aka “Things I’ve Seen” since 2004
Out over the river, Lamoreaux Park
I was surprised to see this photo after I downloaded it from the camera. When the sun is shining, I can always see some version of this view from the trail that winds along the river. But I never noticed all that was there. The treeline and its mirror image sandwiched between dual bands of blue sky. The still but moving water. A leafy frame holding a split second of time in place.
Out at Lamoreaux Park
It’s fall and JDog and I are back at our favorite place close to home, Lamoreaux Park. I did some research online last year to find out about this place; I wanted to know how it happens that there’s about a mile and a half of trail-crossed forest here in the middle of the suburbs … Seems that back in the 50s and 60s it was an ROTC/National Guard shooting range. In the 70s the county bought it and turned it into a park.
I like to look around for evidence of what it used to be — they say they cleared out any shell casings or other weaponry type stuff long ago. Still you will see the occasional rusted-out barrel under the trees. A field that was probably a parking lot is now bordered in those short wooden posts that used to mark the edges of such things back in the day. Then there are several odd concrete formations, including a graffiti-covered wall that heaves up out of the forest floor. Who built it? Why? Who knows.
Leftover wall
The county has built other structures especially for the park, like the long wooden footbridge that spans a marshy area between two trails and the wooden platform that overlooks the river in one spot. Still the place isn’t what you’d call improved. You’ll find no swings, picnic area, or restrooms, although I’ve heard that on Friday nights in summer a group of storytellers gathers to spin tales ’round a bonfire.
The park’s two tracks and footpaths wind along the Grand River through forests of maple, beech, oak, elm. There’s marshland bordered with cattails and reeds; broad swaths of grassy fields plein with berries, brambles, wild flowers …
All during autumn and throughout much of the winter, I walk and the dog runs free, laughing. On Sunday afternoons Suze will often accompany us. (Last year she was upset to see carrots strewn as deer bait in a field just over the park’s property line.) In spring it’s too flooded to get even a half-mile in, so we rarely come. In summer — too many bugs. Fall’s just begun, and so we’ve returned.
A way to go
At the old Bronson Park in Muskegon
This place looks nothing like it did when I was a kid. I know this boardwalk with its winding stairs and sloping access ramp wasn’t even thought about back then. None of this nice beach grass, either — just bare, wind-eroded dune. I remember our dad would bring us down here once in awhile when he got home from work on a hot day in summer. I think we came here because it was less crowded than Pere Marquette Park up the road.
The parking lot was basically the same as it is now — a kind of gray, dead-end oval. I remember you got out of the car and in front of you off to one side were a couple of rusty-looking swingsets with rubber sling seats suspended between spidery long A-poles. It was the city’s attempt at making this a park, I suppose, but Pere Marquette Park had much nicer swings. And slides, too. Plus, the sand here was a little pebbly, not nice and sugar-smooth like at the other park.
But getting to the lake, now that was superior fun. You’d run straight down the hill, flip flops in one hand, towel in the other. As you neared shore, you’d drop both to the sand and sprint another few yards into the water, first making big splashes as you kicked up the shallows, then picking your legs up higher as as the depth slowed you down. Finally, you’d half trip, half throw yourself headlong into the shocking cold (I don’t care what time of year it was, the lake was always cold), flop over into a back glide, then, feet down again you’d pop up, push your hair away from your face, and throw your head back, screeching laughter.
Standing here last Sunday, I could only see in my mind’s eye that scene of some 35 years ago. No dunes are exposed anymore; windblown grass and weathered, sturdy boardwalks stand between me and that long-grown kid’s dash down the dune. I’m glad the city has taken steps to protect the dunescape. I’m glad my mind’s eye holds such a clear memory.
Sun-day at the beach
Wind shapes
This is just an excuse to post a couple of more photos from last Sunday. They aren’t good photos, but they do remind me of how gorgeous was the day.
Another sunny warm weekend is supposed to be on tap. Maybe — if I can get the floor mopped and some laundry done and the bathroom cleaned — I’ll sneak away to the beach again. With a chair and a book — sans dog.
Well, nobody around here will go to the beach with me. They all seem to think it’s just about swimming and if it’s too cold there’s no sense going. I can’t make them understand that the beach is the beach for gawds sake — it’s the air, the sand, the waves, the sounds, the sun, the air.
I’m not quite sure why Clay doesn’t get this, since we both grew up so close to the big lake. Probably it has something to do with driving 40 minutes to get there. Whatever his reason, I can only drag him there once or twice a year and that’s when it’s a warm summer.
During this season of coolish weather, I have been to the beach in Muskegon exactly twice, yesterday being one of them. (That’s right, Muskegon. Pere Marquette Park is one of West Michigan’s best kept secrets. Vast stretches of sugar sand beach and almost no people. Besides, I grew up there.) The first time I went by myself. Yesterday, not wanting to keep all that beach joy to myself, I took the dog with me.
I’d forgotten that Jenny’s been to the big lake exactly once — when she was a puppy — and she was so scared she dug her feet into a spot yards away from the crashing waves and wouldn’t budge. Dog memories must be pretty long, ’cause the minute she jumped out of the truck in the parking lot she started to get nervous.
The city of Muskegon has designated a portion of the old Bronson Park as a dog beach. Really cool of them — almost progressive (did I say that?)! Yesterday the place was all but deserted by dogs and people. The sun was high and bright, waves at about a foot, breeze barely blowing, water just warm enough to get your feet wet. Unless you’re Jenny. She strayed into a shore bound wave once by accident and wouldn’t get near the water again. So while I walked the length of the beach with the waves washing up around my ankles, J Dog walked alongside me just far enough from the water’s edge to stay dry.
To look at the photos, you wouldn’t say she was afraid, really. She looks like she might even be having fun. For me, summer’s last hurrah was beautiful relaxing fun spent on the beach with my dog for company. Even so, I’ll probably stick to going by myself next summer.
Mitchell took Suze to his Homecoming at Belding High last night. (For Mom’s commentary, see "Dance Season")
Suze and Mitch, matched
School started, what, three weeks ago, and for the highschoolers I know, that means the first "big dance" season is also in full swing. Because no more do girls simply plot, plan and preen for the seven months leading up to the year-end extravaganza called the Prom — these days each school year is defined by three dance seasons. Prom of course is still the biggie, but its pomp is now preceded by two other occasions for formal finery: fall’s Homecoming and winter’s Valentine’s Day Fling or Swirl.
Homecoming season in my house actually started back around Aug. 1, when one daughter and her friend already began planning for the event at the friend’s cousin’s school. Both girls and their friends also have their plans mostly finalized for the dance at their own school, as well. Last week things really heated up, however, when a boy from still another school called Suze and invited her to his dance, held last night.
Short notice, yes, but fortunately between them the girls own four dresses plus most of the necessary accessories needed to outfit a dance princess. Meg is a wizard at hair design, and so we were able to get Suze ready for last night with minimal fuss (or cost). Two or three Homecoming dances yet await both girls this year. Meg is making appointments to design up-dos for as many girls as she can fit into a Saturday — $15 a pop, which is half what you’ll pay at the salon. And NO I am not buying any more dresses or shoes; fortunately nobody balks at borrowing from girlfriends, cousins, or older sisters.
Anyway, it’s all pretty heady for a bunch of 15-year-olds. The photos don’t show the half of it.
As a caveat for the more practical (and teenager-less) among you, let me just say that none of this is necessarily sensible. The idea of highschool girls (to a much greater extent than the boys) spending so much time, thought, and money on creating dazzling spectacles of themselves three times or more a year does have its troubling aspects. Yes, it is so commercial; yes, it is putting girls on display, yes, it points up things wrong with our culture, attitudes toward women and their place in society, etc., etc. But ya know what? I am a mom of two teens who turn themselves into Cinderella three times a year. The fairy tale that ends at midnight is tightly woven into the dreams most of us, young and old. For a couple of nights a year, it’s wonderful fun to live out that dream.
Mackinaw Drew
Looking through some old photos today and came across this one. It was one of the last times all five of us went on vacation together. We rented bikes on Mackinaw island and rode the perimeter — my all time favorite thing to do when we go there. MUCH more fun than doing the touristy fudgy thing.
We teased Drew that he looked like a fusty old man that day, pedalling along on his big ol’ wide-seat bike, headphones on and pretty much oblivious to rock, water and everything else around him.
New blog, new rules. On my old Tripod site I tried to never show faces that were recognizable. Made for some pretty interesting photos, but it was limiting.
So for the new blog, I’m officially changing the rules, as documented by a photo taken this summer in New York. The occasion was the Kirk Singer Tour ’04, which I chaperoned. It was fun. Really!
Dani & Meg & iPod in the Big Apple
Majik likes to keep her feet dry.
All the necessary tools for grillin’.
Sadly, Jenny didn’t get a cheeseburger.
