Little Journeys XI

as promised my brother john wrote about his (often) weekly date with spouse pam to the Fredrick Meijer Gardens Sculpture Park, in grand rapids where we all grew up and where, of the six of us, he still lives.as promised my brother john wrote about his (often) weekly date with spouse pam to the Fredrick Meijer Gardens Sculpture Park, in grand rapids where we all grew up and where, of the six of us, he still lives.

Our trek to the gardens was greeted with the arrival of Art Prize exhibits in certain areas of the grounds. Art Prize, which you can google, is a second year phenomenon that brings in artists from around the city, state, country and world to freely exhibit their works, with the winner receiving $250,000. It has over 1,700 artists entered with 190 venues around the city.

The majority of the art works are in downtown Grand Rapids but the venues such as Meijer Gardens add to the breadth of the event. It is quite a site to behold and has brought thousands of visitors and even us home bodies out and about the city. Worth a look at the Art Prize web site. The evenings here are definitely bringing the autumn feel as well. The cranes were still in the pond trees, the geese were moving around ever so slightly, and other than a few raccoons rummaging around the walk ways it was very quiet and peaceful. Love, John

rainy grainy day

i always say, no matter the weather or season, the marsh is beautiful. and so it is. and still today, i am feeling peevish with the view, the gray sky, the chill, and all of the browns which abound. i suppose perfection comes in many forms and one might appreciate some of those more than others. the trees across the water look tall and stately, fully bushed out with their elegant boughs reaching greenly toward each other. so that is a little slice of perfection. off to the left in the range of my view is a golden carpet of marsh grass that goes on and on northerly along the river. this golden blanket too has its perfection. finally only one tree in my entire marsh view has broken forth with some colorful leaves, the first i can see so far this fall. to me this is another perfect illustration of what makes my heart sing-green trees staying green as long as possible. time for all those fall colors will come soon enough.

i keep hearing reports from friends and neighbors about the changing colors of autumn, but the only changes here are on the ground, going from mostly green to mostly brown, and i confess i'm kind of sick of it. it has a dullness and a sogginess that make me feel melancholy. so today i have snippets of perfection rather than the whole vista of the river valley, when my heart is really in the mood for sunshine, high tide and blue water.

summer never lasts long enough for me. i admire people when they tell me that fall is their season, but i don't really believe them. i have always been a summer girl with a lot of spring thrown in since it's a lead-up to the best season. I know there will be more warm and sunny days ahead, but for today i am battening down the hatches, fluffing up the blankets, drinking hot sweet tea, and driving marty crazy with how many times i ask him to put my therapeutic bean bag into the microwave. i hope you find some cozy ways to enjoy this day as well - relaxing, restful, and healing.

p.s. an eagle just flew by. the marsh earns at least a hundred perfection points if such things can be quantified. plus the sun just came out and the little bird who lives in the shrub right next to our bedroom began singing. my melancholy is fading fast.

Sweet Summer Days

by Dennis Caraher

The summer sun is nearly done
Frost will follow soon
Asters and chrysanthemums
Light up the afternoon

The dew is on long after dawn
Mornings are a haze
One swallow's song is holding on
In these fading sweet summer days.

We flew across the ocean
Some fell into the sea
God will choose what we will lose
Though we may disagree

We come here to be mended
That we may find our way
We pray that there's redemption
In these fading sweet summer days

Summer months comfort us
The sun comes with sustenance
We live for its lingering light

Days slip away from us
Katydids and crickets hush
We drift into lengthening night.

We were once our children
Too soon they will be us
All they ask, a simple task:
"Remember how it was".

We hold them close, we let them go
We watch them fly away
And if we trust, they'll come to us
In these fading sweet summer days

Stars they are innumerable
We'll never know them all
But nature's not immutable
Every star will fall

And one day, I'll return to thee
And all that will remain
Is the beauty and the certainty
of these fading sweet summer day.

Cozy

So here we sit, my beloved friend Susan and I, enjoying our view of the river. Today it is quite blue since the sky is a clear, pale blue with nary a cloud in sight. Much of the spartina has shifted in color from a mainly green palette, to a largely tan one. There is a little island covered with one type of spartina that looks like yellow and green goldenrod.

There is goldenrod outside our house but not in the marsh itself. I have had the lifelong dispute with goldenrod. I guess I think it's pretty but what it does to my runny nose and my itchy eyes dims its beauty considerably. When I was a kid, I needed allergy shots every week in the summer, which I despised. I don't even think they helped very much either. I was also diagnosed with allergies to dust mites, mold, and mildew. Tell me where could a person possibly live and avoid these intrepid pests? Knowing I was allergic was supposed to help me feel better about all of the sneezing, in that there was a medical basis for it. I wish instead of the medical model, my parents had been to receptive to homeopathy, which I would guess has a better track record. In any case, when I got to college, it was too inconvenient to go to the infirmary for allergy shots so I declared myself cured and really, truly, since that day, my allergies have, by and large, disappeared.

Back to "cozy": I am snuggled up in bed with one of those microwave bean bags of rice, which right now is toasting my shoulder. It comes in handy on a daily basis for some aching joint or muscle. I am also wearing my fuzzy bed socks, which are the very definition of comfort. And Susan is splayed out on Marty's bed so that she can type this post, and so we can talk and giggle and cry and talk some more. I ask you, "What more could a person want" When it comes to dear friends, my cup runneth over.

Scribes

Dear Readers,

As my ability to type is greatly impaired, I now have the assistance of three wonderful scribes: my beloved Marty, my fabulous daughter Julia, and Annabel, a wonderful hospice volunteer, who is a retired children's librarian. Please be assured, however, that every single word has been, and will always be, my own. Yours truly, Rev. Mary

Ephemeral Great Heron Pond

GREAT HERON POND, HALF-WAY FILLED BY TIDE

For the past four days, the entire river basin has filled to the brim during high tide, creating a large pond or even a small lake. Left floating on the surface are several pieces of driftwood and two bouquets of gorgeous yellow flowers, looking for all the world like daffodils, even though that would be impossible, of course. I've been pondering what to name this beautiful pond, for it is definitely is its own thing. I thought of Driftwood Pond or Daffodil Lake, or South Dyer Inlet. But it was decided for me when on Day 3, a spectacular great blue heron landed on one of the tiny remaining islands, christening the little lake, "Great Heron Pond," with its presence.

The first two days and the fourth, the water was mirroring the gray sky, all silvery and charcoal, with some green from the trees thrown in for good measure. On Day 3 however, with the sun bursting forth and the sky a brilliant blue, the lake turned a deep sapphire, making the two "bouquets" of yellow flowers hovering above the water's surface even more breathtaking.

Two of the longer pieces of driftwood resembled alligators, which was quite thrilling, and at one point a large silver fish jumped and splashed very close to our house. While Great Heron Pond assembles itself, it looks from my bed as if our entire house begins to float on water. I always wanted to live on a houseboat, so I guess this is my chance to experience something like that.

Once the tide starts to recede, the spartina left behind becomes ever more bleached out, going from initially a bright green on Day 1 into a silvery sandy shade, with just a few green highlights remaining.

Perhaps in the next few weeks we will see more birds headed south, but in the four days of my new lake, there have been very few birds to be seen. Marty did see Ronnie on one of his recent walks, so that was very reassuring. However, the Quackson Five have apparently relocated.

It will be good to get the hummingbird feeders refilled, since I missed the chirpy guys hovering about. I don't know where our hummers go during the long winter months, but I have my heart set on the back yard of our dear friends Dick and Kada Harris in Mandeville, LA. Their yard is an orchid and a hummingbird paradise, just as I hope ours is for osprey, gulls, eagles, herons, geese, ducks and hummers.

Water View From My Sister's Window

My lovely sister Terry lives in Traverse City, Michigan, on Long Lake. She was here for the summer and together we were mesmerized by the marsh outside the windows. The view out her windows on Long Lake is equally beautiful, though a very different habitat. Here is what she has to say as she observes summer morphing into autumn.

Dearest Mary,

I miss you terribly. Time needs to stand still in Maine while I deal with my Michigan chores. I can't wait to witness the fall changes with you. At one time, I saw the onset of fall as depressing until we lived on the water with windows. When I took the time to observe what was actually going on, it was heartening. I pride myself in determining which creatures, primarily fowl, are preparing to stay for the long winter and which are getting ready to leave. Those staying are frantically collecting supplies while those leaving are socializing as they organize groups for the departure. In my mind I hear their conversations and see this flurry of activity instead of decline. At the same time, the trees are ablaze with color, a signal of energy. Everyone seems to complete their tasks at about the same time.

When the migrators leave, those staying behind seem to enjoy a period of rest as leaves begin to fall. Peace returns to the water. Preparations are complete and there are easy days before the water freezes. I guess this is your first full time fall on the marsh, so I hope you can note these little changes not obvious to weekenders. It is fascinating and peaceful. The next phase, winter, is calm and quiet. Unlike fall, winter life is slow and pretty much the same everyday. No one is in a hurry or seems to have an agenda. It is a period of rest from the hectic fall in order to prepare for the stimulating spring to come. Enough ramblings about what you shall see for yourself. Since we are apart, we can share life out our windows!

Love, Terry

The Lush and the Harsh of Life on the Marsh

My husband Marty is my go-to person for virtually everything. Ever since we moved to this little house on the salt marsh, we have both been studying its life and its ways. He more so than I. I asked him to describe what is going on out there right now, as it is quite remarkable - the changes are coming quickly and dramatically as summer rolls into fall, and I thought you would enjoy this primer on what's going on out there.

This is my brief response to your request that I write down some of what I was saying about the changes in the marsh. Here are seven fun facts about our salt marsh:

1. This is the crucial time of year for the marsh. The marsh is literally created by the marsh grasses, mostly two type of spartina, and at this time of year, they're reproducing. That's the gold color you've been seeing.

2. The persistent and salt-tolerant spartina roots trap the mud as the tide flows in and out. This slows the water down so the muck stays and forms a marsh instead of a bay. The grasses literally create the marsh.

3. The grasses are just starting their die-back. This is also very important. The center of the food web here is not so much the lovely spartina of the summer as much as the dead spartina of the winter. This surface waste is eaten by detritavores - creatures that feed on dead things. Around here the detritavores are mostly tiny snails, also some small, specialized fish. All the more visible creatures like the dabbling ducks slurp up those protein-rich snails, while the sly herons hunt the fish.

4. The marsh here has two main kinds of spartina. The lovely wavy grass right in front of our house, that likes to be inundated twice a month at the highest tides, is called s. patens. The more prevalent grass that's kind of punk, all spiky, is s. alterniflora. It prefers a daily tidal wetting. In our marsh, spartina is very valuable and is protected. On the west coast it's considered a pest and authorities spent a lot of money killing it.

5. Spartina is superbly well suited to living here. Each root has a tiny tube, a snorkel, that it can use to breathe when the plant is under water. The plants are veritable chemical factories, absorbing toxic salts and metals and excreting them - they are prolific and efficient water cleaners.

6. Through a process that is a kind of slow-motion combustion, the detritus and mud turn to peat. You could dig the marsh up, dry it, and burn it - maybe to distill a little scotch......

7. In the previous few centuries, people right here and elsewhere cut the marsh hay - spartina - and used it for animal food. The basis for agriculture from the 1600s onwards around here was spartina. As recently as the start of the 21st century, people here cut the spartina like it was a lawn. Nowadays, the powers that be would frown on that practice, and neighbors would laugh.

Little Journeys X

as promised my brother john wrote about his (often) weekly date with spouse pam to the Fredrick Meijer Gardens Sculpture Park, in grand rapids where we all grew up and where, of the six of us, he still lives.

Our trek to the gardens was very pleasant - definitely a feeling of Fall upon us. The highlight of the night was "the duck bath". A large family was all lined along the shore of the pond. Two by two they would wade into the water, flick water onto their backs with their yappers and pick at things, all in a fast and furious way. Interesting to note how the water just rolled off their backs, i guess giving rise to "like water off a duck's back". Anyway, they continued this performance for 4 to 5 minutes, and with a rising up and great flap of the wings, sauntered back out of the water to be replaced with the next two. The rest would just stand at attention on the shore and continue to pick at whatever ducks pick from themselves.

There was also a large contingent of white cranes chasing each other around the pond, as though they each had their own little plot that was not to be disturbed. No blue herons spotted - do they go south for the winter? The rest of the walk was quiet and for the first time this season, the lights of the gardens came on before we left. I guess the change is upon us but with it brings the burst of color and activity not seen at any other time of year. Sounds like fall has definitely found its way to the marsh in Sheepscot.

Love, John

reluctance

autumn is sneaking in with its beautiful golden fingers. even though summer is my favorite season and i am relishing each and every warm day, it's hard not to be touched by the small changes underway everywhere. the operative word is golden. the way the light radiates over the grasses, the way the grasses themselves are shifting from mostly green to more and more gold.

by now i have lost track of the number of flocks of canadian geese heading south. they would be hard to miss as they fly on their journey because many of them seem to come down the dyer river and glide right over our rooftop on their way. sometimes silent, sometimes having wild and raucous conversations where i would dearly love to know what they are talking about.

reports of fox sightings continue; the kits are nearly full grown. i need to find out what they do during the winter around here. i know they don't hibernate, i just don't know if they live here year round.

thankfully i haven't seen any changes in the colors of the leaves. i hope this autumn takes a long time to settle in and pushes summer out of the way slowly.

From Robert Frost's poem, "Reluctance":

Ah, when to anyone's heart
Was it ever less than a treason
To go with the drift of things,
To yield with a grace to reason
And bow and accept the end
Of a love or a season.