Good News, Good Deeds, Neighbors

 

Saturday morning glory!

Happy News: Sunshine and Standing Up

Last Thursday was very cold, but it was also sunny. Friday, sunny morning, cloudy afternoon with heavy snow. Saturday, cold and sunny again. Two and a half sunny days in a three-day streak is something to write home about in January, but I am already home, so I’m writing it to all of you who are elsewhere to let you know what you’re missing in your winter perches in Arizona, New Mexico, Mexico, south Florida, etc. Now on Sunday, the first day of the year's shortest month, sunshine again! Sunshine on pristine, glistening, sparkling snow!

 

Sunny day, Sunny!

Do you envy those of us back here in northern Michigan? A friend sent me a link to a video about a 4-year-old girl who received a gift pony and whose parents allowed her to show the pony her bedroom. My friend asked me, “Are you jealous?” and I answered, “Yes!” But right now I wouldn’t be anywhere else these days than northern Michigan, because my little personal life here is very happy, outside of my anguish over attacks on democracy and the rule of law all over our country, and even there, more and more Americans are standing up and taking brave public positions, so that is reason to be encouraged. Or, as a friend would have it, enCOURAGEd.

 

Homemade sign. NOT a "paid protester"!

(Graphic design is obviously not my forte. There are more snow and protest images and thoughts, however, in my previous post.)

Happy Book News

In my work as a bookseller (one aspect of my little personal life), I was thrilled to hear on Saturday from Robert Carlos Fuentes, author of The Vacation: A Teenage Migrant Farmworker’s Experience Picking Cherries in Michigan, that his book has won a Michigan Notable Book Award for 2026. Carlos wanted to thank me again for nominating his book, but I told him all I had to do was to call the committee’s attention to it (which was my honor and privilege), and his book did all the rest. I’ll let you know when the author (from Lansing), whose story takes place in Lake Leelanau, will next be in Northport. Author Tim Mulherin, who spoke at Dog Ears Books in late 2025, also received an award for his book, This Magnetic North. “My” authors! Bravo!

So there was all that sunshine--my final count for the month of January was four and one-half days--and there was the wonderful Michigan Notable Book news.

 

Then, Serendipity: From Other Books

 

Surrounded by books, both at work and at home, it’s easy for me to open covers and turn pages at random and find just the words I need. In a volume called Sister Outsider: Essays and Speeches, by Audre Lorde, in an interview with poet Adrienne Rich, Lorde says, “You become strong by doing the things you need to be strong for.” I find that wonderful! It’s when you are afraid that you need courage. It’s when life challenges your strength that you need to be strong, and you become strong. 

 

At home, from my favorite philosopher, I found these words:

 

Between the closed soul and the open soul there is the soul in process of opening. Between the immobility of a man seated and the motion of the same man running there is the act of getting up, the attitude he assumes when he rises.

 

-      Henri Bergson, The Two Sources of Morality and Religion

 

 

What We’re All Doing Here

In Minneapolis, citizens observe and video-record action in the streets; hold vigils and demonstrations; organize to shop for and delivery groceries to people afraid to leave their homes. Here in little Northport, far from the fray, we oldsters take turns standing outdoors with signs. We send checks. We use our platforms (this blog is one of mine; my bookstore is another) to share facts and support. A kindly bookshop customer brought me a piece of delicious homemade cake on Thursday, and I ran library errands for someone else. A cherry farmer keeps my driveway plowed, and I delivered a book order to a customer not feeling well enough to venture out. 

Friends and neighbors. And everyone in need is a neighbor, whether next door or a thousand miles away. Help however you can.

 

Still Keeping Up at the Three-Quarters Mark

 

This first image is not where we began our hike on Saturday (my 75th birthday), and it was far, far below where Therese and I had begun last April (on her birthday). It wasn’t even last year’s beginning spot. No, this “beginning” is where three of us branched off on Saturday in a direction new to Kathy, Sunny, Yogi, and me, after we'd climbed already considerably.... But let’s backtrack a little.

You’re not seeing the 25-mile drive from Dos Cabezas to the Chiricahua Monument, nor the more than seven miles of very rutted road to the place we left our cars. Therese and I had parked higher up last year, but this year, with two cars, we decided to do more of the climb on foot – which turned out to be a fortuitous choice in more ways than one, as our last year’s “parking place” was flooded, providing our first encounter on foot that day with flowing water, which the dogs loved as much as the humans. (We had no idea then how many more watery thrills awaited us.) But I anticipate again, because before we got to that first flowing water, we had a long uphill climb, mostly in sun, along a boulder-lined – and sometimes boulder-strewn – road.

Therese and Kathy look down over the steep edge.

Is this mudstone? Are these fossils of ancient trees?

For Sunny, it's simply -- Big rock!!!

As I say, the road climbed. The sun was hot. As we went around the mountain, however, we were met with a cool, refreshing breeze. Ah, that was more like it....

Dog buddies on the trail

Old formations from prehistoric volcano

Below you see the water that had flooded an open pace, crossed the road, and taken water’s general downhill habit. Observe the happy dogs. Note the cool shade. And only a little way farther up the rocky road, back in the sun, we spied a congregation of spiny lizards, which I found very exciting.

A confusing sign, but we got the message.

Is it a mountain spiny lizard? That would be Sceloporus jarrovi.

The Chiricahua Monument itself is the official “wonderland of rocks,” but for me the entire mountain range is a wonderland of awe-inspiring formations. Therese was particularly captivated by manzanita in bloom, and look at the size of this single plant! I had her stand in front of it to illustrate the scale. 

Gigantic manzanita!

And now, water again. It never gets old. The sight and sound of it, the way it makes the colors of rocks sing, the way it calls to us --

Yogi (left) flees after being surprised by a deep pool.

Sunny is crossing cautiously, so as not to drop a bone she found, while Yogi hopes the bone will drop.

Oh, the heavenly scent of pine trees! And the towering majesty of the Ponderosa pines! After our usual diet of dusty desert walks, the tree-shaded creek canyon -- with water, too! -- feels and smells like paradise.

Along this minimally maintained mountain road were many boulders, deep ruts, and at one point it was clear that someone had very recently cleared away a fallen tree. 

No speeding here!

And now, at probably our fourth or fifth encounter with the creek (not counting walking a road that roughly paralleled the creek below most of the way), we decided it was time for our picnic. And the perfect place, despite the noise of rushing water. 

Maybe if you zoom in on the image of the (yet another) big rock below, you’ll be able to see the patterns that drew my eye and set me to dreaming of its distant past. 

The far side of the creek. We did not go across here.

What has this tree been through?!

What forces twisted these rocks? But life finds room to cling.

And it isn’t only rocks and trees that have history. The road itself speaks mutely of what it used to be. 

Here almost half the road has crumbled into the creek.

Bedrock exposed on the road

Now we have climbed up away from the creek and back into the sun. This might be close to our highest elevation of the day, 6,365 feet above sea level. Or maybe it wasn’t. I didn’t really keep track, but bear in mind that our ghost town is somewhat less than a mile high. 

This is close to our highest elevation of the day.

But even this high, snowmelt has sent flowing water across our road, on its way downhill to reach the creek. 

Ah, shade!

What do you see here? What can you imagine or speculate?

We had left our ghost town at 9 a.m., and when I got back it was 3:30, so I’ll say we hiked for about five hours. And it was a glorious way to celebrate reaching my three-quarters-of-a-century mark, 75 years of age! Congenial company, vigorous exercise, exciting vistas, the thrill of flowing water, and the always amusing antics of our canine companions – I couldn’t have asked for more. And yet there was more, because another neighbor had us over for dinner that evening! Can you believe it? In short, I had another birthday, am halfway through my eighth decade of life, and despite losses along the way I am surviving. 

 

Of all the photographs in this post, which one is your favorite? Or how about top three? I know at least two that would make the cut for me, but I’ve not scrimped in presenting our adventure, because three images would not have been nearly enough. I’ll close with a funny one, though – at least, funny if I give you the story that goes with it. At 9 a.m., Sunny and I were in the car at the bottom of the driveway, down by the highway, waiting for Therese and Kathy to drive by so we could convoy to Pinery Canyon, Sunny with her most alert expression…. And then their car went by, and Sunny knew it was Therese, and she knew Yogi was in that car, so she sat forward, eyes fixed on that vehicle for over 30 miles, not about to lose sight of her friends and miss any fun! And of course, as you have seen, she certainly did not. Happy ending!

Always up for adventure!

Hill Climb with Puppy: New Year's Eve Morning

 

 

I climbed Mount Haguro on the third of June.

 

…

 

I climbed Mount Gassan on the eighth. I tied around my neck a sacred rope made of white paper and covered my head with a hood made of bleached cotton, and set off with my guide….

 

-      Matsuo Bashõ, The Narrow Road to the Deep North and other travel sketches

 

 

Bashõ’s travels (the last complete book I finished reading in 2022, #134) made appropriate reading for the morning of New Year’s Eve as I prepared to meet neighbors for their annual “climb to the cross” up on Town Hill, a summit on the ridge of foothills south of the highway. Sam and Dorothy operate Dos Cabezas Retreat, a B&B that is the ghost town’s only business; my hiking partner, Therese, decided to bring her new puppy, Yogi, along for the fun; and Bob, from down Kansas Settlement Road way, joined us, too. Counting Yogi, then, six of us started out together, but it wasn’t long before little Yogi had to be put in a backpack (worn in front) for the steep climb. 

“Don’t look down!” may be good advice on a ferris wheel, but I found stopping to look down and judge my progress immensely satisfying on this climb. Below is the view looking up from the side of the highway where I have my winter abode.

I had told myself and the others that I didn’t know if I could make it all the way but would try. As the climb proceeded, I revised my goal: I wanted to get as far as the saddle (that dip you see in the photo above, just slightly to the left of center), higher than the other time I tried the climb but shy of the summit. 

I shed my jacket and left it on a mesquite, determined to retrieve it on the way down. As a one-dollar Goodwill purchase back in 2015, that jacket has been invaluable as desert wear. It sheds thorns the way a duck’s back sheds water! So there it was, hanging on a branch, and every time I looked back down, I kept thinking at first that it was a cow – as once it was, I’m sure.

Reaching the elevation where bear grass flourished felt like a meaningful marker, telling me I had passed my old stopping place and was more than halfway to the top….

But I really wanted to reach the oaks! As I was nearing a large oak, focused on it, I could see none of my companions: Dorothy had decided to stop farther back, and the others were ahead of me and out of sight. 

By that point, every next step seemed almost impossible, but there was no way I would stop, so close to my goal – the saddle! And I made it! 

Surprise! There was Therese, who had decided the saddle was high enough for her to climb carrying her puppy. We were surprised to see each other (everyone else now out of sight, Sam and Bob over what was to us, from our vantage point, the crest of the hill, and Dorothy down below the brow) but happy to sit and rest and share fruit and laugh at Yogi, who decided she needed a nap – as if she had actually made the climb herself! 

From the saddle we could look down over the Sulphur Springs Valley spread out below to the south, with its familiar landmark buttes and distant mountains beyond. 

Nearer at hand were beautiful rocks and oaks I had never seen this close before -- these particular ones, that is.

Puppy Yogi went into the pack again for the trip down (Bob volunteered to carry the pack and pup down for Therese), but I have no more pictures of that part of the climb. For some reason, though the grass was no taller than it had been on the way up, the different angle of sunlight made it harder for me to see hidden rocks. Footing felt more treacherous. I only fell once, however, and Sam generously and patiently waited for me every step of the way down. “I never leave anyone on the mountain,” he said when I thanked him. 

Back at home, I could have used a good, long nap, but Sunny Juliet was having none of that! She had been left out of the Big Climb and was ready for some fun! Bedtime could wait until dark, as far as she was concerned! So yes, of course we went out for a walk and another one this morning, because dogs’ calendars do not recognize holidays: routine is what they like. And that is not necessarily a bad thing. 

 

My little live Norfolk pine Christmas tree did not need to be “taken down,” but I decided to remove its holiday decorations this morning in memory of my mother, whose rule was that the tree went up the week before Christmas and came down on New Year’s Day. 

There is some connection between tradition and routine, don’t you think? Just think about it. Or don't. As you like! It was rather a random thought....

We made it! We made it through another year! I made it thanks to family and friends and my little constant companion, a.k.a. my Italian motorcycle -- for those of you who remember that story....

Happy New Year from Sunny Juliet Aprilia Grath!