Potpourri for a Wednesday

Here’s to Chris, Sharon and Tom

I contemplated a day off today but then when I opened Facebook, I read this from Christopher Routhier, one of the State Parks employees.

I am pretty sure I know who he is, bearded, chatty, deep, sometimes aghast by people who don’t treat his sacred place as sacred, the sort of guy who wishes the state would treat all its employees better but yet considers it a privilege to work here, to run the elevator to the Cave of the Winds, drive a gator to collect trash and do what it takes. Here’s what he wrote. The photo above is his.

“Every day out there, it can feel like a steady stream of nonsense—but every once in a while, something cuts right through it and reminds you what people are capable of in the best way.

“I work for the State Park, bouncing between the Falls and DeVeaux a few days a week. A typical Gator ride for me isn’t just getting from point A to point B, it’s stop, hop out, grab some trash, repeat. The gorge rim stays beautiful because someone’s always putting in that quiet effort. Tuesday evening was no different… until it was.

“On my way back from DeVeaux, I spotted a couple up ahead. They had a collapsible trash container, a bag, and one of those grabber poles and out there on their own they were just doing the work. No spotlight, no recognition, just choosing to care. Of course I was inclined to introduce myself, and thanked them for what they were doing.

“There’s something powerful about seeing people take ownership of a place we all share—especially somewhere as special as the gorge. Sharon and Tom didn’t have to be out there. “But they were. Just quietly making a difference, one piece of trash at a time.

“So here’s to you two—Thank You. I’ll be sure to say hello again when our paths cross. And to anyone reading this: take a page out of their book. It doesn’t take much to make a place better than you found it… just a little time, a little effort, and a willingness to care. Just like Sharon and Tom.”

Taking care of our front lawn

I joke with tour guests when we visit Whirlpool State Park that it is my front lawn and I will be back with Gord later.

“My wife and I walk here all the time,” I say, “and look at each other and marvel.

“ ‘Do you believe we get to live here? We don’t have to pack up our stuff and go home’ ”

I channel my inner Sarah Palin all the time – I can see Canada from my porch. I also point out to anyone who will listen that within two blocks of the gorge, you can get a quality home built in 1930 or so for $250,000 or less.

Inevitably, as Gord and I are back later, we stop and pick up some trash. We did it again yesterday. There seems to be extra this time of year, especially downwind from the playground.

About those spring colors

Oh sure, Fall is spectacular with its vibrant colors. I love winter, too, with the ice in the river and the quiet of the forest. While there is nothing wrong with summer, it might be my least favorite with its deep greens and heat and the nightly intrusion that is 10 minutes of fireworks.

Still, for me, spring is the best. Especially this time, mid-April. Every day, the drab brown of winter in the gorge turns a slightly more lime, at first, looking like green dust on the cliffside. The change is subtle, looking like nothing at first, as the tight bud begin to loosen, pussy willows blossoming to catkins.

We don’t get spring peepers anymore but we do see mourning cloaks in the forest. The brown butterfly looks a bit shaggy because it overwinters in leaf litter and flutters through the forest on spring days, unremarkable to those who don’t listen.

Two weeks ago the gentle foliage of the trout lilies began to unfurl with its mottle brown speckles on green, a rainbow gone awry. As those leaves spread from an inch to two, the flower stems are imperceptible until you get down and really look. Then they burst in a cacophony of yellow.

Meanwhile, nearby, reminding us even in the drab times of winter, cinnabar polypore mushrooms blaze orange like some forgotten orange peel.

Come visit Eliza for her birthday

If that forest above appeals to you, come explore it at 5 p.m. Saturday. Meet at the shelter by the dog park. Nico Santangelo will be leading a presentation and discussion on Eliza Kieg, a lonesome soul whose forest grave stands solo in the brush but not forgotten.