Yesterday afternoon, I got the gift of attendance at Game 5 of the Detroit Tiger's baseball quest to make it to the World Series. My friend, Sally called and had an extra ticket. Did I want to go with them? Are you kidding? But its Standing Room Only. Are you kidding, I don't care, and yes count me in.
And so we met at Sally's on noon of a Thursday. The day before the game had been delayed over two hours due to rain and so the game could go off uninterrupted. It still managed to mist on and off throughout the early evening and most of the fans and spectators looked wet and miserable. I'm guessing losing another extra inning game against Texas didn't make them any happier. I debated what to take to wear as rain was still in the forecast though the morning here had been dry if cloudy. I finally took an extra sweater, rain coat and rain poncho, deciding I would decide when I got to Comerica and viewed the Detroit weather up close and personal.
Five of us headed to Detroit. Sally, me, her daughter, son in law, and his son. We were a disparate but happy group. Upon parking and walking to the ball park, we talked to ushers about where the SRO spots were and then decided where we wanted to stand in the great areas surrounding the diamond. Getting there over two hours early allowed us to pick where we wanted to stand. We chose a shoulder high wall on the top of the bottom section down the third base line. From where we stood we had a great view of Justin Verlander pitching and the batter, catcher and umpire. We staked our claim by standing in the spot and spent the intervening two hours, going singly or in two's to get beer, use the bathrooms and of course get ball park food, leaving at least 3 to keep our spots.
The stands looked slightly empty in this do or die game for the Tigers and Detroit and the larger state of Michigan, but by the time the National Anthem was finished, the stands were full and we were all ready to rumble. JV didn't have his best stuff and that was evident in the first inning when Texas scored on a couple of hits. Our turn came and we went down, 1,2, and 3. Manager Jim Leyland had pretty much the same line up just tweaked here and there by moving some around, nothing major. We all hoped that we could somehow keep Texas at bay while waiting until we could score. The atmosphere was electric but there was an air of trepidation because this was it for Detroit. Win or go home for the winter.
I went out for a bathroom run and to stop for a beer. While waiting in line, a roar went up from the crowd, and sure enough I had missed a home run by Alex Avila, our poor, beat up catcher. His first of the playoff series, in fact pretty much his first hit. Before I could get to the counter another roar went up and another hit. When I got back to our spot, I was told I needed to go on a beer run every time we batted. I told them the beer was too over priced for that to happen, but I did practice turning away at key times and come the 6th inning after we had gone a run ahead, we broke the game wide open. A single by Raburn, a double by Caberra, a third base line grounder that should have been a double play but hit the third base bag and took a wicked hop right over Beltrie's head. Next up "V-mart" took an at bat to be proud of and ended up hitting a ball into the right field corner, a diving Cruze couldn't come up with. A triple and then Delmon Young with seemingly no effort put one over the wall. So, a single, a double, a triple and a homerun to cap it off. Four runs and an add on homerun in the 7th had us up 5 runs going into the 8th. JV took the mound with an already high pitch count into the over a hundred pass, and getting two outs, allowing a single and then Cruze, the newly minted Tiger killer with two strikes put one out of the park, shaving our lead down to 3 runs. Justin was pulled and Phil Coke came out to be the relief and would be the set up man and the closer for this game. The 9th inning came and a tense couple of batters as Coke battled through a homerun, now we had just a 2 run lead, a man on and the tying run up to bat, but he got the ground out. Comerica erupted....
What are the memories from this magical win that allowed the Tigers and all of us to smile another day and hope for a few more minor miracles from our beat up, "Boys of Summer". I will remember the people stopping in their travels across our path at the wall and smiling when a hit was made or the roar of the crowd signaling a homerun. The waving white towels we were given, and the usher, gleefully high fiving all of us after every run was scored. High fives were everywhere. Paws, the costumed Tiger mascot, stopping and allowing picture after picture and a pat on the head for me after. The "Tiger girls" who worked the crowds, cheering us on to cheer on our Tigers and handing out smiles and Verlander capes at the end of the evening. People laughing and talking to one another. The wonderful gentlemen behind us with the season ticket seats who warned us to keep our eyes on the lefties batting as their foul balls would land right in our vicinity, and many did come close though no real cigars to catch. The nice young man I stood next to from Grosse Pointe, quiet and alone, he none the less, smiled and laughed along with our crazy group.
We hung around to see the crowds disperse after, happy and tired. We watched the ground crews come out and took final pictures of the huge scoreboard lit with the next game, date and time in Texas. We knew we had encountered a magical time. The night had remained mild and rain had held off until we walked back to the parking ramp, our Tigers had won, and while we knew it was still an uphill battle to win two games in Texas, we were given that chance.
As Victor Martinez said later that night, "what have we got to lose?" Indeed what have we got to lose. The Detroit Tigers will play that kid's game of the ultimate stick and ball again, and as we drove north home through the rain slicked night, we all considered ourselves the lucky ones. We had reached for the stars for that one evening and been awarded one more day...
Friday, October 14, 2011
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Dancing
Okay, I'll admit it I was addicted to "Dancing with the Stars". Never got into "Survivor", "American Idol", "The Apprentice", well maybe for half a year on that one. I never watched "The Deadliest Catch", "Ice Road Truckers" or "Ax Men". Reality shows have mushroomed like toadstools around a decaying tree trunk. They are now every where on tv and with so many subtleties and angles, its hard to get what is real, as in reality and what is manipulated, for how real is it when you are being followed by a camera and talking to some one holding the camera. Its not like I go around talking to the dogs, (well, I do some times), or that I expect it to end on tv, but I watched "Dancing with the Stars" from the first it was on, and it has always held my interest...until this year. I guess its not really an addiction because I find myself losing interest. Maybe its because they seem to be throwing the kitchen sink of people and types on this season's show. Its not that I care about types, its about the dancing, the costumes, and watching someone that's good but maybe not great evolve into something I love watching by the end of series. But this year, the personalities seem to be taking precedence over the dancing. And the voting seems to get sillier, as decent dancers are sent home, and dancers who have nothing going for them except some kind of noteriety are left on. So my addiction wanes, and I guess its not really an addiction for all that. Its not like I can not stop myself from watching, in fact, I've gotten better and better at it. Its just not special anymore and doesn't appeal to me as it once did. Maybe real life has inserted itself or maybe I have just tired of it and the networks saturation of reality viewing. Its probably me, but it could be you, or the overkill. I'm voting for the overkill.
Chynna Phillips was voted off the island or dance floor as it were. She made a blunder in the week's routine, but still she is better than two or three others still there, but they are novelties, she was not. And so it goes...
I think I have an addiction to coffee as I really do not want to go the morning without my cup of joe. I believe the consequences would be dire. But "Dancing with the Stars"....well, maybe I'll watch one more week....
Chynna Phillips was voted off the island or dance floor as it were. She made a blunder in the week's routine, but still she is better than two or three others still there, but they are novelties, she was not. And so it goes...
I think I have an addiction to coffee as I really do not want to go the morning without my cup of joe. I believe the consequences would be dire. But "Dancing with the Stars"....well, maybe I'll watch one more week....
Monday, October 10, 2011
The New Giants
Yesterday, on what was a gorgeous autumn morning, Kurt called to tell me to come pick him up as the truck had broken down while he was hunting with Tally. I assumed he was over by my mom's down in the creek flats where he had blasted 3 wood ducks on Saturday, but as he gave me directions I realized he was the opposite way, well into Gratiot County on a country road in the land of the "new giants".
So, it was without the usual grumbling that I went to get him. My route took me down unpaved roads, and through countryside alive with brilliant color. Farmers were humming in the fields as harvest was now started in earnest, and the warm, dry days won't last for much longer. I found he and Tally where they had directed and after we unloaded the truck and stowed things safely in the car trunk, he left a key in the gas tank for the wrecker which he had called. I took the leisurely route home as I told Kurt, I wanted to see the wind turbines off Lincoln Road again.
Two weeks ago my mom had told of going to her brother's, my uncle, to see the new wind turbines being erected in Gratiot County, and pretty much right across the road from my uncle's house. We had known of the wind turbine project for some time and how the farmers and landowners in Gratiot were being approached to lease land for these structures to be erected. My uncle has held out from agreeing to these turbines, believing that this may not be the best deal for the farmer's involved. But many do not share his philosophy and my mom came back from the tour, telling me how big they are and how many of them there are already. The following Friday evening we had a chance to go see Hemlock high school's football team play at Alma in what would be a game of undefeated teams. While a crisp night, it was a good night for football. I jumped at the idea, though we hadn't even been to a "home" football game this year, partially, (well mostly), to drive through the area of wind turbines before dark and get my own up close and personal views.
As we approached Meridian Road which is the dividing line between Saginaw County and Gratiot, the road curves through a woods. Kurt told me once we rounded the curve I would be able to see the turbines. I don't know what my expectations were, I had certainly seen pictures of wind turbines lined up like soldiers in the prairie areas of Texas, but what I saw did not even register on the expectation meter. When we rounded that curve, I truly, felt my mouth drop open in awe. Lined up across the familiar landscape horizon rose giant structures that dwarfed the trees below them. Three pronged mammoth blades hung stationary for the moment from bases that would have shrunk giant redwood trees. They appeared almost as alien presences, something out of a science fiction movie, silent and brooding over the earth, far below. It was as if someone had dropped single skyscrapers into different farm fields. It literally took my breath away as we drove by them, row upon disparate rows . They were not lined up as soldiers, but in no discernible pattern, and they seemed to be every where on each side of the road. I could not take my eyes from them.
As we drove further west the turbines gradually thinned down, but we could see driveways and turn arounds built into fields where future turbines would be erected. We spied one large crane hanging the turbine's blades, and it was hard to imagine the size flatbed truck that would have been needed to transport such gigantic structures. I had heard stories from people who lived by the freeway, recounting seeing huge trucks pulling flatbed trailers with these blades aboard. They marveled at these parts moving by. But the actual viewing of them against the sky was something akin to building the Mackinac bridge in a farm field. I would guess that Lincoln Road will be seeing unprecendented traffic for the next months as it was better than taking the Christmas light tour.
The game turned out to be exciting, and a near down to the wire win by Hemlock, trumped only by the time running out, heroics of Alma. I got to take a nostalgic trip back to the town of my college days, though we never really got over to campus, it is always fun to go back. It is not far, but seems light years away at times. It was another time in my life, and now one of fond and fuzzy memories.
Every once in a while we need to be shook up and struck speechless. I hope the wind turbine experiment works and that they will in the very near future be seen as nothing more than satellite towers. But for now it was well worth driving a bit out of my way on a nice autumn morning to see the "New Giants"....
So, it was without the usual grumbling that I went to get him. My route took me down unpaved roads, and through countryside alive with brilliant color. Farmers were humming in the fields as harvest was now started in earnest, and the warm, dry days won't last for much longer. I found he and Tally where they had directed and after we unloaded the truck and stowed things safely in the car trunk, he left a key in the gas tank for the wrecker which he had called. I took the leisurely route home as I told Kurt, I wanted to see the wind turbines off Lincoln Road again.
Two weeks ago my mom had told of going to her brother's, my uncle, to see the new wind turbines being erected in Gratiot County, and pretty much right across the road from my uncle's house. We had known of the wind turbine project for some time and how the farmers and landowners in Gratiot were being approached to lease land for these structures to be erected. My uncle has held out from agreeing to these turbines, believing that this may not be the best deal for the farmer's involved. But many do not share his philosophy and my mom came back from the tour, telling me how big they are and how many of them there are already. The following Friday evening we had a chance to go see Hemlock high school's football team play at Alma in what would be a game of undefeated teams. While a crisp night, it was a good night for football. I jumped at the idea, though we hadn't even been to a "home" football game this year, partially, (well mostly), to drive through the area of wind turbines before dark and get my own up close and personal views.
As we approached Meridian Road which is the dividing line between Saginaw County and Gratiot, the road curves through a woods. Kurt told me once we rounded the curve I would be able to see the turbines. I don't know what my expectations were, I had certainly seen pictures of wind turbines lined up like soldiers in the prairie areas of Texas, but what I saw did not even register on the expectation meter. When we rounded that curve, I truly, felt my mouth drop open in awe. Lined up across the familiar landscape horizon rose giant structures that dwarfed the trees below them. Three pronged mammoth blades hung stationary for the moment from bases that would have shrunk giant redwood trees. They appeared almost as alien presences, something out of a science fiction movie, silent and brooding over the earth, far below. It was as if someone had dropped single skyscrapers into different farm fields. It literally took my breath away as we drove by them, row upon disparate rows . They were not lined up as soldiers, but in no discernible pattern, and they seemed to be every where on each side of the road. I could not take my eyes from them.
As we drove further west the turbines gradually thinned down, but we could see driveways and turn arounds built into fields where future turbines would be erected. We spied one large crane hanging the turbine's blades, and it was hard to imagine the size flatbed truck that would have been needed to transport such gigantic structures. I had heard stories from people who lived by the freeway, recounting seeing huge trucks pulling flatbed trailers with these blades aboard. They marveled at these parts moving by. But the actual viewing of them against the sky was something akin to building the Mackinac bridge in a farm field. I would guess that Lincoln Road will be seeing unprecendented traffic for the next months as it was better than taking the Christmas light tour.
The game turned out to be exciting, and a near down to the wire win by Hemlock, trumped only by the time running out, heroics of Alma. I got to take a nostalgic trip back to the town of my college days, though we never really got over to campus, it is always fun to go back. It is not far, but seems light years away at times. It was another time in my life, and now one of fond and fuzzy memories.
Every once in a while we need to be shook up and struck speechless. I hope the wind turbine experiment works and that they will in the very near future be seen as nothing more than satellite towers. But for now it was well worth driving a bit out of my way on a nice autumn morning to see the "New Giants"....
Saturday, October 8, 2011
Barn Dance
A week ago, on a night that was fraught with rain, blowing wind and cold, after what had been beautiful early autumn weather, we drove down for a barn dance. A barn dance and everything it conjures up. Porter Waggoner style band, slicked down hair and cowboy shirts. Picking and grinning. Straw bales to sit on and country style food which would include some kind of barbeque. Women in gingham dresses with stiff crinolines underneath. Yeah, I was letting my imagination of what I remembered barn dances to be and HeHaw carry me away.
The owner of the huge farm where we train was having a stock auction the next day. This was a thank you to all who would attend and those of us who train dogs were invited also. Our friend, Jim, spends countless hours working on the conservation end of the farms, and when Mary inivited us, it sounded like fun.
The main farm is an old beef and dairy operation. It has a couple of huge old barns, in various stages of being repaired and preserved. There is an auction building, a couple of houses and the owner's attractive office. The barn dance was being held in the largest of the barns in the mammoth haymow. It was likely 20 feet from the peak of the bow roofed barn to the haymow floor. A narrow stairway led the way up. Upon ascending to the haymow, we were amazed at what had transformed. Twenty or thirty round tables were set up with white linen tablecloths and pots of autumn flowers. Bales of straw were scattered around giving the barn dance ambiance. A bar complete with neon lights and beer on tap and a huge buffet were set up on one side. The smell of grilled steak permeated the mow area.
We found seats a few rows back where a well known country band was playing. Great food and very good company and music that made my country loving toes tap. While not many of the training group were there, we found people we knew. Now I tell all this because I am not a stranger to barn dances in a haymow. Though most of my memories of my only other haymow dance are on fuzzy 8mm film, there are warm, multi colored remembrances of little girls with sailor hats and bandanas wrapped around their necks who danced together all night. It was myself at maybe 4 or 5 and my aunt who is my senior by 5 years. My brother and I were her constant companions for our first decade of life. The barn dance as far as I can remember it, was music, darkness and tall people. I vaguely remember the straw strewn about and the thrill of being with the adults, but past that I really only have the pictures and the film. My grandpa was the one of the original home movie guys and there was seldom a celebration at his house that did not include blinding light bars and the whirl of his movie camera. I am preserved, for better or worse, on that 8 mm film somewhere now stored between the aunts and uncles.
Why that particular memory has stayed with me for so long, I'm not sure, but it was a warm memory, and I still remember how special I felt with my sailor hat and red bandana scarf. This barn dance was much more luxurious and the food probably better than the potluck I am sure was the standard at my grandparents barn dance, but after all these years I still smile when I think of that dance in the haymow, and the good fun and friendship that exuded from the big old barn which had housed dairy cows earlier in the day. It was friends and neighbors taking time to just be together, knowing how to have fun in the simplest of ways. Knowing how to laugh and sing and rejoice. They worked hard during the week, but never missed opportunties to party in the old fashioned sense. They knew their place in the world, even if that world was only the county wide. It was simplicity with no agenda and something I miss more than anything. Perhaps it is why that barn dance stands out in my mind.
This barn dance was fun. It was a novelty for most there. It was about smart leather coats, Miranda Lambert renditions, and catered food with grilled steaks. Many who attended I am sure thought they had found the authentic barn dance, 2011 style. But I know better, and while one was pleasant and something different, the other was the stuff my memories are made of....
The owner of the huge farm where we train was having a stock auction the next day. This was a thank you to all who would attend and those of us who train dogs were invited also. Our friend, Jim, spends countless hours working on the conservation end of the farms, and when Mary inivited us, it sounded like fun.
The main farm is an old beef and dairy operation. It has a couple of huge old barns, in various stages of being repaired and preserved. There is an auction building, a couple of houses and the owner's attractive office. The barn dance was being held in the largest of the barns in the mammoth haymow. It was likely 20 feet from the peak of the bow roofed barn to the haymow floor. A narrow stairway led the way up. Upon ascending to the haymow, we were amazed at what had transformed. Twenty or thirty round tables were set up with white linen tablecloths and pots of autumn flowers. Bales of straw were scattered around giving the barn dance ambiance. A bar complete with neon lights and beer on tap and a huge buffet were set up on one side. The smell of grilled steak permeated the mow area.
We found seats a few rows back where a well known country band was playing. Great food and very good company and music that made my country loving toes tap. While not many of the training group were there, we found people we knew. Now I tell all this because I am not a stranger to barn dances in a haymow. Though most of my memories of my only other haymow dance are on fuzzy 8mm film, there are warm, multi colored remembrances of little girls with sailor hats and bandanas wrapped around their necks who danced together all night. It was myself at maybe 4 or 5 and my aunt who is my senior by 5 years. My brother and I were her constant companions for our first decade of life. The barn dance as far as I can remember it, was music, darkness and tall people. I vaguely remember the straw strewn about and the thrill of being with the adults, but past that I really only have the pictures and the film. My grandpa was the one of the original home movie guys and there was seldom a celebration at his house that did not include blinding light bars and the whirl of his movie camera. I am preserved, for better or worse, on that 8 mm film somewhere now stored between the aunts and uncles.
Why that particular memory has stayed with me for so long, I'm not sure, but it was a warm memory, and I still remember how special I felt with my sailor hat and red bandana scarf. This barn dance was much more luxurious and the food probably better than the potluck I am sure was the standard at my grandparents barn dance, but after all these years I still smile when I think of that dance in the haymow, and the good fun and friendship that exuded from the big old barn which had housed dairy cows earlier in the day. It was friends and neighbors taking time to just be together, knowing how to have fun in the simplest of ways. Knowing how to laugh and sing and rejoice. They worked hard during the week, but never missed opportunties to party in the old fashioned sense. They knew their place in the world, even if that world was only the county wide. It was simplicity with no agenda and something I miss more than anything. Perhaps it is why that barn dance stands out in my mind.
This barn dance was fun. It was a novelty for most there. It was about smart leather coats, Miranda Lambert renditions, and catered food with grilled steaks. Many who attended I am sure thought they had found the authentic barn dance, 2011 style. But I know better, and while one was pleasant and something different, the other was the stuff my memories are made of....
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
The Twilight Season
When I think of Twilight; and no its not the vampires I am talking about, I usually think of long summer twilights when the setting sun and the stars arriving out can linger for a couple of hours. The heat of the day is not lessened by the vanishing ball of fire and you sit outside amid buzzing insects, the last calls of the birds and the spector of bats swooping against a pink flushed sky. Summer twilights we take for granted as they are just a part of the long summer days, when we don't think much about night, except as a brief respite from the day's glare. We walk, ride bikes and sit on front porches on summer twilights. We stop and talk to neighbors and still have time to get home before the velvety blackness encircles us.
But come the autumn months we rush to beat the darkness as days shorten with rapid intensity. Last night I walked outside in the back yard after taking a bike ride an hour earlier than I had just a month ago, because daylight leaves that much quicker. And as I was walking outside to take down laundry that had dried nicely in a freshening fall wind, I glimpsed across our pond. The sun which in its summer zenith sets far too its north and is right in line for the autumnal equinox is now already off to its southern border. But the cattails, (which we tried to eradicate with no success this summer), waved gently in the soft but still northern autumn breeze. A fish broke the ponds smooth surface, sending gentle ripples across its calm face. The tree swallows which swoop over the pond during summer twilights catching water bugs by the hundreds are already gone heading early for southern areas to winter. Canada geese occasionally land on our pond during the day at this time of year, but never are in sight as evening approaches. The pond seemed to be a lesson in all things country in those moments I watched. Calm and quiet, awaiting the bitter winds that will sweep it and the cold that will coat it with layer upon layer of ice. But for now, it was country, enjoying the quiet and peace that can be autumn here. I wanted to put into words what I saw and what I felt, but sometimes words just fail, it is incredible and it is as soft as a warm scarf around your neck on a chilly night. It is comfortable and a predesscor. It tells volumes but you have to listen, look and just feel.
I had to stop my rushing for just a few minutes to watch the sun sink behind an orange sky. One that matches the color of maple trees in high color. An incredible bit of peace settled over as I took the moments to just looks and be glad for the propane I had grumbled about in escalating prices, but that I had bought in bulk, and how it would keep me warm in my house during the frozen months of winter here. I was peaceful as I have seldom been in this last decade about the "Harvest Season" and the putting away and the tucking in. Gardens are cut down and the last green tomatoes brought in to ripen slowly, wrapped in newspapers in a dry place. Pumpkins, now bright orange and ripe are brought in and set on porch stoops and around montages of corn stalks and equally bright pots of chrysanthemums. They await the final carving of their faces into jack o lanterns to delight the trick or treating neighborhood children, and moreso in a nice way, the oldsters who remember when halloween was a magic, honest scary time, not a day where evil could be unleashed.
Farmers still bring in the crops and I still live in the country where I can witness that renewal of what has always been, the bringing in of the harvest. It never fails to bring a peace to me, though for many years it was the passing of time too quickly that it meant, and I struggled with the passing of time. I'm not sure that I have overcome totally, the feeling that time slips through my hands like water, but I have retained some of the peace that Autumn always meant to me.
We will soon bring in the outdoor furniture, take down the window boxes of faded flowers, and empty the pots. We will mend what we can before winter, and put away the rest. Some things will wait until spring, but we do what we can to be snug for winter's onslaught.
I watched the sun slip down and shadows grow rapidly. Sunset and twilight in Autumn is a liquid thing, sending ripples quietly and quickly out. It is dark much too soon, but it is still there. Winter sunsets are gone before we blink as we rush around on what we still consider afternoon, plunging us into darkness and long evenings that seem that much longer for the dark of them. The stars came out shortly after the sun dipped and was gone, and the fall star gazing is always magnificent, but I think I will remember the twilights....
But come the autumn months we rush to beat the darkness as days shorten with rapid intensity. Last night I walked outside in the back yard after taking a bike ride an hour earlier than I had just a month ago, because daylight leaves that much quicker. And as I was walking outside to take down laundry that had dried nicely in a freshening fall wind, I glimpsed across our pond. The sun which in its summer zenith sets far too its north and is right in line for the autumnal equinox is now already off to its southern border. But the cattails, (which we tried to eradicate with no success this summer), waved gently in the soft but still northern autumn breeze. A fish broke the ponds smooth surface, sending gentle ripples across its calm face. The tree swallows which swoop over the pond during summer twilights catching water bugs by the hundreds are already gone heading early for southern areas to winter. Canada geese occasionally land on our pond during the day at this time of year, but never are in sight as evening approaches. The pond seemed to be a lesson in all things country in those moments I watched. Calm and quiet, awaiting the bitter winds that will sweep it and the cold that will coat it with layer upon layer of ice. But for now, it was country, enjoying the quiet and peace that can be autumn here. I wanted to put into words what I saw and what I felt, but sometimes words just fail, it is incredible and it is as soft as a warm scarf around your neck on a chilly night. It is comfortable and a predesscor. It tells volumes but you have to listen, look and just feel.
I had to stop my rushing for just a few minutes to watch the sun sink behind an orange sky. One that matches the color of maple trees in high color. An incredible bit of peace settled over as I took the moments to just looks and be glad for the propane I had grumbled about in escalating prices, but that I had bought in bulk, and how it would keep me warm in my house during the frozen months of winter here. I was peaceful as I have seldom been in this last decade about the "Harvest Season" and the putting away and the tucking in. Gardens are cut down and the last green tomatoes brought in to ripen slowly, wrapped in newspapers in a dry place. Pumpkins, now bright orange and ripe are brought in and set on porch stoops and around montages of corn stalks and equally bright pots of chrysanthemums. They await the final carving of their faces into jack o lanterns to delight the trick or treating neighborhood children, and moreso in a nice way, the oldsters who remember when halloween was a magic, honest scary time, not a day where evil could be unleashed.
Farmers still bring in the crops and I still live in the country where I can witness that renewal of what has always been, the bringing in of the harvest. It never fails to bring a peace to me, though for many years it was the passing of time too quickly that it meant, and I struggled with the passing of time. I'm not sure that I have overcome totally, the feeling that time slips through my hands like water, but I have retained some of the peace that Autumn always meant to me.
We will soon bring in the outdoor furniture, take down the window boxes of faded flowers, and empty the pots. We will mend what we can before winter, and put away the rest. Some things will wait until spring, but we do what we can to be snug for winter's onslaught.
I watched the sun slip down and shadows grow rapidly. Sunset and twilight in Autumn is a liquid thing, sending ripples quietly and quickly out. It is dark much too soon, but it is still there. Winter sunsets are gone before we blink as we rush around on what we still consider afternoon, plunging us into darkness and long evenings that seem that much longer for the dark of them. The stars came out shortly after the sun dipped and was gone, and the fall star gazing is always magnificent, but I think I will remember the twilights....
Friday, September 30, 2011
Hello to Autumn
Yesterday I performed my annual first rite of fall. I moved my summer clothes; shorts and tank tops to the box stored in the back of the closet. From that box I had already pulled out sweatshirts and long jeans. From the sweater storage in the vinyl zippered bags, I removed my sweaters and some dress pants. I put in cropped pants and the sleeveless tops and swimsuits. The sundresses and summer pantsuits were hung in a winter closet and the fall and winter outifts were re hung in the bedroom closet. I do this twice a year, but the spring changing over is a drawn out affair as spring is a fickle mistress here. She may tease us with 70 degree days in March and early April but we know it will not last so we tend to just keep the jeans in place and replace the sweatshirt with a t-shirt for that day. We slowly replace sweatshirts with tees and finally sleeveless and tank tops. The shorts come out last and it is likely June before the full switch over is completed.
Somehow in the Fall we just know when it is no longer shorts weather. It happens in September and we go from loving having shorts on to the rapidly shortening days and cooler mornings and earlier evenings of wanting jeans, seemingly overnight. We just know. And so we begin the switch. We do it grudgingly, acknowledging that Fall is here and much as we would like to turn back the clock to the glorious days of summer, its not going to happen, until Autumn and Winter have had their say. I usually do this switching over with great resignation, boxes and clothing taken out of drawers sitting in the bedroom for weeks at a time, but this year it just seemed to be a good job to do on a rainy day, and so I did.
I used to embrace autumn and I would like to do that again, and so I smiled fondly as I put away clothes that would wait another year to be reworn, sorted through the fall and winter clothing, gleaning good clothing I hadn't worn for the last two years to send to the church run clothing bank. It gets easier as there are just the two of us, and I care less about what clothing I have. I realize I am slowly sinking into that mode of preferring what is comfortable to what may be the latest trend. I am finding that it has crept up on me, but is not without its attractions. I don't endure uncomfortable shoes for the sake of style, and admit I have "problem feet" and need the support of solid shoes and don't really care if high heels make my legs look longer. It does me no good if I can't walk for four days afterward. I find I am still most comfortable in good fitting jeans and a comfortable, well worn sweatshirt. I dress for warmth in winter now, not style.
I hope I have retained my love of harvest in the fall as I have been gathering apples this year, the last of the tomatoes to bring inside and allow to ripen wrapped in newspapers slowly so I have garden tomatoes into the late fall. I have cut the last of the garden basil to make a pesto, as frost will surely do that delicate annual in here. I still have carrots and onions to dig, but they will wait until later in the fall. This year I will not plant the 600 or so tulip and daffodil bulbs I generally do every October. My spring bulbs will have to be what they are next year. But I have many "housekeeping and yard" tasks to do this fall yet, and I will not lack for things to button up and tighten down. It is the farm girl in me to want to harvest and then store my "nuts" as does a squirrel. The wild turkeys are every where now foraging on the nuts reigning down from the trees, another sign fall is upon us.
The days are shortening and the trees are now changing color rapidly. We have reached that window of perhaps 3 weeks of color in our part of Michigan. The maples begin it all along with poplars and aspens. Next the oaks and locusts, go to reds and shades of gold. Finally the weeping willows turn yellow and drop their leaves in late November winds. We go from color abounding to bare, brown trees which will be our landscape for the next 6 months.
It is the time to put up and store away. To plan for the winter projects and look back over a year, hopefully, well spent. To review and decide how you have learned and grown. To realize the worrying and the "stressing" probably didn't accomplish anything. To mourn the loss of dear friends and loved ones, and to appreciate the new lives entering, to make our senior years ones of joy. It is a time to appreciate the little things, that are taken for granted much of the year.
This year as I put away the clothing of another summer of my life, I also put away the happy memories and all that I have learned, to be pulled out in the coming winter months as something to celebrate. This year, I am determined not to mourn the ending of summer so much as to reflect on all it taught me and look forward to the challenges and comforts of autumn and the ending of the year. I learned much from last winter's hard lessons, and now hope to celebrate good health and a new decision to make the most of what I have right now. I have reconnected with my Lord and I want to keep that growth as something I strive for through every day remaining to me.
Hello to Autumn and a fond farewell to a Summer I won't soon forget.
Somehow in the Fall we just know when it is no longer shorts weather. It happens in September and we go from loving having shorts on to the rapidly shortening days and cooler mornings and earlier evenings of wanting jeans, seemingly overnight. We just know. And so we begin the switch. We do it grudgingly, acknowledging that Fall is here and much as we would like to turn back the clock to the glorious days of summer, its not going to happen, until Autumn and Winter have had their say. I usually do this switching over with great resignation, boxes and clothing taken out of drawers sitting in the bedroom for weeks at a time, but this year it just seemed to be a good job to do on a rainy day, and so I did.
I used to embrace autumn and I would like to do that again, and so I smiled fondly as I put away clothes that would wait another year to be reworn, sorted through the fall and winter clothing, gleaning good clothing I hadn't worn for the last two years to send to the church run clothing bank. It gets easier as there are just the two of us, and I care less about what clothing I have. I realize I am slowly sinking into that mode of preferring what is comfortable to what may be the latest trend. I am finding that it has crept up on me, but is not without its attractions. I don't endure uncomfortable shoes for the sake of style, and admit I have "problem feet" and need the support of solid shoes and don't really care if high heels make my legs look longer. It does me no good if I can't walk for four days afterward. I find I am still most comfortable in good fitting jeans and a comfortable, well worn sweatshirt. I dress for warmth in winter now, not style.
I hope I have retained my love of harvest in the fall as I have been gathering apples this year, the last of the tomatoes to bring inside and allow to ripen wrapped in newspapers slowly so I have garden tomatoes into the late fall. I have cut the last of the garden basil to make a pesto, as frost will surely do that delicate annual in here. I still have carrots and onions to dig, but they will wait until later in the fall. This year I will not plant the 600 or so tulip and daffodil bulbs I generally do every October. My spring bulbs will have to be what they are next year. But I have many "housekeeping and yard" tasks to do this fall yet, and I will not lack for things to button up and tighten down. It is the farm girl in me to want to harvest and then store my "nuts" as does a squirrel. The wild turkeys are every where now foraging on the nuts reigning down from the trees, another sign fall is upon us.
The days are shortening and the trees are now changing color rapidly. We have reached that window of perhaps 3 weeks of color in our part of Michigan. The maples begin it all along with poplars and aspens. Next the oaks and locusts, go to reds and shades of gold. Finally the weeping willows turn yellow and drop their leaves in late November winds. We go from color abounding to bare, brown trees which will be our landscape for the next 6 months.
It is the time to put up and store away. To plan for the winter projects and look back over a year, hopefully, well spent. To review and decide how you have learned and grown. To realize the worrying and the "stressing" probably didn't accomplish anything. To mourn the loss of dear friends and loved ones, and to appreciate the new lives entering, to make our senior years ones of joy. It is a time to appreciate the little things, that are taken for granted much of the year.
This year as I put away the clothing of another summer of my life, I also put away the happy memories and all that I have learned, to be pulled out in the coming winter months as something to celebrate. This year, I am determined not to mourn the ending of summer so much as to reflect on all it taught me and look forward to the challenges and comforts of autumn and the ending of the year. I learned much from last winter's hard lessons, and now hope to celebrate good health and a new decision to make the most of what I have right now. I have reconnected with my Lord and I want to keep that growth as something I strive for through every day remaining to me.
Hello to Autumn and a fond farewell to a Summer I won't soon forget.
Monday, September 19, 2011
The Memorial
Last week I went to the funeral home for an old friend, who died rather unexpectedly. Don had survived a heart attack little more than a year ago. He was alive because another friend knew enough to do CPR and demand a frightened high school softball player help him. He survived bypass surgery and survived the post operative, when many thought he would have major memory gaps. He survived all of that and when I talked to him the following summer, I never would have known except for a profound gratitude that he had survived it all.
It was then a huge shock when I was called and told he had passed away after surgery for a tumor in his colon that had complications. He passed quickly but was able to say goodbye to his kids.
I had known Don since I was a kid. Four years older than I he sometimes came over with some other kids in 4-H to play soccer on our stretch of road that bordered a Catholic mission church. The road widened there to include parking and we quite often used the area for fierce soccer games. Later on, Don took my best friend's older sister to the prom and her sister's and I peeked out from behind a door as he picked her up. I went away to college and when I would come home summers I would see him on my brother's fast pitch softball team. He was a record setting pitcher and was well known in the area. He pitched for years and was entered into the Michigan softball HOF.
I would see more of him again when I met my later, husband Kurt on his softball team. Don married had two children and was an excellent dad to a step son. He lived on the family farm and worked it all his life. He never wanted for more than what he had right there.
I walked into the funeral home and the viewing. Don had been cremated and the table was decorated with a simple box and mementoes from his life. Upon walking in I was immediately asked if I had done the framed picture on a stand near his box. My first response was "No" but then I realized my name was on it. It was a pastel picture and I had done many, more than 25 years ago. Don was kneeling in his softball uniform holding a softball and looking back at me. I studied that portrait I didn't really remember doing, and I would have done much of it differently but the face.....I had gotten Don's expression even all those years ago. He hadn't changed much in 35 years. I may not have remembered doing the picture, but his sister saved it all those years. She had stored it in the attic and gotten it out, cleaned it up and framed it and it had a place of honor. I felt honored that someone had saved something I had done so long ago. Honored and humbled that in the celebration of a man's life after his passing, something of mine survived and was remembered as being Don. He would have been embarrassed by all the fuss and kind words, but he would have loved the stories we shared. We spoke of all of our best memories of him and looked through the scrapbooks and photos, someone had made and saved, probably his sisters, we laughed and we cried a bit, and we rejoiced that we had known Don in all his quirky, plain spoken, stubborn allegiance to his friends and family.
We will miss Don and everyone I lose now seems to be the continual road of people going on before me. A shadow box my dad had made to hold a retired softball jersey of Don's sat among the mementoes. He had gone on and Bill had followed and Don now, and so many more. They have walked that road and we will all someday follow. The things we leave behind are the memories and the good we have done that live on...and on....
It was then a huge shock when I was called and told he had passed away after surgery for a tumor in his colon that had complications. He passed quickly but was able to say goodbye to his kids.
I had known Don since I was a kid. Four years older than I he sometimes came over with some other kids in 4-H to play soccer on our stretch of road that bordered a Catholic mission church. The road widened there to include parking and we quite often used the area for fierce soccer games. Later on, Don took my best friend's older sister to the prom and her sister's and I peeked out from behind a door as he picked her up. I went away to college and when I would come home summers I would see him on my brother's fast pitch softball team. He was a record setting pitcher and was well known in the area. He pitched for years and was entered into the Michigan softball HOF.
I would see more of him again when I met my later, husband Kurt on his softball team. Don married had two children and was an excellent dad to a step son. He lived on the family farm and worked it all his life. He never wanted for more than what he had right there.
I walked into the funeral home and the viewing. Don had been cremated and the table was decorated with a simple box and mementoes from his life. Upon walking in I was immediately asked if I had done the framed picture on a stand near his box. My first response was "No" but then I realized my name was on it. It was a pastel picture and I had done many, more than 25 years ago. Don was kneeling in his softball uniform holding a softball and looking back at me. I studied that portrait I didn't really remember doing, and I would have done much of it differently but the face.....I had gotten Don's expression even all those years ago. He hadn't changed much in 35 years. I may not have remembered doing the picture, but his sister saved it all those years. She had stored it in the attic and gotten it out, cleaned it up and framed it and it had a place of honor. I felt honored that someone had saved something I had done so long ago. Honored and humbled that in the celebration of a man's life after his passing, something of mine survived and was remembered as being Don. He would have been embarrassed by all the fuss and kind words, but he would have loved the stories we shared. We spoke of all of our best memories of him and looked through the scrapbooks and photos, someone had made and saved, probably his sisters, we laughed and we cried a bit, and we rejoiced that we had known Don in all his quirky, plain spoken, stubborn allegiance to his friends and family.
We will miss Don and everyone I lose now seems to be the continual road of people going on before me. A shadow box my dad had made to hold a retired softball jersey of Don's sat among the mementoes. He had gone on and Bill had followed and Don now, and so many more. They have walked that road and we will all someday follow. The things we leave behind are the memories and the good we have done that live on...and on....
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