Extreme grass

I thought you all might be interested in extreme vegetation.  This two lane road in an adjacent township was closed and gated almost twenty years ago.  Just recently it was legally abandoned and title reverted to the adjacent landowners, in this case the MetroPark and the Federal Park.  The asphalt is still under there, leaching into the water table.  I wonder if that will be rectified.  But, it certainly is a testimonial to the power of grass.

Sunny went the distance and has nothing to be ashamed of

No gold, but plenty of smiles.

I visited Linda over the weekend and saw some more plants growing through the cracks.

The rendering pot of succulents and annuals, from Linda’s second floor porch.  God bless the hens and chicks that escaped.

God bless the grass that grows thru the crack.
They roll the concrete over it to try and keep it back.
The concrete gets tired of what it has to do,
It breaks and it buckles and the grass grows thru,
And God bless the grass.

God bless the truth that fights toward the sun,
They roll the lies over it and think that it is done.
It moves through the ground and reaches for the air,
And after a while it is growing everywhere,
And God bless the grass.

God bless the grass that grows through cement.
It's green and it's tender and it's easily bent.
But after a while it lifts up its head,
For the grass is living and the stone is dead,
And God bless the grass.

God bless the grass that's gentle and low,
Its roots they are deep and its will is to grow.
And God bless the truth, the friend of the poor,
And the wild grass growing at the poor man's door,
And God bless the grass.

Malvina Reynolds

Band camp decompression

The bus returns at 5:30 and the band will put on a performance.  Said the handout to the band parents.

I left early and pulled into the school drive at 5:05, to find an ominously empty parking lot.  Then my pocket jingled and Emily texted:  We’re on the field at the middle school.

“What middle school?” I yelled at the universe, and called my sister at home.  She located it on the internet, and gave me the street names to navigate.  The first drive I encountered on the street she sent me to said Exit Only.  Way up the drive, past a jam packed parking lot, through a fence and across the running track I could see the band performing.  Beyond the band, the bleachers, the parents.

I passed the Exit Only.  The next drive would say Entrance.  There was no next drive, there was a dead end street packed on both sides with parental cars dropping of little football players.  I worked my way out, backwards, again skipping the Exit Only.  I found the entrance around another block, and surveyed the remaining two football field distances to the bleachers.  That was never going to happen.

But, I went to the fence, squoze through a gap, leaned over another wall and admired the band.  Mighty fancy footwork going on out on that field.  I knew this was one of the best high school bands in the county, but had no comprehension of the abilities of a good high school marching band.

Emily is standing on the “o”.  That’s her pony tail going right by a tuba.

I also saw a way I could snake my little car cross country, right up to the Penske truck where the luggage and tuba cases were being unloaded.  Twenty years experience driving a van to the prime load in/load out spot did not go to waste, and I slipped unobtrusively in at the head of the line as the band streamed off the field.  Just like a real parent.

Bringing a flute player home from band camp is not different than bringing a child home from camp.  I heard all about two mile marches through the town four times a day to the field.  They didn’t play in the morning or at night, it was too late to disturb the townspeople. They played and marched home for lunch and back after lunch. They learned a new dance every morning.  There was a drum off with another high school band having a band camp that week, too.

Emily’s favorite routines so far are the Macarena, the Seven Nations Army, the boxer moves, the splits.  The words just tumbled out.  She had a wonderful time, knows the names of all the girls in her section and most of the girls in woodwinds. 

“Oh, and guess what gramma!”  She texted her brother all week.  He’s going into eleventh grade and plays in the band at the old school.  She told him about all the dance routines they were learning.  “He’s jealous.  They just march!”

We were home by seven, Emily ate dinner, took a shower.  I looked in on her at eight and she was sound asleep.

What will Sunny do?

My daughter called me on her drive home from Ann Arbor over the weekend to tell me she was passing field after field of sunflowers, a beautiful sight.  We decided someone has to grow all those seeds we buy each winter for the birds.

I pass a small home garden each morning on my way to the post office and the whole west edge of the garden is several rows of sunflowers, greeting the sun.  I’ve never gone by in the afternoon; I don’t know if the flowers face west then.  There are two hives at the front of the garden, and I think they are the source of the bees I see working the flower beds at the town hall.

Sunny is soldiering on.  I think her head was permanently bowed down in those relentless days of hundred degree heat, but her stalk is firm.  A few more leaves are gone. We’ll see.

Summer—almost gone for another year

Summer used to last from early June to the Wednesday after Labor Day.  Ready for back to school was a brief interruption to be drug downtown by Mom for a fitting of school clothes.  Best case, she’d check underwear tags and bring home a size larger.

Here at Cousin Camp, summer is over.  The girls are registered for school; we have appointments with counselors next week.  The first week of August!  Emily was fitted for a band uniform and has been marching three hours each evening since last week. New student orientations are in two weeks.

Aunt Jan has been shopping with the girls for school clothing.  There’s some cute stuff out there for fifth graders!, and Laura really scored at the Old Navy clearance racks.  Ninth grade clothing needs to be cool.   Emily has come home with some pretty shirts and no jeans.  She did select two belts.  She’s three sizes down since coming, through sensible eating and activity.  Old jeans and shorts are regularly consigned to the Goodwill bag.  She thinks we shouldn’t go shopping for her until after band camp.

And, band camp started today.  We filled a basket at a drugstore with bug repellant, multiple tubes of sun screen, band aids, and more things I can’t remember from the band camp list of essentials to bring.  We sent her off into the crowd, to get on a bus and go to Meadville, Pennsylvania.  This band has almost three hundred people, she told us.  The old school band was one hundred sixty.  We watched her walk straight in, to meet her new friends.

Not many days left to sit in the warm morning sun to read a book and work on friendship bracelets.  School starts in three weeks, and we still need to buy school clothes for Emily.