore Roosevelt Island I noted these flora and fauna: Carolina wren with oak catkin in mouth, another C wren?, another wren or warbler???, mallards, heard red-winged blackbird, several birds I couldn’t identify, turkey vultures, robins, sparrows, lots of minnows from bridge by the marsh, cabbage butterflies, other butterflies–slight possibility of a zebra swallowtail?, pawpaws-no flowers, tall meadow rue, lots of garlic mustard, Virginia waterleaf, Hartford fern?, horsetails. As usual, I had a few questions about what I observed. I can report that I have now seen some blooming pawpaws and that the tall meadow rue is going into flower. Note: All these nature words aren’t just small items on a useless list; they keep me close to the ground where–even in difficult times–I feel safe.

*Virginia waterleaf, Theodore Roosevelt Island*

*trees and sun, Theodore Roosevelt Island*

Spring did come after that difficult winter and now summer is about to follow. The 17-year cicadas are tuning up around here and the roses are coming out. I hope to see some of you soon. So long (as my Dad would say) and best wishes.