Yesterday we drove over to see James Alan McPherson Park, and it was filled with people who were having a great time. Because it was crowded (partly because of the Easter weekend), we went to Terry Trueblood Recreation Area, where we typically go for walks. We’ll return to James Alan McPherson Park on a weekday. Ironically, the larger park seemed less busy than the much smaller one.
There seemed to be more birds than people out. They were out hunting for places to build nests. There are plenty of Tree Swallow nest boxes spaced at wide intervals around the trail. Competition was keen for them, or so it looked. It reminded me of house hunting humans.
Spring was in the air as we took a turn around the loop of the Terry Trueblood Trail. There was something different about it since we were there in late December. The wind was not as blustery. What leaped out at us were messages of hope written on the sidewalk in brightly colored chalk. The messages said things like “This Way to Greatness,” “Enjoy That View,” “Go Go Go,” and “Stay Strong!”
Along with these written messages were other signs of hope. One of them was a beaver slapping its tail in an unfrozen section of the lake, near its lodge. Snow-white geese and gulls sat further out on the ice, heads tucked in their wings—for now gathering strength before thundering into the sky.
It has been a long year. The pandemic of coronavirus and corrosive social and political upheaval exact a heavy toll on the spirit. It’s hard to see beyond what is callous, pathetic, and catastrophic.
The walks along the Terry Trueblood Trail are often healing, even if only in a small way. It made me wonder who Terry Trueblood was. I found a description of him on the web. Among his many accomplishments, he was Iowa City’s Director of Parks and Recreation. The Iowa Park and Recreation Association unanimously renamed its highest professional award the “Slattery/Trueblood Professional Award.”
Terry Trueblood was a very dedicated professional but more than that, he was devoted to his family. He had a great sense of humor. He was compassionate and generous. He was fair, honest, and was “the definition of integrity.” He “benefited every life he touched.” There are no signs in life pointing the way to greatness. Terry Trueblood found the path anyway.
It’s easy to ignore or deplore the countless common stones we find. We need to see the rare diamonds of hope in the spring.
Day before yesterday was the eve of Christmas Eve. We ventured out on the blustery day despite the forecast for winds in excess of 40 mile per hour. We got started late in the morning and the temperatures dropped like a rocket in reverse about an hour later because of wind chill. A thin film of ice formed on the lake and it looked like the geese were leaning into the wind, which was blowing hard out of the southeast.
It almost looked like the water fowl were listening for something. In fact, we thought we heard a low-pitched hum when the wind was gusting the hardest. Sena heard it first. It came and went. I think we heard it best when we looked up at a patch of cloud-filled sky on the east side of the trail. One cloud looked sort of like a turtle’s head to me, although Sena thought it looked more like a pig’s head. The hum seemed more noticeable there.
There was a fair amount of excitement several years ago about seemingly pervasive low-pitched hums and many people were very sensitive to the noise. Some of them said it make them miserable. There is even a Wikipedia entry about the phenomenon. One guy even recorded it. I’m not sure if it’s the same sound, but it was similar. I didn’t think it was unpleasant; just odd. It’s unlikely you’ll hear it in our YouTube video, but then again, your hearing may be much keener than mine.
A heavy sign with the word “Skating” on it got knocked down by a powerful gust. We watched a very strong guy set it upright—it blew over again moments later.
Along with the wind, a blizzard was predicted for the Midwest, but it missed us. We barely got enough snow to sweep off our porch.
Merry Christmas! I hope Santa watched out for those crosswinds.
While we were out for a walk on the Terry Trueblood Trail today, for a change, my wife gave me the idea that we should just let nature speak. The frogs were in full voice. It was impressive. As we walk, we usually start off by talking a lot. We point out interesting birds and flowers and comment on all we see and hear. The further we go on the trail, the quieter we get. Pretty soon, we don’t talk much at all. We walk at a slower pace. We just listen.
Usually, after we return home, I make a video and try to match it with some kind of music. Nature has its own music, though. Today, we just let that happen.
Today we took another walk on the Terry Trueblood Trail. This time there was a different feel. We wore face masks and there were new signs directing one-way traffic in order to facilitate social distancing. We noticed a few people wearing masks, but not many more than the last time we were out there.
Sena got a kick out of picking up groceries the other day. The guy who brought out the groceries was wearing a face mask—just not covering his face. He knew the guidelines and could recite them, but he had complaints about the mask: “I can’t breathe!”; “It’s hot!”; “It fogs up my glasses!”; “It gets in my way!”
I heard that. But there’s a right way and many wrong ways to wear a face mask.
Today we took a break from the intensity of the pandemic and went out for a walk on the Terry Trueblood Trail. We were a little surprised at the crowd. There were more people there than we’ve ever seen before.
We’re social creatures. After a while, we get a little tired of everything being about coronavirus and making homemade masks out of bandanas and rubber bands. I made one of those—but I didn’t wear it out on the trail. Most people didn’t.
Sena bought me short sleeve shirts so I can be bare below the elbows at the hospital. I’ll think about it tomorrow.
Today we listened to the Eastern Meadowlark’s song and watched Tree Swallows kiss each other on the beak. We saw American Coot up close for the first time.
They were catching bass in the lake. Nobody wants to clean them so they just throw them back. The frogs are cheeping.
We found a little American flag laying on the walkway. We stuck it in the ground and watched it wave. The Tree Swallow nest boxes were stamped “Made in America.”
I wondered how all of these things came together on a sunny afternoon in the spring. I can’t figure it but it sure was nice.
We took a walk on the Terry Trueblood Trail yesterday and
saw quite a few birds even though it’s early in the season. We caught sight of Orchard
Orioles and got a snapshot for the first time of a bird that can fool you into
thinking it’s a robin.
There are a lot of Tree Swallows nesting out there. It’s too soon for babies. Sena got a couple of great shots of a sassy Red-Winged Blackbird. I got my first good shot of a Gray Catbird.
Red-Wing Blackbird on the Terry Trueblood TrailGray Catbird
It’s very peaceful out there—except when the bugs fly up your nose.
When we got home, we noticed the House Finches flitting around the juniper tree where the giant crow stole all their chicks the other day. It looks like they’re planning to rebuild. Foolhardy.
Papa House Finch
Mama House Finch
The robins may have abandoned their nest under the deck but they’ve built a regular Hoorah’s Nest in our front yard crabapple tree. It still needs a proper floor.
Go Retire Psychiatrist 