traveling up and down the blind highway

This week may feel more like Noah’s Ark rather than spring. Normally, we receive a little over 3 inches of rain in April. Here in Western Michigan, we received three inches of rain in the last three days. We still have more to come. Consequently, we have the Thorn apple River and Grand Rivers overflowing their banks. Many low areas are flooded. We see small ponds in many yards. Birds , such as the ospreys, are feasting on minnows caught in the overflows.
Even in our gardens, what was a welcome shower has turned into a crop of large weeds along with the flowers.
Though weeds grow quickly, the weeds can be pulled from the ground easily with little resistance. I search for the weeds by touch, smell and height. Many of the common weeds grow faster than the perennials, they will be smaller and feel compact.
Dandelions are the first to emerge in the garden and grass. The leaves are jagged and slightly rough to the touch. Some use the early leaves for salad greens. If your yard has been treated, this is not advised. A wine can be made from the petals mixed with citrus fruit, sugar, water and wine yeast. Boiling water is poured over the petals and allowed to steep for 1 to 2 days to extract the flavor before the other ingredients are added. The fermenting process takes two to four weeks. The mixture is strained and bottled to continue the fermenting for another 4 to 6 weeks. The wine is then aged for six months.
Garlic mustard is an evasive plant . It was brought to North America in the 1800s by settlers for cooking and medicine. The plant has a two-year cycle. The first year, the plant is a low-growing plant with small kidney-shaped leaves. The second year, the plant grows a tall stem 12 to 36 inches in height. The leaves have a triangular shape. Small clusters of white flowers are at the top of the stem. When crushed, the leaves have a distinctive garlic scent. Settlers used the whole plant in cooking. They blanched the older plants to lessen the sharp taste.
Chick weed, is a low-growing weed that has small white star-shaped flowers and oval leaves that grow in pairs. The whole plant is edible and it was used in salads or cooked like spinach. Chick weed has a slightly sweet flavor.
Bitter cress is a fast-growing small-lobed leaf that grows in a rosette pattern at the base of the plant. The flowers are small, white and have 4 petals. The plant is edible with a mild peppery flavor. It is similar to watercress.
White clover flowers are the most flavorful part of this plant. The leaves have three lobes with a stem. The small white cluster of flowers rises from the center of the plant. They grow 4 to 8 inches in height.
My research shows that weeds are helpful plants that are growing in the wrong place in your garden. Enjoy all of nature’s offerings.
***. Poem
The weeds we throw away

Dandelions wave golden flowers. Dried to make a tea.
Chick weed, dried to make tea, has a mild sweet grassy flavor.
Garlic tea has a pungent garlic flavor with sharp undertones.
The white clover tea has a mild sweet flavor with hints of vanilla.
When I want to experiment, I choose herbal teas from my local herbal apothecary shop to taste nature’s bounty.

carolaspot@aol.com
copyright 4-20-2026

This week, I had a pleasant surprise. My poetry book is in the final edit review. I sent this to D and L Books at the end of February, not expecting to hear from them for several months. Instead, David Dvorkin wrote to see if I had a Library of Congress book number. I did. He said he would add it to my book information.
This past Thursday, Leonore Dvorkin wrote with some editing suggestions and requesting a synopsis for the back of the book. After a year of writing poems and making art then another year collecting and editing the finished product, I wanted to start a new writing project. I asked Leonore to write the synopsis.
I should have the draft copy of the book in my hands soon. It is like the birth of a baby. There is work, waiting and some pain before the book is born. I won’t believe it until I am holding it in my hands. The information for the book is below the three stars.

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“Compost, A Year’s Musings in Poetry and Art”
Library of Congress number 2026906257
author Carol Farnsworth
available soon in Amazon print and Kindle editions
Will be available through Barnes and Noble and other Book sellers in May
2026.

Today, we celebrate Scottish heritage by wearing or displaying our clan’s tartans. 3.6 percent of the American population report having Scottish ancestry. There are four geographical areas that had different tartans to identify fellow kinsmen from a distance. The four areas were known as the Borderlands, Lowland, Highlands and Islands. Clans and their tartan dress emerged in the 11th century but took hold in the 14th century. Each clan developed loyalty in return for protection and peace. In 1746 after the Jacobite Riots to restore the Stuart monarchy, Britain forbid the wearing of Scottish plaids From 1746 to 1782.
In early years tartans were wrapped or draped around the body. They wore a tunic under the wrapped cloth. The wrapped plaid evolved into today’s kilt garment. Traditionally, nothing is worn under the plaid or kilt. This is described as going military. When we visited Scotland, On a windy day, our whole bus was expose to the hairy buttock of an older scot.
Many Scotsmen proudly wear kilts in their clan’s plaid for dress and even daily wear. When our bus broke down in the Highlands, our mechanic arrived in a brown work kilt and stepped into a work suit to work under the bus.
Many young people wear kilts to sports events and gatherings. I have seen tee shirts, boots and tennis shoes paired with a tartan or kilt.
My family is the Turnbull clan. It was found in the borderland between England and Scotland. They were known to raid sheep and cattle over the border.
Learning about your family history is a good source of adding to your personal history.
***. poem

He saved the King
Willian was laboring in a lowland glen.
He stopped to watch Robert Bruce ride by with his friends.
The Prince’s tartan flowed in the breeze.
Enraging a young bull grazing in the trees.
William raced between the man and beast.
He grabbed the horns, crack, the bulls life ceased.
The young prince’s life had been saved.
He knighted William for coming to his aid.
Three bloody bulls are on the crest.
The motto ”He saved the king” says the rest.
Carol Farnsworth
carolaspot@aol.com
copyright 4-6-26

Today is the most observed day of Triduum . After Holy Thursday’s washing of the feet by the priest. The alter is cleared. Even the consecrated host are moved out of the church to another location with the large host placed in the Monstrance to be meditated and kept company in sharing Jesus agony in the garden before his arrest.
In Aruba the faithful climb to the top of Alta vista Chapel overlooking the ocean. The crowd gather to pray at sunrise.
In Israel, pilgrims retrace of the way of the cross, on the way to Calvary. This year, large outdoor gatherings are forbidden.
In Rome, the 14 stations of the cross are set up in the Colosseum. The Pope has carried the large cross for several stations for the last six decades. This year, Pope Leo will carry the cross for all 14 stations.
In Australia, communities hold large bonfires to reflect and share memories.
In Spain, participants dress in tradition robes or tunics. Often their faces are covered. Many walk barefoot as a sign of penance.
In Brazil people walk or take a train to the statue of Christ the Redeemer, located on a high bluff overlooking the city of Rio de Janeiro The statue is 30 meters or 198 feet tall.
In Bermuda, there is a tradition of kite flying on Good Friday.The kites are decorated with crosses, and land and sea scapes Symbolizing Christ’s ascension to heaven.
Colored sawdust and salt are used in El Salvador the sawdust carpet are for the solemn processions, the carpets portray religious symbols. In Guatemala, the carpets are made from colorful flowers for the pilgrims to walk upon. Many countries have a passion play with many participants. Mexico City has the largest passion play with 5000 participants and up to 4million pilgrims in attendance.
Many people attend services, such an adoration of the cross, or Eucharistic adoration. Many Catholic churches start a novena for Divine Mercy. This daily group of prayers concludes on the Sunday after Easter.
Take time to reflect and, reset priorities.
Have a blessed Good Friday.
carolaspot@aol.com
Copyrighted 4/3/26

I look forward to the tradition of cross buns available during Holy Week, before Easter. My local bakery has the confection starting this past Friday. The confection is a rounded spicy bun with raisins and other dried fruits in the dough. The top of the bun has either a cross indentation or a white frosting of the cross image.
This pastry has a long history. Spiced breads were baked in Greece, Rome, and Egypt. The small spiced cakes were offerings to the Goddess Isis for prosperity. Honey cakes were offered in Roman religious ceremonies to ask for favors and blessings. The Greek spice cakes were a part of religious offerings to Zeus and other Gods and Goddesses. The Greek and Roman cakes were often decorated with the image of a cross to honor the lunar phases as important times in the agricultural society. They were offered to deities in the spring to ensure a good growing season.
In 1361, a monk in England baked the spiced buns to feed the poor on Good Friday. They marked the end of Lent and the start of the Easter celebration. The spices and fruit in cross buns symbolize the bitter death and the spices used in the burial of Jesus. It is a special way to remember the Crucifixion. Often, families will prepare the treat together on Good Friday.
I purchased mine at the local bakery. I recalled a nursery rhyme, “Hot Cross Buns.” (see below). Street vendor’s cry of hot cross buns was popularized in the 1700s and printed in the London Chronicle in 1767. Many countries like England enjoy cross buns all year.
What are your traditions for the end of Lent and the start of spring?
*** Traditional nursery rhyme
Hot cross buns,
hot cross buns,
one a penny,
two a penny,
hot cross buns,
If you have no daughters.
Give them to your sons.
carolaspot@aol.com
copyrighted 3/30/26

When John’s family bought a farm in the 1970s, it was an insurance against urban decay. They were living in downtown Detroit and had experienced the riots, National Guard on their street corners, and the start of urban renewal with remnants of the burned-out businesses. They would drive the 130 miles each Friday and return late Sunday.
John’s mom and dad had researched organic farming and being self-sufficient. One of the first purchases was a mixed lot of chicks to raise. The lot was usually mixed with male and female chickens. The coop was fenced with a door for the chickens to go out when they wanted. The feed was in a 30-pound holder that was accessed from the bottom. A 5-gallons of heated water was available for their drinking needs. The hens had a large box filled with sawdust for laying their eggs. The roost measured three by five feet and had netting to allow the excretions to fall for easy removal in the spring.
John’s first chore upon arrival at the farm was to fill the water and check the feed level. Then there was the task of gathering a hundred or more of the fertilized eggs. The eggs were cold but rarely frozen. The constant activity of hens coming and going and the number of hens nesting in one place kept the eggs edible.
The spring and summer months were the most profitable. The farm-fresh eggs sold at the local farm market. The hens’ diet was augmented with kitchen scraps and eggshells. Oyster shells helped to ensure the production of strong eggshells.
The Ellsworth farm, as it was known to the locals, harvested and canned fruits and vegetables to add to the market stall.
Over the years, animals producing meat expanded to rabbits, geese, turkeys, and a pet pig named Arnold. The geese were kept as guards to protect the property. They would hiss at any stranger that drove up the drive. They would pinch with beaks, raising painful welts.
The dream of the organic farm faded after John was hired by the postal service.
When he finally sold the property, locals probably referred to the farm as the old Farnsworth place. Such is the country way.

Tomorrow, many of us will wear green, eat Irish stew, and lift a pint of Guinness. But where did this holiday for an Irish saint evolve into a worldwide celebration?
Saint Patrick was kidnapped from England by Irish raiders when he was sixteen. He was a slave for six years.
After walking nearly 200 miles to a coastal town, he convinced a ship’s captain to take him to help care for a shipment of Irish Wolfhounds. While in England, Patrick studied Christianity. He became a priest and returned to Ireland as a bishop missionary.
The history of Ireland is a complex one. In 1798, rebellion led to the defeat of the Irish and the forming of the United Kingdom.
In 1921, southern Ireland became an independent republic, while Northern Ireland remained a part of the United Kingdom.
The two groups, Catholics and Protestants, identify with the colors green and orange. The green color is historically a symbol of nationalism from the 17th century. The color orange is associated with Northern Ireland that considered themselves British. The color orange is from the color identified with William of Orange, who defeated King James the Second in 1690. This led to Ireland becoming a part of the United Kingdom in 1801. Conflicts continued between the two majority fractions until the partition act of 1921, forming the Republic of Ireland and Northern Ireland. The two groups are represented in the Irish flag with three vertical stripes of green, white, and orange with the white stripe in the center field.
The Good Friday Agreement of 1998 ended most hostilities between Catholics and Protestants.
Today the two Irelands share cooperation in the areas of trade, agriculture, security, education, health tourism, and they have an integrated electrical system. 53 percent of Northern exports are sent to the Republic of Ireland. 35 percent of Southern Ireland goods are sent to Northern Ireland.
Ireland’s people have learned to overcome centuries of conflict to become a cooperative people.
Erin Go Bragh.

*** Poem

Transitioning from Gaelic to Christianity,
The Irish quickly took to the religion and its identity.
From Saint Patrick to Catholic roots.
The people share centuries-old culture.
carolaspot@aol.com
copyrighted 3/16/2026

The springtime change has caught me by surprise. Normally, I would take a week to adjust to the longer daylight hours. This year, I have not been sleeping through the night. Often, I awaken at 2 am thinking it is morning, only to hear my watch announcing the time. I take some melatonin to try to sleep.
Studies of sleeping indicate that we lose thirty minutes of sleep time for every decade after fifty. We sleep lighter and dream less.
Finding a bedtime routine has helped me. I listen to a radio show or quiet music on a timer in case I fall asleep. I try to relax with deep breathing. I inhale through my nose, exhaling through my mouth. During this slow breathing, I empty my thoughts, letting my body relax. It doesn’t always work; that is when I take melatonin. Another option is to get up to do a quiet activity until I tire. I prefer to stay in the warm bed.
Taking a short nap in the afternoon can help readjust your inner clock and give you more energy. Whatever you choose, don’t worry about an occasional sleepless night. As a friend commented, “It’s all in your head.”

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Sandman Blues

It’s two in the morn.
From sleep, I am torn.
My mind is awake.
For sleep, the body aches.
Deep breathing I try.
Until there’s light in the sky.
Give up with a sigh.
I give pills a try.
Carolaspot copyright 3/9/26

Many of my childhood memories have sensory components. The crunch of gravel driving into the garage, the smell of fuel oil after a delivery, or the sharp vinegar of the stop bath all are part of my memories. They are associated with childhood remembrances of our basement.
Our ranch house was built on a small hill with the garage under my bedroom. When my parents were gone for the evening, I would wait, watching the headlights of passing cars move across my ceiling. Only when the lights would pause and move towards the window indicating my parents’ return, could I sleep.
The basement could be accessed from the garage and a stairway to the kitchen. The stairs were in the middle of this L-shaped space. Two doors provided entrance to the half bath and the utility/laundry areas. As a young child, I was afraid of this part of the basement. The light fixtures had long cords to turn on lights. I was too short to use them. I actively explored this area as I grew older and braver. This part of the basement was also in an L shape.
To the side of the stairs, I had two old-school desks to play school. They included hinged seats and holes for an inkwell. Two boxes of clothing were downstairs. A heavy cardboard box with my dress-up clothes purchased from the church rummage sales. One formal was canary yellow with sequins on the skirt. Another was lilac with a short coat to be worn over a sleeveless gown. I had a pair of purple high heels. My favorite item was a Chiquita banana lady. It was a straw hat resembling a bowl of cloth fruits.
The second wooden box held old army blankets, sweaters, and socks from my uncle’s time in the navy. The contents of both boxes were ruined when the storm drains were overwhelmed with a spring flooding.
A large flowered cloth bag was suspended under the clothes chute. Mom, tired of dirty laundry scattered on the floor, sewed a bag with a large zipper in the bottom to prevent the clothes from releasing before the basket could be filled.
A door led into the laundry room. This room intrigued and frightened me. The noises of the oil furnace, water running through pipes, and the creaking of the floorboards gave rise to a vivid imagination.
When playing hide and seek, I would squeeze my body into the smallest place to hide. I would be found under the oil tank, deep under the stairs, or wedged in a shelf of an old cabinet. When the old furnace was replaced with a modern gas one, I found a new diversion. Along with the furnace, an incinerator was installed. This had a door in the top with a bottom gas flame. I would bring my bag of bedroom trash and carefully place the bag into the opening. I enjoyed watching the bag catch on fire. Quickly, I slammed the door before the flames caught completely. The extra joy was the heat generated, which was appreciated in the cold basement.
In the winter, we hung clothes to dry on several clotheslines. Though we had a gas dryer, Mom didn’t like the expense of drying heavier items.
The back wall, behind the stairs, had several old shelves from my Grandpa’s electric shop. Many odds and ends were found on this unit. I remember a science project from Mike of a rotating hand that could be run with electricity. It was stored for a time before being discarded.
The third room was a half bath with room for storage. The walls were open, revealing studs and the back of the drywall. In between the studs, Dad had the measurements of each of his five children recorded on our birthdays. The rest of the walls were covered with nails and hooks to hold hockey skates, wooden skis, and boxing gloves. They told of Dad teaching boxing in the basement of the church.
The fishing tackle and a boat motor on a stand were kept for those cherished summer vacations. I would open the tackle box to gaze at a lure of a mermaid with several large hooks along her body. I don’t recall any in my family using this to fish.
Finally, my brother Mike became interested in developing black-and-white photography. He worked to make this bathroom light-tight and installed an infrared light to illuminate without affecting the developing process. The chemicals used each had a distinctive smell. The acrid smell of the developer, the vinegar odor of the stop bath, and the setting bath or the fixer had a sulfur odor. I could easily identify the chemical by its scent.
The details of my basement memories indicated my many happy winter hours playing in this special place.
*** Poem
Underground
Inside a hill, under creaking floorboards,
was my childhood domain.
Mothball clothing, oil, and drying scents can be recalled.
Finding hidden treasures to be kept in a box.
Hoping to identify them … later.
Those treasures are lost now,
like my childhood.
carolaspot@aol.com copyrighted 3/2/26

After my last blog, one of my readers commented that he thought I lived in a rural area. I would like to explain that I have lived in several towns and cities all in Michigan. This has taken me from the Metropolitan Detroit to the rural Village of Ada and Grand Rapids, Michigan. We are 33 miles from the eastern shore of Lake Michigan. In between, I have lived on a 120-acre dairy farm, in a bicentennial town, the capital of the state, Lansing.
My hometown is Northville, known as the Swiss Alps of Wayne County. In the 1920s, there was a ski jump located here. I learned to cross-country ski and ice skate on the several fresh spring-fed ponds in the area. The population of a little over six thousand has been constant due to the township surrounding it. I grew up in a close-knit community, knowing my neighbors and my family’s friends.
I attended Eastern Michigan University in Ypsilanti. It was a short bike ride to visit the University of Michigan’s campus. The politics of the 70s nurtured many of my liberal views.
Upon graduating, I married and moved to the state’s capital, Lansing. My first husband, Mike, was active in the UAW, or the United Autoworkers. Mike was an early promoter for people with disability rights. He had Multiple Sclerosis and used an electric scooter. I became an advocate for the physically and mentally challenged.
After a divorce, I met and married my second husband, John. John had a 120-acre dairy farm on the west side of the state. He rented out the land and house to another family. We lived in rural Cedar Springs. It is similar in population to my hometown of Northville. We lived on a main road with many farms around us.
Finally, we moved to the small village of Ada, with a population of 14,000. It is located on the crossing of two rivers, the Grand River and the Thornapple River. The Grand flows from Hillsdale County from natural springs to travel across the state to end up at Lake Michigan. It is joined by the Thornapple River at Ada. This area has given me an appreciation of nature’s diversity. Its many bike trails have given us an opportunity to tandem bike throughout the area.
Grand Rapids, the second-largest city in the state, is fourteen miles from my home, giving us access to theater and cultural events. The International Art Prize has been a two-week art show featuring many events and venues . It has been running since 2009.
Our next move may stop our western moves to the shores of Lake Michigan. I have gained knowledge and insight with every change. I write from those experiences.

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A poem
From Lake to Shining Lake
On the Detroit River, between Lake Huron and Lake Sinclair. I started in the Swiss Alps of Wayne County.
Moving with the Grand River, I migrated west to the Capital at the state’s center.
Continuing to move west, I landed where two rivers merge.
Now I wait and rest.
Lake Michigan prevents further western movement.
carolaspot@aol.com
2/23/2026 copyrighted