traveling up and down the blind highway

This summer, I have been blessed to witness a doe give birth to twins in the neighbor’s backyard. A small flock of turkeys chase each other in the clearing in the woods and skunks, raccoons wash their paws in the water trough. Soon, these sights will cease. Why? The start of hunting season is the answer. Small game, turkey and white tail deer. Hunting season’s vary but they run from September to to December 11th. People walking in wooded areas are encourage to wear bright colors such as orange or bright yellow. Deer are color blind so the bright orange is gray or tan to a deer’s vision.
Turkeys have ability to detect colors but their vision is a narrow field for the best sight. They rely on a sixth sense to identify dangerous shapes. They will retreat from a dangerous situation.
Raccoons, skunks and squirrels are not aggressive by nature but will bite a human if cornered or threaten. They would rather run away.
My brothers and my Dad would go up to the Upper Peninsula to Warners cabins for deer hunting in November. My Dad would recall the last time he and his father went hunting for deer. Grandpa Turnbull wanted to hunt one more time. Dad drove him to the blind, setting up with a seat, coffee and a blanket to stay warm while waiting for the deer to pass by.
“Dad, I will walk a circle and be back in a couple of hours.”
“I’ll be fine Bruce”
With Grandpa’s assurance, Dad started to walk through the woods. When he returned, Grandpa was sipping the last of his coffee. A buck was dressed and hanging in a nearby tree.
“Dad, how did you hang and dress the deer?”
“I had a little help.”
Grandpa did shoot a deer walking by. He couldn’t lift the deer carcass. Another hunter came out of the woods. He had been tracking an injured deer. The hunter agreed to share the deer with grandpa could keep the deer in the tree until my Dad showed up.
My Dad and brothers stayed hunting for a week. I only remember a rabbit dressed in our basement . I have no memories of any deer after Grandpa’s last deer.
My husband John tells a different story about hunting with his Dad and brothers. Dad and the three boys would hunt rabbits in early October. Each of the boys had shotguns. Dad would park on a rural road near state land and lead the boys in a large circle. They would come out within sight of the parked car. Ted, Gene and John would make animal sounds, hit the trees to rouse game scaring any animals to flee. John’s dad stopped carrying a gun, knowing that the boys would scare all the game for several miles. The three meals that the fathers cooked were spaghetti with Ragu sauce. Canned chili and pancakes After a long day in the woods, the boys would eat dinner and then fall asleep. The darkness with oil lamps for illumination encouraged early bedtime.
Going to deer hunting camp was a rite of passage for young boys. Stories of the multi point buck that got away got bigger and the rack grew larger with each telling.
I had my Mom to myself during hunting season. We would take the bus to Detroit to shop for the day and go out to lunch at Sanders sandwich shop.
With many of the hunted animals raging with testosterone, they were thinking of procreating not survival. There are fewer hunters in Michigan’s woods. Though the state land is free to use, the deer population has swelled to two million deer, forcing deer into urban areas. In our little wooded area, there is a doe with twins. We see them coming for seed and water daily.The increase in the number of deer has increased the number of deer/car accidents. Hunters are necessary to maintain a healthy deer population. In the next couple of months, be careful and watch for racing deer.
–*** poem
Deer run
white tail flags interest
two males fence with antlers
The winner gets the doe
If she accepts him.
a racing car puts an end to romance
carolaspot@aol.com September 2, 2024

Growing up in my small town of Northville, we had several opportunities to get ice cream treats delivered to our street. There were two dairies that delivered delights of chocolate covered ice cream on a stick along with milk, butter and heavy cream. The cream was floating on the top of each bottle of milk. My mother would skim the cream and use it in coffee. Twin Pines Dairy and Guernsey Dairy delivered to homes two to three times a week. They picked up the empties and left several gallons of whole milk in the metal rack. But in the summer, we were attuned to the music of the Good Humor truck as it slowly made it’s way through of the town. Exotic confections of chocolate chip cookie sandwiches, orange flavored candy covered bars and ice cream drumsticks with chocolate and nuts toppings. They were more expensive than we could afford for a family of seven. I would watch as others would select and gobble down the cold treats.
One sweltering summer day, I succumbed to temptation. While my mother was in the back yard taking a sun bath, I opened my mothers purse and helped myself to a bill. I was too young to look at the amount but I think it was a five dollar bill. Leaving the house by the front door, I made my way to the corner where the ice cream truck waited. I am sure the neighbors tattled to my mother even as I sat on the corner eating my stolen booty. I had change from the transaction, having no pockets, I dropped the coins inside my top. It had a elastic bottom so the coins wouldn’t fall out.
I went to the front door to put back the change, but the door was locked. Sneaking to the back yard, my mom appeared to be asleep on the lounge. I ran for the door with coins clinking in my blouse.
“Carol Ann Turnbull, come here!”
We all knew that when our complete name was used, we were in trouble. I turned to face the music and Mom. Standing beside the chair, I tried to keep quiet. In one quick movement, my mother grabbed the edge of my top. elastic was stretched causing coins to scatter on the grass.
“Where did you get the money?”
I knew it would be worse if I lied so I confessed.
“From your purse,”
“For what?”
“Ice cream”
I am sure I was punished but my moral dilemma came years later. As a Catholic, we make our first confession in the second grade. I poured over the Boston Catechism . To see if the taking of money was a Venial sin or a Mortal sin. The Boston guidelines stated that during confession if a person forgot to confess a venial sin, they could still be granted absolution. But a mortal sin must be confessed before forgiveness could be given. “Did I steal a 5 or a one dollar bill?” An amount under 5 dollars was a venial sin. “Did putting the change back decreased my sin?”
I tried to forget the incident but every time I went into the confessional, I imagined the sins piling up as sins of omission. Since each class went to confession weekly, The sins were piling up!
I couldn’t take the stress. At the end of one confession, I whispered,”I am sorry for these sins and especially those against the eight commandment.”Father listened and granted absolution . I was off the hook!
**. Poem
absolution
Kneeling in the confessional, I sweated
an old sin weighted on my conscience
taking a bill from my mother’s purse
I had told Mom and been punished
But telling Father?
I tried to find a loophole
amount of money?
I didn’t remember
Could I forget the sin, no way
Finally at the end of my recitation of current transgression
I whispered
“I am sorry for these sins and those of stealing.
Father unknowingly gave the blessing for absolution.
I was off the hook.
carolaspot@aol.com copyrighted 8/26/24

This morning my inner clock reset. This means I slept one to two more hours then normal. This is a documented phenomenon, that is common in blind individuals with little or no light perception. The eye’s perception of light and dark changes helps the brain to set our biorhythm for a 24 hour day. Studies show that a blind persons has a 25 hour day. This means that the individual must have a reset day and sleep in. Normally, this happens on a day I perceive darkness or a dark day, making it easier to sleep and reset my clock. Since retiring, this is part of my normal cycle. When I had to work or participate in a meeting, I had to go to bed early the evening before to receive the needed sleep.
On August 17, we celebrated left handed Day. I am part of this group. Ten percent of the population is left handed. In my family there were three out of seven family members that used their left as the dominant hand. we had set places for meals. My brother Mike and I sat on the same side of the table both being lefties. I always sat on the left corner of any table. So my elbow would not interfere with a person using their right hand. Later, I was seated with my younger brother, Brian who was a lefty like myself.
Mike was ambidextrous . He was able to use both his hands equally well. He played baseball, catching the ball with his right hand and threw the ball with his left. He could draw and write with either hand.
Brian and I were true left handed users. We did all tasks with our dominant left hands.
Tools such a scissors, pencil sharpeners, and table saws are made for the use of right handers. Knitting and crochet patterns are for the same group. Left hander learn to modify, adapt to a right handed world.
Some famous people that are lefties include Barack Obama, Jimmy Carter, Gerald Ford, Ronald Regan, George W. Bush, Whoopi Goldberg, Oprah Winfrey, Albert Einstein, Leonardo da Vinci, Sir Isaac Newton ,Aristotle and blind activist Helen Keller.
A large percentage of people in the creative arts are left handed. Some experts speculate that is do in part to learning to think outside the box. Personally, I believe lefties work daily to find solutions to tasks in a right handed world.
**. Poem
Left To Right
face to face
left to right
left is wrong
right has might
creative solutions
bridges far left and right
carolaspot@aol.com 8/19/24 copyrighted

This past weekend, My brother Bob and my sister is law Peggy, visited and stayed overnight. They were traveling from Hamilton Ontario to the west side of Michigan. They were booked to take the ferry from Ludington to cross Lake Michigan to their home in Wisconsin. With the overnight visit, John and I had hours of conversation with Peggy and Bob.
I had not had the opportunity to have such an in depth conversation with Peggy for many years. While John and Bob sat in the kitchen, Peggy and I explored our early family back grounds and early education experiences. I found out that Peggy was shy, due in part to being the tallest girl in her class and being placed in the back of the classroom despite having difficulty reading the board.
I told her about the issues with getting eyedrops four times a day. My drawings in kindergarten had many drawing of a clock face with the hands pointing to five minutes to four. I had to receive an eye drop at four P.M in the middle of my afternoon play time.
Both of us looked and admired our brothers. Peggy’s brother was a straight A student. Peggy’s vision prevented her from doing the same. I was protected and insulated from bullies by my older brothers.
One neighborhood bully after pushing me down, causing my glasses to break, ended upside down in his trash can.
Hearing early stories from living inTexas and Boston filled in missing pages from her history. We found we had much in common with working to prove our worth. Peggy working as a librarian and myself as a Speech Pathologist teaching mentally impaired adults.
I found that we had many common values.
Retired now, we have reading and writing poetry in common. What a joy to find such a gem within my family. Being open helped that and requesting the men leave the room so I could concentrate on listening with all my ability. Conversation is an active skill.
*** poem
The Art of Conversation
listen respond question
little by little, unraveling
each other’s stories
discover a sister
I always wanted
closer than I could imagine
sisterhood
carolaspot@aol.com Copyrighted August 12 2024

This past week, I felt old. I become tired and slow with conversations but this week was a reality check. During of all things, housework.
I use a Swifter to clean and dust the wood floors in my house. I can’t reach under furniture to clean to the backboards. I decided to clean the floors on hands and knees. I could crawl around with old socks, one on each hand, I had to lay on my side to reach to the wall behind furniture. I was surprised that the metal in my hip replacements hurt when I was on my side. Since both hips have titanium parts, I didn’t think about pain. I was feeling the rubbing of the replacement rubbing against the part of hip still there. I had to find some cushioning for that hip when laying on my side.
I mentioned this to my husband John. He confessed that the same day, he climbed into the crawl space to spray for carpenter ants. He also had pain in his knees while working. He had to go to find knee cushions while crawling under the house.
I scoffed when John installed metal handrails on both sides of the stairs. I thought it looked tacky. This is coming from a blind woman. But in the last months, I have relied on the railings more.
Recently, I purchased a titanium white cane with a ball end. It is able to roll from side to side without leaving the ground. It is better to give feedback on uneven ground. The cane is able to support me is I take a misstep.
Both John and I walk slower with smaller steps. We have given up riding the tandem bike . Neither of us can trust our balance.
Before you feel sorry for us, remember, we are still out walking and working around our yard. Aging doesn’t curtail our activities, just the way we do them.
As for the biking, we use the stationary bike until our balance improves. Learning to adapt is the best mental health medicine.

*** poem
My garden of hanging pots decorate the deck
The birds in the woods are listening
night visitors are seen on the security cameras
an occasional butterfly visits my hand
my memories fill in the rest
carolaspot@aol.com

The first attempt to provide help for veterans and sailors disabled in the Revolution war was in 1777. The Federal Government had no ability to fund this help . They looked to the individual states to implement the provisions of the act.
Over the past two hundred years, laws have been created, implemented and challenged by sections of disable groups. Many of the laws restricted the rights of persons with disabilities. The so called Ugly laws, restricted individuals right to appear in public with a physical or mental impairment. Initially passed to curb begging, the laws were interpreted to restrict people’s ability for employment, travel and education. On August 26, 1990, The Americans with Disabilities Act was signed into law. But do we recall the protests of act 504?
This act provided employment to person to be employed regardless of their disability for federal funded programs. The Secretary of Health and Human Services didn’t endorse it as demanded by the April 4th deadline. Boycotts, sit ins, and protests were held nation wide. But the protest in San Francisco were different.
There, protester were organized and firm in their resolve to unite for all disabilities . Over one hundred fifty individuals stormed and occupied the federal building . A normal tactic to combat this type of protest is to cut the phone lines and not allow food, water or medicine for the protesters. The protesters were prepared for this. Members of the deaf community were able to use sign language to inform others outside the building of their needs. several other organizations such the Black Panthers, Grey Panthers, Salvation Army, and religious groups joined to deliver needed items as well as blankets to the buildings protesters. The sit in lasted until the end of the month. After two weeks members of the protesters traveled to Washington to meet with members of Congress and the news media to push for the adoption of Act 504. This enactment in 1978 lead to the disable Act of 1990 that we celebrated on last Friday.
Who were the individuals responsible? Many were leaders in disability rights. Others were at the rally and joined the walk to occupy the federal building. They were diverse. But the groups that continued to protest and support the sit in were a larger groups from many walks of life. They were in wheel chairs, blind, deaf and had illness such M S, mental and cognitive issues. Or their family members did. They were not asking for charity but an equal chance for life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.
In this time of differences may we remember the past and look to the future for a better life for all.
*** Poem

Future Generation
I see the future in my daughter’s eyes.
who doctors stated,”She won’t live a year.”
Outlasting their dire predictions.
A loving and accomplished woman, daughter and wife.
I thank God for the gift
of you in our lives.
Happy Birthday Ruth.
carolaspot@aol.com July 29, 2024

Last evening Lynda Lambert and I talked about our colloration of a poetry and art exchange. We have written a poem and made an art pice to send in the mail. We are in our seventh month of a year long project.

The art is discribed and poems are below.

January 7

The first art is a light green background with several black lines near the bottom of the card. The poem for January is in braille on the front of the card.

walking, I pause to watch

a sparrow wrestle a seed from the feeder

Success!

a black sunflower seed

in his beak

February 7

The picture is light pink and orange with a mat finish brush strokes visible. The colors are light to dark.

Settled

floor boards creak

aging, settling

like old bones

March art 7

the art is the cover from a bar of Lindt’s dark chocolate 85 percent coco Both Lynda and I share a love of this chocolate.

Poem 7

Last snow

In my little woods,

I see the outline of the dawn.

Hills and furrows, made by men.

Not the same as nature’s curves.

cozy homes for the birds.

Man looks, seeing empty space.

animals hide without a trace.

Mother Nature steals the show.

blanketed by fresh snow.

April’s 7

Cookie moon

The card has gold coin cover in shades of blues. It appears to be floating. The circle has green brown paint on one edge like a bite.

Cookie Moon

moon’s glow darkens

eerie quiet

bites,

disappearing

May 7

The art is a painting of a flag of green, white and red. stripes like an Italian . flag of Vertical sections of red, White and green. This is for my foster sister Adelia. She was an exchanged student and a part of our family for over 50 years.

May , poem 7

Brazil

accordion, guitar

sweet tenor croon

words of love

in Portuguese tongue

strong elixir

amor

June 7th

colors of pink and orange

drift into green with bits of periwinkle.

Brush strokes create the image of motion.

June Poem 7

Windy

tree tops dance

petals blown off stems

birds stay put

one young turkey

leans into the wind

to climb steps

quiet descends with dusk

mouse scampers across rocks

July 7

The art was inspired by a raccoon caught in a security camera

Painting is black, purples and grays.

July 7

Night visitor

Out of the shadows,

He walks the wall

To the dark watery pool

It calls

inviting him

stepping in enjoys a long drink

The recording of this exchange will be availible in the near future on the Behind Our Eyes website.

My writer’s group was given the word cone to write a six line story or poem using the word at least once. It started me thinking of some of the treats, snacks we enjoyed in the summer.
My Mon had a tupperware set of six popcycle shapes with holders and a tray to keep the popcycles upright in the freezer. They were either lemonade or orange juice. I would suck the juice or flavor out of the treat and enjoy crunching on the ice that was left. The forms and holders were returned to the dishes to be washed and reused over and over.
After my Dad had cooked hamburgers or hot dogs on our round grill, we would cut green sticks from the apple tree to toast large marshmallows over the coals. No grams or Hersheys chocolate just the hot melting marshmallow toasted to a golden brown. That was the goal. Mine were either burned to a black as the sugar caught fire or the marshmallow became so soft that the whole piece melted falling into the coals. After one or two attempts, I gave up popping the marshmallow uncooked into my mouth. During Girl Scout Camp, I finally perfected the toasting with the adding of a chocolate piece smashed between two graham crackers.
The freezer also held a box of frozen petit fours. They had been hidden in the far corner of the freezer from the holidays. Upon finding them, I would take one from the package and move the rest around so my taking the treat would not be noticed right away. I could hide a half dozen stolen candies before discovery.
The raspberry patch was a favorite place to hide and munch on the lowest berries. I would lay between the bush and the picket fence eating my way down the row. As we became experts in leaving some berries after the first picking of the day..
Green apples grew on the two old trees in the back yard. They were small and could be wormy. I would examine one or two before biting into one. They were tart . One had to check the bitten apple to see if there were worm holes or worse a half of worm.
Our neighbor on the corner had a large mulberry tree. We knew when the fruit was ripe when the sidewalk was spotted with purple from fallen berries. I would reach for the darkest berries to munch on on my way home. My lips and fingers betrayed what I had been up to.
Finally, Mom would allow me to go into the fridge to take a couple of cabbage leaves to munch in my tree. I would pretend that the tree was my personal island. The grass was water. I could live in the tree and eat my cabbage. If I had to leave the safety of the tree, I would pretend to swim to the back door of the house.
I hope that you have special memories of your own summer treats.

---

Today’s poem
Treats
Egged on by friends, we searched for frozen petit fours.
It was easier to pick berries from the patch.
Lemonade popcycles and toasted marshmallows were a rarity.
I was allowed to grab cabbage leaves any time.
carolaspot@aol.com July 15, 2024

July is set aside as National Disabilities Pride Month. Many events and activities will celebrate the diversity and accomplishments of people with disabilities. Many communities will be hosting crafts and food fairs shows. Music, theater and lectures are scheduled throughout the month. People have overcome despite their disabilities.

At the end of the month, there will be a street fair in Grand Rapids Michigan.

As part of the celebration of diversity in the arts, blind poets, artists Lynda Lambert and myself are half way through a year long project to exchange a postcard with original art and a poem for each day of postal delivery. Below is an example of such an exchange using the postal service.

&&***

July 1st Poem 1

The card is an example of a butterfly from the show. It is red and black on a flower stem. On the reverse side, the date July 1st and Poem 1is attached

Butterflies

jeweled visitors

dive, hover, soar

Gather nectar

from flower’s core

I can’t see

what they do

imagination

changes my

point of view

Lynda’s card for that day is an abstract with a piece of a flag embedded in the painting. Swirls of light blue and black with touches of red with white edge. On the reverse is side Lynda’s poem.

I write a poem on Monday

I write a list of 20 words

I write one name and one color

I pick up those words ,one here two there

Keep writing line, more lines

Until the poem is born.

When one is blind, you rely on your hearing to give you cues to your surroundings. What you hear may not be accurate.
My fellow writer, told a story about visiting a new doctor for a physical. Marleen was brought to an examination room to change for a mammogram. As she sat waiting, a wailing noise was heard. It ebbed, then grew louder. There was brief moment of silence before the pattern repeated, When the nurse returned, Marleen complained about the sound coming from one of the machines.
“O that is our new wave sound effect to relax our patients.”
“That doesn’t sound like waves to me,” remarked Marleen.
“I agree but the doctor’s spent a lot of money on it so we are to test it.”
Another friend with vision loss has difficulty discerning faces. She would identify a person by their haircut and color. With aging, both the color and style may change often.
On a ferry boat in the Scottish Highlands, I awoke in my lounger to hear bagpipe music playing.
I tapped my husband to ask if he could turn down the recording.
“Honey, you are hearing the creaking of a loose hatch.” My apologies to bagpipe lovers. Busy street crossings have auditory and visual signals. Voice countdowns, verbal commands to walk or beeping are common. One crossings had the sound of a bird call to signal when to cross. It was a nice idea but when the birds in the tree answered, I had no clue if it was safe to cross.
A local garden placed fountains to masks traffic noise when strolling the pathways. Recently, I was walking is circles as I tried to listen for cars in the parking lot entrance. Usually, I am with my husband or friends and the embarrassment is short lived.
My friend Allen wasn’t so lucky. He was in a men’s bathroom alone. He thought he could listen to the toilets flushing and running water to find the toilets and sinks. To his chagrin, after leaving a stall, he found himself washing his hands in the urinal.
When I am in doubt about my surroundings, I ask.

---

Today’s poem
Reality Hearing

Music or creaking
a bird or signal locating exits and entrances
A person can get his hand
in a urinal
carolaspot July 1, 2024 copyrighted