A Conveniently Located Hanging Tree

People with a debilitating phobia learn to avoid certain situations, so you would think I knew better.  As much time as I spend outdoors, hiking in the wilderness and deep woods, I shy away from areas that present the perfect environment for snakes.  Tall grass, wet and marshy fields, and rivers are the prime places for me to skirt around.  I know this.  I do it all the time.  Except this time.

I had traveled a day ahead of my family to the village of Empire in the Sleeping Bear Dunes to set up camp for our annual Family Camping Trip.  It's always a great weekend, with camping much less an emphasis than a whirlwind tour of all the area tourists attractions.  My husband loves tourist attractions. We were exploring the entire Leelanau Peninsula this year, since we try to go someplace new every year.

I love the annual Family Camping Trip, but struggle with camping in my beloved northern Michigan and spending all my time with crowds, overpriced food, and busy streets.  I want to be in the woods!  Early morning of the day my family would arrive was the only time I would be able to wander alone in the woods.  I made a quick stop at the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore Visitor's Center, in search of a Trail Map, to fulfill a promise I made to my daughter, Birdie, to scout out some running trails for her as she is training for her first half-marathon.  The Visitor Center is very well staffed, with many exhibits and plenty of informational brochures available.  I found a Trail Guide, and purchased it on the Honor System by dropping a couple of dollars in the "Friends of Sleeping Bear Dunes" box.  Another reason to love the wilds of Michigan.  Do you think a visit to any big city would include payments on an honor system?

Looking through the guide, I found a nearby trail system that would be easy for Birdie to access and drove a few miles to Esch Beach, within the National Lakeshore.  It wasn't particularly easy to find, and the old road that dead-ends at the beach is hilly with the asphalt washed-out on the edges.  Because it was still early, I walked through a small dune and came out on a completely deserted Lake Michigan beach, with dunes rising up behind me and the lake rushing toward me.  The sun was shining on dewey dune grass, making the dunes sparkle like diamonds.  I had found a very private stretch of beach and could not have been more delighted.

To my left, a small, crystal-clear creek emptied into the great lake.  According to my map, this was Otter Creek.  After walking the shoreline in solitude for about an hour, I returned to my car and found a sign located next to the vault toilet giving the history of the lost town of Aral.

It's a fascinating story.  According to Michigan's Lost Towns, Aral was a logging community in the late 1800's.  But perhaps its most intriguing story is not told on the official plaque at Esch Beach.  Behind the sign a very old, large tree lies on the ground, having toppled over a long time ago.  It's called The Hanging Tree.  On August 10, 1899, two Benzie County deputies were sent to Aral to place a lien on the stacked logs at the mill for unpaid taxes.  Mill Manager Charles Wright met the deputies on the road with a pistol and a rifle, and shot them dead.  The bodies were left where they fell and the mill continued operations as though nothing had happened.  As news of the double murder spread, the people of Aral became increasingly angry, and sent a telegram to Benzonia to inform the sheriff of the trouble.  As the sheriff dispatched a posse of twenty men to apprehend Wright, the mill manager shut down operations and disappeared into the woods.

Courtesy National Park Service

By the time the posse arrived, the angry mob was out for revenge.  Charles Wright had employed a man to act as interpreter for the Ottawa Indians, and Peter Lahala was thought to know the whereabouts of his boss.  The posse dropped a noose around Lahala's neck, and the Indian was hoisted in the air from the hanging tree.  The sheriff lowered him, asked where Wright was, and when Lahala couldn't answer, they hoisted him up again.  Before this grim justice could be fully carried out, Wright was dragged from the woods after being captured by a group of men, and Lahala was released.  Wright was sentenced to a life of hard labor at Jackson Prison.  One year later, his sentence was commuted by the Governor.

I find stories like these add so much more to my experience in a particular spot.  I drove my car about 50 feet up the road, and turned off at the trailhead.  A single-lane dirt two track led to several trailheads, so I kept driving to find the best trail for Birdie.  I knew she needed to run at least 12 miles, so I consulted the trail guide and started marking the different loops she could take.  As I drove further, I

Courtesy Google Images

saw Otter Lake on my right, and immediately thought I was in prime snake territory.  Going deeper into the woods, I stopped at Marker #4 and got out to walk, veering away from the marshy banks on the lake.  I walked a bit in my beloved woods, circled back to my car, and prepared to head back to the campground and wait for my family.  I had a clear idea of the route Birdie would run, and felt good that I was able to find it for her.

Driving out, I noticed many clumps of wildflowers growing right next to the dirt road.  With such a narrow lane, I figured I could lean out of my car window and cut some wildflowers for my vase at the campsite.  I was nervous, knowing that that proximity of the lake and the long wild grass and flowers were great hiding spots for reptiles, but I was able to cut several flowers without stepping outside of the car.  As I came upon the bridge over Otter Creek, I spotted the most unusual clump of flowers, right next to the corner of the bridge.  They were beautiful!  I told myself that I had enough flowers, I was pushing my luck, and I would actually have to step out of the car to cut these.  River, dense undergrowth, bridge, shade on a hot morning, all screamed at me to just keep driving.  I stopped.  The flowers really were breathtaking.  I leaned out the window and scanned the ground, particularly around the base of the flowers.  I took one of the cut flowers and threw it out the window, to see if anything moved on the ground.  The morning was quiet, I saw no movement, and decided I was safe.

Open the car door.  Grab the scissors.  Put one foot on the ground next to the bridge flowers.  Keep one foot in the car.  Lean over, grab the whole bunch of flowers, and make one quick cut.  That was my plan.  As I reached down to cut, a very large, very black snake reared up from the center of the bunch…ohshitohshitohshitgetinthecarouch!slammedmyfootinthedoorohshitohshitohshit!  I hit the gas with the car door still open, called my husband, who was still driving north with the kids, and saw my world turning black around the edges.  When my husband answered, he knew what had happened right away.  He's heard that wheezing and moaning before.  He said, "Are you in the car?  Pull over, pull over!"  He knew chances were good I was about to faint.

I actually handled it well this time, considering the size of the snake and the surprise attack it launched at me.  I kept driving, resisted blacking out, and my husband talked me through it.  I was pretty shaky for several hours, and experienced flashbacks, but I didn't faint, so that's progress.

Later that afternoon, after my husband arrived, I drove him out Esch Road to take him and my son to the deserted beach I had walked earlier.  No longer deserted, we couldn't even park, so we drove out and I instructed him to turn down the dirt road to the bridge so I could show him where "the incident" occurred and let him check out Birdie's running route.   As he slowly drove over the bridge, my son hung his head out the window and said, "Oh yeah, there's your snake, Mom".    GoGoGoGoGoGo!  We peeled out of there, spraying dirt and small rocks behind us, and went back to the safety of the campsite.

Later that night, Birdie arrived at the campground with her boyfriend.  After greeting them, I hugged my daughter and said "Guess what?  I found your running trail today!"  She smiled and replied,

"Oh, thanks, mom, but you didn't need to.  I plan to take a break from running this weekend."

This would be an ironic end to my story, wouldn't it? Sadly, I'm an idiot, and the story isn't finished yet.

On the last morning of the Annual Family Camping Trip, I once again arose very early, and decided to drive back to Otter Creek Bridge to get a picture for my blog.  No sane person with a snake phobia would have returned there, but again, I had a plan.  Turning onto the dirt two-track, I stopped the car immediately, left it running, and using a 300mm zoom digital camera lens, leaned out the window to snap a photo of the bridge, where "the incident" happened.  A wild rabbit hopped across the lane, and I shot a beautiful picture of the rabbit sitting right in the spot where the vicious snake attacked me.  Backing out of the dirt road, I breathed a sigh of relief.  Now, I would never again return to the Otter Creek Bridge.

I had my shot for the blog, my family headed home, and I went north to spend a few days in the U.P.
 While there, a huge storm blew in, and I spent a cozy evening in the tin can, with the rain beating down on the roof and the wind gently rocking the camper back and forth.  I passed the time by downloading all my pictures onto the computer, and when the photo of the rabbit at the bridge came up, I thought it was a really pretty picture.  The sun was hitting the rabbit's back, making its fur shine.  The colors were glorious, the picture was perfect.  Wait…what is that long black thing in the lower right corner of the screen?  A stick?  A root?  Zoom in…ohshitohshitohshitohshit!

Yup, you guessed it.  My attack snake was crossing the road in front of my car when I took the picture. I never saw it until I zoomed in on the frame, safe in the tin can staring at my computer.

The next time I decide to go to Otter Creek Bridge, would someone please erect the fallen Hanging Tree and threaten me with it?

A Little Me Time

This weekend, my little Birdie graduated from high school on Friday night, and yesterday we hosted an Open House in her honor.  It was a very emotional and stressful weekend, with an unexpected hospital stay for my husband and a few snafus in our schedule, but we pulled it off gloriously and were able to give our daughter the recognition she so deserves for her many accomplishments.




I went from moments of overwhelming stress to moments of overwhelming pride and love for my family.  When my daughter walked across that stage to receive her diploma, she was not thinking of herself, she was anxious to sneak away and see her daddy.  When her friends came through the next day to help us finish the many preparations for her party, I knew it was because they care so much for my daughter.  I watched her as she gathered her friends for pictures and moved among her guests with genuine gratitude that they came to wish her well.  I knew that, like me,
Birdie was exhausted and emotional and her nerves were stretched a bit too thin, yet she presented herself with grace and a warm smile for everyone.  I was so proud of her, and full of love for my beautiful daughter.

That being said, she hasn't exactly made it so easy to love her prior to this weekend.  I know it's normal for kids her age to start separating themselves from their family.  My friend Susan told me that kids have to create a scenario that they can't wait to get away from, or they would not be able to bear leaving.  So as my Birdie prepares to go off to the big city and start her college education, she doesn't want to hate us, but she has to, or she would not be capable of leaving us.

As Birdie starts the process of separating herself from us emotionally, I find myself doing the same thing.  My kids are growing up, and leaving me, and if I don't find something else to focus on, I won't be able to bear having them gone.  I am looking for a little "me time".

So many women I know reach a point where their role as a wife and mother changes, and they seek new interests and hobbies to fill the time.  The women I know enjoy a variety of pursuits for "me time".  Some join a book club, some set aside a certain day of the week, every week, for dinner out with other girl friends.  I know a few who garden, or attend quilt making classes, or travel often to museums, plays, and exhibits.  A few golf, but most simply go shopping to give themselves something to look forward to.  A day of pampering is also at the top of the list.

Not me.  I go camping.  I don't go often, but when I do I am gone for four days or more.  My family hates it.  The girls complain because they have to do the laundry and cooking when I'm gone, my husband has to attend all school and sporting events, and their time becomes full with the usual demands on my time.  Sometimes I feel a little guilty, but I need my camping trips.  I need my "me time".

I have not had time to write for the past six weeks.  Preparing my home for the Open House while juggling the many tasks a mother of a high school senior has, and still doing my daily chores and taking care of my family, leaves me with very little free time.

While there are countless details I have attended to, I also carved a little time out of each day to photo journal Birdie's life.  The picture posters were displayed at the Open House.  I spent hours scanning old pictures, categorizing them, and creating files for each board.  I took great care in selecting only the photos of my daughter that showed her true personality, her accomplishments, and her genuine goodness.  Then I sent each file to the printer, and once I received the photos, I began creating the boards.

There is a board for every school photo from every year, starting with pre-school and ending with Birdie's Senior Photo.  I love the progression of years, seeing how she changed and how she stayed the same.  Another board is for family, and one is exclusively photos of her relationship with her boyfriend.  The big tri-fold boards are for documenting the amazing and wonderful friends Birdie has kept through the years and for her beautiful journey from infant to young woman.  Then there is the board which tells the story of the sports she has played and her memorable experience winning a State Championship with her high school cross country team.

As I sorted the photos and began creating her story, it was, of course, an emotional journey for me.  I will admit, I take awesome pictures, and Birdie's entire being, everything she is about and all of the things that make me so proud of her were laid out in front of me.  I took a little trip down memory lane and truly enjoyed seeing how my daughter has grown.  The boards were prominently placed during the Open House this weekend for all the guests to look at, point out their own memories of Birdie, laugh at her antics, and experience the pride I feel in my girl.  I felt a sudden stab of panic over the camping trips I have taken this past year.  Did I miss out on something?  Was there one day in my daughter's life that I was unable to capture with my camera because I left my family for "me time"?  The thought left me sleepless.  What kind of mother goes off into the woods to be alone when her beautiful family is growing up too fast?  How could I ever want to miss a moment of this?

But in the normal fashion of high school seniors, my Birdie has attended to her necessary emotional separation from me with the same gusto that she went after outstanding grades and excellence in sports. She is closing off a little piece of her heart to me, for now, with the same passion that she has opened her heart to others.  A few days before her graduation, I finished the final photo journal board, and I couldn't wait to show her all my hard work and passion.  I eagerly anticipated that she would be as overcome by the photo story of her life as I was. But when Birdie stumbled out of bed at 11:00am and sleepily wandered over to look at the boards, her only comment to me was, "I hate some of those pictures, I wish you would have asked my permission first".

I leave Thursday to go camping.  Alone.  I need a little "me time".

A Tin Can for the Wise One

Last night, I had a long talk with my daughter while sitting by the bonfire.  We had been silent companions, enjoying the heat and the dancing flames, when she quietly said,

"My life is boring".  

She went on to say that she goes to school, she comes home, she does her homework, and she goes to bed.  She never does anything exciting or fun.  It's true.  So I asked her if she wants to invite a friend over after her soccer game today.  She replied,

"I don't really have any friends".

I know what she means.  She has a school friend who has taken her on family trips and loves being with my girl.  But that friend has lots of friends, so our Wise One doesn't spend all her time with her.  My daughter is liked well enough by the other girls, but she doesn't get invited to their homes.  I threw out the names of some girls from her class, but she kept coming back with reasons why they aren't her friends.  Finally she said to me, "Mom, I'm okay with not having friends.  Those girls are all into drama and boys, and I don't care about any of it.  I don't need friends.  What I need is a job."

She's twelve years old, and she wants a job.  So I gave her one.

She said she wants to start her own blog, but doesn't want to talk about kid stuff.  I have heard The Wise One talk passionately about politics and religion and the economy, and while her arguments are well-thought positions with intelligence and humor as her emphasis, she does not have the years of experience for her arguments to be tempered with an open mind.   I think the idea of my twelve year old writing a blog about adult issues is a bad, bad idea.

I asked her if she would like to take over writing one of my other blogs, Rooney Speaks.  I started it a while back, but since I have a hard enough time finding opportunities to write on this blog, I have written very little on Rooney Speaks.

Rooney is my dog.  He is a very large, messy, lovable dog who tends to get himself into trouble.  My daughter adores him and is annoyed by him at the same time.  But she was intrigued by the idea of writing about our lives through our dog's eyes, and I saw a little spark come alive inside her.

Maybe writing is her tin can.  We all need a tin can.  Mine is the vintage Airstream I lovingly live in part-time, traveling to my wilderness and learning about adventure as I go along.  My tin can is where I find my excitement, my joy, and my peace.  My Wise One needs to find her own tin can, but I suspect hers will be much the same as mine.

We made a pact.  I will bring Rooney into the picture more often by letting him come to her soccer games and school events, and taking him with us everywhere we go.  She will write about his antics on my blog.  She is quite excited about this plan.

It was getting late last night by the time we finished our talk, but The Wise One wanted to have a go at the blog.  I showed her how to access it on the computer, then left her alone.  She only wrote one small paragraph, because she said she hasn't given enough thought to it yet, but I was pleasantly surprised by what she wrote.  Without any guidance from me, she wrote using Rooney's voice, not hers or mine.  It is a short piece, but amusing.  The Wise One plans to write more.

This morning, she woke up early - as she always does - and ran out to my computer to see how many people have read her blog since last night.  She was thrilled to have 39 hits.  She already understands the satisfaction a writer gets from knowing someone is interested enough to hear what she (or Rooney!) has to say.

It makes me so very proud to see my daughter wanting to follow in my footsteps.  The best part is, unlike me, she is not waiting until she is having a mid-life crisis at 48 to know what she can contribute to the world.  If she sticks with it, The Wise One could someday use the written word to inspire, and change the way people see themselves and their world.  Or she might work at Target.  She hasn't decided yet.

I hope you will check out her blog, Rooney Speaks, so that when she gets home from her soccer game this afternoon and anxiously checks the dashboard, she will have even more hits.  You might even want to sign up to follow her blog.  That way, someday when she is writing powerful thoughts, you can say, "I have followed her from the beginning!'  Who knows?  Her Tin Can might be my Tin Can.  I dare say, hers will be better than mine, and nothing would make me happier.