A Partridge in a Bare Tree

On the fifth day before Christmas, I loaded my truck to "give". Home-made wreaths were snuggled in the bed, teddy bears and dolls filled a big bag, and Christmas cassette tapes lined a basket. Yes, I was going to give all this away, but mind you, most of it was left-over. The wreaths were no-sells from my sale (see blog post below: A Tribute to Old Blue), the stuffed animals were like-new garage sale discards, and the Christmas music cassettes were replaced by CDs. No skin off my back except for the time I put into making the wreaths, a few supplies, and some bucks dropped at garage sales last summer.

I didn't know where I was going with this load except that I was thinking about people who had health issues piled on top of economic woes. The road I live on in the suburbs heads straight into the inner-city. The 12 miles should have been an easy drive, but I was feeling very uneasy. Where am I going? Why do I think people in the city would want these wreaths? Why am I afraid? Why do I feel foolish? Why in hell is it so hard to give to people that I am feeling something for? The only thing I liked about the drive was its sense of adventure.

Nearly a half-hour down the road I noticed a building with big letters on its side, something like Family Health Center. I turn into the parking lot thinking this is a really stupid idea. There weren't many cars in the lot and I didn't see a single person. Why am I here? "OK, just pull up in front of the entrance," something was directing me. "Now, get out of the truck," it persisted while I wanted to hide. So now what? There is still nobody around. "OK, walk around to the back end of the truck and put down the gate." I followed these silly directions while it seemed like I was the only person outdoors in the whole city that winter day.

Whoa!! The gate came down and the people came out... from buildings, cars, and taxi-cabs. I invited them to select a wreath assuring them that they were free. As they reached into the truck to pick out their personal favorite, I was stunned with their pleasure. In the urban greyness, these coils twisted with branches from my dying spruce tree and adorned with big red bows, looked magnificent; 100 times better than they had in my wooded suburban yard. These simple rings entwined with prickly spruce needles curved the complex, worried creases out of the recipients' faces and weaved them into awe-struck smiles. Meanwhile, the stuffed animals were shuffled through, finding new homes in the arms of gleeful young caregivers. I felt like Santa when a woman in a well-worn coat and missing her two front teeth came straight up to me with a specific request, "Do you have Oh Holy Night with no singing, just the music?" I filled her wish with a cassette tape that hadn't been played for years at home. In 10 minutes, even before the security guards arrived to see what was the flurry, everything was gone, gone in a hurry. How much easier can giving get?

What about receiving? Sometimes I feel hesitant about receiving---especially in accumulating more unnecessary stuff, and gifts perhaps given out of obligation. The parking lot wreath exchange was different. I joyfully accepted the unexpected robust hugs, the "God bless you, ma'am!" and "Merry Christmas" wishes. These givers waited in line, and I am not kidding you, to give me hugs! I made an enormous haul at this gift exchange.

So with the last bit of green from a dying, half-naked Blue Spruce tree, I drove myself into the scary woods of urbanocity. It was a poorly planned adventure, but very enriching. That's where true love gave to me......and I saw a partridge in a bare tree.

A Tribute to Old Blue

A Tribute Looking for Warmth


Self-serve Christmas Wreath Stand

Painting of Old Blue Guarding Our Home

Do you see the painting of the cabin above? Look at the tall Blue Spruce to the left of the door. That is the tree that has guarded the front door of our home since we moved in 26 years ago. It is one of the reasons why we bought the house. We use to bend beneath it's branches to enter the little cabin, our first home. It watched us bring home two new-born babies. It guarded their growth and all our family's activities to and fro, beneath it's wings, for 26 years. Early on, as the family grew, we added on to the little cabin, ultimately building a large home in a U-shape around Blue Spruce. We thought we were preserving it, but we may have helped contribute to its demise......building too closely and smothering it to death. We thrived, and it died.

Sadly, this week we had to cut it down as 2/3 of it had already died. Two tree specialists from Savory Tree Service in Toledo, Matt and Brian, did a great job dropping this 70 foot giant so that it didn't go through the roof or windows. I pruned the green branches and my husband salvaged firewood, determined not to waste any bit of this friend. (see middle photo....self-serve Christmas wreath sales stand on our side-porch). As the tree specialists held their chain saws over the last section of felled trunk, it dawned on me how to pay my respects to this oldster.

The image was clear in my mind. I ran up to Matt and shouted over the noisy saws, "Wait! Could you just leave this section lay as it is, and plane the top couple of inches off instead?" Matt was skilled with the saw and smiled when I invited him to do the chainsaw art. In five minutes I had an eight foot bench which nobody was going to move - ever! The trunk had homed itself right next to its stump, on an inviting angle to the front door. I further suggested that the remaining stump be leveled off. Now I have a table at one end of the bench!

In the spring when it warms up, I will sand the bench and table and protect them with a sealant.......maybe. What I really look forward to doing is sitting on the bench. I want to watch the tulips break through the earth near its base. I want to use its table to hold my cup and give thanks for the 26 years of wellness we've had as it stood over us. Maybe Old Blue will feel honored that my little bottom is warming its big heart-wood. Ya think?

Girlfullness Goes Whitewater Kayaking

Cheryl receiving instruction from Eric on the Youghiogheny River in SW Pennsylvania


Maria focusing on her next move


Cheryl enters the rapids with Tara coaching


Devin surfing a wave


Cheryl and Devin resting in an eddy

"Hi, I understand there is a whitewater kayaking trip this weekend.....I thought I might come along!," I playfully exclaimed as I entered my son Devin's classroom at Ohio University where he is a second-year student. It was fun to see the students turn in union with surprised expressions and chuckles when they heard this voice projected from the doorway. It was more fun to watch them rotate toward the front of the room in anticipation of how their professor would respond to this unannounced guest. It was most fun to watch this respected, middle-age professor at the head of the class stammer, "Well......well....well I suppose that would be alright."

This was not the scenario I expected when Devin invited me to come to class with him Thursday afternoon. Our plans to spend the weekend together got shipwrecked when he was required to attend a 3-day whitewater kayaking trip over Parent's Weekend, but we were satisfied with having Thursday afternoon and Friday morning together. I explained to the professor that I was just kidding when I suggest that I come along. He said he felt bad that he had planned this trip before he realized it was Parent's Weekend, and assured me that it would be ok since the class wasn't full. Wow! Now I am surprised!


Friday morning I did a one-stop shopping spree at the local thrift shop to outfit myself with water shoes, swimsuit, and non-cotton clothing. The professor, Mr. D, and his assistants had already loaded a kayak, paddle, helmet, skirt, wetsuit, life vest, and tent for me. I climbed aboard at 1 pm as a passenger in one of two vans loaded with students and graduate assistants. An unplanned adventure ahead....all because I dared to be girlfully playful! This youthful feeling was supported by the welcome I received by some of the students who were amused that I actually wanted to come. They laughed at the thought of their moms white-water kayaking. I did wonder to myself why there were only 2 girls in this class.

I had never been whitewater kayaking before but felt excited about expanding my skills. I had some experience in big water like ocean bays and Great Lake shorelines, but most of my limited time in kayaking the last two years has been in small inland lakes and slow rivers. Now I would get familiar with different styles of kayaks and kayaking, have a guided trip to another area of the country, receive hands-on instruction with talented and confident instructors, extend my camping season with a full moon to boot, and savor time with my son without cell phones and campus commotion.

We travelled to southwestern Pennsylvania and set up camp on the shore of the Youghiogheny River. Saturday morning we suited up and I was thankful that one of the female students, Cassie, who has taken a class before, offered me a special shirt to wear for warmth under the wetsuit. We spent most of the day on the river. We learned to ferry across fast water; to eddy-in where there was safe, quiet water behind boulders; to peel out or eddy-out into the fast, riled current with intent and focus; to surf a wave with finesse, not power; to use the hips, knees and paddles to face gaping, roaring holes; and most importantly how to muster the courage to face it all again after recovering from a few long seconds upside down underwater.

On Sunday we practiced it all again. Maria, another female student, had never been in a kayak before this trip. She rolled with the dozens of unintended Eskimo rolls, smiling more as she gained proficiency and confidence. I admired her courage. I was admired in turn by Tara, a female instructor, who complimented me on my efforts to try something new and thought it was so cool that I came along. I admit, I was scared alot, and often.

I am grateful to Mr. D for taking a chance on an woman whose skills he did not know, to the instructors for patiently sharing their expertise and keeping me and my son safe, and to my son, Devin, for his bravery not only on the river but also on land where he could have been ridiculed by his peers for letting his mom hang out with him all weekend.

Also I am thankful for the students' exuberant and courageous spirits which brought me a little closer to my own youthfulness. I am thankful for my general fitness which let me enjoy 3 days of unplanned activity and lead a 17-mile hike on Monday morning after 4 hours of sleep. This is a lot to be thankful for, but really, to play, like decades ago, in a brilliantly authentic and absorbing manner, with curiosity and courage..... this is the gift. This is girlfullness and its' spirit runs deep and clear. Peel out, girls!

Oak Openinigs Backpacking Opens Lives

"I have a problem, I never put up a tent before," confessed Darlene, age 56, on the other end of the line. I assured her that's what the weekend adventure was for -- beginners. Another caller asked, "What do we do if it rains while we are hiking?" My one word response "walk" hung in silence until this 47 year old decided she would check the weather again and call me back.
These were some of the concerns the women brought with them when we gathered Saturday morning, October 20, at Oak Openings Preserve (www.MetroparksToledo.com) to stage our two-day backpacking trip.
Eight of us, ages 12 to 57, met at the park and after a discussion about opportunities in backpacking, hostelling travel (the weekend was co-sponsored by Hostelling International, www.hitoledo.org), using Metropark trails for fitness and pleasure, safety, and the weekend's itinerary, we were fitted with gear. Two hours later, our packs fully equipped with tents, sleeping bags, pads, food, mess-kit, stove, first-aid and other supplies, we excitedly hit the trail fully self-contained. A short two-day trip meant we were only carrying 25 to 30 pounds each, but we did have longer average daily distances than what most beginners would attempt, 8 to 9 miles instead of 5 to 7 miles. This allowed us to complete the entire historic 17-mile scout trail plus an additional leg to our remote camping spot.
So how did it go? The mileage went fast the first day as we talked while we walked in order to learn about our new friends. After lunch at Evergreen Lake, the kids and one of the moms were climbing trees....a good indication that there was easily enough reserve to get to camp and set-up tents before dark. After pitching the four two-man tents in the pines, we built a cook fire. Burritos packed with black beans, rice, cheese and fresh cilantro were accented by candlelight for dinner and the campfire toasted our sticky dessert perfectly, enticing us to eat
"s'more". What was most eerie.....the coyote-like call in the nearby woods, the scary story, or the noise back by the outhouse?
There was less talking on Sunday and more focus on completing mileage. We took breaks while LaRae, a naturalist, spoke about the unique features and habitat of the globally-rare Oak Openings. Lunch put hikers flat out on the grass with bare-feet perched over backpacks. But no complaints! I'm proud of you ladies!
Everyone finished in great shape with a potpourri of memorable experiences:
Emma talked her mom, Barb, into sleeping without the fly over the tent so they could view the stars; McKinzie liked the gnome-home deep in the pines; Stephanie had the strength to carry extra gear for others; Darlene slept in a tent and sleeping bag for the first time; Mary still had enough energy to attend swim practice Sunday night; LaRae enhanced everyone's experience with her knowledge of the Oak Opening Preserve; and Cheryl? Well, I had another delightful chance to see women accomplish something they had never done before, and find themselves living simply and closely with the land. Oh, by the way, can you believe one of these ladies had never roasted marshmallows over an open-fire? Ah, the simple life!
Group photo around sign (left to right):
Darlene Dunn, Barb Cubbon-Beale, Emma Beale,
Mary Ensman, Stephanie Micham,
McKinzie Smith, LaRae Sprow, Cheryl McCormick

Frog Town

Lately I have been doing a lot of work helping home owners close their water gardens for the winter. The plants have to be cut back, debris cleaned off the bottom or drained completely, the filter and pump cleaned and stored properly, and the water garden covered with a net if there are a lot of deciduous trees nearby. This can be a mucky job and I guess that is one reason why people hire me. But I have been enjoying the work. The owners often help or visit with me while I work; sharing their lives, their gardens, and sometimes their homes and home-made cookies! But even if nobody is around I always have company.
Frogs. I can't believe the numbers. They don't seem too worried about me invading their habitat, and once they get accustomed to me will even come closer and watch me work. They are usually green frogs (rana clamitans melanota) but on occasion, if there is a nearby farm pond, I will find bullfrogs (rana catesbeiana). Last week there were 3 bullfrogs nearly the length of my boot in one pond, but I didn't have my camera with me to show you. The easiest way to distinuish between a green frog and a bullfrog, besides a bullfrog being nearly twice the size of a green frog (up to 6 in. compared to 2 1/4 - 3 1/2 in.), the green frog has two pronounced ridges down the length of its back. The green frog will utter a short, high pitched cry when it is disturbed and jumps. When I entered that pond last week with the bullfrogs, they stayed put and looked like baby alligator heads mixed in the lily pads and rocks.
The pond owners are delighted to have frogs in their backyard habitat. They usually have fish which they have purchased but none of owners have intentionally put tadpoles or frogs in their water gardens. So where do all the frogs come from? Well, Toledo isn't called Frog Town for nothin'! Toledo is in Northwest Ohio, site of the Great Black Swamp. This is a glacially-caused wetland, which has been drained and mostly converted to farm land in the last 120 years. There are still some natural swamps, marshes and creeks, plus miles of man-made drainage ditches and hundreds of farm, recreational, and drainage ponds. These all provide habitat for frogs and nearly every backyard is within 1/2 mile of one of these. Those rainy days and nights help the frogs migrate through wet lawns. Also, frog eggs may have been deposited by birds which visit the water gardens or attached to plants which the home owner purchased and placed in their water garden. The only complaint I ever hear about the frogs is that it sometimes is too noisy to sleep with so many frogs calling on warm spring nights. Wouldn't you enjoy staying awake for that symphony? I bet water gardeners in drought-ridden States would.

The Chicago Marathon was Hot!

If you haven't heard and have any interest in marathons, you will hear that today's 26.2 mile race in Chicago was one that broke many records, but they weren't time related. It was a record breaking scorcher of 87 degrees and high humidity. Runners were begging for water and walking as early as 5 miles into the race. I saw many leave the course in Lincoln Park to stand in line at a public drinking fountain, and others left the course for a few splashes to wet their heads at an ornamental fountain and they still had 21 miles to go. It was tough day for the 45,000 runners and not so easy either for the 1.5 million spectators on the sunny sidelines. I rode bicycle along most of the course but was stalled often due to the crowd and never connected with Livia, my daughter, until she was finished.
Livia crossed the finish line in 4 hours and 8 minutes, a very respectable time in the best of conditions, but she really wanted to break 4 hours. In the last mile of her run, she heard the police tell the runners to walk, that it was just a fun run. Livia couldn't understand why in hell they would call this run fun, and determined to complete it with the gumption she had given it the previous 25 miles, ignored their plea to walk. She didn't realize that the race had been canceled due to so many emergency calls and lack of water on the course. They diverted slower runners through a huge short-cut and Livia couldn't figure out why so many runners were coming in to the finish line from the opposite direction. It got very confusing; runners were collapsing left and right. One of Livia's friends who was watching the race near mile 21, caught a woman who collapsed in his arms and observed 4 others fall nearby. I honestly didn't see anybody collapse but I was near the front of the group where perhaps the runners were better trained and had access to more water to drink and pour over themselves. I stopped twice while riding my bicycle to help give water to runners which was hurriedly made available with hoses running out of local restaurants. The runners looked like they had been roaming the desert for days, and I couldn't believe that nearly every one of them thanked us.
I want to catch the news soon to get the details. All in all, I think it was a great event, with thousands of volunteers, cheering crowds, polite and friendly spectators, an unbelievable force of determined athletes, in a remarkable city along the shore of Lake Michigan. I hope the news doesn't mar my appreciation of this record-breaking marathon, a hot one for sure.

17 Mile Hike

What a day! Five women, ages 26 to 63, completed the 17 mile scout trail at Oak Openings Preserve Metropark near Toledo, and one woman walked 8 miles.
The pace was steady, but the rain was steadier. It was hard to talk over the rain sometimes, but there was a lot of conversation and laughter which helped the miles roll. The exception was the last 2 miles in which each of us seemed to be holding our whines about tired legs, wet bodies, and general weariness to ourselves. "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all" prevailed.
The trees didn't offer much color on this first day of October, but we couldn't overlook the color of the fungus which Karolina posed next to.
We all finished strong, cheers and high-fives extended (and one low-dive from Patty!), completing early enough in the day (2:40 pm) and with enough energy to enjoy the afternoon at home in the SUN! Karolina (from Poland) and Jenny (from Ireland) were not planning on missing their Latin dance lesson in the evening. I'd say they were cramming a lot of culture into one day....spending 6 hours during the day walking 17 miles with a group of wild American women in the forests, floodplains, and prairies of the globally-rare Oak Openings region, and moving to a different rhythm in the evening dancing with Latino friends to the rumba, samba and salsa. Isn't life refreshing when we step out!
Congratulations (in order of descending age!) to Judy, Patty, Mary, Karolina, and Jenny.....I sure enjoyed spending the day with women who demonstrate Out is In! and Fitness is Fun!