This Thursday, after an urgent dental procedure in Wilmette, I drove north down Sheridan Road through the ravines. A good way to unwind. I was also craving some beach time before starting my work day and knew I'd find a nice spot somewhere along the way. But first I was in need of soft food, which I found in the form of matzoh ball soup at a Once Upon A Bagel in Highland Park. I called my friend Randy as I headed east from the deli. Randy’s folks live in Highland Park and whenever I’m there I think of him. He lives out West now, where the weather is warm. He also lived on Maui for many years. Smart guy. I had not seen him in ages until this past summer (though our phone and FaceTime hours have been copious for the past several years). We met at Froggy’s French Cafe in Highwood for a meal, the French doors wide open on that temperate night, and a man named Brian quietly strummed his guitar by the bar.
"Like as the waves make towards the pebbl'd shore,
So do our minutes hasten to their end."
— Shakespeare, Sonnet 60
As we chatted on the phone on Thursday I mentioned I was near Fort Sheridan with a free hour and a half. He heartily recommended that I drive to the lakefront at the end of the Fort, which I did. I snaked along a twisty road lined with condos and homes with big wraparound porches. Eventually, a meadow appeared on a hill over the lake. Tall prairie grasses lit up by the sun swayed in the breeze.
I parked, then headed through a patch of woods, passed a cannon perched on an overlook, and found the little bit of lakefront I could get to. (Most of the beach is closed to public access). I found a tiny pebbly patch at the end of a drainage pipe that fed into the lake for runoff.
Although I was wearing leather boots and a peacoat, I could not resist, and scrambled down a narrow patch of sand towards the water’s edge. Granite, lava rocks, fossils, man made concrete, lake glass and other treasures intermingled. There were giant boulders, one replete with fish skulls and crinoid stems from times of yore when Lake Michigan was a shallow Silurian sea over 400 million years ago.
I could have stayed there all day with the loud waves lapping and the deep blue expanse, a welcome respite from screens, cities, towns, and people.
An olive colored stone really caught my eye. I lay on my belly on the fossil boulder and stretched as far as I could. I anchored myself and managed not to slide into the watery soup of pebbles upon which the olive rock gleamed. Once in my hands I got a closer look at the vibrant but matte green and noticed a circular nodule exposing green and red sparkles.
I had the good fortune of becoming a rock hound the week I wrote this piece in late October. For what’s better than a new hobby that involves fresh air? There’s already a new rock tumbler going 24/7 on my front porch, tossing stones for a four-week grinding and polishing process. My current rock hound friends identified the green find as basalt, with what might be amygdales tucked inside. If it’s a rock full of them it will be an amygdaloidal. A real beauty. It might even have peridot or epidote inside. I plan to keep it intact for now.
My round, jolly Grandma’s name was Olive. I visited her at Rosehill Cemetery recently and hung out with the bucks keeping her and my Grandpa Carl company. I feel even closer to her with my sturdy geological find nestled into my little cottage with me. A way to feel connected even though she’s gone. I’ll be gone one day too, and will be sure to pass special finds like this down to special people.
Today I’ll open up the tumbler, rinse off what's left, and place them into the next level of grit. I say what’s left because I did not realize it’s prudent to check the hardness of rocks before tumbling, lest you end up with nothing but a bucketful of sand.
An olive colored stone really caught my eye. I lay on my belly on the fossil boulder and stretched as far as I could. I anchored myself and managed not to slide into the watery soup of pebbles upon which the olive rock gleamed. Once in my hands I got a closer look at the vibrant but matte green and noticed a circular nodule exposing green and red sparkles.
I had the good fortune of becoming a rock hound the week I wrote this piece in late October. For what’s better than a new hobby that involves fresh air? There’s already a new rock tumbler going 24/7 on my front porch, tossing stones for a four-week grinding and polishing process. My current rock hound friends identified the green find as basalt, with what might be amygdales tucked inside. If it’s a rock full of them it will be an amygdaloidal. A real beauty. It might even have peridot or epidote inside. I plan to keep it intact for now.
My round, jolly Grandma’s name was Olive. I visited her at Rosehill Cemetery recently and hung out with the bucks keeping her and my Grandpa Carl company. I feel even closer to her with my sturdy geological find nestled into my little cottage with me. A way to feel connected even though she’s gone. I’ll be gone one day too, and will be sure to pass special finds like this down to special people.
Today I’ll open up the tumbler, rinse off what's left, and place them into the next level of grit. I say what’s left because I did not realize it’s prudent to check the hardness of rocks before tumbling, lest you end up with nothing but a bucketful of sand.
“Talk of mysteries! — Think of our life in nature, — daily to be shown matter, to come in contact with it, — rocks, trees, wind on our cheeks! The solid earth! the actual world! the common sense! Contact! Contact! Who are we? where are we?”
— Henry David Thoreau, Maine Woods
A beautiful and moving post.
ReplyDeleteWho’s going to take our planet out of the tumbler? It’s prudent to check the fragility of the earth, lest you end up with nothing but a ball of mud.
ReplyDeleteI did take out my knowledge and efforts about ethically sourcing materials, thanks! I've learned not to remove fossils as well, not that these could have been moved by me. I agree about saving Mother Earth 100%. Almost added that part but thanks for mentioning!
DeleteMy newbie mistake won't happen again. I didn't have many rocks in their either... but I'll probably talk more about all of this again, so to be continued...
DeleteAs I often do, I didn't make my point very clearly. It never crossed my mind that what you did was harmful. It wasn't. I was trying to draw an analogy between a rock and the earth. If not checked for fragility, things could get screwed up if not handled properly.
DeleteLes— that last anon comment was me. Good news. The rocks all seem to have made it.
DeleteLes— thanks for clarifying! Now I hear what you’re saying & I agree. Who’s saving Mother Earth from the tumble?
DeleteShoot! I said "their" instead of "there." :)
DeleteVery much enjoyed this. I began collecting a few stones from here and there, some years ago now. Many live in my shower, where their natural beauty is further revealed when wet.
ReplyDeleteI wonder if any of the three fully launched daughters have ever showered in a place adorned like their childhood homes.
Other stones hang out on my bedroom windowsill, those are only from Lake Michigan, both sides now.
So lovely thanks for sharing
ReplyDeleteI noticed that the Northshore Notes title of today's fascinating column has a sort-of-Spoonerism typo: "Sirulian" Sea instead of Silurian, perhaps influenced by someone thinking of "Cerulean" instead.
ReplyDeleteForgive my wandering a little off-topic here, but I thought that was interesting, because cerulean is described generally as a deep sky blue (Google translates "sky blue" in English to "cœruleum" in Latin), and growing up in Wilmette, I spent many days at Gillson Park enjoying the deep blue lake. I'll take cerulean over Silurian anytime.
That shows the pervasiveness of typos. I immediately searched that, thinking at first it was a typo for "cerulean." When I realized it was just a transposition, I fixe it in the copy, but missed it in the title, which is what sent me checking in the first place. In my defense, it was around 5 a.m. Fixed now.
DeleteThanks Andy for noticing, and Neil for fixing. The color cerulean makes me think of Enya's Caribbean Blue.
DeleteA pleasure to read. I passed by Rosehill countless ttimes during my Chicago years, but never went inside the walls because I thought it was not allowed. Did not realize it's the city's largest. And it's no surprise there's so much wildlife. I've had deer right in my city backyard. They migrate from parklands and wooded areas and follow the rail lines.
ReplyDelete'Tis a privilege to live near Lake Michigan, as I did for more than three decades. Or Lake Erie, near which I've been for the last three. I've always bitched loudly and often about the annoyingly chilly lake breezes in the spring, and the sullen-gray lake-effect clouds in fall and winter, and the dumping of often-heavy snow.
But the truth is, I would miss the Lakes if I no longer lived near them. When you grow up along the shores of these inland seas, something beautiful and elemental disappears if you're without them. They get in your blood, and in your soul.
If only they had shells, to go with the beach glass. Then it might be like living near the seashore. Well, sort of. Nothing tops an ocean beach. That's what I miss the most about Florida. Maybe the only thing. The Florida I knew almost fifty years ago is long-gone.
Well said Grizz. Something did disappear in me those 7 years in Texas. I also have a hard time being grateful for the things I have sometimes. Thank you for the reminder of what a gift our "inland seas" are; I will head out soon (it's Sunday, and finally sunny!) and brave the cold for a walk to the lake.
ReplyDeleteCaren, thank you for reminding me that when I am able to walk, I should concentrate less on my eighty year old's aches and pains, joints and muscles, and let nature and history's souvenirs fill my mind and eye with distractions and fascinations! Season's greetings, my observant friend.
ReplyDelete“I count myself in nothing else so happy as in a soul remembering my good friends.” The Bard and I are happy to see you here Ian.
DeleteHi Caren. We met briefly at Sol Cafe a couple of days ago, as you were discovering that that the man behind the counter was the new owner.
ReplyDeleteI find that I've always lived near water. At the beginning, it was a reservoir in Rochester MN, whose waters were heated by plant nearby, so that Canadian geese lived there all winter long. I loved seeing their V's going out to the cornfields in the morning and coming back in the evening. I did not love walking on the shores of the reservoir, covered in goose shit.
Then in Duluth, through a winter, crossing over the harbor to Superior WI every day for work. Then DeKalb, with the Kishwaukee river running through it. Then St. Charles, near the Fox. Oak Park, for a bad few years, near no water. Then Lake View, then Rogers Park, in several places, never more than three blocks from the lake. I go there a couple of days a week, walking my dog.
My favorite memory is at Howard Beach. Two guys and a photographer were on the rocks at the side, trying to take a picture for the front of the music album. They persuaded one guy to fall backwards into the lake with his clothes still on. I hope the photographer got the shot, because the guy was cold and spitting mad when he came out. When I teased him, saying, "The things we do for art," he just glared at me.
Hi Terry— thanks for stopping by and sharing your water stories. See you around at Sol, or perhaps on the lake.
ReplyDelete