Shrouded Shore: The Many Musings of Thom Singleton

  A Niagara Thirty Miles Long The lower Fox River, thirty miles or so long, in northeastern Wisconsin has flowed for thousands of years. After the glaciers of the last ice age 12,000 years ago gouged out Lake Winnebago, the Fox was the lake’s outlet to the waters of Green Bay, and Lake Michigan. So, from a large lake, Winnebago, to a Great Lake, Michigan, the Fox has coursed for ages through a drop roughly the same as that of Niagara Falls, 168 feet. One can only imagine the turbulence of the rapids and falls on this brief stretch of river. Why? Because it was tamed by a long series of locks and dams originally constructed in the 1800’s and rebuilt since. To make water transport possible, the Fox went from being a free-flowing maelstrom to a mostly smooth, but mechanized water road.

  Four A.M. Light Show Lightning flashes, one after another, as if the sky is blinking, blinded by its own light. A thousand thunders growl like bears about to attack. Rain floods down from clouds glimpsed in the garish light of the flickering lightning bolts. As the storm passes on, our motion light detects a deer munching the clover. Despite the stormy turmoil, life goes on. 

  As the Storm Passes Clouds glower and shower Leaves glisten and glimmer Winds waft and whistle Trees rustle and bustle Sun bursts and beams Deer gaze and graze Orioles amaze and blaze Bees bumble and buzz Hummingbirds hover and hum Baby birds beg and bum Clematis climbs and colors Clover whitens and brightens Rabbits nibble and gnaw Eagles eye and fly Squirrels act squirrelly Everything, somewhat wet, is as it should be

  Early Morning in Fox Crossing Sunlight filters through the trees, sparkles in last night’s raindrops on the leaves. The bleeding heart ornamental on the shepherd’s hook drips in the light breeze. An opossum hastens across the lawn near the backwoods. Our resident mallard splashes in the pond. A deer grazes on the lawn. All manner of birds flock to the feeder. Squirrels chase each other, and rabbits, likewise, act like squirrels. A hummingbird hovers at the sugar feeder. Small, newly hatched blackbirds follow their mother, their open beaks begging food. All this in our backyard wildlife refuge, while, in the front, it’s the city. 

  Mal or Mel or Donald or Daffy? We have several mallards that land at the pond. The males, of course, all look alike. How to tell them apart? Is it solo Donald at the pond now? Or Daffy, with Daphne on the nest? But wait! It’s really Mel at the pond, because, as another male swoops in and lands, we see Mel welcome the other male whom we named Mal. Those two are inseparable brothers, and shadow each other always. They waddle off to the bird feeder where obliging birds shower them with the seed they don’t like, but the ducks devour.

  In Our Green World Rays of the rising sun are muted today by canopies of dark clouds and green leaves, Tiny four-foots - chipmunks and red squirrels - tails in the air, scurry across the dewy lawn. Feeders appear cleaned-out, but winged ones are able to find some seed there. Little helicopter birds hover and sip at the hummer feeder. Sunbirds, my name for orioles, sweeten their day at the hummer feeder as well. Two deer, a buck and a doe, appear, grazing appropriately on the buckthorn. A bumblebee pollinates our distant garden, while a blue jay disappears in the blue flowers. A mallard joins the birdseed breakfast below the feeder, then plunges in the pond.  Rabbits trim the grassy edges of the lawn that I wasn’t able to mow. Hummingbirds return to the sugar feeder, apparently liking Patti’s cooking. A veritable bush of bleeding hearts hangs from a shepherd’s hook, a splash of red in the green. To keep it all going, rain is on the way.

  Ows Water flows Boater rows Cottonwood blows Crow crows Gardener hoes Flower glows Grass grows Beautician paints toes Debtor owes Psychiatrist heals woes Tailor sews Quarterback throws A wise one knows

  Life Abounds A snow storm in June? No, a shower of cotton. The nearby cottonwoods spread their seed to the wide world, just like our dandelions did for the whole month of May.  A spider was busy last night, spinning a three foot web on the edge of the pond, a web under the watchful eye of our mallard couple who has claimed the pond as its own. The climbing vine inches its way up the trellis on the shed. You can almost see it grow, The bearded irises have flowered under Patti’s careful care, as have all the many flowers she’s planted. The blueberry flowers so much I can taste them already. The old oak, hit by lightning last year, which stripped from it a spiral of bark from crown to root, still has leafed-out as it has for probably a hundred years. The splash and gurgle of the waterfall reminds us that water is the elixir that keeps life living.