Chicken pecking, and scratching, and dropping... Oh my!

Considering that it's still a quite beautiful Summertime in The Hundred Acre Woods By The Inland Sea, every quaint and bucolic village and town is still hosting our Northern Michigan variety of Arts & Crafts Shows, or Farts & Craps depending on the subjective level of quality of the items.

This weekend past was no exception, and being the loyal Michiganders that we are, Barb and I obligingly set off to wander thru a couple of them. It was a hot July mid Summer's late afternoon when we hooked up the team of gerbils to our wagon and set out. Tally Ho! ...and off to Frankfort, for a lovely time of looking at all the various styles of "Beach Jewelry" each piece different, yet all alike. As we promenade along the concourse, dripping sweat and wishing for a breeze, we happily run into friends and acquaintances. Dear Phyllis from Church wastes no time as she buries her nose in Barb's bags of goodies, and happily squeals "I just hafta see what's in there!". After passing inspection of our purchases, and the requisite chit chat, we amble along. We did manage to get some fun stocking stuffers for the kids, and even a birthday gift or two. That, combined with a nice, cold, ice cream treat pretty much made our time there worthwhile.

Thus we head our wagon home to drop off the goodies, and refresh ourselves (and the team of gerbils) before our next adventure.  Earlier in the day, Barb and I were at Krista LeAnn's in Bear Lake to get our hair trimmed (in my case) or cut and styled (in her case) and dear Krista filled our ears with stories of tonight's festivities in Kaleva. In most small villages, the local Hair Stylist is not only the best source of information, but usually is to be regarded as a type of rock star, for all her misadventures in life. And Krista is certainly the rock star of Bear Lake! The fact that she is as beautiful as she is friendly only helps to make her more so.  So, she simply insists that we go to Kaleva Days tonight, to hear her boyfriend's band.

Well, who are we to decline the offer of a rock star? So it's evening and off we go to Kaleva! Woot! Woot! Upon arrival, I decide that since it's my date, we would dine in the splendor of the local Lion's Club trailer. And gnosh well we did. I feasted upon a Sloppy Joe Dog (with chips!) while my bride made little work of a hot dog with sauerkraut. Yes, I pull out all the stops for my lovely wife. Then, into the Beer Garden we happily go... I offer to support the local Fire Department and purchase some wonderfully colf beer, and a non beer but had alcohol drink thingy for Barb.

We run into our dear rock star, and my goodness me, she certainly has been supporting the Fire Department as well! I am truly impressed with her level of devotion to civic duty, and her ability to form words without slurring. *chuckle* Hey, it's a Saturday night, and she can kick up her heels a bit if she wants too. Her boyfriend's band is playing, and so far no one has thrown anything at them, so Life is good. And then we turn around... and see the caged board. And the chicken coop next to it. And then the fun really begins!

I've seen a lot of things in my life, but this one refines my experience of living in Northern Michigan! Oh sure at every Festival is some way to win a Raffle, and the proceeds go to a local not-for-profit organization. sure the Fire Dept sells beer, or the local Lions Club raffles off a kayak. Sure those are nice ways for a group to raise money to continue to serve the community. But this, this my friends truly was the amazement of the night. The head of the Kaleva Beautification Team (which takes run down houses and renovates them) has a 3ft by 3ft board, and divided into squares. In each square is a number. You can bet on what number the chicken is gonna crap on! Oh. My. Gawd! Really! If the chicken craps on your number, then you win. Oh. My. Gawd. This was just too incredible! So imagine about 20 or so people standing around a cage, telling the chicken which number to drop it on, and other various remarks.  And of course, most of the aforementioned good folks were also verdant supporters of the Fire Department, so that just added a bit more, should we say colorful, commentary to the scratchings. I don't think we've ever enjoyed an evening quite like that in our lives! How long before it comes back?

Too Much Or Too Many?

Ahhh Summertime, and the living is easy, or so goes the old song. And for the most part, life in Northern Michigan is a breeze in the Summer. Any day without snow is a bonus! We live on the Big Waters of Lake Michigan, the clime this year has been flat lakes and warm temps... and then the family all gathers together. At the same time... Into one house.. That no otherwise sane person would attempt to pack that so people, and animals, under one roof, even at the Zoo!

We are very lucky and indeed fortunate, to live where we do. And we endure a very long Winter (usually snow on the ground for  5 months or so) to live for that brief phenomenon  known as Summer.  Which means we treasure when our friends, and family come to spend time with us in the warmer months.

Point of fact, we hold an annual July 4th BeachFire Bonanza and Fireworks Festival, that has been going on since 1976! It really has become something of a tradition here, and this year was no different.  This year, in fact, we had an amazing turnout of people. Boy howdy did we ever! In our modest home of two bedrooms (plus my small office) and two bathrooms, we housed nine adults, one baby and four dogs! Oh. My. Gawd. And we had various incarnations of family and friends for two weeks! Oh. My. Gawd.

Let's just say that my dear wife and I are not quite used to being so close to everyone. *chuckle* Usually we can spread everyone out into three homes here; ours, and a Beach Cottage, and a Farmhouse. The latter two we rent to vacationers by the week, but keep open on the week of 4th July for family. This year, however, people ended up coming up the week before the forth (when said domiciles were filled aforementioned renters, and yes more dogs), and therefore camped out with us.

Having to go around, under, over and through eight other people, plus four dogs, to take ten steps from the living room to the kitchen truly added some dimensions to the value of family closeness! Never mind my two kitties that were having psychological fits of terror at every turn. Then, on a sunny Saturday afternoon, a walloping huge Suburban pulls up, and I quip, "Gee, I hope they have a dog too!". Be careful what you ask for... yup more family, and with a 95 pound Chocolate Lab! Woo hoo! Let's get this party started! They were just passing thru, but did want to stop in say 'Howdy to everyone.

But just as every party has to end, even this adventure did as well. People started drifting back towards their various homes, and the renters (one set had five Cavaliers Spaniels), all departed as well. So then we could spread out again, desquishify, and breathe easier. Believe me, when we all had to synchronize our exhalations it got a bit tight at the shoulders. I did once remark that I was going to put up a Used Car Lot sign, and offer a free dog with every purchase, but was somehow turned down by the rest of the family. Apparently they didn't see the value of my economic indicators, but that was probably just as well. I would have missed those cars.

So now back to the rest of Summer, the usual chores and jobs of carrying on. We truly love hosting our family here, but even when over run, we still have three homes to maintain, and all our usual activities to perform. They get to go to the beach and play, and we wouldn't ever have it any other way! So as masochistic as it sounds, yup, we miss them all!

   

It's a Parade!

There are few times in my memory when an entire community has gathered together to say "Thank you, and well done!" to somebody that truly deserves it. This evening was a sterling example of why I choose to live in this community.

Life in Bear Lake, Michigan is an experience to savor, and has a charm that touches all who journey thru here. This is a very small (well, ok, it's teeny tiny) village and township in the upper left hand corner of the lower peninsula of our state. To call it Americana would only trivialize the beauty of our area, and our many varied neighbors and friends. One of those neighbors, and personal friends, is a truly great man, that goes by the name of Fred Alkire.

Fred may only reach a few inches over five feet in height, but his stature is that of a gentle giant. He has held many titles in his life, but would be quick to point out that husband and father are the most important ones. He held many jobs, each one to serve his community, and family, rather than chase after the almighty dollar. He is the kind of man that makes you feel good about yourself, while you try to improve who you are. His easy smile, and unassuming ways belie the true warrior that he is. You don't bullshit Fred Alkire, and he doesn't give any. He is as honest as the day is long, and will be there for you till the cows come home.

This weekend is a celebration of our bucolic village. Oh sure every little village and town throws itself a party in the Summer, but that's part of why we love it so much. During Bear Lake Days, on Saturday evening, we have a parade. Our local Boy Scout Troop is always in the parade, and we have a lot of fun. For many years, Barb and I (as Assistant Scout Leaders) would trod along with our little troop, and watch as these young boys would magically become sterling examples of young men. And all the while, our Scout Leader, year in, and year out, for five decades, was that same man; Fred Alkire! He has an astonishing record in Scouting, having sponsored 44 Eagle Scouts, and also having been at Scout Camp for some 38 years in a row! This man first guided young boys into Eagle Scouts the same year that Neil Armstrong trod upon the Moon. Along the way he also been instrumental in guiding the local government of our Township and Village, and has guided the community in much the same way as he has guided our boys. Fred never accepts anything less than your best, because that is just what he always gives back.

And tonight, our community did indeed give back! Fred, and his long time Assistant Scout Leader, Red (Yes, Fred and Red, it was quite a show) were the Grand Marshalls of the parade. And just behind that float were 22 of the 44 Eagle Scouts that graduated in his tenure! These young, and not so young, men came from all over America just to honor this one man. Fred truly stands as a giant. My life, and so many more, have been made better by his leadership, his devotion, and his love. God bless you Fred, I will always look up to you!    

Garden Gnomes and Morning Glories

Well, as you probably know well by now, I am no gardener. My beautiful wife, the well sainted Lady Barbara, is a wonderful gardener. And, truth be told, I am making a concerted effort to learn about flowers (apparently I like them), weeds (apparently not be confused with flowers) and other stuff (supposedly plants aren't supposed to die when you put them in the ground).

My reticence of gardening came no doubt from a highly traumatic childhood, and has left deep, psychological scars, that will doubtless take me decades (if ever) to recover from. Something about being required to remove certain types of plants (the aforementioned weeds) from the flower beds, without any description of which plant was what? Oh sure, I could pull a dandelion out, but that was pretty much the apex of my weed spotting ability. Despite my Dad's fairly firm insistence that I "know about weeds", back then the only weed I really knew anything about certainly didn't grow in our flower beds! So when Mom would come along to check on my progress, she would get just the teensiest bit testy as I had somehow pulled out half of her flowers. Hey, if the stoopid plant didn't have an actual flower on it, how was I supposed to know it wasn't a weed?

I remained in my happy ignorance of all things gardening for many decades, smugly appreciating a flower by sight, and realizing that I didn't need to learn anything else, save that it was pretty, and occasionally smelled good. All that changed about a decade ago when Barbara and I got together. She has a stunning rock garden, that she dutifully tends to, and produces many wonderful swatches of color, and scent. And she also keeps a Hosta bed, with flowers, under the huge Maple tree in the front yard. She has always maintained that I don't need to assist her in these areas, and I happily accepted that point of view for many years. Except that she also has this habit of asking me for my opinion. Like which flower should go where? Well, that just put my foot on a slippery slope of asking for more information, so that I could give her my learned opinion on something about which I knew absolutely nothing. See how she sucked me in? As if appealing to my testosterone driven ego wasn't enough, then she slyly appealed to my sense of achievement. "Isn't there anything that you would like to see?", she oh so innocently, asked me one warm, balmy day. "What's your favorite flower?" she continued. My first response was to quickly look at the garden, and blurt out whatever was the first flower I saw. Apparently "A Rose?" wasn't the correct answer. So, I finally had to admit that I really do like Morning Glories. Yes, an ironic answer from a Night Owl such as myself, but they have a brilliant and deep hue that fairly resonates with beauty and passion. Oh. Oops, now guess who gets to plant the aforementioned Morning Glories, and hope they live? Aye yup, you got it in one. And thus began my eventual decline into the current state of Still Not A Gardener But Know Just Enough To Kill Any Plant I Touch.

And now you know why I have been planting, and killing Morning Glories, for the past few years. Well sure, there was that one year when they grew up from a huge bucket on the driveway, at the sunniest corner of our house, ("Oh sure they'll be fine there, you did read up on them, didn't you?") up past the garage, and stretching ever yet higher to our deck above and then making a neat ninety degree turn to run along the eaves. I had installed some small diameter PVC piping left over from a recent plumbing disaster, and fishing line to "train" (yeah right, how the hell do you train a plant? It's not like the thing is ever gonna "Sit", or "Fetch". But they do "Play Dead" quite well) Miss Gloria on where to go. That Summer I had the longest vine of flowers I had ever seen. As opposed to the nicely rounded bushes of Morning Glories that I saw in all the catalogs.  The problem was that Miss Gloria would only flower in about three foot sections along the vine, then those blooms would die, and after a bit, another three foot section further up the line would bud and bloom? 

I have thus decided that Gardening is simply a series of digging holes to put plants into. Said plants can come from either the Nursery (which  apparently isn't where the baby sleeps) or from another spot in your yard. When these brightly colored flowers come from the nursery, they can cost as much as a baby, but don't cry as often. When they come from a different spot in your yard, then you dig them up, and put them into some other holes. Plus you put a bunch of stuff in with them. I still don't know the difference between Potting Soil, Potting Mixture, Compost +Potting Something Or Other, and dirt. Then you hafta put a bunch of this stuff into the other holes, so that you can put some other plants into them as well. After which, you need to go dig up more spots in your yard (apparently all this is easier than simply mowing the lawn, or so I have it on good authority) because now you need to "add some variety". I think I'll just take a picture of a Garden Gnome, and call it good. Oh, and all the pretty flowers in the pictures are from Barb's Rock Garden, which is why you don't see any Morning Glories...

Whack a Mole Memorial Day

 I am not much of a gardener, although my lovely wife seems to think that if I have enough tools, and spend copious amounts of times digging holes to plug plants in aforementioned holes, that as by some gift bestowed from Mother Earth herself, I will be magically transformed into a Gardener. I am stubbornly convinced that digging such holes through root snarled, and shrub strewn ground will only yield the results of a sore and aching back, and some dead plants. I probably should note here, in the interest of painting a fair picture (and mostly for matrimonial harmony) that I actually volunteer to perform these arcane tasks willingly. She encourages me to help her, but generally prefers me to keep my efforts to the lawn, which seems to appreciate my attention.

As a Lawn Boy extraordinaire, I can assure you that my loving ministrations to my roughly two acre sized lawn are not without result. I diligently cut my oh-so-cared for grass in a diamond pattern worthy of any Major League Baseball stadium. Sprinklers are generally running in a round robin of wet delight, and I carefully analyze the soil conditions to provide for the proper mix, and adequate amounts of fertilizer and weed control.  In short, I am a Grass Gawd. My lawn is my Kingdom, and my pride and joy. A few years ago, when our oldest was to be married, he and the soon to be missus decided that the field next door was to become their own Field of Dreams, and thus host the Reception. So son DJ contracted with a local orchard owner to plow and disc the field, and plant grass seed as well. Then it was my turn. I lavished water and attention and love on that field for three months. In the end, you could have walked across it barefoot, and been amazed at the velvety texture of the lush greenery underfoot.

Thus you can imagine my outrage when those varmints of villainy, those harbingers of doom, those malicious moles had the sheer affront to set up housekeeping in MY yard! How dare they! They mock the very principles that underlie the values and beliefs that make this the mighty and great nation it is today. In other words, it was my patriotic duty to exterminate the very last one of them.
Much like Karel Capek's War With the Newts, however, I am losing ground. Ever so steadily, oh so stealthily, those vermin of subterranean  dwelling have invaded my once proud lawns. Let me state this clearly and concisely, I hate those blighters!
The tools of the trade for relieving oneself of this particular tyranny are many and varied. Somehow, each claims to be the One And True Way To Get rid Of Moles. Really. Yeah.... right. The sonic disrupters just had them partying late at night, the gummi-poison worms were a nice dinner, and the anti grub stuff and the Diatomacrous Earth, that cost a fortune, only seemed to redouble their reproductive urges, like an Ecstasy fuelled rave.  So the ugly little blighters have shown no inclination to leave their dirty, grubby, Love Shack tunnels and migrate on to my neighbor's yard.

Just as I started to grow unconsolate in my despair, I remembered that today is Memorial Day.

Ah ha! Since our ever over achieving President is on vacation, surely he wouldn't mind if I borrowed a crack team of Anti Mole Terrorist Combatants? They could bring to bear all manner of Anti Mole Terrorist Technology! Surely they must have the means to extricate those beady eyed, long fanged, nocturnally dangerous evil doers of the underworld! Radar, Sonar, Lidar, M16's, tanks, submarines (obviously very tiny submarines, so they would have to be Autonomous Anti Mole Technology) and whatever ordnance was necessary. Yes sir, Mr. Mole, you have breathed your last in my good earth.

Grand Ole Opry

Tuesday, 27 April

After a nice, warming lunch at our horse farm get away, we let Ace take us for a walk around the grounds. Barb always brings some apple chunks to donate to the horse's obviously limited diet. They saunter over and seem quite content that yet another two legged creature has done their bidding. But soon enough we are back in the car, and headed to OpryLand!

For a bit of history on The Grand Ole Opry, you can visit the website here. It has very humble beginnings as a radio show, and grew to the Internationally acclaimed, premiere venue of Country music. Mind you, Barb and I are not much on Country music, nor do we know today's big names, but when in Nashville, you simply *must* go to the Grand Ole Opry!

We gambled on taking the Backstage Tour, and it was worth every penny, and each second! We never realized just what a treasure the GOO is! So many truly great entertainers have crossed that stage, and given such wonderful stories along the way. A little known fact is that the GOO has it's own Post Office backstage! Not only that, but each performer has his or her own PO Box, all arranged alphabetically. Except for "Little" Jimmy dickens, who can only reach so high, so they put his box within easy reach for him! It's that kind of attention to detail that makes the GOO such a beloved place.

For many years the GOO was hosted out of the Ryman Auditorium, in downtown. When they moved to the present location, a 6 foot circle was cut from the old stage, and placed in center front of the new stage. That way, they could carry all the greats along with them. We actually got to have out picture taken on the same spot that Johnny Cash, Roy Acuff, Garth Brooks, Patsy Cline, Loretta Lynne, and so many others, have sung on!

The dressing rooms all have a distinct identity, and most have a performer that claims it, and decorates it. One dressing room was decorated by the current performer as a shrine to the previous occupant! And, of course, the biggest, grandest dressing room of all, Number 1, belonged to Roy Acuff. Roy was the real champion of the GOO, thru it's long history. He even lived in Opryland for the last 10 years of his life, and would make a point to greet each performer on the way in, and also on the way out. He always wanted them to feel at home.

After the Tour, and imagine how it just happens to let out into the Gift Shop (!), we toddle over to the Museum. Do not miss the Museum! There are some delightful surprises to behold, including Patsy Clline's study, and Marty Robbin's office. Numerous gold, and platinum records adorn the walls by each artist, as well as some very interesting history. some of the outfits that they wore on stage were truly incredible, talk about a "Rhinestone Cowboy"!

But all this is nothing compared to the real show. It still is a two hour long, live radio show! Still broadcast on WSM, and has been continuously on-air longer than any other radio program in our country! Since 1917! Yikes! We ended up with great seats, and had a perfect view of the stage. The first hour started with Riders In The Sky and they set the tone for the show. That group featured Western (as opposed to country) riffs and harmonies, and just enough humor to keep you either laughing, or clapping along. Following them was Bucky Covington (Idol winner), Cherryholmes (a large family act with an awesome fiddle player) and rounded out with Danny Gokey (who is a rising star). Quick intermission, some announcements from the radio announcer, and back to the music. Bill Anderson (used to be a big star) started off, followed by Jewel (really!), then The Whites (a so-so sister act) and the grand finale by Blake Shelton (a current star).

Woosh! What a day your intrepid pair had! It wasn't just the history, nor even the Culture that was so endlessly fascinating to us, it was the people. People that might not pronounce words the same we do, and might even have a different set of sensibilities than we do, but still very warm and friendly. People with good souls, and a hearty laugh. Willing to help their neighbors, and feel it's their duty to do so.  It's that kind of love, and respect that is so refreshing to still find very much alve and well, thank you very much. And you know what? It really doesn't hurt to have some manners while you're going through Life.

Tuesday, 27 April
Well, almost halfway thru our jaunt in Nashville, and still the weather just quite cooperating yet. It's another cold, grey day, with sunshine and mist alternating between fits and starts. No matter, our wonderful hostess has (once again) graced our door with a loaf of freshly baked bread, so we enjoy a wonderful start.

Today’s adventures begin with a jaunt to The Hermitage. http://www.thehermitage.com/ This is the home of one our most controversial Presidents, Andrew Jackson. “Old Hickory” had a very fiery and contentious personality, much like the times in which he lived. As our 7th President, he came in to office when our nation was still very young, and indeed struggling with many issues that would later define our heritage. As a 13 year old boy, he served in the Revolutionary War, and was caught by the British. He suffered not only the usual deprivations of a POW in those less than civilized times, but was repeatedly cut with a sword as punishment for his independent spirit. Apparently young Jackson refused to polish an officer’s boots, and thus was reprimanded with corporal punishment. He carried those scars on his wrist, and forehead, and heart, for the rest of his life.
He later made good on his strong, intense hatred for the British by winning the Battle of New Orleans, in the War of 1812. This is also where he obtained his nickname.


His political career was much like his personality, forceful, fiery, and always of a firm conviction. He was an aristocrat, a General, a President, a husband, and a father and a slave owner. All this and much, much more.
So, Barb and I trundle off to see this resplendent example of life in the South, in the early 19th Century. As we approach the ticket window, an elderly couple in front of us was demanding to get their money back since the wait to see the inside of the mansion was one and a half hours! Yikes! Well, we asked the ticket gal about the wait time, and were politely told that the wait time really was only half an hour. Oh, ok, two tickets please.
As we stroll thru the Museum, another couple asks for a Raincheck, as they weren’t willing to wait for an hour and a half to see the Mansion. Hmmm… We decide to skip the Introductory movie (which we caught on our way out, and was quite good), and check out the line for the Mansion. So we walk thru some chilly, not quite sunny, almost misting, ok it really is cold conditions to get to the real line to see the Mansion. Happily, our wait was only about half an hour, but that’s because we befriended some Canadian tourists who included us in their group, which was allowed to jump the queue in front of the all the school field trips! Whew… thank goodness Barb and I know to speak like a Canuk, eh?

So after some brief introductory comments from a costumed worker, we, at last, could get out of the light rain and cold, and into the Mansion! The tour was conducted by another woman who dressed in a period costume. The house is a wonderful example of how the truly wealthy of that time lived. Almost everything is actually original! Unfortunately, the only places you can walk thru are the main hallways on the two levels of the house. All the real rooms were visible thru doorways that had been glassed off.
So the trip thru the Mansion was shorter, and quicker than we really would have liked, but still enjoyable. After exiting the house, we decide to take a turn thru the Gardens, and saw the General’s final resting place. It’s an impressive grave for an impressive man.


After the family burial plot, we decide to stretch out legs on the Quarter Trail, and see the Slave’s Quarters. Somehow we wind our way around a creek, and end up in a pasture, next a bunch of black cows with white belly bands! Apparently they have some meaning, but we are getting wetter, and colder by the step, so we decide that the car is our best friend. Back to the Museum, catch the movie, and find the car. A nice jaunt, but it could have been so much better. Ah well, we’re still on vacation, and having a great time.

Another brief trip thru Nashville, (I just love the way that a city of this size had the good sense to actually plan a highway system that allows you to flow thru so easily!) and back to the wonderful, cozy cabin for lunch and Peacock looking. Greeted by Tom the Turkey yet again... yes, Life is good! 

Next on our plans for the day is the Grand Ole Opry, but I am going to let that bit become it's own post as well.