Just foolin’ around

In case you have been wondering why there haven’t been any  posts lately, I thought I would pop in to say all’s well on the Cutoff. We’ve just been busy with a few visitors.

We have been busy crawling around, building things, grabbing everything in our path.

We were chasing Papa around the “three sisters’ tree”. See what the deer have done to our rustic lawn furniture?  Oh well. No matter, for we are

smiling and giggling,

and taking some time to smell the lilacs.

See you soon!

Flower Moon

There is a supermoon tonight. The Flower Moon. We cannot see it here, however, as a dense cloud cover has been hovering above. Even when the sky is clear we don’t get a full view of the moon until it is overhead because of all the trees.  Friday night, however, I happened to be meandering about at dusk, and I caught a preview of May’s supermoon as I drove over one of the main expressways into Chicago. I eased on to the shoulder, grabbed my camera, jumped out of the car – and focused the eastern sky.

The setting sun to my back added to the pink aura of what is sometimes called The Strawberry. This poem seemed to belong to the sunset and the Flower Moon.

Muffin of Sunsets

by Elaine Equi

The sky is melting. Me too.

Who hasn’t seen it this way?

Pink between the castlework

of buildings.

Pensive syrup

drizzled over clouds.

It is almost catastrophic how heavenly.

A million poets, at least,

have stood in this very spot,

groceries in hand, wondering:

“Can I witness the Rapture

and still make it home in time for dinner?”

Bee-ing a BeeSpotter

I’ve mentioned Jane and Pat before. They are at times referred to as our butterfly ladies for all their efforts in saving and tracking the beautiful monarchs and all the butterfly gardens they have certified. They have gently pushed our members to plant native species, prodded us to compost, and encouraged us to recycle those used coffee grounds into our soil. They walk the talk, leading by their examples in how they live and how they garden – and they are always a source of knowledge and inspiration for me.

I had just finished reading our club’s monthly newsletter. Inside its pages was a message from Jane and Pat telling us about a program initiated at the University of Illinois engaging citizen scientists (that would be you and me) in the gathering of information about honeybees and bumblebees. (For this posting, I will refer to both as bees)

As many of you are aware, the bee population is in rather precarious state right now. Hives are suddenly being abandoned and bee populations  have been diminishing at increasingly alarming numbers, a phenomenon known as colony collapse disorder, where all of the worker bees suddenly disappear. Gone. gone.

While this may seem like a problem only beekeepers face, it is, in reality, a problem for all of us. Hives being threatened threatens our food supply. Without these colonies of pollinators, mainly the workers bees, our vegetable crops and fruit trees are at grave risk of  being destroyed.

Scientists have been attune to this and are actively seeking answers, but, they can’t do it alone. That’s where we come in; citizen scientists with the simple task of monitoring bees. All it involves is a camera, the internet, and a little initiative to become a BeeSpotter.

If you’ve been visiting the Cutoff for even a few posts, you know that I tote my camera around most places I go, especially if I’m out in nature. The day that I captured this lone bee in the pictures,  I was merely taking one of my daily walks around the garden.

There I was, filled with glee as I spotted the first of the tree peonies opening, and there, in the very first blossom, was a very busy bee who was actively collecting pollen. He was so busy that didn’t pay me any mind, affording me the opportunity to get quite a few pictures, which I promptly downloaded and buzzed with delight when I saw I had quite a few good, clear shots.

The BeeSpotter link noted in the newsletter was quickly opened, a few clicks of the keyboard and I was logged in. Within five minutes I became a BeeSpotter by simply providing a few pictures, some basic information about where I saw the bee, time of day, date, and a click to send it. A few days later, I received an email from an expert BeeSpotter, identifying my bee, which is a Bombus impatiens (common eastern bumble bee).

BeeSpotting data is currently being collected  only in Illinois. If you are an Illinois resident, or passing through Illinois, I encourage you to visit the website and consider sending in a few photos of the bees you see. If you are not an Illinois resident, I encourage you to visit the site, see what it is all about, and be aware of the bees in your area. Similar programs may soon be in your area. To all of you, I encourage you to look at other ways you can be a citizen scientist, like keeping a gardening or birding journal, keeping  a photo journal of what you are seeing, or writing down simple observations of what is going on in nature around you.

Oh, if I’m not posting, I’m likely out Bee-ing a BeeSpotter!

Starved Rock With a Pinch of Gumbo

Illinois. It is both complicated and simple with its windy city of Chicago that Carl Sandburg immortalized in his City of Big Shoulders, nestled at the shores of Lake Michigan, one of the Great Lakes carved out of ice eons ago. It has some of the richest soil on earth that produces corn and soy beans and pumpkins. The historic town of Galena sits in the northwestern corner of the state with modern day ski lifts and once rich deposits of lead. while the Shawnee National Forest, on the state’s its southern tip, was once populated by native North Americans and remains resplendent in its natural beauty. Illinois is like a family; complicated, conflicting, often argumentative, always proud of where it has been, what it has accomplished, and where it is headed.

The Land of Lincoln. The Prairie State. Illinois is rich in resources, both natural and human, and much of its terrain was carved from the great glaciers that cut into it long before man settled on it.

We love exploring it – and so we did this weekend as we marked our anniversary. 

Tom and I met in college toward the center of the state. Even though both of us were raised in the suburbs of Chicago; he a south suburban lad, myself a gal from the west side, we had never been to Starved Rock State Park together. Tom remembers, as a very young boy, sitting on the top of a rock, Starved Rock,  looking out across the tree tops. So, we deemed Starved Rock as our destination, booked a room at the Lodge, and headed out on the road to discovery.

Starved Rock is only about ninety minutes from our house, mostly interstate driving. We arrived on Sunday just in time to have lunch at the Lodge, check in, then wander about the park. This is the scenery from the restaurant where we ate lunch.

This lush, forested park has eighteen canyons surrounded by rock formations born out of glacial melt thousands of years ago. The canyons provide a majestic gift to the flat fields of this part of Illinois. especially when the spring rains give rise to their waterfalls. Starved Rock State Park has become the wintering over locale for eagles, drawing visitors to the park even in winter.

Throughout Starved Rock are statues; old trees repurposed as eagles and bears, settlers and dogs, and all manner of creatures carved out of wood. I am always appreciative when I see new life coming from old life.

We decided to take one of the closer and less strenuous paths, though even the path we chose through French Canyon involved plenty of climbing up and down stairs, looking down into the magnificent canyon, with the forest floor coming alive in native columbine, shooting star, bloodroot, native violet, and ferns. It is amazing how life will cling to the walls of a canyon and how trees seem to arise out of them, determined to live and grow.

Can you find our shadows looking down into the canyon? You may have to click onto the picture a time or two, but, there we are, tiny shadows in the great, big forest.

Jennifer and Jason recommended a Cajun restaurant for us to try. Yes. A Cajun restaurant. After all that climbing, we needed some nourishment, so, off we went to Ron’s Cajun Connection, not much more than a road stop diner on a country road in a town called Utica. It was loud, busy, and full of welcome mat hospitality. We devoured our gumbo; the best one will find in this neck of the cornfields. Yum. Good means are always a part of travel, don’t you agree?

Fronding

Have you ever noticed how ferns unfurl? They poke through the ground with great determination, all eager to catch the sunshine. Their fronds appear, all nestled in curves like question marks that seem to hug each other like young love in spring, wondering what life will bring.

 I’m off on a bit of jaunt in the jalopy with my favorite frond as we share a spot of time to celebrate our 40th anniversary.

Enjoy the rest of your weekend. If you behave, when I come back in a day or two, maybe I’ll tell you how to be a bee spotter.

Fingerprints, mug shots, and . . . part two

After being fingerprinted, twice, and posing for a mug shot, I really started wondering what, exactly, I had gotten myself into. A month went by. I wondered why I hadn’t heard anything. My imagination went on overdrive. I kept looking at my finger tips.

Have you looked at the tips of your fingers? The underside, fleshy part? There should be oval ridges going round and round and round in a pattern unique to only you. Ruffles Potato Chips have more ridges than my fingertips, which are as round and smooth as a baby’s bottom.

The beautification committee was finally notified. We were officially sworn in, which meant we had to comply with a Freedom of Information Act (FOIA) test, which is another story for another time. I stood. I raised my right hand. I swore to do my duty, then shook several sets of prints, I mean hands, and met two very fine women, from different walks of life, who would soon become my partners in dirt. The three of us had a common vision and ended up on a subcommittee together. Each brought her own set of skill to the committee we agreed to work on. Though none of us knew each other beforehand, we managed to plow ahead, set up a plan, research, write, and draw up ideas.

Last summer, we took a field trip to other communities so see what they had done. We talked to others, took pictures, formulated talking points, then shared them with the whole committee, city employees and elected officials, and finally started talking to members of our community. The city gave us a go-ahead IF we could get enough participants to fill fifteen garden plots.

We did.

On May 4, we held opening day of our community garden!  The plots were dug and tilled and plotted by city workers. Paths were laid between plots. A sign with our rules and regulations was posted, and Home Depot donated a pick-up truck filled with bagged soil.

It was a happy day for the three of us. There was a time we did not think it would happen, even though we all shared a common vision for a community garden. The seeds were sown and in the process a dozen or so folks in our town were granted a small plot of land to grow vegetables for a nominal fee. Most of these community farmers live in condos, apartments, and trailers, with little or no space to plant their own vegetables – and, of course Tom and I, who have two acres and too many deer! We took a plot, as well, and look forward to tomatoes and peppers and beans!

When you put your fingers into good, rich earth, no matter what your fingerprints look like, good things begin to grow and flourish and good will is born. I felt good,  through and through, as I watched several gardeners start to plant, work the soil, measure and look toward the sun. They were smiling and talking, enthusiastic and hopeful.

My favorite gardeners were a duo; a young woman of about thirty years and her grandmother. They were sharing a plot and came ready to work. The grandmother had sewn matching aprons with three deep pockets in each for their gardening chores. It made my heart leap for pure joy of it – for a good thing was beginning to happen. A garden was starting to grow.

Another gardener was planting a Mexican garden with corn and hot chili peppers and cilantro. Rows of lettuce have suddenly sprung up, and little  sprouts have poked through the soil. There are pinwheels in some of the patches – to scare the birds and rabbit-proof fences, one with a door.

It was really worth all the nonsense of fingerprints, for this little community garden of ours is already nurturing souls – and will soon feed them as well with the riches of the soil.

Sometimes, prints lead to paths and paths lead to gardens. Don’t you agree?

Fingerprints, mug shots, and good citizenship . . .

 

. . . a little like “lions and tigers and bears, oh my!”.

 

I have always felt that one should give back to one’s community in some way or another. Through most of my adult life,  I have “belonged” to some organization or other that fostered a sense of community;  PTA. Sunday School. Newcomers Club – which our Katy couldn’t pronounce and called the Cucumber Club.  I’ve been a Voter’s Registrar and I’ve helped those in need through community agencies. I’ve even run for elected office. Good citizenship begins near home.

 

I’m still involved in activities in the community we used to live in, and gladly do so, but, the time finally came when I felt that I really needed to do something, no matter how small, in the community we live in now.

 

Right about the time this little pang came about, in the winter of 2012, I noticed a blurb in our community newsletter looking for citizens to serve on the city’s beautification committee. Right up my green thumb, it was, squirming in like a worm just when I needed the prod. Gardening. Trees. Beauty. Maybe a few hours a month.

I filled out the form, drove to city hall, handed it to the clerk and and felt good about volunteering.

 

 

I waited, and waited, and finally forgot I was waiting when a phone call came; a pleasant sounding man from the city who said they were very interested in having me on the beautification committee. Next step? A background check. I just needed to call the deputy police chief to arrange to be fingerprinted.

Fingerprinted?

 

I set up the appointment for an April afternoon and went in to the police station, where I was eyed with caution. I said I was there to be printed and was instructed to take a seat.

 

After a time, Mr. Officer Friendly came up to me, rather sternly,  with his bright badge and all. He asked me what I had done. Sigh. I explained the committee I was asked to serve on and he looked at me, oddly.

Soon, a female officer came out, lead me to a little room, wiped my fingertips with some sort of “stuff”, and started taking my prints. We talked a bit as she registered all ten digits. A felon came in and out. I’m sure he was felonious as he handcuffs on.  The nice officer took more prints and fretted some, saying it was hard getting good images of my fingers on the scanner, then, off I went.

 

 

 

A month passed. Another. Then few weeks, when I got a call from Mr. Officer Friendly, apologizing. It seems my prints were rejected. Rejected? My prints were rejected! Could I come in again? Soon? Well, it happened I was heading that way, so, in I went, a printless citizen.

 

They were waiting for me, I’m sure of it, for I was briskly escorted into “the room” and the process started all over again, only this time a male officer took my paw, er fingerprints, asking me why I needed to do this. I said I was a tree hugger and it appeared that tree huggers need to be printed to beautify their city. We chuckled a bit. I asked if the elected officials had their prints taken. Of course not.

My prints were vague, without the typical grooves and ridges. Bald fingertips, it seems. It was concluded that I just had planted the prints right off of my fingers. Just in case I was a hardened criminal and not the tree hugger I claimed to be, they took a mug shot as well. Turn left. Turn right. Look straight ahead, Ma’am. Actually, the mug shot was much nicer than the one on my driver’s license.

 

 

Do you want to know what happened next?

I’ll tell you tomorrow.