Six Degrees of Familiarity

We are the ones we've been waiting for.

So, here we are. It is Tuesday, an afternoon with mom. This Tuesday, we turned our back on the Riverside Restaurant in Bellevue, hoping for a cullinary change. We drove to Bob Evans Restaurant out by the expressway for a little lunch. I opted for three pancakes and two sausage links. . . the jingo, Bob Evans' farm sausage, just right for a Saturday night. . .rattled around in my head. "You know," Ma said, "Bob Evans came to our house for lunch once." You mean there is a real Bob Evans, I asked myself? Indeed. It was the summer of 1961. Dad and Bob had just finished a round of golf, a sales call round of golf. (Bob was into auto parts along with his farming operation in Rio Grande, Ohio.) Golf and lunch. Mom pulled together a store bought smoked turkey; fixed a salad, a baked potato and dessert to go with the libations. Out on the deck, overlooking the golf course from the heights of Mount Parnassus, sat Pa and Bob talking piston rings the way old guys talk out on the front porch. Ma served them. I do not know what was going on with the kids, but we were not in the picture with Bob Evans that day. Children were still to be seen and not heard in 1961. So that was it. That was Bob's visit to our house for a lunch. I do not know if he signed up for any auto parts. But it hardly matters does it? We could have had a sign on that house, "Bob Evans Ate Here," but we didn't.

There were other celebrities, too. Ma came into contact with some others, person to person. Theodore Geisel was Uncle Palmer's next door neighbor. Everybody knows him as Dr. Seuss but in those days, he wasn't very widely known. Palmer took Patty over to the next door neighbors and invited himself to visit. Dr. Seuss showed them around. "He draws his pictures first, tacks them up on a cork board wall and then he writes the poetry next," Ma said. "He was part Indian, you know."

And then there was Aunt Betty's friend Boris Karloff who received Betty and her family for a brief visit in his dressing room. Boris' wife was from Charlotte, just up the road and the rival school to Hastings High in those days. He was playing in Arsenic and Old Lace in the theater in New York when Aunt Betty took them to visit him.

I wondered if Boris was his real name. Or what about Bob Evans? "I think that was his real name," Ma said. And was Jimmy Dean, the other sausage king, really named Jimmy Dean, like on his birth certificate? Celebrity is a realm in which the sheen of reality is so thin, that one wonders about things like names. So many famous people have names that are like billboards, not necessarily what they have on a driver's license. And once we watched Joe E. Brown eat his lunch on the veranda of the Park Place Hotel in Traverse City from eleven stories up. All we saw was really just a speck at the table. I wonder if Joe E. Brown was his name? I doubt it. Sister Susan jumped into the freezing spring waters of Lake Michigan on that same trip. She swam for what seemed forever. Now that is reality for you. Anyone can eat lunch on the veranda of the Park Place Hotel.

Then, there are all those famous folks nearer to the family, Cousin Martha's daughter, Megan Mulally. "She just turned fifty, you know. They had a big party for her in the mountains," That seems a fitting place for a celebrity birthday party. Uncle Palmer says that he once taught Raquel Welch to waterski. "I suppose your Aunt Janet is a celebrity in some circles," Ma went on. Janet writes books. Yup, there are famous people in our family.

What had been a meaty soup now thins out rather quickly. We rack our brains for any other glimpses behind the gauze of celebrity. . . like the time we saw Presient Eisenhower drive by in his limo on the way back to the White House from the airport. . . in Washington D. C. . . . the same trip when your sister got lost and you all got the mumps. . . like the time I greeted Rahm Emmanuel on the street in Washington. He was distracted by his cell phone ringing. By now, the celebrity soup is nearly all water.

What is behind the gauze curtain of celebrity is so interesting because it turns out to be just like us. Isn't that the way things always are? Just like us, except, well, famous. Where I come from, people really talk about these things.

August Dread

Autumn in the great north shows itself even before the leaves begin to change. One feels it as a tightening in the pit of the stomach. The joke line, "nine months of winter and three months of tough sledding," sets the scene for this August, 2005 journal entry written during one of those heavy overcast and sprinkly summer days.

The Buffalo/Green Bay preseason game drones on as a replay. Green Bay fans are all watching it for the second time! It's August, but it feels like autumn has arrived already. Sigurd Olson's essay "Falling Leaf," from his book Listening Point, captures the dread and awe of autumn in the north. Summer was a nervous guest, coming late and leaving early. We never had a chance to talk before it yielded to the approach of the cold. Falttening like a bulldozer. Heavens, I haven't yet mowed the whole lawn! The aroma of wood smoke drifts into the bedroom window, riding the cold air. Up until yesterday, they were open to relieve the summer heat. We close them now. It is probably the Osborn side of the family that anticipates winter from its first hint. We plan our burials early, too. Still the faintest whiff of winter summons a response deep within us, grief and remorse.

Poem

flock

It has been calculated that
each copy of the Gutenburg Bible
required the skins of 300 sheep.

I can see them
squeezed into the holding pen
behind the stone building
where the printing press is housed.

All of them squirming around
to find a little room
and looking so much alike
it would be nearly impossible to count them.

And there is no telling which one of them
will carry the news
that the Lord is a Shepherd,
one of the few things
they already know.

- billy collins

Billy Collins was U.S. Poet Laureate from 2001 through 2003.
He's been the New York State Poet Laureate since January 2004.

Septembers Past

September is a rich month for the journaler. One wonders why that is so. Maybe it is the inner resistance I feel to the slipping away of the summer. Maybe I simply recall its warmth and freedom, while the town routine tightens its grip. Whatever the reason, the effect of September on the journal writer is to bring back with joy the vivid presence of the wild places.

1989

I have an opportunity to reflect on the gifts that come to body, soul and spirit from time spent on the doorstep of the wild places. Sig Olson has reminded me that wild places are not a luxury, but a necessity to human well being.

As long as I can remember, I have been in the woods. That is where we played as children on the banks of Raccoon Creek. We ventured to the great Opossum Mound (locally called Alligator Mound). It was the best entertainment available, full of discovery. Although I complained bitterly about the long trek to school and back, I now recognize that it made me an amateur naturalist. It was better than television, then, as it probably remains.

Dr. Robert Alrutz of the biology department at Dennison University sponsored and guided the so called biology club. It was the first place nature captured my imagination. There, I met the protozoan and the salamander, the moss and the fern, the minnow and the crawdad. After school, I began on a journey of woods-loving that is as alive for me today as it was back then.

Slowly, I came to unserstand myself as one allied with the doings in the outdoors. Each excursion brimmed with a sense of adventure over the next hill, around the next corner.

While visiting Scandinavia, I came to see the variety in nature so different from the forests of oak and maple of my childhood. There were the birch, popple and jack pine forests I saw for the first time. There were the granite slopes so characteristic of the sub arctic north. Some eight years later, my friend Phil Campbell took me to the same flora in northern Minnesota. It was love at first sight. It wasn't about the fishing, although it was fabulous. Nor was I seduced by the glimpses of wildlife. But it was the land itself that spoke to me. It was at once stark, even barren, and yet verdant in its own way. The lichen covered rocks became holy places.

"In the wilderness, prepare the way of the Lord," is not simply the adaption of the visions of prophets, it is a statement of the joy of being in the thick of it. The wilds are a place of getting ready, of endless possibility. The land and the lakes keep me grounded in their truth. I can set a spiritual compass amid the scent of pine needles and fungi in a way I could never do elsewhere.

And always, there is the quest. There is the bodily challenge, what I have come to call my annual physical exam. There one tests one's limits and stretches to thrive on hard places. It gives a new flexibility and a renewed confidence. There is communion in the quest. One can find moments of sublime harmony with the landscape as to be transported. The chance encounter with a surprised animal in the wild is to recognize one's place as a visitor in this creation. A primitive "animal self" comes to the fore in the wilderness. It is a holy place. There are the relationships of fellow questers, some of the deepest of my experience. There one knows others deeply as one comes to know oneself deeply. There are no boundaries to the curious, the adventurous. The limits are of stamina, planning and supplies.

Incidents: Black bears in the blueberry patch on the bluff over the lake. Pictographs inscribed on rock walls centuries before. A swirl of Northern Pike feeding at the stream's outlet. A herd of deer visible from a lofty campsite. Canadian Jays stopping by for a conversation. Bald eagles soaring high over the trees. Wolves howling in the night. The call of the loons. An otter inspecting the passing canoe at close range. Beavers slapping their tails in a danger call.

Each of these are emblazoned in a deep inner place, the closest I come to having a tattoo. They are as today, nearly twenty years later, as they were when I first saw them. My soul is marked by them.

1992

This day began as I saw seven of the island deer out grazing on Presque Isle. It was to be a wildlife day, part of a week of events in the wild places. On the Big Bay Road, a coyote pranced southbound at the rock cut at Sugar Loaf. Sporting a remarkably ratty and broomlike tail, he was as nervous as a prostitute in church. We were at once the object of his entire attention and of his feigned nonchalance. A red fox darted across the church parking lot, as I pulled in for an evening meeting. Sharon encountered a cougar in the wee hours of the morning, as she drove along the Seney stretch, 50 miles from home. All of this on top of a wolf sighting, of few days ago, just west of Ishpeming along the main road. The huge, low slung animal was trying to blend into the ditch.

By some turn of chance the animal life became visible for just a moment. I have no doubt that these creatures surround us all the time. Sometimes, they show themselves. It is tonic for the imagination.

Look Who is Leaving!

The usual trek out by the wheatfields has seen a dramatic change in the past week. What were the haunts of some 20 Sandhill Cranes are now an empty stage. With the tank filled. they're on their way for the winter. Even the Canada Geese have gotten sparse in these parts. I have not watched these birds for but one season, so I can't say if this is an early departure. I suspect that they do not hang around when the evening temps turn to the 40's. These birds have framed our summer. Now, there is a solitary quality to the hikes along the back roads.

quote, quote

I distrust those who know so well what God wants them to do, because I notice it always coincides with their own desires. -Susan B. Anthony

Journal Entry - September 10

You can feel the shift in the seasons today. Even though the equinox is over ten days away, I felt autumn's arrival yesterday. Maybe it was that we started up the furnace as the nightly low approached 40 degrees. Maybe it is that shorts no longer cover enough skin or that a sweatshirt seems a logical addition to the morning wardrobe. It's the rustle of dog feet among the first falling leaves of the maple out front. Something inside said, "yup, it's here." And that was that. You know it in the nostrils, on the skin. The frogs and crickets continue as if nothing has happened. They seem oblivious to the change. I know that autumn took up residence at Cousin's Island last night.

Cousin's Island's Namesakes

As Michael noted in his most recent blog entry, a faint hint of autumn has coming to Ithaca. As the fall begins to emerge at Cousin's Island, my thoughts look back over the past summer. Cousin's Island earned its monniker over the weeks since Memorial Day, with visits from cousins far and near. It has been a lovely time. At the risk of sounding like the 1940's editions of the Hastings Banner. . . Mr and Mrs. Mark Engle hosted so and so. . . I want to review some of the cousin visits that have happened thusfar and to look forward to a couple more visits. It has been since a gathering at Camp Van Vac in the summer of 1988, that such a gathering has taken place. Then, the legends of "poppy the Bear" and grandpa Snap's unease with the "box potty" were the main events.

Mark and Rita Engle provided an excuse for a Father's Day gathering of such cousins that might visit. Included were Aunt Shirley, Cousin Heather with Baby Matthew along with the locals, course Mary, Sunshine, kids, Val and Ernie and Momba and Popbah.

On Memorial Day weekend, a visit from Michael and Jane blossomed into a family reunion. Susan and the clan from Illinois made it a point to join in the joint celebration of Mother's Day and Patty's 87th birthday. Cousins were everywhere. Bahiyyih and Billy visited with daughters, Georgia, Maya and Teresa. Cousin Khalil held court at the potluck dinner at Patty's place. Layli and daughter Lucy came with Susan. Mary and Sunshine brought Eleanor and Kepler with them. Of course the trio of Michael, Mark and Susan attended with Jane and Sharon. Anna and Kate Engle came from their east coast, touting their visit with the "country cousins" in the lower Michigan ancestral home. Kate was the life of the party for the youngest of the cousins, organizing some of the fun for the kids. They simply glommed on to her, evidently a kindred spirit. Even the Speas clan got into the spirit with Val and Ernie spending the afternoon at a gathering for dinner. Rather than wearing Patty out, the event infused her with new energy and good cheer. She loved having an apartment full of family. I will not soon forget stories of an evening at the playground with all young cousins on hand and a couple of birding outings that amazed us with the variety of avian live right here in the neighborhood.

A three generation trek into the Boundary Waters Canoe Area featured hosts Cousin Matt and Cousin Jason who served as guides, chefs and entertainment for the trip. The youngest canoers, Cousins Eleanor and Kennedy spiced up the trip with memorials and names for fish caught and eaten along with wild cribbage games. Uncles Ernie and Mark were the guests of younger trekkers, taking their place as "elders of the tribe." K. C., who made his maiden voyage into the wilderness of the BWCAW counted four new animal sightings, including a bear, along the way. A new generation gobbled up the wilderness' surprises with the appetite of generations past. The talk among the cousins is about when we're going next year!

A Speas family gathering at Eileen's in Okemos included the visit of far flung cousins Carol and Johnnie Hicks from Oklahoma. They got a flavor of the group as it gathered.

Cousin Susan (nee Brown) and spouse Doug, arrived in Kalamazoo with her entire entourage, hosting a barbecue at Liz Haas' house. Cousins Sara and Kim met many of the clan for the first time. Kim's son Joshua and daughter Elle were the centerpoint of the group. Patty, particularly, was impressed with Elle. So much so, that she can still recall each moment of the evening sitting with Elle with a sparkle in her eyes. Reunions with these Oklanoma cousins have a long history. Susan recently sent along this photo of the "stairstep cousins" in 1960. The longest running reunions have always involved the gathering of the Palmer clan and it's Oklahoma branch, the Browns (represented this year by the Hass')

This past weekend greeted the American tour of the farthest flung cousin, Lucy Engle. Lucy made the trip from Chile and has single handedly sponsored reunions across the country. Gatherings in New York City, Ithaca, Chicago and Burlington Vermont featured Lucy's visit. Short, but sweet, Lucy's visit gave us all a chance to renew our relationships, take a lot of photos and get a picture of what life is like in Chile. She left with the promise of a visit that includes husband Edouardo on the next tour.


An autumn gathering is scheduled when Aunt Janet visits from Washington State. She will make her annual visit with Sister Patty and provide yet another excuse for good food, animated talk and lots of pictures.

That's the news from Cousins' Island, where all the women are strong. . . and some cousins play in the tub. It was a memorable summer it has been for the family in Southern Michigan.

Quote, quote

I can't decide whether to enjoy the world or improve the world:
that makes it difficult to plan the day.
- E. B.White

Bareback Ridge, 1998

Last week, Eleanor and I made the trek up Bareback Ridge overlooking Harlow Lake on the Road to Big Bay, north of Marquette. Here is what I saw there a decade ago.

August, 1998

Maggie and I have mounted Bareback Ridge, sitting astride its peak. It is all downhill from here, steep downhill. Eagles ride the winds in the coves, foraging for critters. They are a magnificent sight, soaring below us. I watch the eagles with one eye, keeping a second eye out for Maggie, who likes to tightrope walk on the edges of the ridge. She is small enough to make a tasty snack for an eagle. A steady breeze flows out of the south east. It holds at bay a dark western overcast for the time being. We will not have long up here before the rain comes in.

We return home for lunch. We're pooped, both of us. Maggie naps. I jot down some notes. It has been a delicious hike.

Some things never change.

Boundary Waters, 2008

The long awaited canoe trip in Minnesota's Boundary Waters took us for a few nights to Slim Lake, a quiet spot not far from Ely. What marked this trip in my own heart was that it was the first 3 generation canoe trip for both the Engle family and the Morgan family. Uncles Jason and Matt showed off their fishing, camping and cooking prowess gained from three decades of canoe trips. They were the work horses of the trip. What is always gratifying is the way such a journey brings everyone back to the basics of their lives. It is one of the only places where the "good of the whole" surpasses the desires of each traveller. It is also the place where a little effort can make the quality of life measurably better. Young Cousins, Eleanor and Kennedy brought a joy and enthusiasm to the whole party. I will not soon forget the howling games of cribbage that followed the dinner dishes each night. "Fish naming has been all the rage." writes Jason, "Gilligan was # 1 fish yesterday. (It)was Scruffy, until Matt reminded Eleanor that fish don't have fur. Hmmmm. . . but they DO HAVE GILLS!" Hence Gilligan.

As with all canoe adventures, they are the very best in prospect and retrospect, as the muscle twinges and sheer exhasution subside. It was not long before talk of next year's trip began to surface. So where are we going in 2009? I already have volunteers for the trip!

Early Autumn Signs?

Perhaps as a result of the wetness of early summer, the fall mushrooms are showing up in the yard. The Amanita, Chanterelle, Russala and Boletus appear in small numbers. Yet, there are Indian Pipes. They remember that it is summer, after all. The sparse spring Morel season is compensated with abundant early autumn fungi. It may be that we'll be enjoying the some of the edibles for a good long season. That would be good.

Canoe Trip Excitement

In a week's time 7 folks from our extended family will be plying the Boundary Waters for a few days of canoeing and camping. Canoe travel has always a high point in my personal pilgrimage. I do not return as the same person who embarked on the trip just a few days earlier. So I am full of anticipation about what I am going to see and learn this time. Past journals of wilderness trips are tales of transformation.

For the first time 3 generations going on a canoe trip. There are the elders, Ernie Morgan and me. There will be a middle generation in early and mid career, some raising families, all making important contributions. This year there will be two grandchildren along for the trip, Eleanor and Kennedy. It is so gratifying to introduce these youngest people to this transformation space. It is an act of hope. We are saying that this wilderness world will be around for them to give to their kids.

I noticed that the middle generation, folks deeply involved in the working world, are the most excited about the trip. Matt Wilson has been a constant source of encouragement as soon as we laid down the plan for this year's trip. Sure, the old guys know it will be a lot of fun and a real eye opener, but the middle generation has a real yearning, a passion, to get into a different place, if only for a little while. I love to hear Matt and Jason and KC dreaming about a time in the wild.

I'll be back with some reporting of the trip, even a log entry or two. For now, I am looking for the "once a year" equipment I have stashed away in the last move. Anybody have a sleeping bag? I can't find mine!

That'll Do

Magdalen Snowblower May 7, 1998 - July 5, 2008

"May I be the person my dog thinks I am," reads the sign that has hung over my desk for most of Maggie's life. For those who have mastered a Border Collie, you know that the human dog relationship is intense and deeply gratifying. Maggie died this morning at age 10. She is worth remembering not only because she was a wonderful companion, but for all that she gave to so many. She was a regular presence at St. Paul's Church, Marquette for 8 of her ten years, a welcomer and companion to many. Her presence took the imposing edge off of that wonderful Victorian Structure, inviting many into the place in a wonderful way. During her last two years, she herded the geese at Battle Creek's parks, a contract employee of the City of Battle Creek. She gave more than she got. The empty space she leaves behind is enormous. In the end, we are all better for having had contact with Maggie. Her death, as her life was noble and gentle. We will miss her.

Lessons of Nuremburg

At the Nuremburg Trials in the aftermath of World War II, the chief American prosecutor, Supreme Court Justice Robert H. Jackson, stated, “To initiate a war of aggression, therefore, is not only an international crime; it is the supreme international crime differing only from other war crimes in that it contains within itself the accumulated evil of the whole.”