Morels & 394: Ramble with the Lady
Take it easy big fellas, no, I did not find any morels along Route 394 in Chicago's south suburbs. Though I have it on good authority that they are there.
I'll get back to morels.
The racket of robins erupted all around as Lady and I set off before dawn. Beneath their racket was an undertone of the cooing of mourning doves on all sides.
It was good to be home.
And Lady, our family's mutt, obviously felt the same way and could not wait to get out on an full ramble to the town pond.
I should have tried to keep count of the robins this morning because I am pretty sure I could have topped 100.
A rabbit tried the old if-I-sit-real-still-they-will-not-see-me trick in the yard south of the bus barn downtown. But Lady picked it up right away and so did I. It's a good thing rabbits reproduce, well, like rabbits, because they are not the sharpest prey to ever hop God's good earth.
By the ball field on the edge of town, Lady lunged to get at a black free-ranging housecat, one of thos slaughtering machines. I pulled Lady back, though in my heart I know I should let her go.
Paired up Canada geese swam on both old clay pits, but I did not see any nesting yet. It looks like we will have the usual seven pairs or so nesting around the town pond again.
Eight or nine ducks exploded from the east side of the north pit, then a lone one whistled off the southwest corner of the south pit.
It was good to ramble into old routines.
For the last three days I was in southwest Michigan and just barreled down Route 394 and home a couple hours ago.
Route 394 (Hello, Terry Boers) is just an oddity. Was it a political boondoggle or did planners envision some sort of massive explosion of growth in the far the south suburbs.
OK, it is not Route 66 in history. But at least it makes my life easier
As to the morels, so I walked into Martin's Super Market in Stevensville yesterday and there is a big sign on the door about morels being sold.
I was scratching my head. It is mid-March. How can there be morels already? But then I figured they must have bought them from somewhere south in southern Indiana or southern Illinois or even a start farther south.
By an hour or so later, they were sold out of them.
It is nice to think about morels already.
But I digress.
The sun just cleared the horizon as we came back to the edge of town. It rose between the rail cars lined near the grain elevators. (Hello, Charles Demuth.) (Hello, Larry Green.)
A barn pigeon cooed from somewhere in one of the grain elevators.
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