Acadia Cairns - Guiding the Way

Hiking closer to the top of Dorr Mountain in Acadia National Park off the coast of Maine, we found the path and vegetation give way to dense fog and the pink granite rock for which Acadia is known.

What we found as our hike brought us near the top are Acadia Cairns, strategically placed stacked rocks designed to show hikers the way across long stretches of barren landscape.

I was so intrigued by these little formations that I did some research when I returned back home. The word cairn is Scottish meaning "a pile of stones" and the tradition of building cairns to mark the trail for hikers is universal and hundreds of years old.  I found out that there are several different styles of cairns. The ones found on Acadia's trails are called Bates Cairns, named for Waldron Bates, who developed the simplistic style of two to four stones creating "legs," a mantle stone bridging the legs and one smaller stone on top to point the way.  Sadly park rangers have recognized the need to post a sign at the trailhead asking hikers not to dismantle, alter or build new cairns.  It seems in recent years, vandalized cairns have been on the rise, causing environmental and safety concerns for hikers.

Not only was I completely taken by the charm of the cairns - I probably took about twenty photos of them from different vantage points - I was thankful they were there, beckoning us across the granite and eventually leading us back to the semblance of a trail that would take us back down the other side of the mountain.   What reassurance those piles of stones provided - Don't we all sometimes need the comfort of knowing that if we become unsure of the way, we can rely on the directional markers of those who have gone before.

Go To The Ballpark

If you ever feel the need to restore your faith in humanity, go to the ballpark.   My husband and I went to Wrigley Field yesterday afternoon for an afternoon of baseball Northside Chicago style. The day started out rainy and gray but by the time the first pitch was thrown, the sun was shining and it was a beautiful afternoon for a baseball game.

As the ballpark filled and time grew closer to hearing the familiar words "Play Ball" shouted into a microphone by two very excited young boys in blue t-shirts, I began to notice a wonderful phenomenon happening all around me.   Fans and ushers alike offered to help couples and friends and families take pictures to commemorate their day at the game.  It was evident that the usher responsible for getting handicapped fans and visitors settled into their section to the right and left of our seats behind home plate loved his job.   This man smiled and laughed and rearranged seating to make sure each visitor would have the best experience possible and half-way through the game, he returned to check on his new friends, offering thumbs up as a sign that they were comfortable and enjoying the afternoon.


Strangers passed money along rows from buyers to vendors and passed back to purchasing fans bags of peanuts, bottles of water and cups of beer.  High fives were shared for a home run.  Cheers went up for a fan in the upper deck who caught a foul ball with his bare hands.

There was a capacity crowd at the ballpark yesterday. By and large, there was also a capacity of good will, kind gestures and mutual joy in sharing not only the love of the game, but a few hours of sunshine and hopefulness and release from the world outside the friendly confines.  Oh, and by the way . . . the Cubs won.

The County Fair -

July in Indiana means hot, steamy days, acres of tall corn tasseling out, fields strewn with freshly baled hay, cloudless blue skies and county fairs.   Although I have never raised or shown animals at the fair - the 4-H days of my past were full of sewing projects, freezing and canning of fruits and vegetables, and home interior projects - I have wonderful memories watching my daughter, nieces, nephews and friends prepare and compete with horses, dogs, swine and steer for that Grand Champion prize.  These young people spend countless hours learning about, feeding, and working with their animals.   It is wonderful to watch the bond of friendship, admiration and respect that grows between them.

During my visit to the Porter County Fair last week, we stopped in at the livestock auction on Thursday night in the Steer Barn, and I was fortunate to capture this photo of a young lady waiting patiently towards the back of the arena.   Every once in a while the steer would throw back its head and call out a loud, low moo to show its disapproval at having to stand and wait, and each time the young girl would talk to the animal, coo, rub its back and even plant a kiss on the top of its head for reassurance.

It goes without saying that at the end of the night, with all the steers auctioned off, this young lady probably never saw this steer again.  There's a lesson there, too, somewhere that these young people learn. Next spring they will start all over with a new calf, piglet, rabbit, goat, or other show animal and they will meet back here in July at the county fair.

Breathe, stop, listen

There is something wonderful about having driven the same road over and over many times, and suddenly one day you come around the bend and you are surprised by the late afternoon sky, the newly baled hay, the freshly mown field,   Breathe deep, stop, listen.

Fourth of July Hiking

Between the cool, rainy weather patterns and our overfilled schedules this summer, there has been little time for hiking.  Because the Fourth of July holiday fell on a Saturday boasting a warm, sunny forecast, we decided to pull out our hiking gear and head to Cowles Bog for our maiden hike through this lush, sandy, landscape.  Our yellow labrador mix, Cooper, was ready for adventure, and literally dragged his owners at the end of his leash to the trailhead around 7:30 am, backpacks stocked with water bottles, cliff bars, fruit and dog treats. Except for a group of energetic runners that disappeared down the trail ahead of us, we had the peaceful solitude of the trail to ourselves. Our workweek-worn senses were met with the welcome call of a bluejay in the canopy, the rustle of chipmunks in the brush and the sun-dappled trail before us.

We consider the Cowles Bog trail, a five-mile loop through thick forest, marshy bogs, sandy dunes and a solitary Lake Michigan beach, one of the Indiana Dunes National Lakeshore's finest hikes.   The trail required just the right amount of physical exertion to get our blood pumping, climbing higher and spilling out suddenly at the top of a sand dune to a wide view of the lake below us.

 We settled down on the quiet lakeshore for a snack of cliff bars and cherries for us and treats for Cooper.   Morning mist was still hanging low over the water farther out.  A single boat was anchored off the shore, the owners of whom probably had enjoyed the smoldering remains of a nearby campfire.

We finished our hike and completed the loop well before mid-day.  On the day set aside to celebrate our nation's birthday, the hike was a fitting way to celebrate its natural habitat and beauty.

Women Build

When I was a little girl I once said that when I grew up, I was going to be a carpenter like my father.   My dad had apprenticed as a cabinet maker in Switzerland in the 1950's.  After he married my mother, they moved to Chicago to begin a new life together, and since there weren't many opportunities for cabinet makers, he became a carpenter - a profession he continued for the rest of his life.

My sisters and I grew up around the sound of hammers and circular saws.  We knew the difference between slotted flat and phillips screwdrivers. We played with wooden folding rulers.  Chunky, flat carpenters pencils were normal in our house. We knew what a plumb line was and our father's old chicken house-turned-carpenter's shop was a treasure trove of sawdust piles, saw horses, stacks of discarded wood pieces and drill bits of every size.

When Habitat for Humanity was looking for  photographers to spend some time taking photos of their recent home building project, I jumped at the chance for several reasons.
This was a unique project because it was called a "women's build" where much of the work was completed by women. Having been the oldest of three girls to grow up as carpenter's daughters, I knew that this work could most certainly be done by capable women and I was thrilled to be able to capture their progress.   It had been a long time since I'd been around a building site and it felt good to wander in and out of the skeletal wood framing, picking my way around two-by-fours, ladders and tool boxes on the unfinished floor.   I was fortunate to meet the young woman whose home they were building.  Although she didn't have carpentry skills to offer, she was there to lend a hand, carry tools, deliver fresh cut wood sections where they were needed and sweep up as she watched her future home rise up around her.  

I drive by the site every now and then to check on the progress and I look forward to one day soon seeing a finished home. And I still love the smell of sawdust.

The Bicycle Project

My first bicycle photo was taken on a sunny fall day purely by accident.  We were spending a girl's day together. My mother, sisters, daughters, nieces and I had traveled up Highway 31 in search of gift shops, farmers markets and antique stores.  We had stopped at a quaint little shop in what may have been Lapaz or Lakeville or another of the small towns along that way.  I was drawn to the back of the store where an open door led out to a garden full of outdoor statues, ironwork and yard ornaments scattered among autumn's leaves and vegetation.  Leaning against the back fence was this wonderful old bike, half buried in grasses with an old metal watering can hanging from one of its handle bars, faded white seat covered in leaves and rusty carrying rack over the rear wheel.  I imagined someone riding into the garden from errands, having hopped off to lean the bike against the fence for a momentary rest never to return.

Six years later and everywhere I travel, I notice bicycles.  My Bicycle Project was born.   I am intrigued by them and the places where I find them. I have photographed them on the sandy beach of Lake Michigan, in a bar in Seattle and on a cobblestoned street in a tiny Black Forest town in Germany. I have photographed them being used for decoration, for the necessity of travel and for the joy of the ride.  A bicycle leaning against a wall signifies life, a person has been here, is nearby and will probably return.  For many of us our childhood includes bicycle adventures and we pass the ability to ride down to our children.  Bicycles never go out of style.