traveling up and down the blind highway

Water and it’s source is not usually a problem here in Michigan where we are surrounded by fresh water. But this spring, we are facing our own drought.
In the past month, less than one half inch of rain has fallen. This is great for outdoor activities, it’s not good for farmers and gardeners. Sprinklers are heard daily as neighbors try to keep lawns from going dormant.
We are unfamiliar with water conservation. Many of us pour on the water, thinking that more is better. We could learn a lesson from people living in drier climates. Farmers in California have changed their crops to those that use less water. They have switched from almond production to grow tomatoes garlic and beans to conserve water and replenish the soil.
In desert areas, crops can be grown with drip irrigation to use small amounts of water.
Homeowners can monitor their sprinklers to water the grass and not the road. Better yet, gardeners can water small plots of garden by hand to prevent over watering.
Remember the animals and birds in your backyard. They may need a container for water to bathe and drink. The smaller animals need a daily supply of water that they can reach.
Until the rains return, be mindful of water as a tool but not a right. We all need it. We all use it.
Now with the wild fires in six out of nine Canadian Providences, The smoke will further block the sun’s ability to evaporate water to form rain clouds. Currently the air quality is moderate to poor. Air is filled with pollen and smoke. All of us have a stake in keeping the earth healthy.

Water, water, everywhere
But not enough for me.
Sun is hot, clouds are few.
No rain do I see.

Do I fill the pool?
Wash my car?
Use the sprinkler to cool?
While others are water starved.
Be a good steward,

carolaspot@aol.com June 12th 2023

Here in the Great Lakes area, we have 22% of the world’s fresh water. Besides the five lakes surrounding the two peninsulas, our state is dotted with many smaller lakes and rivers. With all that water, we have a large population of bugs.
June is especially buggy, as the larva hatch in standing pools of water. Gnats the smallest bugs don’t bite, they swarm in clouds, trying to fly into nostrils, eyes and ears.
The largest bug is a June bug or beetle. it can grow from a half inch to over an inch in diameter. Not harmful to humans or pets, they will eat fruits, grasses and tree sap. They can be messy if hit by a car’s windshield. Fish flies are an unusual bug. Long and thin, they gather on the outside of buildings. They are grey to black in color. If you get close you will smell why they have the name of fish fly.
One of the nastiest bugs is the deerfly. Larger than a common house fly, the deerfly is present for a short time in July. Sporting clear wings with black veining, the deer fly has large yellow or green eyes. It is found near water in tall grass. The bite of this insect is painful, usually with a piece of skin removed.
Dragonflies are large graceful flyers. In Michigan, the Green dasher can be seen hovering on the waterfront. Though not prone to biting, if captured they will defend themselves.
Swarms of mosquitoes are found in the woods. They can be avoided by not walking at dawn and dusk when they are most likely to draw blood.
To enjoy the Michigan outdoors, a few precautions are suggested. If walking in a bug infested area, wear protective clothing such as long sleeves and pants, select light colors. Finally use a commercial bug repellent. If you would rather have a natural solution, brew some lemongrass, mint, lavender to apply to the skin Marigolds and eucalyptus in bouquets will also discourage bugs.
Don’t let a few insects spoil your outdoor fun.

Dragonfly dashing in their iridescent green
racing , hovering over water
acrobatic feats displayed
graceful in appearance
one to a area
never in groups
free spirit
look close
Yikes!

Carolaspot@aol.com June 5th 2023

My brothers and I looked forward to the summer months. Not for the hot days nor the warmth nor the sport opportunities. It was the bountiful garden of food.
My dad sold appliances from Grandpa Clifford’s store. Mom had her hands full with four boys and myself. Creatively cutting up one round steak to feed seven mouths, she piled the plate with veggies. Summer was the easiest season to feed her growing families bellies.
From my earliest memory we referred to summer not as months but what we harvested. A basket of black walnuts were in the basement to await yearly shelling. The green husks had had been removed in the fall. We had a long handled nut cracker to break open the dried nuts. The natural dye in the outer shell turned my brothers’s hands black. A brother was asked,
“What is that dark stuff on your hands?”
He replied, “I am spending time with you, My skin is turning black.”
The first crop from the garden was asparagus shoots. Mom steamed them and added to a white sauce to serve over toast. She stated that this was a spring tonic. The smells from the toilet proved her correct.
Strawberries were the fruit in the berry patch. We had to hurry to pick them before the birds.
My favorite pickings were in the raspberries ,where they grew in a fifteen foot long row of bushes. I would crawl under the bushes to eat the ripening fruit on the bottom branches.
Raised to use what was given to us, we had a steady supply of carrots, radishes, peas and beans. Our small patch of pumpkins were harvested for their seeds and then carved into jack o lanterns.
I foraged for morel mushrooms. They reminded me of a wrinkle brown elf cap. My brother were sent to the spring fed creek to pick water crest for salads and sandwiches.
Frogs were caught and brought home for the preparation of fried legs. I could never eat them because the green color of the meat.
We had two old apples trees in the back yard. Eating the fruit before ripened, we suffered through many stomach aches, but we continued to eat the fruit.
Our neighbor , Mr. Eaton, grew a dozen fruit trees. We were invited to gather tart cherries, peaches and winter pears. I would take a brown bag to pick t mulberries on the way home from the recreation department. Learning to pick the blackest fruit to have the sweetest taste. The small green stems had to be bitten off each berry.
My older brother Bob, was sent to the local A and P to purchase over ripe bananas at 10 cents a pound. We teased him because the banana aroma stayed on his clothes until bath time.
When older, we would visit the grandparents homes. There we could find Vernors pop, vine grown tomatoes and a never empty cookie jar filled with windmill shaped almond cookies.
The early lessons in trying new foods helped expanded our appreciation of a varied palate.

free food
grown from the ground,
natures gifts, freely given,
learn where to forage we gather
bounty
carolaspot@aol.com. May 29, 2023

I loved to play in my home’s basement. It had a door to the garage and outside. There was a half bathroom with bamboo fishing poles and discarded sport equipment. I would try on the brown boxing gloves, finger the mermaid figure with hooks and try on lifejackets. Each panel of The walls were written with measurements to note the growth of my brothers and I.
As interesting as this exploring was, going down to my Grandpa’s Heatley’s basement was a rare treat. The basement had a set of outside cellar doors. When opened, they had to a low ceiling area that held the washer and dryer along with bits of the past. When I was young, Grandpa kept us out of the basement by telling us that he kept snapping turtles he caught to make turtle soup. I don’t recall any turtles or home made soup. But Grandpa was a jokester. There was an inside door to the basement. It was located in a large storage room between the dining room and the kitchen. There was a toilet in this room because the only bathroom was located upstairs. Often, when I was using the room, The lights would flicker and go out, leaving me in the dark with the sounds of the old house around me.
Grandpa would listen to my tales of sounds and would remark with a straight face, “it must be the ghost of the former owners”.
When I was a teen, I was able to explore the basement as I helped to clean it out in preparation for selling it.
I still wonder where the golden doored church music box went. It would play a Carol as the doors slowly opened to reveal a Christmas tableau then close.
There was a wooden alligator that Grandpa told me was real.
On top of the television, there sat a model of a sailing ship with metal sails. On the deck of the ship, was a clock in the place where cabins would have been located. I would put my eye drops on the deck to remind me to take them at noon and 4 PM.
In the china cabinet were several china cups that had a piece to drink through to protect a man’s mustache from getting wet while he drank his coffee.
I found several old dolls on a dusty shelf in the basement. My Grandma said that I couldn’t have them. They belonged to my aunt Kathleen. I thought that she had left her home and was married with children of her own.
When the old house was renovated, the owners invited my mother to see what they had found in the walls. The items included a windup alarm clock with a bell on the top, one toddler sized button shoe and several shoe buttons with a medal hook to pull the button through the opening. Mother put all the items in an discarded cigar box from Grandpa’s barber shop.
Did my aunts and uncles as children hide them, drop them between walls or were they a game of hide and seek that finally ended 50 years later?
The final mystery was a mummified remains of a bat found under the hole in the front cement steps. I have put them all in my memory treasure chest to spin a tale for another day.

Memory pieces

A brass windup clock
shoe buttons black and white
a wooden alligator
a glass doll head with blue eyes
A humidor with brass walls
A set of pipes, with the faint smell of cherry
A mustache cup for with no one to use it
Two deer heads with large glass eyes..I touched
Off color postcards from customers
a musical Christmas church with opening golden doors.
Gone now to be kept in my memory box in my mind

carolaspot@aol.com May 22nd 2023

This day has bitter sweet memories for my family. Twenty three years ago, our mother, Rita Heatley -Turnbull left this life for another. Mother Rita was an organized woman. It was no surprise that she orchestrated her departure. The week before Mother’s Day, all the siblings were told to come to visit Mom on that weekend. We were informed by the hospice nurse that Mom was in the last stages of life.
When entering her bedroom, I expected to see a comatose woman. Instead I met a feisty woman with an agenda. She did not want a vigil of all her children at one time. Instead, she called us in one at a time. When it was my turn, I had a difficult time understanding her words. Thinking she might need a drink of water, I offered her a sip, spilling some on her clothing. With agility, Mom swatted my hand away and called for my brother, Mike. Gently, he held the cup and allowed Mom to get a sip of water. He was in tune to her needs and wishes.
Dad told us that Mom had seen our local priest. She received the last rites of confession and communion. When the day was done, we started to leave. We promised to return the next day after John mowed the grass and checked on Ruth and Grandma Helen. My sister in law, Karen volunteered to stay until we returned. We didn’t want my parents to be alone. Karen was nervous and made dad feel the same.way. He told her that we would be there shortly, and she could leave. Between mid-afternoon and the six pm news, mom arose from her dozing to look around. Spotting Dad in his easy chair, she remarked,”Bruce I really love you!”
Dad watching the sportscaster replied”I love you too.”
That was the last words she spoke. After that she slipped into unconsciousness and quietly died before the end of the news.
When we returned, Dad had called the nurse but she had not arrived. The respirator was still on but Mom no longer needed it. When the nurse arrived, she quietly turned off the the machine. The silence marked her passing.
The day of the funeral was rainy and cold . The weather matched my feelings. The last day of her life the weather was warm and sunny.
Sitting between Dad and Ruth, I I felt the love of Mom for all of us with many memories and stories of a family bonded together with love.

Ritual Nightly, on her knees, she prayed.
Watch over my children.
Be with them, when I cannot.
She planned her death, as she did her life.
With faith and love.

carolaspot@aol.com May 15, 2023

One of my earliest memories of fragrances is of lilacs. My bedroom was over our garage. Outside my window was a old lilac bush. Towering 18 feet, it filled my bedroom in the early summer with the smell of lilacs.
I opened my window to pick bouquets of the blooms. The color of the flowers were a light blue. They hung heavy on the bushes. Care was taken when picking blooms. The scent and colors attracted many bees to gather nectar. I would pick the flowers in the early morning when the worker bees were not as likely to be present.
In the back yard, a hedgerow of lilacs spread across the back of the garden. The were purple except for one bush. This one was creamy white. When gathering the blooms for a bouquet, I would be sure to select white and purple blooms.
As an adult with my own home, I planted a pink flowering lilac to remind me of the lilacs of my youth. The scent of lilacs can evoke memories from my childhood.
On my block, there were many lilacs in neighbors yards. On the corner, three houses away was a grouping of dark purple lilacs planted on the corner close to each other. They grew, intertwining their buds and branches to create an oasis of shade for children to play unseen. My friend Cheryll and I would meet there and spend long hours reading books or talking. The flowers created a pleasant smell. The buzzing of the bees combined with early summer days to create lasting memories.
Recently, I visited the old neighborhood to discover many of the lilacs no longer grow there. But they will remain in my home of the past. Who needs photos, I have my recall of those sweet flowers.

Carol Farnsworth

carolfarn@aol.com

After a long winter, many people celebrate the coming of warm weather. Some of us are delighted to be able to experience another season.
The rites of springtime celebrations go back to Celtic and Norse cultures. Longer days and warmer temperatures lift spirits. In Northern Europe, the day includes cake, , drinks and of course, traditional maypole dances. Many countries have made May 1st a national holiday, having the day off from work.
The traditional May pole dance is performed with young couples swirling and weaving around other couples. Each dancer twirls a long scarf. Originally the scarves were attached to the top of a pole and formed a decorative pattern from the dance.
Other May Day activities include, large bonfires along with the dances. In 1815, The American Indian counsel approved and designated the second Saturday in May for Tribal dancing. This tradition continues. Tribes gather to pow-wow ,to dance, chant and perform drumming. Native crafts and food vendors sell their wares.
The oldest and largest May Day celebration is found in the Hawaiian Islands. There the schools perform Hawaiian Lei making with materials of shells, flowers and vines. The leis are given to friends and family members. On May Day, students show their knowledge of Hawaiian history and culture. Groups compete to win top honors in ancient story chant, hula, and costume making. Each Island had a different dance and story to tell of the myths and stories of their inland.
So on May Day this year, take time to appreciate the diversity of the cultures that encompasses our Spring celebrations.

May Day leis hang from the pole.
Children weave, greenery as they dance.
Practicing all year for dancers to shine.
Reciting ancient Hawaiian rhymes.
Pele and Laka smile down.
From the volcano’s rims.

carolaspot@aol.com May 1, 2023

There is a rite of spring that can be dangerous. After Easter break, new high school drivers beg their parents to borrow the family car to propel the 2000 pound weapon legally down the road. The drivers may be more interested in being seen by their friends rather that watching for bikers and walkers sharing the road. This week my husband John returned from a bike ride with a tale.
“How was your ride?”
“I had a stand off over by the high school”
“What happened?”
I had a green light to cross. The dismissal bell had rung. Halfway across the intersection, a car, driven by a student, turned in front of me. I stopped to wait to see if he saw me. He stopped but didn’t indicate with a gesture for me to continue. A second car turned right and went around the stopped car. Now there there were two stopped cars in the intersection. I got off my bike and pushed my bike towards the roadside. A third car attempted to pass on the side of the road. Traffic was stopped in both directions. Finally the first driver indicated for me to proceed.
The crossing is several blocks from our home. We live in a subdivision with young bikers and pedestrians and one blind walker. How safe are we at busy times?
As a blind walker, I was trained to listen for the direction of traffic flow to determine when it is safe to walk. With the increase of electric cars, this is difficult. Since 2010, regulations for electric vehicles, mandates the car emit a sound when the car is moving up to eighteen miles per hour.The sound may be a chirp, beep or other sounds. One car engineer stated,” With each car model there could be a different sound. A biker or walker may or may not recognize the sound as an electric car. If several electrical cars are in the road, the sounds may be masked by gas engines.
So what can I, as a blind person do to protect myself.
First, I can wear clothing that is bright and use a white cane when walking. Second, try to to cross intersection at less busy times of the day. Third, when at a busy crossing, wait for another person to cross at the same time. Drivers may see several people crossing.
Being aware of your surroundings may save your life.

Crossing
I wait.
listening at the crosswalk.
Hearing cars move my way.
Quiet, cars start to move with me across the
intersection.
Safe crossing.

carolaspot@aol.com
April, 24, 2023

Spring can be a time of quick changes. Saturday evening, in shorts and short sleeves, rode our tandem to evening Mass. Today my back yard is covered with a light blanket of white. A lone squirrel scampers onto the deck to stare at me. I ignore him as I drink my second cup of coffee.
I start my indoor chores, long deferred with the 80 degree temperatures. The winter clothes could be exchanged for summer attire in the closet. I need to wipe down the kitchen drawers removing the crumbs accumulated during the winter. Finally, there is the matter of straightening the hall linen closet to put away the odd and ends of items that don’t belong.
I ponder my options…then get myself another cup of coffee.

Spring Snow

Soft flakes,
Soft blanket of white,
Covers the yellow forsythia bushes.
Splashes of green, gold and white potpourri.
last hurrah.

carolaspot@aol.com
copyright 4/17/2023

As a child, the season of Lent dragged on and on. The seven long weeks bridging the winter to spring season. Coming from a strict Catholic mother, we were also expected to not eat between meals, and to not have meat on Wednesdays or Fridays. Instead of using our allowances to buy candy and go to the movies, we were encouraged to place our coins in the offering basket each Sunday.
My brother Craig’s birthday fell in mid April. This year, his special day fell after Easter. Often, it landed in Lent or specifically, in Holy week, the last week of Lent. During Holy week my Mother buckled down on the family to eat only two small meals with no food on Good Friday until sunset.
I recall one such year, Craig wanted to go to the movies with his friends on Holy Saturday. Mother and Dad discussed the problem and decided to allow Craig to go to the movies with two friends and take me along. Looking back, I think that mom had last minute work to assemble the Easter baskets and wanted to do so without interruptions.
There was a children’s matinee each Saturday. The cost for a ticket was 35 cents. The movie was a Disney or a Lone Ranger offering. Before the show, the manager would take the ticket stubs and put them in a bowl to have twelve tickets pulled for a contest and prizes.
This Saturday, my ticket number was selected but not the birthday boy. I made my way to the stairs on the side of the large screen to claim my prize. There was a large apron of the old Vaudeville shows. I sized up my competition. I was one of the youngest and only girl. The ushers passed out large balloons with the instructions to start blowing then up on the count of three. The first child to blow up and pop his or her balloon would be the winner. I received a bright red balloon, my favorite color. I hated loud noises like bursting balloons and I was sure that I couldn’t beat the competition.
On the count of three, I blew up my balloon but didn’t pop it. Letting out the air, I carefully folded it in my pocket. Now I still had my balloon to use later.
“Why didn’t you pop your balloon?”my brother asked?
“I like red balloons!” I replied.
Later, when I was older, I would explore the stage and dressing rooms of the old theater. That is for another story. For now, I was content with my prize.
Happy birthday Craig

Lenten Woes

No candy
or snacks
Don’t eat between meals
Fish every Friday
coins to pay

For seven long weeks
we waited out Lent
longing for Easter
with the promise of spring.
until Lent was over
no candy, pop, nothing!

carolaspot@aol.com April 10th, 2023