Another Campout

 

Camping Again (Another True Story)

 

I am sitting in a lawn chair at Bay City’s Recreation Area next to my camping trailer that is mere steps from the beach. It is hot and I am wearing short pants in anticipation of either a swim or a pleasant bicycle ride around the park as I await the women who are just now engaged in the business of clearing the dishes from our breakfast. I decided not to complain about the time that I am forced to wait as they finish their clean-up work. Besides, sitting in the pleasant surroundings of the park is not bad duty as our camp site is surrounded with tall oak trees that provide both the shade and the sense of being in nature’s majesty.

Included in nature’s largess at our campsite is an abundance of bugs. As evidence, I just carefully scraped a bug from my bare leg. It looks to be a caterpillar, not a very large one, nor a very pretty one, nor a very fast one, despite his tiny 20 legs with teeny-tiny feet that are too small to see. But he is definitely a bug who has fallen from the oak tree that is shading my campsite. An interesting feature of this campsite is the number of robins that have landed in an adjacent grassy area where they are searching for and finding bugs. I expect to soon learn whether small, slow, 20-footed caterpillars make suitable breakfasts for robins.

The agenda for this campout is primarily bicycle riding. The recreation area includes a shoreline marsh that extends a few miles to the northwest playing peek-a-boo with the beach, several woodlands, wetlands, and two look-out towers for birders who enjoy watching the large birds feed on the fish that call the estuary their home for the first part of their lives. The marsh occupies some 3000 acres. I am more of a pedal man than a bird-watcher. Despite my many bicycle trips around this park on previous trips, I have nothing interesting to report about big birds eating fish.

I can report that just now rain has enveloped a large area around Bay City, according to the weather bureau who had the audacity to forecast rain during my camping vacation. That will surely make bicycle riding problematic. The veracity of the weather bureau is being shown right now. The sun seems to have disappeared and the air feels heavy as bursts of thunder and lightening are beginning to take center stage. Since I typed the last sentence, a mild rain has commenced forcing me to lower an awning that should provide a measure of protection for me and my computer. I am torn between pedaling and typing. Neither activity seems to offer the promise of success especially since my riding companions are highly unlikely to ride in the rain or read my brilliant prose.

My companions in this campout are my son, his wife, and my wife. I could probably convince my son to ride with me if he has a raincoat in his gear, but there is virtually no chance in convincing the two women since they know better. The rain has commenced in a steady, albeit mild drizzle and a small ant has appeared on my computer screen. I think he doesn’t like what I have written since he is running in circles on this paragraph.

Wait a moment! I suspect the answer about riding in the mild rain has come to me. Just now, a bicyclist has appeared on the road fronting my campsite. He was an older man (not quite as old as me, of course) in a blue tee pedaling a small bike with the seat extended as far upwards as the small frame would allow. The most remarkable thing about the scene is the plume of water arising from the wheels of the bike as the man is pedaling hard, presumably heading for somewhere dry. Frankly, he looks kind of silly as he leans forward on the little bike with a grimace on his face as he seems to be pedaling as hard as he can against the now steady downfall. I found myself wondering why he is pedaling in the rain when most sane men would stay home and stay dry. In one of my saner moments, I decided not to pedal in the rain.

Forty minutes later: The rain is beginning to lessen in its intensity. As I climbed onto my bike it stopped raining. I decided that I could make a trip on my bike to the marsh area where the birding towers stand proudly. I made the trip and climbed both towers.

There were no birds to watch at either tower that overlooks the marsh. I don’t know why. The main beach across the road from the camping area is twenty to forty feet larger and icky looking as the water has retreated over the summer. I don’t recall ever seeing the extensive debris now apparent at the water’s edge on my previous campouts here. Has all of Lake Huron lost that much water?

Upon my return to the camping area after the bicycle ride, I heard a sort of whistling noise. It was a siren warning of a tornado in the area and corresponding storm. Employees at the campground are circling the area in their electric utility trucks warning campers to take cover. We spent the next hour in the bath house along with 30 or 40 other campers watching the rain come down in sheets. When the rain slowed, we walked to our camp site and waded through a pool of water that had collected in front of the door to our camper. We sat down to play a board game and the radio confirmed the presence of a tornado just north of Kawkawlin Thus began the ending of day one of our latest Pure Michigan Camp Out. 

 

History of the Ukulele 

 

You may know that the wife and I have taken on a new hobby - playing the ukulele. It's a hoot. We play at least once a week in the company of twenty or more others who play a uke or banjo uke. The group, known as the Roscommon Ukers, is a diverse group of amateur musicians who range in age from 8 to 90. The group includes a few who don't strum but enjoy accompanying the strummers with their voices as we play and sing a wide range of mostly old standards made popular by the likes of Don Ho, the Beatles, and a host of other well-known entertainers.

Now that I have passed the six-month period of learning how to play the instrument, I decided to look into its history. The following is the result.

 The ukulele is a small, stringed musical instrument that evolved from the historical lute that found a home in many Arab and European nations in the Middle Ages. Unlike the wide variety of shapes and various numbers of strings used by lutes, especially in Arab nations, the modern ukulele (built after 1850) has become standardized with four strings over a body that takes its basic shape like its larger cousins, various guitars or lutes. All these instruments produce musical sounds by strings stretched over hollow wooden bodies with a pear or teardrop shape. Common features for lutes, guitars, and ukuleles were: A neck with frets, Strings that musicians pluck or strum with their fingers or a pick, A soundboard with a sound hole to resonate the string vibrations making the sound louder.

Over time, four ukulele sizes were designed that are in use today. In order of size from small to larger, the sizes are soprano, concert, tenor, and baritone. Ukuleles have four nylon strings tuned to produce the separate notes of G, C, E, and A (except for the Baritone ukulele, which is normally tuned to notes of D, G, B, and E). Often known as Ukes, modern instruments have 16–22 frets depending on their size.

The basic design of modern ukuleles came to America from a Portuguese island after an important intermediate stop in Hawaii. In 1873, the island nation of Hawaii was suffering an economic downturn to their important sugar industry due to a lack of workers. Hawaiian King Kalakaua supported the importation of workers from various nations including those from an island known as Madeira that lay off the coast of Portugal. Islanders from this nation responded to the call as willing workers set sail from their home island in the Atlantic to Hawaii in the Pacific.

Some years before his voyages across the Atlantic, Christopher Columbus, who at the time was a sugar trader, visited Madeira, a small island nation off the coast of Portugal. It is generally accepted that Columbus was born in Genoa, Italy, as Cristoforo Colombo. Columbus (or Colombo) was well aware of the profits to be made in the sugar business. He also understood the necessary growing conditions for sugar and the navigational technique known as the Volta do mar. Christopher Columbus lived and studied navigation in Madeira after his marriage to a Portuguese woman.

Sugarcane cultivation and the sugar production industry developed from the 17th century forward. It became a leading factor in many island economies and increased the demand for labor. It was in Madeira that, in the context of sugar production, slaves were first used in plantations, sharing the work with waged settlers. The colonial system of sugar production was  put into practice on the island of Madeira, and then successively applied to other overseas areas where sunshine abounded along with warm temperatures. In Madeira it became evident that a warm climate, winds to work windmills for sugar crushing and easy access to the sea (for transportation of the raw sugar) were important components in what became a huge and highly profitable industry, which helped to fund European expansion. Ukuleles evolved along with the sugar industry in Hawaii. 

One of the most important factors in establishing the ukulele in Hawaiian music and culture was the ardent support and promotion of the instrument by Hawaiian King Kalākaua. A patron of the arts, he incorporated it into performances at royal gatherings and spoke highly of the small and affordable instrument. Developed in the 1880s, the ukulele is based on several small, guitar-like instruments of Portuguese origin, introduced to the Hawaiian Islands by Portuguese immigrants from Madeira. Three immigrants in particular, Madeiran cabinet makers Manuel Nunes, José do Espírito Santo, and Augusto Dias, are generally credited as the first ukulele makers. In late August 1879, the Hawaiian newspaper “reported that Madeira Islanders recently arrived here and have been delighting the people with nightly street concerts.”

Native Hawaiians quickly began using the new instrument. Famous entertainers incorporated the instrument in their programs and achieved success in capturing new audiences. Don Ho was one of the early singers whose song “Tiny Bubbles” was a sensational hit in 1967. In another instance, the staying power of the instrument was shown recently by a new rendition of the song “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” by Israel Kamakawiwo’ole, a native Hawaiian.

In the Hawaiian language the word ukulele roughly translates as 'jumping flea', perhaps because of the movement of the player's fingers. Legend attributes it to the nickname of Englishman Edward

Purvis, one of King Kalākaua's officers, because of his small size, fidgety manner, and playing expertise.

Lumialani Kalākaua; November 16, 1836 – January 20, 1891), was the last king and penultimate monarch of the Kingdom of Hawaiʻi, reigning from February 12, 1874, until his death in 1891. Succeeding Lunalilo, he was elected to the vacant throne of Hawaiʻi. Kalākaua was known as the Merrie Monarch for his convivial personality – he enjoyed entertaining guests with his singing and ukulele playing. At his coronation and his birthday jubilee, the hula became a celebration of Hawaiian culture.

Use of the newly developed stringed musical instrument caught on in the United States in the first part of the 20^th century. Vaudeville performers especially liked its small size and portability as they moved from town to town celebrating all things Hawaiian.

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*The Madiera Islanders came to Hawaii by ship, The Ravenscrag, a four masted sailing ship that sailed from Madiera. The voyage made steady progress across two oceans as the ship sailed around the Cape of Good Hope leaving the Atlantic Ocean and sailed onward into the Pacific Ocean and thence to Hawaii with its 400 passengers bound for wage work in Hawaii’s fledgling sugar business.

 

A True Story (or so I was told)

 

 

 

 

A friend of mine told me this story. Although the facts of this are extraordinary, he told it in such a manner that I have no reason to doubt its veracity. Unfortunately, this medium of retelling the account lacks the emphasis and the apparent sincerity of its telling. I have added quotation marks to indicate the sincerity of the story even though I cannot swear to the accuracy of the statements. Here is the story with my effort to recount it exactly as my friend told it.

“My cousin, ‘One Eyed Joe’, was a big-league baseball player when the game was much younger. Joe’s grandson told me this story that was told him after several years of the happening. Given the twists of time, it is impossible to verify the details of the story but it is clear that the ballplayer did indeed suffer an injury from an encounter that occurred during his playing career. Baseball is great for keeping records, however; during this era games were described only on the radio and many details have been lost. Note that TV was unknown and the league owners wished to avoid some of the nastier parts of the story.”

“Joe played first base during the period when players were assigned a particular position after spring training and little changed during the year. Furthermore, team owners didn’t want to pay more players than the game demanded save one or two extra players for emergencies. This account describes one of those emergencies that occurred after a confrontation with a group of baseball fans from an opposing team took issue with the players from Joe’s team.”

“One hard-fought game occurred during a road trip where the fans were particularly rabid and Joe made a hard tag on the runner who had taken a long lead from first base. Joe’s tag ended the game. The losing home team booed Joe long and hard as he left the field of play. It should have been a warning to Joe and his teammates. As was their practice, several members of Joe’s team left the visitor’s clubhouse for a visit to the closest tavern. After the 4^th or 5^th round was consumed, the players became a little too loud for several fans from the home team, and a fight broke out. Joe was one of several players who joined the fight. It was not an unusual battle except for the fact that Joe was cold-cocked by an adversary. It wouldn’t have been noteworthy had the punch landed somewhere else other than Joe’s right eye.

By the next day Joe sported a black eye that was so swollen than he couldn’t see to shave. The manager called the injury a sprained ankle and put Joe’s name on the disabled list. He was replaced by one of the players from the emergency squad, a man who was barely able to catch the ball let alone drive the ball over the home run fence as Joe had done with some regularity.

After a two-day period of convalescence, the swelling around Joe’s eye had eased considerably but he was still unable to see. The team manager met with the owner who decided that Joe was too valuable to sit out more games. The pair decided that the team should send Joe to a physician who had experience in treating eye problems. The owner insisted that the manager should accompany Joe to the hometown hospital for treatment so that he could oversee the treatment and keep quiet about the extent of the injury. The treatment had to be done in secret to assure that the newspapers didn’t get wind of the serious threat to first base and the likelihood that Joe and his team might suffer in game sales if Joe was not available to play.

The sawbones that looked at Joe’s injury wasn’t particularly helpful. He told Joe and the manager that there was little likelihood that Joe’s vision would ever return since the eye was severely damaged. He said that over time Joe could get used to seeing out of one eye. The doc said the newest glass eyeballs were nearly impossible for casual observers to determine a glass eye from a real one and that Joe could get used to seeing from one eye only. The manager asked if the glass eye could be installed before the next weekend since a double-header was scheduled for then. The deal was done with the team paying the bill after a deduction from Joe’s salary was agreed upon for the balance of the year. The glass eye was installed that afternoon and the doctor’s nurse showed Joe how to remove and re-install the glass orb. The manager told Joe to report for team practice the following day.

Joe took the field for practice the next day. He was a little bit slow at first base but the Manager said that Joe was well enough to play after he watched Joe catch a few balls and make the obligatory toss to the 2^nd baseman. The manager reported to the owner who told Joe that he was back on the team but his salary would need to be reduced to cover the doctor’s bill. Joe played both ends of the double header. During the second game of the double header, Joe made an error and the reporters who covered the game asked about it. The manager coached Joe to say that he suffered from a wasp sting just as the ball arrived at first and that was the reason for the rare error. In fact, Joe could barely see and it was a miracle that he was able to catch the ball. Joe was 0 for 3 at the plate that day.

The following day saw more problems at first base. Joe had practiced removing and reinstalling the glass eye if he had a mirror to help. He didn’t confide his circumstance with his teammates, but insisted he was back to normal. Exactly one week after the installation of the glass eyeball Joe had another confrontation with a runner at first base. The opposing team’s runner had hit the ball to the 2^nd baseman and what should have been a routine out became a major confrontation. The runner might have heard about Joe’s injury. No one knows. Instead of trying to step around Joe and reach first base, the runner bent over and aimed his shoulder directly at Joe’s midsection causing both Joe and the runner to tumble backwards. The runner quickly returned to his feet while Joe moved slowly, seemingly dazed by the collision. The truth was that Joe was not dazed, he just lost sight of the ball and, to make matters worse, his glass eye popped out and was somewhere in the dirt.

The runner continued onto second base, and the umpire called him safe. The crowd of 30,000 fans erupted. Joe didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to reveal the loss of his glass eye. The first base umpire saved the day when he saw the eye looking up at him. He picked it up and handed it to Joe without ceremony and then called time out. Joe ran to the dugout at the suggestion of the umpire, to find water to wash the glass eye.

The Chief of the umpires for that day was behind home plate. He had seen the collision and was about to call the runner safe when the first base umpire quickly explained the glass eye problem and suggested that the runner had purposely caused the collision. The game’s three umpires had a quick consultation at first base. The Chief wouldn’t stand for an intentional collision and he called the runner out, a decision that caused the home crowd to roar their approval as Joe returned to the base.

Joe had a quick exchange with the first base umpire who whispered to Joe. “You need to fix that glass eye, Joe. What are you going to do the next time you are playing on the road and the eye comes loose? You won’t be able to count on a friendly umpire like the Chief. You probably can’t see worth a damn with that eye wiggling around.”

Joe responded. “You’re right. If I can’t get it fixed, I’ll be like you for the rest of my career.”

The End

 

Mrs. Wenger and Her Big Adventure

 

Being a fourth-grade teacher in a public school can be a challenge. Especially so when a mother of a 4^th grader decides to help an overworked teacher during a class visit to a neighborhood auditorium. The occasion was a free concert by a local musician who had promised Mrs. Wenger’s 4^th grade class a free pass to attend a show that would consist of kid-friendly music. The outing promised to be a treat for the students and Mrs. Wenger, known to everyone as Vivian. Vivian was confident of success since she included a music-related topic as a regular part of her 4^th grade classroom studies. Besides expanding the curricula for 4^th graders, the students loved the topic and many volunteered to participate in the programs that Mrs. Wenger organized.

Thus, it was no surprise that Mrs. Ritchie (Little Mikey’s mother) offered to help in managing the students. Not that Vivian needed help; she managed her 24 students every day without help even during the rare occasions when an emergency occurred. Vivian considered the offer as she whispered aloud to herself. “Maybe she can be of help since the students are particularly excited about this concert.”

The students were excited. Even the planned 3-block walk to the auditorium seemed to have some students in a tizzy since, for many, this would be their first excursion to anywhere without their parents in close control.

Mrs. Wenger got the class to come to attention. She reminded the students that they needed to be on their best behavior if they hoped for another free concert sometime in the future. She talked to them about the walk and how they should form a line that was two abreast and staying together until they were in the auditorium where they would need to keep completely quiet.

Mrs. Ritchie met the class just outside the school’s main entry door. As soon as the marchers were assembled she signaled to Mrs. Wenger. “We need to talk for a minute before we leave,” she said, in a voice that seemed breathless. “While I was waiting here, I noticed a man on the sidewalk. He was an unsavory man, the kind you wouldn’t want to meet if you were alone. I think we should cross over the street now to avoid him completely.”

Vivian answered before Mrs. Ritchie proposed some other measure. “Can you point him out to me?”

“He is too far away for you to see from here. He is in the next block. You’ll see him just after we turn.” Mrs. Ritchie seemed adamant that an emergency was at hand. Vivian proceeded to direct the children forward.

Vivian had carefully plotted out the intended trip from the school to the auditorium. Just to be on the safe side, she had traveled the route on foot the day before and she hadn’t seen a single pedestrian and the walk had taken a mere 8 minutes to complete. She responded to Mikey’s mother that she would walk in the lead and if she encountered a questionable pedestrian, she would shepherd the children to the opposite side of the street.

The walk began. Sure enough, on the second block she saw the man that was the object of concern. He was a middle-aged man dressed in clothes that some would call ragged while others would say were modern. His hair was long and he had a beard. Vivian suddenly recognized him. She lengthened her stride and hurried forward as Mrs. Ritchey stood in place with her mouth open as events unfolded.

“Ziggy!” Vivian exclaimed, as she opened her arms and gave the man a hug. It was Ziggy from the Ziggernaughts, the man who helped arrange the free pass for the 4^th graders. He was waiting on the sidewalk to escort the children into the auditorium where he was the main attraction and lead guitar player for the Ziggernaughts.

Ziggy gave high fives to the children as they passed by. Mrs. Ritchey stepped to the outside of the line to avoid an encounter with the long-haired man. Mrs. Wenger led the children to their reserved seats in the auditorium.

A good time was had by all according to Mrs. Wenger.

 

 

Note -The foregoing is a true story. It was told to me by a regular patron of the dances held by The Northwoods Square Dancers, an organization that has been my dancing home for the last 20 years.

 

 

Change: Good or Bad?

 

We made a recent trip downstate to celebrate our granddaughter’s high school graduation. While there, we encountered a surprising number of changes from the time that we lived there. It seemed our 30 plus years living in that area counted for nothing as we had to find our way to the auditorium where the commencement exercises were held. But before I get into that, here is a little more background information about the High School graduation of our granddaughter Shana.

Shana graduated from Troy High School and we learned several things about her and the school from the numerous speeches given during the commencement. The presentations were given by the school’s teachers and the Troy School Board. Our granddaughter’s class was large–546 graduates. The School Board speaker said Shana’s class was the largest in the nation and the most diverse (referring to the many nationalities represented by the graduates).

Unknown to us before-hand were the awards that were conferred on Shana. Perhaps most important was her scholastic result as she was awarded Summa Cum Laude (given to those who achieved an overall grade average of 4.0.) Her cap and gown were festooned with 4 colorful chords reflecting her achievements.

The graduation ceremony was held at Oakland University since Troy doesn’t have a facility large enough to accommodate the 3,000 attendees at the graduation. We were impressed with the ceremony that Troy mustered for graduating students and their closest family members.

The location of Oakland University was well known to us since Marjorie graduated from the school in 1967. However, the school has grown considerably since then so that finding our way through the neighborhood to the correct building at the sprawling University was problematic. As we wound our way through the campus, our impression was that the school has grown considerably with new buildings, new parking lots, and expansive sports facilities, changes that were all under the banner of “the Golden Grizzlies.” Even the roads around the University seemed different as some were replaced by modern, high speed, multi lane roads that gobbled up the remaining farmlands in the area. Additionally, the old retail stores that we used to frequent have been replaced by big box outlets that seemed to be doing just fine, thank you very much. What we found was that navigation aids we used to use depended upon familiar buildings and parking areas that are now gone or changed considerably, making our transport more difficult. We finally found the site of the auditorium. It seemed to me the school must have a sense of humor (or cruelty) about signs and directions. Adding insult to injury the auditorium was named “The Orena” instead of the more prosaic “The Arena.”

Traffic in the area seemed worse than anything we remembered. The new super highways were nice but the secondary roads had more potholes, more cars, and more drivers who seemed to be in a hurry, changes that were not particularly helpful for out-of-town drivers.

So back to my title for this blog: is change good or bad? In this case of our return to southeast Michigan, I found that I didn’t like the many changes that we encountered in Troy, Michigan. The comparison between Troy’s population of 80,000 people and Roscommon’s 950 people was the most difficult thing for me while I served as the principal driver during our brief 3-day visit.

My general impression is that most people don’t like change. Even small changes like new neighborhoods, new home designs, the latest fashions, new TV programming, new music and other factors of life in the 2025 can affect some people adversely. The internet seems to agree. Here is the first response to my internet search on this topic.

“Whether it is a change at work, such as a new boss or new process, or a personal change, such as a need to exercise to lose weight and improve health, there is a seemingly natural tendency to resist any sort of change.” Psychologists who have studied this resistance to change for decades have arrived at the conclusion that 62% of the population are resistant to change while 38% say that change is not a problem for them.

My experience mirrors this notion. I have a recent example of resistance to change in the case of soft pickleballs. Here is the background: the game of Pickleball grew around the use of hard plastic balls that I knew as “Whiffleballs.” As soon as the game reached a level of respectability, a series of rules were established governing the size, weight, etc. of the balls to be used. The rules established for the balls seemed to work pretty well until recently. The problem was and is, the loud popping noise at every stroke of the paddle. This noise was overlooked by most players and officials until recently. It turns out that the popularity of the game has provoked complaints from those folks who live near a park where pickleball courts are used from early morning until night fall or later. The popping noise from the paddles striking the balls provoked the numerous complaints and led to demands that the noise be eliminated.

The solution to this noise problem has been the development of soft pickleballs that prevent the loud popping noise. The new silent balls are made from a soft foam that behave like the former hard balls in the bounce height and other performance attributes. I decided to check out the new balls at our CRAF pickleball court by purchasing a few balls and introducing them to players at one of our normal play sessions.

I should have predicted the result. Nearly all the players who tried the new balls said they didn’t like them. It was an unwelcome change. Pickleball players seem to be in the 60 % category who don’t want to change from the old balls to the new. I suspect the new balls will ultimately be accepted when enough complaints threaten the continued use of hard balls and players are forced into silent balls. Good ideas often seem to arrive slowly.