Enthusiasm

Enthusiasm in My Household Pack

The Artist liked to say, crediting Jim Harrison with originating the phrase, that “advancing age brings a diminishing portfolio of enthusiasms.” Recently a friend on Facebook credited Tom McGuane with those words, and then a long interview with McGuane had McGuane himself giving the credit to F. Scott Fitzgerald. Credit whom you will, many people have apparently found the idea true to their lives. 

Or did they only like the apparent truth of a witty phrase? I wonder.

Obviously, I never lived with F. Scott Fitzgerald, nor with Tom McGuane or Jim Harrison. David Grath’s enthusiasm, however, is something that enriched our life together on a daily basis, whether on cross-country road trips or mere jaunts to thrift shops and drives down to Cedar for ice cream. Some of our enthusiasms changed over the years (some falling away but new ones coming along), and our energy in later decades was not what it had been in our 20s, 30s, and 40s. (We didn’t go out to bars and stay until closing time any more, certainly!) But did the number of our respective and shared enthusiasms diminish? That would be harder to say, as what naturally enthusiastic person would have the patience to sit down and make a numbered list of their heart-quickening activities and experiences?

Horses introduce this post because, while I was always the horse-crazy girl and never left that enthusiasm behind, the Artist had loved horses as a boy and always loved seeing them, especially with me. Of course, we never drove by them without at least remarking and often stopping to visit. “Which one is yours?” we would ask each other.

But the Artist also waxed enthusiastic over Peterbilt trucks, big boat-like American cars, and stylish motorcycles, depending on me to notice tiny things such as the little lichens called “British soldiers.” In general, when it came to landscape, I called his attention to ephemera at our feet, and he called mine to look up and to the horizon. “Big picture! Big picture!” he would say.

In Kalamazoo, when we lived there, we were forever noticing architectural details on older homes and downtown buildings. On foggy evenings, we would drive out to the country to catch the “Japanese landscape” effects. Out west, the grandeur of mountains, skies, and long sweeps of desert and grassland called forth our admiration. (We were both “big picture” viewers out there.) And it was a rare drive here in Leelanau County when the Artist didn’t say aloud, in tones of grateful reverence, “We live in a beautiful place.” So now I say that to Sunny Juliet when we’re in the car and crest a hill that gives us a view of Lake Michigan: “We live in a beautiful place.” Then I tell her, “That’s what your daddy always said.”

Lake Michigan, winter view

You may recall that the Artist did not fall in love with Peasy right away, the dog we were only able to have for a year. Eventually, though, they bonded. “Do you love him a little bit?” I asked. His response: “How could I not? It would be churlish not to love him.” Well, yes, as the dog came to worship David so absolutely! (Me he adored, David he worshipped.) He also said, “He’s so full of life! I miss that in myself, and I love it in him.”

No really good pictures of the two of them together -- sigh!

I never saw the Artist as anything but “full of life.” Even on those last winter mornings in the ghost town, when I came home from rambles over desert and foothills with neighbor and dogs to find him still in bed, watching television, he was enthusiastic in his urgings for me to watch with him a show about dogs … or hurricanes … or history. “I’m learning a lot,” he often said, and he never tired of learning. Or of seeing beauty, telling me that his helicopter flight from the little hospital in Willcox to a larger one in the Phoenix area had been “transcendent!”

Sometimes Sunny Juliet needs to curb her wild enthusiasm, but I appreciate her joyfulness. It makes me smile and even laugh at times. When I feel distant even from the natural beauty surrounding me, she brings me back to the immediate present.

An Enthusiastic Author

It is always a joy to host Newbery-winning author Lynne Rae Perkins in my bookstore. On Saturday she brought her own mice! I’d put three little mice on the table ahead of time, but she had made hers, and their markings were those of Violet and Jobie, the mice in her eponymous children’s book (too good for adults to pass by, is my verdict) who did not seek adventure but had adventure thrust upon them. 

Those of you who missed Lynne in the store can stop by for a signed copy of her book while my bookstore is open -- for the last month of the 2022 season, because come the end of October, I’ll be going on seasonal retirement until May, and I’ll just say right here that July 2023 will be the 30th anniversary of Dog Ears Books, so there is that ahead of me, too.

Books Read Since Last Listed

93. Bythell, Shaun. Confessions of a Bookseller (nonfiction)

94. Balzac, Honoré de. Le Curé de Tours (fiction)

95. Woodward, Bob & Robert Costa. Peril (nonfiction)

96. Shafak, Elif. The Island of Missing Trees (fiction)

97. Perkins, Lynne Rae. Violet & Jobie in the Wild (fiction – juv.)

98. Harrison, Jim. The Raw and the Cooked (nonfiction)

99. Oomen, Anne-Marie. As Long As I Know You: The Mom Book (nonfiction)

100. Brann, Esther. Five Puppies For Sale (fiction – juv. – 1948)

101. Harrington, C.C. Wildoak (fiction – YA – ARC)

102. Colwin, Laurie. Happy All the Time (fiction)

103. Jamison, Kay Redfield. Nothing Was the Same (nonfiction)

104. Proust, Marcel. The Past Recaptured (fiction)

Apple Enthusiasm

I’ll need all the enthusiasm I can muster to keep at the apple projects this month. My trees are bearing more heavily than ever before, and the apples are big and beautiful. How many apples will it take to fill the dryer with slices? Not many, I’m afraid, which means there will be lots of applesauce, as well, and maybe a pie or two.

Happy October, everyone!

Did the author write this book just for me?

September field, Leelanau County

Ah, September! It can really break your heart, can’t it? And so can books, even – maybe especially – the ones we love most. 

 

In my high school French classes, every year the teacher (different teacher, different years) urged us to read The Little Prince. It was like English teachers urging us to read (actually, this latter book was assigned reading, and I still skipped it) The Red Badge of Courage, but I was the quiet rebel in the back of the room, resisting what seemed like such common coin. If everyone read it, I didn’t want to. I wanted to discover my own books, thank you very much! Eventually, years later, I finally picked up The Little Prince and couldn’t believe I’d denied myself such an exquisite gift for so long. 

 

Sometimes I called my late husband, the Artist, “the little prince.” He was an only child, after all, adored and indulged by his doting mother, who was quite thoroughly “wrapped around his little finger,” as the old, trite saying goes. The youngest in his generation of cousins, many of whom were already teenagers when he was born, he was doted upon by those girls, too. Their real, live little doll! He learned quickly that charm was a winning formula, as in the church pageant when he had failed to learn his Bible verse and stood on stage grinning and twirling his new tie and saying to the congregation (instead of the assigned Bible verse), “See what I got for Christmas?” They loved it! So I would tell him that he was “the little prince” or, alternatively, “Fate’s little darling.” Not that the life of my Artist or any artist is ever be financially easy, but he knew what really mattered, and he drew love to him, always. His gift for friendship and for conversations on important topics (see again The Little Prince) made him unforgettable.

 

Last winter in our mountain cabin, I handed David an English translation of the St.-Exupéry classic, and he had time to read enough of the first few pages, before another hospital trip intervened, so he could understand why I thought he was that little prince, as well as a little prince – and why I had felt like that little prince myself reading it and why he and I were so drawn to each other and so happy together. The pilot gave up his dream of becoming a painter, but the Artist never did, despite countless material sacrifices necessary to gain the dream's reality. But a drive from Kalamazoo to Galesburg for thrift shopping and coffee with him was, I told one of his friends years ago, more wonderful, I'm sure, than some people's trips to Paris: Our conversations could be adventures in themselves.

Conversations – about things that mattered! And that laughter! I have stars that laugh!

Whenever I said "asters," he would say, "Lady Astor's horse."

When Lynne Rae Perkins’s book about squirrels having adventures was published, the Artist was amused to hear me recommending it to adults until one day he happened into the bookstore while I was reading aloud from Nuts to You! “Is that the squirrel story you were talking about?” he asked. Of course he got it! Can you think for a moment that he wouldn't have?

 

No wonder, then, that I would think of him while reading Violet & Jobie in the Wild. (Actually, it’s no wonder that I think of him whatever I do, is it?) What I didn’t expect were all the accumulating passages and similarities in Violet’s story and mine the further I got into the story. I'll share just three with you.

 

When Zolian recounts to Violet his flight in the owl’s talons, immediately I thought of the Artist’s flight by helicopter from Willcox, Arizona, to a larger hospital in the Phoenix area. He said of that flight, still thrilled the next day, “It was transcendent!” and when I think of it now, I think, He had that -- and loved it!

 

Zolian wanted to see once again the morning flight of sandhill cranes. The Artist and I went many times to Whitewater Draw in Cochise County, Arizona, or, closer to our winter ghost town cabin, to Twin Lakes outside Willcox to see sandhill cranes in flight. You hear them long before you see them, and they circle for ages, it seems, high in the sky, only gradually coming to water and earth. The cranes were always transporting to hear and see.

Then on one page came the words (I could scarcely believe it) “Easy peasy”! 

Our little Peasy

There was more, but….

 

Disclaimer: This is not a book review. In case you have not already figured it out, I cannot be objective about a book that touches me so very deeply and seems so personally directed at the deepest moments of my own life. But that has always been the wonder of the best children’s books! 

Doesn’t every girl who ever read Little Women feel that she is Jo March? Doesn’t every boy or girl reading The Black Stallion inhabit the character of Alec, befriending that magnificent horse on the island? Children a hundred years ago, hearing the story of “Hansel & Gretel,” must have imagined themselves surviving in the woods and narrowly escaping a hideous fate and then, thanks to the story and their own imaginations, taken courage for whatever was frightening in their own lives. 

That’s it, you see. We escape into stories, and the best don’t take us away from life but deeper into it. “Real life,” says Zolian in Violet & Jobie. “What other kind is there?” 

 

I hope all readers, of whatever age, who read Violet & Jobie in the Wild feel that the story was written just for them. Lynne Rae Perkins has made magic here once again for us all. Even tears can be good....

"The world: it really is such a beautiful place."

 

P.S. Please do not overlook the other new September book gifts from Leelanau County authors. More about these sometime in the future, I promise. 

P.P.S. And Sunny Juliet -- just because --

5 September Books Not to Miss!

 

Everyone has a list – newspapers, publishers, book bloggers – but mine is directed straight at you, northern Michigan, and especially you, Leelanau County, because the talented writers in our region are unstoppable. Here are five new September releases (alphabetized by authors’ last names for the sake of objectivity, because I love all these authors), and you won't want to miss a single one.

 

Harrison, Jim. The Search for the Genuine: Nonfiction, 1970-2015 brings together classic Harrison essays and some never before published. With a deeply moving introduction by Luis Alberto Urrea, who describes the late Harrison as “a big river in flood,” and a jacket photograph by Dennis Grippentrog of Jim in leaning in his granary/writing studio doorway, this is a book no fan of Jim Harrison and his writing will want to live without. As for the delightful and insightful contents, you'll have to read the book yourself, but I say, Thank heaven for written words and their power to live beyond the grave! 

 

Hardcover, $28

 

Oomen, Anne-Marie. All you have to do, if you have any previous acquaintance with this author’s work, is read the title, As Long as I Know You: The Mom Book, and you know you’re in for an unforgettable ride. Who dares to tell the truth – that mothers and daughters are not always best friends? Anne-Marie doesn’t stop there, however, but goes on with a compelling tale of compassion, big decisions, and the loss that is, eventually, part of all love, somehow (as she always magically does) making you laugh -- and, yes, cry -- along the way.

Paper, $19.95

 

Perkins, Lynne Rae. Our own Leelanau County Newbery author brings us this month another charmingly written and illustrated children’s books, Violet & Jobie in the Wild. A mouse story! Mice, rather. And a chapter book, on the order of her marvelous Nuts to You! (Remember those squirrel adventures?) And lucky me, lucky us, because Lynne Rae will be at Dog Ears Books on Saturday, October 1, to sign books for customers. So mark your calendars now and watch my blog and Facebook posts for coming details. 

Hardcover, $16.99

 

Shoemaker, Sarah. By now you’ve been hearing a lot about Sarah’s historical novel, Children of the Catastrophe, but if you didn’t make it to the book launch party on September 6, never fear. I have more signed paperback copies and have restocked hardcovers (after selling out of those at the launch) that I'm sure Sarah will sign soon. Children of the Catastrophe is this year’s “Leelanau Reads” choice by our county librarians, and other book clubs will want to include it in their lists for the coming winter, too. It's both historical and timely reading -- and an engrossing family story.

Hardcover, $28.99; Paper, $17

 

Wheeler, Jacob. Angel of the Garbage Dump: How Hanley Denning Changed the World, One Child at a Time is nonfiction and a story that was very important for the publisher of the Glen Arbor News to tell. Hanley Denning, a former track star and the “angel” of the title, couldn’t turn away from children she saw picking through garbage in a dump in Guatemala City, hoping to find enough to eat to stay alive, and the nonprofit she set up, Camino Seguro (Safe Passage), continues to save the lives of Guatemalan children, although Hanley was tragically killed (in a road accident) in 2007. One person can make an enormous difference. 

Paper, $17.95

Dog Ears Books is open Tuesday through Saturday, 11 - 4, from now until the end of October. 

Backwards From Tuesday

Sarah Shoemaker signing CHILDREN OF THE CATASTROPHE

We Had Launch! (Tuesday)

 

Tuesday, the day after Labor Day, is a traditionally quiet day Up North and was definitely a quiet day on Waukazoo Street (with the Mitten, the Garage, and the New Bohemian all closed for a little post-summer break), but we made up for the quiet day with a celebratory evening at the Leelanau Township Library with Sarah Shoemaker and her new novel, Children of the Catastrophe. 

 

The weather could not have been sweeter. Big, enthusiastic turnout was gratifying, to say the least. (Northport loves books!) Sales were gratifying, too, and Sarah was kept busy signing until the assembled multitude demanded that she speak, and then an appreciative audience listened to her reading from the novel and asked good questions afterward. 

Sarah reading to library guests

 

My neighbor Julie, who is also the new librarian in Northport, was there pitching in, as were several library friends (Northport is a true community) and Sarah’s visiting family. Sarah and I both neglected to mention, however, her husband’s photographs from Greece that have current pride of place on the walls dedicated to local artists, so if you’re in Northport be sure to stop in at the library and look at those. 

 

Kent Shoemaker's photographs of Greece

More

Other than selling books (which I do with fair competence after 29 years’ experience), my contribution in the form of cucumber mint lemonade was a total disaster. What on earth had gone wrong? After all the preparation work and assembly, I got home after the book launch to find the honey water sitting on the kitchen counter! Lemonade without sweetener is a challenge to the taste buds that I had not intended. Sorry, Sarah! Sorry, Northport! It would have been as good as it looked if I hadn’t left out that key ingredient! 

Refreshments table

Luckily for the crowd, Sarah’s Greek dessert buffet was delicious as well as beautiful.

 

A Labor Day of Labor (Monday)

 

Sunny Juliet in high-def!

Sunny Juliet had a workout Monday morning. It was her very first introductory attempt at agility work, and she took to it like an eagle to the air. (She’s no duck. Won’t even put a paw in the little wading pool I bought for her.) She is agile, smart, and supremely confident, so after a little initial skepticism over the tunnel, she handled the new equipment and experiences eagerly and easily. She also made a new dog friend – her first Michigan dog friend! – a border collie named Cookie, so maybe next week I’ll get photos of Cookie and Sunny working the equipment or enjoying their after-work play together, which they certainly did. All in all, it was a very successful morning, and I admit I was relieved. Mike, our instructor, was not surprised that Sunny did well. Though he had never met her, he knew SJ would be good at agility. I had just wondered if she would be too wild to focus, but she did a good job. Good girl!

 

Next I spent Monday afternoon with lemons and cucumbers and honey (and you already read above the sorry result, not of the preparation but of my forgetfulness) and outdoors throwing tennis balls and Frisbees for Sunny and more mowing of grass. (Note: Isn’t it amazing how fast grass can grow?)

 

 

Meandering Led to Memory Lane (Sunday)

 

Lake Michigan Road

As was the case this past spring, when I had not planned ahead of time to dare the road over the Chiricahua Mountains, all the way up to Onion Saddle and down again on the other side, with only my puppy as copilot, I didn’t plan what turned out to be last Sunday’s destination. Destination? Was it destined? The expedition began as a simple drive to Lake Leelanau to pick something up at NJ’s, then a slow cruise down along South Lake Leelanau and a stop in Cedar for ice cream (shared with SJ). After that, I thought I’d started for home but somehow found myself circling Little Traverse Lake from north to south (how did that happen?), and then, coming out on M-22 so close to Bohemian Road, destiny pulled me south again.  Bohemian Road (C.R. 669), Lake Michigan Road, second crossing of Shalda Creek, and down past Shell Lake to where the old two-track, growing over now with vegetation, winds through the meadow and back to the woods where the Artist’s house used to stand, all this territory now part of Sleeping Bear National Lakeshore.

 

across the old meadow

We made this trek last Labor Day, the Artist and Peasy and I. We walked all the way in, a long walk for David but worth it. It was the most beautiful day! We stopped at last in the quiet of the woods, where I photographed David sitting on a log, holding the rope (we had somehow left the house without a leash) that had Peasy at the other end (didn’t get Pea in the photograph – terrible lapse), but though I looked this year at various logs in the woods, I couldn’t be sure if any of them was the log. None seemed right. My heart was heavy.

Nature's cathedral -- and mine

David’s memories of his house in the woods went back years further than my own, as it was his summer studio and a place his children came on vacation for years, the girls burying their little tea set dishes over and over in a sand pit -- to dig up again and again years later in adulthood. I remember my first visit there, however, and I will always remember our Labor Day 2021 visit, as well as times in between. And probably this one with Sunny, too, will stay in memory. The thing is, the two-track is disappearing, but all the same plants are there – the brambles and bracken fern, horsetails and horsemint, goldenrod and asters. I do believe bracken fern, although not a true fern at all, is my favorite fern. [Update & correction: Bracken is a fern, it seems. Someone told me it wasn't, and I believed. Mistake.) It is ubiquitous in the poor soil of northern Michigan, and thus for me it is drenched in memories, as are the asters and the horsemint, and all the oaks and pines and other trees, both the old and the new young ones….

The pond looked low.

This old tree has been around a while.

 

Bracken in full sun ...

... and in dappled shade.

moss and 'shrooms

Reindeer moss -- a lichen -- amid the true mosses

It was a slow drive home, by an inland route. Near School Lake, I recalled a day one early winter when we stopped for about a hundred turkeys in the road. “About,” because it’s hard to count that many turkeys when they’re milling around. I have no picture of those turkeys, and it was years before Sunny was born, but I can almost see them there still, every time I come to that portion of road.

Did you ever -- write a letter to a stranger?

Patience on a comforter

 

Good morning! And no, to answer a question about my question, politicians don’t count (although writing to them is always a good idea). I'm thinking of writing to someone geographically distant whose story you read or heard somewhere, and you’ll never run into each other at your local grocery store, but you thought, We have a lot in common. I’d like to know him-or-her-or-them. (There. I’m practicing using they/them as a singular pronoun. I need practice with that, I guess.) Have you ever done that?

 

Occasionally I receive notes in the mail from people I’ve never met or encountered so fleetingly that no memory image remained, because I have had a bookstore in Up North tourist country for 29 years and counting. (Thirty next summer!!!) Because some of my annual visitors keep track of my life on this blog. Or because someone ordered a book or books from me years ago, and we fell into correspondence for a while.

 

But it doesn’t always work out long-term.

 

Once, for example, I had a book order from a Frenchman who was teaching at the time in an agricultural lycée on an island in the Indian Ocean. We were both devotes of the entomologist Jean-Henri Fabre. He had ordered a Fabre book I had listed online (back when I did that sort of thing) and explained the reason that his mailing address was France: all mail went there first, then came to the end of the island where the airfield was, and eventually worked its way to the other end of the island where the school was. He sent me a little package of vetiver, one of the island’s chief exports. 

 

I sent something back (I don’t remember what), and things were going along swimmingly until I shared an idea I had: When he and his wife returned to France, we should set up agricultural exchange visits! I imagined having my French visitors stay in our old farmhouse and touring them around Leelanau County, introducing them to cherry growing culture and farmer friends in my township and beyond. They would have so many questions and would love northern Michigan, wouldn’t they? Then they could host an agricultural visit in return. We might have several of these from one year to the next -- as I imagined the concept growing.

 

But after sharing my brilliant idea, I never heard from my distant friend again. In retrospect, I think he must have thought I, personally, was angling for a free country place to stay in France with my husband, which wasn’t at all the idea, but I never followed up on whatever misconception or misunderstanding there must have been, and there ended our exchange. 

 

Another correspondence was more successful. My distant customer was a woman who ordered several books of old dog stories, and as it turned out, she was also a writer. When her next book came out, she sent me an early copy. Wonderful writer! That was years ago, and we are still in touch, albeit infrequently. 

 

So now, this morning, I’m kind of on the fence. Does a woman-woman letter-writing connection between strangers work better, especially when the women are roughly the same age? Or is there any chance at all that a young(er) male Scottish bookseller (my son’s age) would welcome hearing from an aged female colleague in the wilds of northern Michigan? He and my son have the same birthday, but surely the fascination of that coincidence is only in my point of view and would mean nothing to him. 

 

Really, don’t I already have enough to do without launching – no, attempting to launch – another pen pal relationship? That was a rhetorical question….

 

Happy Labor Day weekend! And remember to join us at Tuesday evening’s open house at the Leelanau Township Library, where you can have Sarah Shoemaker sign a copy of her new book for you, beginning at 7:30 p.m. 

 

Growing -- and Growing Up

Camera Work

I’ve been experimenting with a new shooting mode on my camera and also spending time cataloging the fauna on my home ground, going back to the latter post again and again to add to my lists as I see plants I hadn’t noticed the first time around or spring-flowering plants I'd forgotten. The plant catalog is a work-in-progress, and the photographs may play a bigger part in that one of these days. 

Quick Reminder

Monday is Labor Day (eek!!!), and the very next day, Tuesday, September 6, is the release date for Sarah Shoemaker’s new novel, Children of the Catastrophe, which we will be launching at the Leelanau Township Library that evening. If you missed my post about the book and want to know more, look here. 

The September 6 event is an open house – meet and greet, buy books and have them signed – refreshments will be served. Doors will open at 7:30, but there is to be no formal program, so stop in when you can. We hope to see you there!

Dog Stuff

The graduate!

Sunny Juliet completed her Junior Ranger class and received a certificate, which told me there had probably never been a possibility she would flunk. She was, however, the wildest puppy in the class, and her energy level is not explained solely by “She’s a puppy!” and neither does “She’s an Aussie!” tell the whole story. There is a name for Sunny’s personality: hyperarousal. The good news is that she is not fearful, anxious, or aggressive, only prone to overexcitement – and it doesn’t take much to excite her!

She made progress, though – we both did – and the day after her last class she was spayed and then on-leash and on-meds for 10 days of restricted activity, which was perfect timing, as far as I was concerned, because having a name for Sunny’s wildness led me to learn more. Two of the things I learned: (1) she cannot be “worn out” with heavy amounts of hard exercise, and (2) trying to “wear her out” will only push her to an even higher level of excitement (which explains those episodes where she decided, after a wonderful long run, that her momma was a sheep and needed to be jumped on from behind!). Hyperarousal has to do with stress hormones, apparently, and you can read more about it if you’re interested. I checked back with the class instructor, though, and she agreed that what’s important for Sunny to learn is how to relax. This was, in fact, one of the key elements of the 8-week class and the hardest one for Sunny to master. Her skills in that area continue, frankly, to need work.

The bottom line for me is to find more ways to exercise my puppy’s mind. Problem-solving requires focus, and focus means putting wildness to the side, so we will be trying a little something new soon, and I’ll get back with a report on how it works out. She (we) did complete that class, though, and she (we) never missed a single session! 

Books Read Since Last Listed

85. Busse, Ryan. Gunfight: My Battle Against the Industry that Radicalized America (nonfiction)

86. Taylor, Edmond. Awakening From History (nonfiction)

87. Johnson, Dirk. Biting the Dust: The Wild Ride and Dark Romance of the Rodeo Cowboy and the American West (nonfiction)

88. George, Henry. Progress and Poverty (nonfiction

89. Ward, Jesmyn. Sing, Unburied, Sing (fiction)

90. Marriott, Alice. Maria: The Potter of San Ildefonso (nonfiction)

91. Hollows, M. J. The German Nurse (fiction)

92. Brangwyn, Frank, illus. by Hayter Preston. Windmills (nonfiction)

At present I am indulging myself in a second reading of Shaun Bythell’s Confessions of a Bookseller and enjoying it immensely.

And that's life in and around Northport and home for me these days. Sic transit August!

My Wilderness

 

Gardens in front of house

Two cultivated apple trees

Yes, I mow the areas immediately around my old farmhouse, and yes, I prune my two apple trees and this year thinned the too-bounteous crop, but lest anyone conclude that I have a "lawn" and "landscaping," here is the truth of my rural life: there is plenty of wildness all around me, in very close proximity. The yard area that I keep mowed is predominantly but not at all exclusively grass, any more than the meadow can any more be called (what it once was) a hayfield. All areas, mowed and unmowed, are thick with wildness. Here is a partial list of plants in my immediate environment, not in any seasonal order, but as many as I could put together from observation and memory:

In my yard, besides grass, there are: common plantain, dandelion, escaped oregano (drat!), heal-all, clovers, autumn olive (UGH!!!), mouse-ear chickweed, prostrate pigweed, hawkweed (both yellow and orange), pokeweed (one isolated colony), wild grape (too much!), poison ivy (could do without that!), lots of purple violets (love ‘em!), smaller pussytoes (very cute!), broad-leafed helleborine (a weedy orchid), prostrate pigweed, cleared, hoary alyssum, wood sorrel, purslane, purple dead nettle, and probably much more. If I were really ambitious, I would try to identify all the varieties of grasses. Maybe someday.

In my meadow grow: various native grasses (I seeded those years ago), common milkweed (tons!), coneflowers (purple and little grey-headed), asters (all sizes and colors of asters: I seeded the asters and coneflowers), red clover, sweet white clover, soapwort (a.k.a. bouncing bet) alfalfa (from former hayfield days), Queen Anne’s lace, wild roses, blackberries, goldenrod, bladder campion, evening lichnis, daisies, daisy fleabane, wild lettuce, goatsbeard, black-eyed Susans, spotted knapweed (ugh!), autumn olive (ugh! I'm doing as much as possible to eradicate, but it is everywhere in the county and well beyond), cow vetch, bull thistle (goldfinches love the seeds), chicory, curly dock, ragweed, St. Johnswort, red osiers, wild grape, Virginia creeper, white baneberry, evening primrose, and sapling trees -- silver maple, green ash, black walnut, catalpa, black willow, mulberry, box elder, and aspen (a.k.a. popple). Often in the morning my puppy and I notice places where deer have bedded overnight. Recently I have discovered two healthy hawthorns, and there may be more. If not now, there will be in future, I'm sure.

At edges and in crannies are found: spiderwort, black raspberries, red raspberries, gooseberries, wild ginger, escaped dayliles and poppies, black walnut seedlings (too many!), staghorn sumac, alfalfa (from that old hayfield), evening primrose, autumn olive (again!), poison ivy (again!), more violets (both purple and yellow), naturalized daffodils, jewelweed (both pale and orange), evening primrose, buttercups, lamb's quarters, broad-leafed dock, common burdock, common mallow, wild mint, Virginia creeper, wild grape, and more sapling trees (see meadow list above).

There is a single tulip poplar in the shelter of the old henhouse, and a companion redbud nestled close to the tulip tree for years but has since disappeared. Another redbud, however, has now appeared in the former popple grove, near one of the black raspberry patches. Everywhere, all is in constant flux, changes apparent year by year, so that my surroundings look very different from the way they looked 22 years ago, when we first began living here fulltime, and that look in turn (going back further in time) was very different from the way things were when we still lived in Leland but David had his studio and I my garden at the farm. A tall catalpa stands where no tree stood in our early days here, while the dead but standing popple (what Westerners call aspen) that housed a bluebird family for two summers is now only a memory. Just this evening I noticed once again a wild apple tree on the aft side of the barn, an uncultivated tree that fruits as it will, undisturbed by intervention from me. Here, as Grand Marais, Michigan says of itself, there is "Nature in Abundance," no antiseptic monoculture.

P.S. There are more photographs, some of them closeups, over on my photo blog now.