The day my wind chimes attacked me

Every fall, the colors change, the air gets that smell – you know the one. The sun shines and the world around us is resplendent.
Every footstep is a minor symphony, and every intake of breath is a small treasure.

I enjoy it so much I base fishing decisions not on where I have the best chance of catching fish, but on the prettiest scenery in which to maybe, just maybe, catch fish.

And every fall, this lasts right up until that one day, that one day that's suddenly upon you, when winds and rain whip through stripping the trees of their remaining leaves, turning crisp into sodden, a slap upside your head reminding you that fall is fleeting, and winter’s warming up on deck.

And he’s swinging big lumber…

Today is the meteorological slap in the head, I fear. Only this year, it’s a sock full of nickels, as opposed to an open palm.

And in case I was really,really dense, some metal pipes.
More on that in a moment.


I know it’s going to happen, and expect it, but C’mon!!!!
60MPH winds and lightning storms and power outages and tornado warnings????

Kinda overkilling it, dontcha think?

Hey, I like sharing my leaves, trash cans, tricycles, and patio furniture with the folks up the street as much as the next guy.
Like good fences, this kind of sharing can make good neighbors; folks we only see during the rest of the year, when our mail carrier forgets her numbers, or gets confused…

I do have to state for the record, however, that having my wind chimes attack me first thing this morning, when I was trying to remove them for their own safety, was over the top.
The mighty wind shifted as I was stretching , tippy-toed, to try to unhook them from the back porch this morning, resulting in foot long metal pipes chiming musically as they smacked me in the face.

OK!!! I get it already!!! Enough!

Hey, I’ve shat in the woods.

Thought I’d start this entry with that statement, in hopes that it would grab your attention.

This was just one of the many thoughts that raced through my head this morning, as I was parked on the interstate.

(Ironically, right next to the sign that let us know that we were leaving the construction zone, and could resume regular speed.)

I noticed the MSU Spartan Logo on the back window of the Ford Explorer parked next to me, as I came upon it. MI license plate (pretty!), expensive bike on roof rack. Upon closer inspection (Hey, I had time…) I noted two pair of ski’s on roof rack next to expensive bike.

I almost laughed aloud when I got all the way up next to the Explorer, and saw the two guys inside. They were almost comically rugged, wearing plaid flannel shirts and perfectly shaped 5-day growths of beard.

“Look at us, we’re soooooo amazingly rugged and outdoorsy!!!“

It’s early Friday morning; they’re headed north out of Chicago with a bunch of gear on their roof; and have amazingly rugged facial hair. They are obviously starting out on a big adventure.

Or maybe they were just headed to an audition for a Brawny paper towel commercial.

I gave them the benefit of the doubt, and assumed “adventure”.

And I was jealous.

Not of the expensive bike, or the skis (Really? Skis? it’s warm and sunny and winter in this part of the country’s another 2 months away), or the fact that their manly facial hair was dark, whereas mine is alarmingly silver and white when I let it grow out.

It was the adventure part.

The road trip, the getting there (Wherever “There” might be) and the “Christmas morning” feeling when you’re finally at your destination.
The crap unpacked-toes in the sand-line in the water- beer-in-the-hand feeling.

“I’ve been waiting months for this, and here it finally is and it’s just like I hoped…”

My god, but I love that feeling.
And I DO get to experience that feeling on occasion, but not nearly often enough.

I love “The Adventure”.

The planning, the anticipation, the actual adventure…

I’ve watched families of moose slip silently out of dense brush into a N. Minnesota lake.
I’ve caught trout in small farm creeks in upstate NY.
I’ve awoke to find deer foraging right outside my tent.
I’ve slept (or not slept) where bear hang out.
I’ve climbed trees, mountains.
I’ve swam under waterfalls
I’ve gotten up with the sun countless times, fishing pole in one hand, cup of coffee in the other.
I’ve, indeed, shat in the woods.

But this morning I was headed to the office, no perfectly shaped, silver and gray flecked five day growth of whiskers on my cheek, no kayak strapped to my roof, no fishing gear rattling around in the back of my 15 year old Subaru. No cool adventurous wife sitting next to me, playing DJ.
No “I’m so excited!” or “ Are we there?” or “I have to go potty!” from the backseat.

And I thought about the endless potential of “The Adventure”.
Not like I had anything better to do at that moment...

My daughter’s juuuuuust about old enough now, perhaps by next spring we can ramp it up a bit…