Buddy and I came across this tree on our forest hike yesterday. I didn’t have my camera then to capture this random act of decorating kindness, but today I was ready. A couple of inches of snow fell though, and the tree looks wilted compared to yesterday, but it doesn’t obscure the magic. A deer ornament graces the top of the tree.
Merry Ho Ho! (As my oldest son used to say.)
Attack of the abominable snow dog!
Jogger approaching (wearing spandex) along the Charles River in Cambridge, Mass.
I meandered over to Cambridge, Mass., last weekend for a national science writers convention (believe it or not, there are such gatherings). My hotel was on the Charles River, with Cambridge on one side and Boston on the other.
Boston University, the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, and Harvard all have boathouses and yacht clubs on the Charles. I awoke every morning to instructions yelled from coaches to rowers, and to the sight of sleek single and multiple sculls skimming the water. (How’s that for alliteration? Couldn’t help it.)
I was able to take a long walk by the river. Besides the rowers and sailboaters, what impressed me on my stroll was the shear volume of runners, bikers, and walkers. And every one of them was wearing spandex no matter if they were short, tall, wide, narrow, young or old. I, however, did not get the spandex memo, so trod along in my jeans and canvas jacket.
Morning, noon, and night the asphalt trail along with river was crowded with exercisers. Although Boston is known for its post-marathon bombing emotional strength (Boston Strong!), Cambridge will be forever burned into my mind for the fitness of the people I saw during my walk and from my hotel window.
If you ever travel to Cambridge, don’t be like me. Get the memo. Pack your spandex.
This is Park Point Beach on Lake Superior in Duluth. Hope your summer is filled with scenes like this!
Say you have an awful terrible job like mine (smile) that requires travel to a picturesque lakeside (as in Lake Superior) town (as in Bayfield, Wis.) for a meeting. Let’s say that after the Bayfield meeting your coworker has another meeting that requires travel by car ferry to a nearby island. He invites you to use the car while he’s in his meeting so you can tool around the island and take scenic photos for the various publications produced by your organization.
Bayfield, Wis.
Let’s say you only have an hour to spend on the island before your coworker’s meeting is done and you have to ferry back to the mainland. Where would you go on the island? Why, you would go where the ferry worker recommends, that’s where!
I recently meandered over to Madeline Island on the south shore of Lake Superior under such circumstances. Without prompting, the lady selling ferry tickets pointed to a sand spit in Big Bay State Park on a map and said, “If I was going to Madeline Island today, that’s where I’d head.”
I figured she knew what she was talking about. While my coworker was in his meeting in the quaint town of LaPointe on the island, I drove to the park which, like any good cheap hotel, included an option to just pay for an hour. I located the trail to the sandspit and enjoyed a short hike through a verdant ferny forest…
…that gave way to a grove of white pines just before the beach.
Dozens of swimmers enjoyed the cool waters of Lake Superior.
I had just enough time to take off my sandals and wade in.
Then I departed and looked for a scenic overlook I noticed near the park entrance. The view was all right, but the beach was better.
By now, I had fifteen minutes left to drive back to LaPointe. Once in town, I had time to snap photos of a few local landmarks before rejoining my coworker and heading for the ferry back to Bayfield.
I think I’m in love. Seriously. I will return someday when I have enough time to do Madeline Island justice. Much more awaits.
A melting frozen waterfall in Gooseberry Falls State Park.
I meandered up the North Shore of Lake Superior last weekend, looking for signs of spring. Although no tree buds are out, the snow is all but gone (except in the shade) and the ice is melting on the rivers. I hope you enjoy these photos from the trip. Click on a photo below to see a larger image.
An interesting carving in an archway at Yale.
I have a navy blue sweat jacket with white letters emblazoned across the chest that spell out “YALE.” Ivy League paraphernalia are not common in northern Minnesota, so I get sideways looks when I wear it. It’s also not common to “brag” in this manner about going to an Ivy League school. When someone is curious or brave enough to ask if I went to Yale, I delight in saying, “Yes! . . . But only for three days.”
You see, I went to a science writers conference there a few years back and couldn’t resist buying the jacket. I wear it when I’m in the mood for a social joke, or when I’m cold (which happens quite often).
The wording over the door says “Yale News.” A door for journalists.
Anywho, I thought I’d share with you some photos of my Yale meanderings. I have this thing for doors, and Yale has some great ones. It also has some great ears. If you ever get the chance to walk the campus in New Haven, Conn., look for these!
The dining hall door. Note the cooked poultry above it.
I had the privilege of spending some time on Lake Huron not long ago. After spending five days in meetings, my co-workers and I were primed to run amok along the shore at Tawas Point State Park in Michigan. The deserted lighthouse was decorated for Christmas — we felt like it was waiting just for us!
Tawas Point State Park Lighthouse, MI.
Here’s my favorite view:
I guess it makes sense to keep the flammable oil for the lighthouse light in a separate building:
The oil building.
Happy holidays, everyone!
Lake Huron in December.
I recently meandered to Cleveland, Ohio, for a work trip. We stopped for lunch at the West Side Market. If you’re ever in Cleveland, it’s worth the experience. For a fully balanced diet, fruits and veggies can be found in the building next door.
A river of jack-o-lanterns on the grounds of Glensheen Mansion in Duluth, MN.
Dozens of volunteers carve what must be hundreds of pumpkins that decorate the grounds of a local mansion on the shores of Lake Superior that is open for public tours. I checked it out last night and brought my camera along. Happy Halloween!
Glensheen Mansion.
An eerie blue light illuminates the room where the murder occurred of the last owner of the mansion.
I don’t think this was part of the tour, but I thought it was spooky: looking into a tunnel that runs under the road. Who is that bench for?
Ghosts making s’mores.
A sailboat off Park Point Beach in Duluth, Minn.
I saw the bench in passing as I was hauling a box of my novels into a local community center where I was to take part in a local arts sale and book signing. My first thought was that the bench offered a nice place to sit if someone got tired on the walkway up to the center.
On my second trip, I noticed the red crabapples that had fallen onto the weathered wooden slats of the bench from the tree that sheltered it. On my third trip, I saw the small sliver plaque that had tarnished beyond readability and how the main metal support on the bottom of the seat was hanging askew. That bench had been there for a while, and no one was taking care of it.
On my fourth trip, I realized I was having all these reactions to the bench, and that I should pay attention. It’s funny and sad sometimes how intent we get on what we are doing (in this case, setting up my book table) that we miss creative fodder that’s right along the path.
Where will the path of life take you? To the beach!
After I was done hauling books and moving my car across the street to allow arts sale patrons the best parking spots, I took time to appreciate the bench. I unpocketed my camera and shot some photos of it and the surrounding beach. The bench photos don’t do it justice. I think my words describe it better, but I got some good beach shots.
I’ve been thinking a lot about mortality lately, what with “shallow graves” occupying my mind, and attending a visitation for a fallen media comrade. This bench spoke to me of a life remembered. It served as a token of respite and peace in a busy world, but a token now forgotten and in disrepair. How fragile human memory is! How fleeting! Yet the bench stands in testament that someone once cared.
Like any good, self-absorbed artist, I wondered if anyone would care enough about me to dedicate a bench in my name, and if they did, how long the intent would last to keep it in good repair. And in the big scheme of things, does it really matter? Dust to dust, ashes to ashes, and all that.
I suppose a poem is in that bench somewhere. I wonder if I will have the opportunity to step off the path of my busy life and write it.
Okay, I changed my mind. Here’s the bench.
Marie's Meanderings 