Followed by dinner at Blind Faith Cafe, of course.
First on the weekend agenda — a bonfire at Camp Shabbona Woods. The last bonfire J and I had been to there was on December 16, 2023, when the Forest Preserve folks had managed to keep both campfire and bonfire going despite a steady and sometimes hard rain.
This time the weather was nearly ideal, and more people showed up. There’s nothing like hot dogs and s’mores over a campfire while nearby it looks like the gates of hell are opening.
As evening closed in, J went on a short group hike. While he was gone I spotted some flying creatures I was sure were bats. When the group returned, they also reported seeing bats. Fires, hot dogs, s’mores, and bats. What more could I ask for?
After a cookout at the Chellberg Farm picnic shelters, J and I headed over to the farmhouse to hear Save the Tunes. I always love a late afternoon walk through these woods with the sun glowing through the leaves and onto the path, and the mostly dry creek bed to the side.
And on that note, so ends a summer weekend.
There’d been a storm that had knocked out all the panels in the fence that separates the garden area of the Flamingo from the back area of the Park Shore. I’d taken advantage to walk over to look, and found out the Park Shore has quite a lovely backyard. Either I didn’t have my phone or hadn’t thought to take a photo. By the next morning, the panels had been restored. I managed to get an awkwardly framed photo through the gap between the fence and the framework. I love the circular bench and the fountain. It looks like a peaceful oasis. I wonder if it gets less noise than we do, with the building shielding it from the street. Less noise is good.
Today, the plan was to go to Sagawau Environmental Learning Center to see hummingbirds. I couldn’t get any good photos of them, so I started looking at the pollinators visiting the flowers — from bald-faced hornets to sweat bees. There may even have been a fritillary, but if so I missed getting a photo. I love fritillaries. They’re flashy.
Sagawau closes at 4 p.m., so stopped at Saganashkee Slough, which is vaguely reminiscent of a Minnesota lake, and Joe’s Pond, which once had a pair of trumpeter swans. Then we visited Little Red Schoolhouse Nature Center, where they’ve installed a signpost with distances. It even includes Niagara Falls (560 miles) and the Boundary Waters (also 560 miles). Now I want to go to both. After a stop at Maple Lake, it was time for Ashbary Coffee House and then dinner at Capri Lounge & Grill. Mmmm.
The Perseids never became visible thanks to cloud cover that moved in with the evening, but at least sunset gave off a nice glow and showed off the downtown Chicago skyline.
Time for the annual Deep Rivers Grinders VBBA game to benefit the Shriners (Michigan City?) and a Beverly Shores drive, this time a little off the main road. Another funicular!
On March 9, 2023, the United States Postal Service issued a set of stamps that, like “Backyard Games,” evoke Americana: “Historic Railroad Stations of the United States. “
Noteworthy railroad stations began brightening the American landscape by the 1870s and, although many fell to the wrecking ball once they had outlived their original purpose, hundreds survived. This issuance of five different stamps features five architectural gems that continue to play an important role in their community.
Each stamp in the pane of 20 is an illustration of a single station: the 1874 Tamaqua Station in Tamaqua, Pennsylvania; the 1875 Point of Rocks Station in Point of Rocks, Maryland; the 1901 Main Street Station in Richmond, Virginia; the 1918 Santa Fe Station in San Bernardino, California; or the 1933 Union Terminal in Cincinnati, Ohio. The pane resembles a page in an old-fashioned photo album, with the title “Historic Railroad Stations of the United States” and drawings of a train and a one-ride ticket in the header.
These aren’t grand urban stations. They’re less ostentatious gems of architecture, with charming, warm, and welcoming exteriors, perfect for the tired train traveler.
These stations continue to play a role in their communities today.
I haven’t been in many train stations. The grand waiting room at Union Station is, well, grand. It’s also a hike to any of the trains, and the rest of the station is a dim, confusing maze (and seems to be under constant reconfiguring or renovation).
The Pittsburgh station is below street level and doesn’t have a distinctive exterior that I know of. Because of train schedules, I’ve seen it mostly in hours of darkness. It has a lot of seating, maybe because there’s a gap between the Capitol Limited and the Pennsylvanian with many people waiting for the connection. It’s also utilitarian, with some lockers, a few vending machines, and a TV hung near the ceiling. Conveniently, it’s across the way from the Greyhound station, for those times train equipment or schedules fail.
I have only a handful of train station photos, taken from Amtrak trains when I think of it. Most of them remain active Amtrak stations. The old Ann Arbor station, however, was converted into an upscale restaurant called the Gandy Dancer. For years I had a strange idea about what a Gandy dancer was, but found out it’s slang for early railroad workers, the American equivalent of “navvies.” Wikipedia has a section on the term’s etymology. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gandy_dancer
The present Ann Arbor station is an efficient but cheerless box similar to the Pittsburgh station. It’s so without distinction I don’t think I’ve bothered to take a photo of its interior.
Somehow I don’t think the newer station will be preserved as a restaurant or anything else.
Back in 2018, J and I managed an outing on the I&M canal boat, The Volunteer, after the wind had canceled the previous day’s trip. Between Saturday and Sunday, however, the usual means of locomotion, a mule, had hurt himself right where the harness rests. On this attempt the crew went with a motor. If we wanted to go on a mule-pulled canal boat ride, we were going to have to try another time.
Fast forward to 2024. I bought the tickets and some extra goodies, and away we went. First was a planned visit to The Cheese Shop & Deli in Ottawa. Pickled eggs! Then we stopped at the usual places along the Illinois River, at dinner at Starved Rock Lodge, and headed to Peru for a good night’s rest.
Alas, at the Lock 16 Café and Visitor Center, we found out Moe the mule was under the weather. This time, though, an engine was not mentioned as an option. I’m not sure why and didn’t think of it until too late.
After shopping and dining, we went to Lock 14, where a woman sat in a chair by Moe’s enclosure, reading and I suppose keeping an eye on him (or his visitors). Moe was munching, but after a while came over to the fence briefly for a pet or two. He’s a handsome mule. My dad complained about the stubborn mules back on the farm — I wonder if he would have gotten along with Moe.
Next I consulted Atlas Obscura and Roadside America for the area and found at least one oddity — a dead tree carved into the “Vulcan salute” from Star Trek, along with “Live long and prosper.” I wonder what the neighbors think of that.
Years ago on the return from a road trip, we’d stopped at a place with a giant percolator sign, “Sapp Bros. Food & Fuel” (all I could remember was “Sapp Bros.”). According to my sources, it was along I-80 near Peru. Twelve years later, it was time for a better photo. I liked the vintage feel — like stepping back into the 1960s.
The next stop was the I&M Canal remnants in North Utica. Years ago I thought I’d read of a plan to fill it in, but it’s still there, complete with snags and basking duckweed-covered turtles.
On to Rock & Soul (rock and crystal shop), the Illinois Waterway Visitor Center, a brief glimpse of an aqueduct in Ottawa, and one of Ottawa’s riverside parks, before finally heading back to Chicago — by a means faster than mule-pulled canal boat.
I was curious about the reopened hotel at Illinois Beach State Park, so went there for a drink and appetizer — with a lengthy detour to the souvenir shop. The lobby still feels empty, and I wonder if there will be any renovation work. It was hard to tell if there’s work in progress, stalled, or not yet begun. There also weren’t many people around, but there might not be mid-afternoon.
The restaurant was also uncrowded. By mid-drink, the only other patron, several tables away, began a monologue on a slight pretext and went on for at least 20 minutes or more — almost nonstop. I can’t tell you about what because I tuned out the barrage of words. There may have been a “how times have changed” theme. Later, the staff apologized, but of course not their fault. Some people need someone to hear them, I suppose.
We didn’t have a lot of time left and I wasn’t up to walking, so we drove around for a bit. Illinois Beach State Park is the only place where I’ve seen 13-lined ground squirrels. The first time there was one in the shorter grass alongside the road. I always hoped to see them again — and now I have.
This time they were in the grass around the parking lots. They popped up like midwestern meerkats. I didn’t count their lines.
For dinner, we went to Stone Creek Grill in Winthrop Harbor, which has the outdoorsy vibe I love.
As long as a canoe doesn’t fall on my head.
I thought to check Atlas Obscura to see if there were any oddities of interest nearby. I found out there is a colorful banded rock down the street that’s across from the bed and breakfast. Since every University of Michigan building along the way seems to have benches in front, I was able to get there without difficulty (with several breathers).
Before I did, however, I found a sculpture of interest, also listed in Atlas Obscura — Arriving Home (2007) by Dennis Oppenheim. When I saw it, my first thought was: If I step through it, what will happen to Edith Keeler? (Yes, I know the Guardian of Forever is an irregular shape, but in the moment I wasn’t that literal.)
When I arrived at the rock’s location, I found other rocks. All glacial erratics? They were of different shapes, sizes, and compositions. Unfortunately, I thought, a class that had added to the collection had had the rock’s surface carved with their year. A sign or plaque would have been better. Alas.
I found the banded rock I was seeking. It wasn’t called out as special or unusual — it was one rock among some rocks.1 I wouldn’t have minded taking it and some others home with me, if it were possible to lug boulders onto an Amtrak train.
This Ann Arbor District Library page has a bit more about the collection at 1100 North University, known as “Rock Specimens on the Lawn.” It makes me regret I didn’t become a geologist (or don’t have the mental makeup to have become one).
1 Apologies to Michael L. I know “some rocks” are always in groups of three, but I beg indulgence.
I was disappointed that the Campfire, Carols, and Chestnuts program at Isle a la Cache was full, so went to a bonfire at Camp Shabonna Woods instead. Although it was gloomy and rainy, it didn’t look like it’d been canceled. And this was the sort of thing I’d bought a poncho for, right?
Surprisingly, the Forest Preserve folks managed to get both a good bonfire and campfire going and maintain them. Not surprisingly, not that many people showed up (maybe they didn’t have ponchos, unlike me). There were so few the Forest Preserve representatives told us to have as many cookies as we wanted.
Fortunately, as a campground, Shabonna Woods has a good-sized covered picnic shelter, so except for checking out the fires we could stay dry. The shelter is where we and a couple families gathered to hear ghost stories — ghost stories featuring people the teller had known that happened in places in Chicago area residents would know. Oooh — scary. One is not far from me . . .
At some point, I noticed I’d gotten an email earlier in the afternoon through Yahoo, which I rarely use — except for the Forest Preserve District of Will County. As it happened, they were letting me know they’d opened the program to the wait list. By the time I realized this, however, it was getting late in the evening, and Isle a la Cache is far from Shabbona Woods. It also wasn’t going to be any drier. Maybe next year . . . but the bonfire and ghost stories were worth it.
