traveling up and down the blind highway

Northville’s population has remained about 6000 people. It is surrounded by Northville township on the east and Novi on the west. It is 11 miles away from the city of Detroit and 17 miles from Ann Arbor. It was established in 1825 as a village and didn’t become a city until 1955.

As I walk the streets of my hometown, I see the changes. Both of my Grandparents old homes have been remodeled and painted to the point that I know them by address only. The wrap around cement porch on the Heatley’s home with it’s columns, has been removed and a smaller wooden porch has replaced it. The old Turnbull’s homestead has an attached garage removed and changed to a room in the house.

My childhood home is still standing but the home from my teen years has been demolished and replaced with a Mc Mansion.

Walking downtown, I see the the two main streets are now closed to traffic and it is a pedestrian walkway with outdoor eating. Only two and four legged use allowed. The Methodist church has changed from a house of worship to a restaurant to a private home. The doctor’s clinic is now a Bed and Breakfast.

I recognize most of the buildings but they are now selling antiques and items for tourists.

Continuing my walk to the Silver Spring well, I see that the spring still runs water, but the water is pumped in from Detroit.

The old Henry Ford valve plant is still present but it is now an exercise and training space. Across from the plant building is an area called the Mill Race. It contains many of the older buildings of the village. One small church building was the library when I was a child. On cold winter Saturdays, I would curl up in an overstuffed chair to read by the crackling fire.

This small town will celebrate it’s bicentennial in 2025. I hope to remember the past, enjoy the present and hope in the future of my hometown.

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Front Porches

When I was growing up, most houses had front porches.

They were a great place to gather.

I played Canasta on neighbor Anna’s covered porch. We played til the street lights came on and we could no longer see the cards.

My Friend and I set up board games on her large cement porch. It stayed warm even on cool Fall afternoons.

When I had a sleep over at Grandma Turnbull’s, we sat on the screened porch drinking cold Vernor’s ginger ale.

We watched the people park to walk to the harness races.

“Who would be a winner?” we wondered.

Before we left the porch, I took down the barometer, shaped like a house.

It had the figures of Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck dressed for different weather conditions.

I knew the next day’s weather looking to see who was outside the house.

Grandma Heatley’s porch wrapped around two side of her house.

It was a large covered cement porch, perfect for observing thunder storms in safety.

I could watch traffic on two roads at the same time from the corner lot.

But my favorite porch was on my own home.

Situated on a small hill, we looked down at the street and sidewalk traffic.

The porch was a raised pedestal with cement stairs and a wrought iron railing.

On summer evenings, my family would gravitate to lounge in chairs or perch on the railings.

There we discussed the events of the day while greeting passerby’s.

Often, we stayed to enjoy the cool evenings to watch the first stars appear.

Front Porches have disappeared to be replaced by small cement stoops.

They are a step to quickly enter a house.

I wish for the front porch where I can sit, talk with my family and wave at passersby.

We may feel less isolated from each other.

carolaspot@aol.com

copyright 9/7/2021

We all have a town that we call home. It holds many of our earliest memories. For me, that town is Northville Michigan.

Northville has always been a small that town of several thousand people. It’s boundaries straddle two counties, Wayne and Oakland.

The joke growing up was our town was as far away from Detroit as you could get without leaving the county. Consequently, in our square mile were the locations of The Detroit Men’s prison farm, The Women’s House of Correction, The Juvenile Correction Center, Plymouth State Hospital for Mentally Impaired, The Northville State Hospital for the insane and Hawthorn Center for mentally ill children and Two tuberculosis Centers. We were accustom to the occasional run or walk away inmate or patient hiding in a church claiming sanctuary.

The town is the highest point in the county. On a clear day in the summer, I could see the high rise buildings in downtown Detroit. The area was refered to as the Alpine hills of Wayne county. In the 1920’s and 1930’s, there was a ski jump located there.

Besides the quaint small downtown area, Northville boasted 5 churches, two cider mills, and a well with spring water free to take in your own containers. The last interesting place was the county fair grounds turned into a harness horse racing track. As a child, I loved to watch the jockey’s driving their horses and sulkies back to the barns. The horses trotted smartly to cross the road at the traffic light.

As an older child, I was allowed to ride my bike to all areas within the town’s borders.

In the downtown area, my grandfather, Grandpa Clifford, had The Northville Electric Shop. My other Grandfather, Grandpa Al, had a barber shop in his home. My parents could keep tabs on me by a phone call to neighbors, friends, and shop owners. My three older brothers were charged with keeping an eye on their sister. I was never alone. My favorite places were the Guernsey Dairy with it’s 10cent cones, and the 5 and 10 cent store where most items were under a quarter. The forerunner to today’s Dollar stores.

More about Northville in the next blog.

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Hometown

My town

for generations.

A blending of old and new.

Downtown for pedestrians to walk, eat and shop.

the outdoor market

I am here in the present

but see the past all around me.

The echos of my childhood beckons.

I and my hometown have parted ways.

carolaspot@aol.com

copyright 9/2/2021

We are bombarded with scenes of refugees in Afghanistan and we shake our heads saying, “Our help will never get there in time.”

We see the devastation of hurricane Ida and we wonder what we would do if we were there? Would we flee or hunker down to wait out the storm?

The small Island of Haiti has been struck with an earthquake followed by a tropical storm. We are asked to give for relife help but wonder if the funds will be given to those afflicted?

I agree that we should give to help others and allow God to do his work. But what about looking closer to home?

In the heat of the summer, My Dad watched for the garbage men and their truck. He would bring out cold drinks for the workers. They would talk for a few minutes as they emptied their drinks. My Dad was able to know their names and they in turn would pick up a large item put out by my house.

In a grocery store , are we so focus on getting in and out that we fail to see the package dropped . Do we stop to pick it up? Or walk by.

Do we see the senior trying to reach an item on the top shelf? Do we help with a smile?

Do we wish each a good morning or state, “It is a beautiful day.” even if it is storming.

Seeing a harried mother with several children, do we smile and entertain the smallest one in the grocery basket, to allow her time to regroup?

You may ask, how can this help people half way around the world? Small kindnesses are like a small stone dropped into a still pond. The ripple effect seen is simular and more acts of kindness will follow. Eventually, the ripples will spread and intersect to touch all corners of the world. One kindness at a time.

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A prayer Shawl

I was given a pattern for a prayer shawl.

The paper was blank.

“What is this, a joke?”

“No, there is no set pattern to prayers.”

was the answer.

“But what stitches do I make?”

“Your stitches will be inspired by the prayer and intentions.”

was the responce.

I started to knit thinking about the person that would need this shawl.

I created a basket stitch around the boarder to hold in the prayers.

In the middle I made seed and popcorn stitches to represent small and longer prayers.

As I worked, I relaxed and let the knitting happen.

It was a work of love.

carolaspot@aol.com

copyright 8/31/2021

This day was established to commemorate the signing of the nineteenth amendment, guaranteeing women the right to vote.

The day, August 26th was designated in 1973 as Women’s Equality Day by Congress to honor women working to pass the Equal Rights Amendment. From President Richard Nixon to the current president, the executive branch has issued a proclamation recognizing contributions of women’s past and current achievements. Women continue to gain recognization in all sectors of American life.

I am glad for this holiday, but I wonder about other marginalized individuals. Where are the holidays celebrating LBGT’s, Hispanics, Blacks, Orientals, mentally challenged, physically and emotionally challenged to name a few. I believe that by breaking up people into tiny compartments, we lose the value of each individual. We have a long way to travel to be equal. May we continue to walk the path to accepting others we meet in our lives.

Viva Equality!

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Equality For All

I pledge myself, to equality for all.

I must first accept myself, to reflect my wholeness.

With acceptance of self,

I can extend acceptance to others.

Acceptance blooms into the an equality bouquet .

Carolaspot@aol.com

Copyright 8/26/2021

My Dad told me many stories about growing up and visiting his Grandparents in Delhi, Ontario. My brother, Brian, has been researching many of Dad’s tales. Brian commented, “Dad could tell a great story, and some of them were even true!” Below is a story from Bruce’s youth. It is up to you, the readers, to believe it or not.

My Father Bruce and his sister Marian, would often be sent to the family farm in Canada for the summer. There, they could explore the barn, climb trees, and feed the chickens, horses and cows. But they were told time and again, “Don’t cross the bridge over the creek!” There were dangerous animals in the woods on the other side.

  The creek was deep and the banks steep and muddy. The old bridge was narrow and had no handrails. The children had the run of the whole farm except by the creek.

  One day, Grandma called the children, “Bruce, Marian, Go and find the cows. It is time for milking.” They took off at a run. Marian had the longer legs and was faster than her younger brother. They came to the path to the meadow and the bridge. Marian was hot and turned to cross the bridge to wade into the cool water.

  ” Grandma will know we crossed,” said Bruce. “Come on she won’t know,” coaxed Marion . They removed their shoes and stockings and waded into the creek. Laughing as they splashed each other, forgetting about the cows.

  It soon grew darker. Marian was first to think about the cows.

“Hurry, get your shoes on,” she cried.

  They were sitting on the bank when a growling and snarling noise came from the woods. Marian jumped and ran for the bridge. Bruce ran too but his shoes were untied. The thick mud on the bank caught his feet like a cork in a bottle.

“Marian! Come and help me, I’m stuck!”

  But Marian never looked back as she raced to the house.

  Bruce was pulling his shoes from the mud when he heard a growl much closer and louder.

  With a shriek, he pulled his feet out of his shoes and ran home in stocking feet.

  Grandma was waiting on the front porch for the children. One look at their wet and muddy clothes and she remarked, “Crossed the bridge didn’t you.”

  Marian and Bruce started to tell Grandma about the terrible animal sounds they heard on the other side of the bridge.

  Grandma just snorted,”That was your Grandpa teaching you both a lesson in obedience.”

  “Should we go get the cows?” Bruce questioned.

“No, the cows have more sense that you two, they came home on their own.”

  The children were in bed before Grandpa finished his chores. In the morning, Bruce’s shoes were on the front steps, covered with mud. It took him all morning to clean and polish the shoes.

  Marian and Grandma went across the bridge to pick wild huckleberries. Marian had to carry the buckets home . She was tired and sore from carrying the berry filled buckets.

  Bruce learned his lesson. But Marian continued to test the boundaries of the rules. At the end of the summer, Grandma told Bruce and Marian’s Father, “Bruce can come back any time but keep Marian home.”

  For the next 8 years, Bruce came to the farm every summer to work with his grandpa and play. But he never crossed the bridge without permission.

Bruce had many adventures on the fanily farm with his cousins Bob and doug Turnbull. But that is for another day.

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Farm Play

Life on a farm is not all chores.

After feeding animals,

mucking out the stalls,

It was time to play.

The boys challenged each other,

to ride every animal on the farm.

The horses and cows gave little resistance

to an occasional rider.

Not the large sow.

One by one a boy would sneak up to her.

Swinging a leg over her back,

they would hold tightly to the neck.

The sow would buck, twirl like a bucking bronco. Finally, she would race under a fence,

knocking the rider into the mud.

The sow always won.

carolaspot@aol.com

copyright 8/24/2021

I would like to tell you about the writing of this book. For the past three years, I have written poetry and submitted them to magazines. Some were accepted, many were not. I learned along the way what some editors wanted for their publications.

In June, I purchased a new writing program called, “Voice Dream Writer.” I haven’t discovered all of the tasks it will preform, but I was able to write sections of the book and more importantly, move poems, photos and text using the outline feature.

The curser was easier to find and move for ease of editing.

With this program, I was able to edit and proofread my book before sending to the book publishers.

I am happy with the resulting chapbook. I have selected two poems from the book to share with you.

Alone with Myself

Morning sun broke over a sparkle filled woods.

Carrying my poles and skis, I searched for a place to sit.

A long fallen trunk offered a purchase.

Jamming my poles into the drift, I slipped on one ski then the other.

I stood with the help of the poles, ready to push off.

The rhythm of the skis gliding made a soft swish in the quiet of the day.

My mind was free to ponder as long trained muscles took up the remembered cadence of moving.

I saw the low hanging branch and swerved to the right.

Snow and ice crackled underfoot as I crested the rise.

Tucking my poles under my arms, I raced down the hill to the pond.

The clear, smooth surface called to me.

I turned away fearing I would break through.

Instead, I rested to let my breathing slow and listen to the sound of my pulse in my ears.

Worried thinking vanished as I joined nature awakening to the sunrise.

I breathed long gulps of chilly air.

Renewed in body, mind and spirit.

Reflections

Rain distorts the reflection in the pane.

I contemplate my twisted hold on reality.

Memory of the visual world change with age.

reforming like a deck of shuffled cards.

The rain forms tears from heaven.

They water our souls and spirits.

I take a card and see what memory is is on top.

Building a story around the thought.

The fracture is my reality.

Below are two reviews of Leaf Memories with the website where you can find the reveiw and a quote from the reviewer .

Thank you Abbie and Peggy.

Abbies Review

https://www.dldbooks.com/carolfarnsworth/

Carol has a knack for drawing readers into her subject matter. I was right there with her and her husband on their tandem bike, as they pedaled furiously to reach safety ahead of an approaching thunderstorm in “With the Wind” and as she cross-country skied down a hill to enjoy the peace of a pond in “Alone with Myself.” After reading “Beauty in the Field,” I was angered to think that people, perhaps inadvertently, destroy nature in order to enjoy it.

Peggy review

https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/4173614319?type=review#rating_402728240

I enjoyed following Carol Farnsworth, my husband’s sister, through the seasons. She gives close attention to the plant and animal life she encounters near her home in the upper midwest. When I finished the book, I felt pleasantly relaxed, as if I had visited a place of great natural beauty.

Today is #2 pencil day and black cat appreciation day. I have two stories that link the days.

When my daughter was in school, she collected #2 pencils with fancy designs and holiday themes. She would keep them in a vase Selecting a special pencil to use during finals She said that the pencil had to be as special as the day.

When Ruth left for college, I found her stash of pencils. I decided to give them out during Trick or Treating. We always have some children that don’t like candy or can’t have any. The pencils went quickly.

I have loved the look of a sleek black cat. My brother Bob had a Black cat that came with his home in West Virginia. The cat had an independent nature. He would jump out at unsuspecting toes and feet. This earned him the name KC or Killer Cat. He would show his human housemates his appriciation by living gifts of mice and small birds on the front steps.

But the most interesting behavior was to crawl into the base of a small organ that Bob would play. KC would push down on the bedals to gain access. I don’t if he appreciated the music. He would tear out of the organ’s base when the music began. But he would continue to hide in the quiet organ.

People have seen black cats as magical at best and evil at worse. The appreciation day is to highlight the number of black cats available in shelters. By giving them a day and a reduced adaption fee, the shelters hope that the black cats will be adopted. they can be wonderful pets and deserve good homes.

So this Halloween if I decorate with a black cat it will be smiling and cuddlin.

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A Black Cat

Faster than a running mouse.

More powerful than a stuffed kitty toy.

Able to leap to the highest shelf with a single bound.

Who disguised as a mild manner cat washing his fur,

Fights against black cat prejudice with cuddling.

It’s the American way.

carolaspot@aol.com

copyright 8/17/2021

This day was set aside to highlight cultural and educational issues of the world’s youth. It was established by the United Nations in 1999 and has a new theme each year.

This year the theme is working for peace. There are many events in different countries to promote the activities and achievements of youth.

Locally, my husband and I went to check the county 4H fair near us.

We found youth cleaning barns, caring for farm animals, they would stop to greet visiters and answer questions about the livestock.

The Youth demonstrated skills in preserving food, sewing, woodworking and the ability to knit and sew. Other Youth were exhibiting equestrian skills . The future farmers of America would be proud of each of the skills displayed.

The ability to produce, preserve and distribute food has a direct impact on peace. Hungry people want food, not necessarily peace. Whether they realize it or not, the youth in organizations like 4H, boy and girl scouts and church that work to promote and assist the needy people in their community are an asset. Their example to others show what can be done working together for the better.

So as I watch that small piglet find his mother, or I listen to an explanation of the care of a calf ,or touch the knitted baby blankets that will be donated to a shelter, I am confident in the future, we can hand over the world in good shape.

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Clean barns, animals too,

smiling faces, eager to help.

They have the knowledge to provide,

When the old guard steps aside.

Carolaspot@aol.com

copyright 8/12/2021

I buy plants each year to place in my container garden. Miniature roses, shasta daisies, lupins and begonias. Herbs of rosemary, lavender , basil, cilantro, sage and dill. A tomato and swiss chard round out the assortment.

I expect these to grow and die in the first hard freeze. Sometimes, I try to bring some plants in to coax to live to spring. Most of them will die also.

There are two exceptions to this rule. My Jerusalem cherry and my peace plant.

My Jerusalem cherry is over 40 years old. It puts on bright orange and red fruit the size of a small marble. The dry fruit falls and starts another plant.

There is a story about the origins of this plant. My brother Bob spent one and a half years in Israel working on a kibbutz. He met many new friends while working. Several of the friends came to visit the States and stopped by my parents home. My Mother played hostess to one young man that stayed a week. He wanted to give her a thank you gift. He walked to the local florist and came back with a small plant balanced on his head. That was a Jerusalem cherry. The mother plant produced many cherries and baby plants. I have given enough of the plants and dry cherries to grow an orchard. Note: the cherries are not edible.

The second long lived plant is a peace plant. This plant is made up of small plants that bunch together. When they become crowded they put out a white growth with seeds covered by a bract. They resemble a flower. If the plants become too root bound , they will start to die unless they are replanted.

We received this plant over30 years ago at the time of our daughter’s birth. It has been divided, re-planted and given away many times.We still have two containers of the plant.

It is nice to think we always have peace and the beauty of the Jerusalem cherry to grace our home. They are physical reminders of the people who came into our lives.

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Peace Lily

stately blooms,

many glossy leaves,

tranquility

carolaspot@aol.com

copyright 8/10/2021

This past weekend was an aunnual event in my family. My brother,

Brian, opens his cottage to my siblings and spouces for a long weekend on the shores of upper Lake Michigan.

This year my deceased brother’s wife Kathy, joined us.

The talk revolved around the people no longer at the table.

My sister asked, “Have any of you had dreams about Mike “? We thought at first she was teasing, but she was serious. None of us were sure what she wanted to hear.

I talked first, stating I had a dream with my first husband and my brother in it. I couldn’t remember the details bout the dream . My other two brothers were not sure if they had any dreams of him.

Kathy was looking for any stories that Mike was ok. This led to several disscussions about memories, death and what is possible with close family connections.

My oldest brother Bob stated,”I will keep an open mind”. That night he did dream about when his brother Mike surprized him in Guam with a visit. They talked and when Bob awoke, he had several emotions. In the end he was glad to have had the dream.

Last night , I woke to the smell of coffee. In my dream, I felt the back of a large , tall man. He turned and I recognized my brother. We talked and he went to get me some coffee. I awoke to find no coffee nor Mike, but I had a lasting feeling of contentment.

The powere of suggestion, old memories, or a contact from beyond the grave? I don’t know. I do know that the feelings were a gift to me. Below is an ad for my new book that was released on the same weekend. It is called”Leaf Memories” .This is the first and last time I will use this blog as a promotion. ***

LEAF MEMORIES

A book of poetry and photos by Carol Farnsworth / C 2021

In e-book and print from Amazon and Smashwords / 44 pages in print

Cover image, full synopsis, author bio, direct buying links, and free text sample:

https://www.dldbooks.com/carolfarnsworth/

Synopsis:

I have always loved walking in the woods. I usually explore with my husband or daughter to act as a sighted guide. They find flora for me to touch.  When I had some vision, they would point out fauna—a deer, or a bird taking flight. At those times, I was lucky to see the white of a retreating deer or hear the sound of wings in flight.

When I became totally blind, I developed my senses of touch, hearing, smell, and taste to see the world. I incorporated visual memories to complete the picture.

After two hip replacements, I could no longer walk the woods I loved. My husband and I became a tandem cycling team. This allowed me to experience nature in a different way.

I wrote this chapbook of poems after I lost my sight. I found there are many ways to enjoy nature, such as using your hands to explore, along with your other senses.

From Leonore Dvorkin, editor of Leaf Memories:

The poems are arranged according to the seasons of the year, starting with summer. They mainly tell of the author’s appreciation of the beauty of nature and her concern for the environment and wildlife. Three joyful photos show her laughing little daughter in a huge pile of fall leaves (on the cover and inside the book), Carol helping to make maple syrup, and Carol and her husband standing by their tandem bicycle.    

carolaspot@aol.com

copyright 8-5-2021