Where Greenery Meets Sky
Author: Ken Homer Issue: 2024-02-21
Where Greenery Meets Sky
by Ken Homer
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Dementia
by Ken Homer
Dementia
It’s a tragic thing When the mind Can no longer hold The contents of the present When new memories Fail to form and Old ones slowly fade Like Matthew Brady’s Silvered Civil War plates The scenes they recorded Once so vibrant and real Left too long in the sun Slowly becoming outlines Precious details growing fainter Until no trace is left Of the faces and places That made them meaningful
My dear cousin Now 84 One of only two people alive Who knew me When I was a child The only living relative I’m on speaking terms with Talks in circles Asks the same questions Over and over Where are you? What are you doing? When will you visit me? Are you married? (She was at my wedding) Do I know your wife? Where are you? Why are you in California? What made you call me?
I give her my best Patiently repeating My answers Telling her I love her How much I miss her All the while My heart grows Heavier with each Repeated question and Each repeated answer
She complains to me My children Sold my apartment I loved it there And now it’s gone But next week I am going To get another one On the Upper East Side When I do I will call you And you can Come and stay With me You’ll do that Won’t you? Of course I will
She asks again Where are you?
I’m here At least I think I am Sometimes it’s hard To know for sure
Ken Homer • February 2024
Portrait of a Nature Trail
by Todd Hoskins
There’s a small nature conservancy a few miles east of Saugatuck, Michigan, a quaint little town on the shores of Lake Michigan where we lived for seven years. The Wade Memorial Nature Sanctuary is relatively small and infrequently visited since there are more majestic parks with towering sand dunes close by.
At the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic I developed the habit of a sunrise hike with the dog, which I continue to this day. Wade was the most frequent destination for two and a half years because it was nearby and quiet, except for when the sandhill cranes were visiting.
I have likely walked that 1.1 mile loop more than 500 times. For a bit, I experimented with trail running there, too. But the trail is not groomed and protruding roots are not good for the ankles nor the gait.
I hiked because the outdoors, in addition to being my heart’s passion, was a refuge during that time. I could activate my senses, get the dog some exercise, and continue my lifelong pursuit of thinking less. Letting the body move and the mind rest.
If the Wade trail was a flavor of ice cream, she would be chocolate chip–dependable but with little frills or thrills. That’s what I thought when I began that oft-daily circle beneath the hemlocks and birches. The dog seemed to want to chase deer every day, and I was hoping to relive the moments of sighting owls, martens, tree frogs, and falcons. Wade rarely delivered a story worthy of telling at the breakfast table.
But as I became more familiar with the bends of the trail, the individual trees, the songs of the birds, and the shifting groundcover, I began to see more. There were more varieties of greens in the spring, and browns in the fall. The columbine appeared for just a short week. One day in the winter, an entire section of the forest was covered in snow fleas. I didn’t know such strange creatures existed.
The west side of the trail provides an overlook to Silver Lake, what I considered the highlight of the hike. But the modest grandiosity of the water became less so over time, and the delights delivered more in seeing how much changes every day.
I love exploring, whether it’s ideas or experiences or places. In these explorations, I’m often seeking what is new, or novel. Hiking the same trail hundreds of times showed me the surprises in the familiar, the new in the mundane. It was therapy, and it still is.
Photos taken at Wade Nature Sanctuary
[Image not included in the current archive. Images may be included in the future.]
[Image not included in the current archive. Images may be included in the future.]
[Image not included in the current archive. Images may be included in the future.]
[Image not included in the current archive. Images may be included in the future.]
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