Here are the remains of the hawk’s nest from last spring. It sat on its branch intact through the late fall, and then I saw a bird up inside, picking it apart. I don’t know what the purpose would be, unless because hawks feed meat to their young, the nest has edible bits that other birds seek after they’ve eaten a lot of their other food.
This is something unknown. It may be a canker, it may be the remains of some animal killed by the hawks. I made the photo as close-up as I could, and I can’t tell.
Here’s a picture from earlier in the year. A while back, 2012, there was a huge storm in Ohio called a derecho, and when I was driving home from work that day, I was stuck in traffic at an intersection, a few blocks from my street. A whirlwind came up right by the roadside. (I was thinking, “Let’s not have a tornado now, I’m almost home.”) Out my backdoor, while the sky was not quite dark as night, but dark, I saw squirrels on the side of the oak “tree-surfing”. At that time, I didn’t get a picture of this behavior, but last summer, during a heavy thunderstorm, I did.
This picture is even older, showing the house (on the right, with chimney) I lived in in Chauncey, Ohio. The little dog was my smart border collie mix, and her name was O’Keefe.
Ed cat gets his daily walk, which amounts mostly to him sitting on the back stoop and sniffing the air, listening to the birds and squirrels. The daily routine is to take him out and afterwards fill the feeder, so when Ed appears, a lot of activity starts up among the birds, giving him a good show.
This is the ground feeder. Birds, chipmunks and squirrels too, like feeders that are placed to give them shelter, and many, cardinals and sparrows among them, have a strong preference for feeding on the ground. What the owls catch at night, I don’t know. Only some mice and flying squirrels are nocturnal among small rodent prey that I know of, but some days I find numbers of owl pellets like these.
In 1968 the Hocking River flooded in the city of Athens, Ohio. This is my mother paddling at the back of the canoe, me, my brother Tim, and my sister Tracy with the other paddle. We are not far outside our front door, a bit of one of two blue spruce trees that marked our house can be seen at the left.
This is the house I grew up in on South Shannon Avenue. In later years, when decks got to be fashionable, my Dad put one on the back, so there was a little more character. The house was pretty much just a box all round. By the way, this is an ordinary photo taken in the 70s, that as you can see has faded this badly. So, remember, if you have a box of old pictures, you should digitalize them as soon as possible.
This is a high school play that my father (Ted Foster) acted in in the 1950s. He is in the dark suit, standing at the right. I don’t know what play…one with a body (or a zombie) behind the sofa.
This is my father (second from left, from row) with the gymnastic team. I don’t know if this is high school or college. 1950s.
This is me, in a school picture that might be second grade. 1960s.
And finally, here’s a clipping from the Columbus, Ohio Citizen-Journal of 1983, that I’ve kept around for a long time, just because it’s still funny.
Some observations on householder-sized efforts against the climate crisis.
Above, a natural patch of lawn, lightly raked, at the base of one of my ninety-or-so-year-old oak trees. Everything not lawn grass that grows here is by definition a habitat plant, as they were all delivered by birds and other animals. Under the deer droppings near the center can be seen a small juniper bush; the bright red leaves are callery pear and barberry. My yard also gets mulberry, privet, American Holly, English Ivy, Amur Honeysuckle, Japanese Honeysuckle, millet grass, and quite a bit more. Some of these are listed as invasive plants, but obviously wherever they came from they were playing a role to support wildlife.
This is a current question in the natural sciences, whether the decline of species, birds notably, will allow us to fuss like we once did, over the strict “nativeness” of a plant, when clearly the plant is an important food source for birds.
Landscape disturbance and transformation, extinction, globalization, and climate change are proceeding at unprecedented rates and scales and have yet to climax. We argue that the Anthropocene will call for a conceptual overhaul of what it means for a species to “belong” to a given environment.
The article quoted above makes the point that wildlife and plantlife stresses are so accelerated these days, the questions of preservation may be basic. To identify a plant as non-native, and remove it from a wild site, in the assumption this makes room for “good” plants to take over, is to assume that food sources remain abundant and time itself remains abundant. It may be a more practical standard to say, if birds can survive eating the fruits of barberry and autumn olive, let them have barberry and autumn olive.
Fires have become severe, in the U.S. this year, in Australia, Russia, Greece, Brazil, France, Spain, and other nations; and while plants can recultivate burned lands quickly, animals can’t. We may have no choice but to appreciate nature’s strong competitors, even if humans consider these species the lowly and commonplace.
This is the azalea bush in front of my house. It suffered a leaf-killing attack of thrips last summer, and as you can see, all its “evergreen” is brown and tissue-papery. At the base of each leaf cluster, new green ones are starting. The azalea will probably survive, but if it doesn’t, I’ll either let the weeping arborvitae take over the spot, or buy a new shrub that isn’t bothered by thrips. What I won’t do is put anything in the environment, even allegedly safe sprays, to kill the infestation. We can’t worry about perfect appearance in our gardens; we have so many plants to choose from, we can find the pretty thing that will thrive without chemical treatments at all.
(Marigolds, incidentally, will draw thrips…and look terrible themselves…but possibly save other of your garden specimens, if you’d like a wholly organic answer.)
This is a dead ash tree, that gets a lot of woodpecker traffic. My yard has nesting sites used by Hairy, Downy, and Red-bellied woodpeckers; also Northern Flickers. Just this past summer, I’ve been seeing Pileateds visit the tree, so with luck they’ll be the ones excavating this out next spring.
This is a burrow in the ground under my Callery pear tree. I’ve never seen what lives there, but I see a long passage of sunken ground coming off this hole, so the complex must be spacious. It may be only rabbits, but it would be nice to have a badger or a weasel.
Extending the Gaither connections farther back, through my great-grandmother’s maternal line, below are a few Joneses, with another Revolutionary War veteran.
And for fun and interest, here’s a piece from a paper called The Mirror, of May 14, 1903 (source: U.S. Library of Congress), on early trials in laser facials. Despite the headline, this item is fact: Here’s a link to a bio of the Finsen’s light’s inventor.
In the early 1980s I was able to afford, on less than five dollars an hour, a two-bedroom townhouse apartment, off Route 161 in Columbus, Ohio. My weekly food budget was twenty dollars, and I had about fifty dollars a week for disposable income—which I spent on clothes, decorating, houseplants, fish tanks, LPs. I was a Pier One shopper, buying those peacock feathers 80s people displayed in floor baskets; giant floor pillows, too, with a folkish loose-woven fabric, and straw mats I used for wall hangings. One purchase I carried from house to house for several years before it fell apart was a twenty-five dollar rattan chair, bought with Christmas money from my grandparents (typically a check for twenty-five dollars).
I used to hurry home on my lunch break in those days to watch videos on MTV (and at Gold Circle we didn’t have to clock in and out, so I pushed the time). I was crushing on the band Split Enz, loved Elvis Costello, bought an album by Squeeze on the strength of a Rolling Stone review. (Agreed with…however, reviewers in those days had the power to snuff out a lot of good music. The internet’s democratic openness is an improvement.)
I had the Steve Miller Band for “Fly Like an Eagle”… I had a couple of Styx albums (when I was a teenager I thought “Come Sail Away” was the most beautiful song), but I started to go off them in the 80s. Of course, “Mr. Roboto” is immortal.
Check out this Tommy Shaw solo number from the 80s. A truly great song that wasn’t the hit it should have been.
The job I had was general clerking in what I think was called the Merchandise Information Office (I’m not sure about the “I”) at the chain’s central office in Worthington (next to the Jack Maxton car dealership). People from the region—but also from California, where a string of stores sat detached from the others—will recall GC as Kmart-like.
They had (the one on Morse Road, the one I shopped at) just before I quit my job started stocking a little section of higher-end brands, as a marketing experiment…
So, in that last month or two, with the employee discount, I drove off in my Chevy Chevette (I think it was a stick, light metallic blue, only AM radio) to shop for a brand I liked, Outlander. One purchase was a silk-angora blend collared sweater in off-white, that I paired with a turquoise pinwale circle skirt. The waist on this was too tight; I had to fix it with a safety pin…so not the most successful look. I liked the turquoise and white combo, though. One of my 80s outfits was a pair of huge parachute pants I wore with a white eyelet-collared blouse. I still have an Outlander red lambswool blend with three-quarter sleeves and v-neck, now somewhat moth-eaten, that I wore with a long midwale corduroy dirndl, dark brown (bought during a Myrtle Beach vacation), and some Nine West boots, dressy in cinnamon with a stacked heel.
Why so much detail? Just to paint the picture for you, if you remember those fashions. And because a lot of things in life are measured in clothes. (If you don’t remember, you’ll have to Google parachute pants to get the full sense of them.)
There was a sort of dynamic I didn’t understand, coming into the work world as a poorly socialized eighteen-year-old. Once, for example, some of the supervisors were throwing a party for the office staff at Chuck E. Cheese’s, and I didn’t want to go. It was an after work-hours affair, so I understood it to be voluntary. I got the impression my opting out was being held against me, in a background gossipy way.
There are voluntary things on the job that are not voluntary, such as overtime. (But I’ve steadfastly refused overtime whenever I could.)
And I still think a lifetime of never setting foot in a Chuck E. Cheese has done me only good.
Favorite Foods of the Day
Lender’s Garlic bagels, that they stopped making. Toasted, with peanut butter.
Granny Smith Apples. (There are lots of great, crispy apples these days, but back then, you could have Granny Smiths or mushy, bland golden and red delicious.)
Honey Nut Cheerios
Stouffer’s Mac and Cheese (This always had to be made in the oven to brown the cheese topping and bake the filling to a custardy quality. Microwaving wouldn’t do. But, last time I bought any, they’d changed it weirdly and it tasted like it sat open in the refrigerator for a week.)
There was a candy, a type of M & Ms called Mint Royales, that I loved.
And once, you could get really good Dolly Madison Danish. I think they’ve gone by the wayside.
The first street my family lived on in Athens (Ohio) was Grosvenor. The house was on a hillside, and had underneath, where the structure was built to overhang—so the house would sit more or less level—soft loamy dirt, that was always dry and made a place to play.
Since my grandparents had worked in the Mount Vernon, Illinois, public school system, we had a lot of old schoolbooks around the house. By the time I was in first grade, where kids began learning to read, I’d had a head start; and a lot of the reading I did was Dick and Jane. My first grade class had a Dick and Jane workbook; the characters in those days still in use for teaching.
They way we played pretend games, we had to choose who to identify with. I don’t recall if we specifically played Dick and Jane. I know we played Star Trek, a cool show that came on after bedtime, that we had to beg to watch. (My sister liked Chekov, and I had to be Captain Kirk, though I liked Riley, who was barely a character—because we had childish rules that two of us couldn’t like the same actor…but, readers, Mark Goddard all the way on Lost in Space, even though my sister claimed him. She let me have Colonel Foster on UFO. And note, the women on sci-fi shows didn’t get to do much, so it’s unsurprising in imagination we would rather have been the crew members allowed to explore planets.)
At any rate, in this hierarchy, I was the little sister, Sally. One of our cats of those days was named Puff.
And, coming full circle, I can recall marveling that the name pronounced “Grovner” could be spelled the way it was—but I wasn’t school age during the year or two we lived on that street. I think my sister was the one who could read the sign, and that was how I got the information, though I remember looking up at it and seeing the name in letters.
Here’s a page from one of my favorite books from childhood, Piet Worm’s Three Little Horses, a somewhat odd story about an artist who befriends horses, and takes them into town dressed as women—but a story terrifically illustrated.
Books in the Athens Middle School library
Favorite books some of you may remember. The first grouping were my own discoveries, and the second, books my sister read first and recommended. They are all look-upable, so I’ve written very brief descriptions of the plots.
Why Not Join the Giraffes, Hope Campbell, 1970
Girl tries to impress boy by adopting rebellious look.
The Whirling Shapes, Joan North, 1968
Girl has power to stop mysterious force.
The Apple Stone, Nicholas Stuart Gray, 1965
Siblings find magic object, adventures ensue.
The Power of Stars, Louise Lawrence, 1972
Visit by alien force causes havoc for teenage friends.
The Ghost of Opalina, Peggy Bacon, 1967
Family is aided through generations by cat’s ghost.
Campion Towers, John and Patricia Beatty, 1965
During English Civil War, girl on Roundhead side has cavalier adventures.
A Candle in Her Room, Ruth M. Arthur, 1966
Haunted doll causes trouble for newly arrived family.
My Darling My Hamburger, Paul Zindel, 1969
Pregnant teen gets abortion.
Knee-Deep in Thunder, Sheila Moon, 1967
Girl travels to tiny world, where her friends are insects.
NW territory Governor Arthur St. Clair (public domain)
Vanderburgh County is the place of my birth, and so I share below some historical information on the man for whom the county is named. An additional note: Governor St. Clair, in his written opinions on slavery tended, as did many early leaders, to rely on English Common Law, and its well-known emphasis on property rights. He could be passionately in favor of states formed from the Northwest Territory being free, and yet fall back on the argument that laws can’t fairly obtain retroactively, a great truth in and of itself. But to claim that therefore, to emancipate slaves belonging to settlers in the territory prior to the Ordinance of 1787, would be unjust unless they received compensation—as would be correct in expropriation of actual property—is to use a narrow legal focus to evade confronting the higher injustice. This question rested on an ethical issue, one that must supersede any property claim, and nullify any representation of fair exchange. That slavery is inherently wrong, that human beings cannot be property, sat uneasily, in the political environment of post-colonial America, next to the notion that an infant government, to hold its power, must respect the individual rights of its citizens. And like many officials, the “fathers” seemed to have hoped attrition would solve the conflict.
In the summer of 1794, Judge Turner, who had gone to Vincennes to hold court, became involved in an extensive quarrel with Henry Vanderburgh, who was then probate judge and justice of the peace for Knox County, and Captain Abner Prior, of the United States Army, who was supervising Indian affairs on the Wabash. Several matters were in controversy and bitter feelings were produced. In the midst of this a negro and his wife, held as slaves by Vanderburgh, applied to Turner’s court for emancipation by writ of habeas corpus, instigated possibly by Turner. That Turner would have held that the ordinance* freed them is beyond question, for he expressly declared that they were “free by the Constitution of the Territory”, but before the cause came on for trial the negroes were seized and carried away by a party of men who, as Turner alleged, were employed by Vanderburgh. Turner then had the kidnappers arrested, though some of them resisted, and one threatened the sheriff with a knife. Complaints from all parties were made to St. Clair, who, though declining to adjust the difficulty, took sides against Turner and proceeded to give him some information as to the meaning of the Ordinance, which will be noticed later. The French settlers were greatly excited over this attempt to release their slaves. The grand jury of the county found a presentment against Turner, and later on, the citizens preferred charges against him which were submitted to Congress as grounds for impeachment, but, on the suggestion of the Attorney General, the House of Representatives recommended a trial in the courts as preferable.
Jacob Piatt Dunn, Indiana, A Redemption from Slavery, 1888, c. renewed 1905 and 1916.
Some years previous to these transactions Hugh McGary, a Kentuckian and a sturdy pioneer, had emigrated from his native state to the new territory and settled in what is now Gibson County. In 1812 he purchased from the government the land on which the city of Evansville now stands, and leaving his inland cabin pushed his way to the bank of the river and there established his home.
McGary’s place was not central, but when the commissioners appointed to make the selection were assembled at the old Anthony mill, he presented the claims of his location in the best light possible. It was not the first choice, but was finally selected. At the direction of the court of the new county, the town was laid out, and officially designated as Evansville, in honor of General Robert M. Evans, a distinguished soldier and citizen of Gibson County.
McGary became very enthusiastic over his prospects and confidently felt that his town was destined to be a metropolis at no very distant day. His hopes, however, rested on a weak foundation. By the formation of Posey county in the southwest corner of the territory the boundaries of Warrick county were so altered as to place Evansville at one extremity of its river border, and before the town was three months old, the legislature enacted, September 1st, 1814, that the seat of justice for the county should be moved to a place subsequently called Darlington, and situated some four miles above the present site of the neighboring town of Newburgh, and about one mile from the river.
In those days it mattered little what natural advantages a town possessed or what resources lay about it undeveloped; all its hope for prosperity was based upon its being the seat of justice for some county. The founder of the village set about with great zeal and industry to supply this desideratum. As the first step he enlisted the active interests of Gen. Robert M. Evans and James W. Jones, both of Gibson county, by conveying to them on June 20, 1817, for $1,300, 130 acres of land, being all that part of fractional section No. 30 which lies above the center of Main Street in Evansville, except thirty acres previously conveyed to Carter Beaman. On the 17th of July following, these three gentlemen, Evans, Jones, and McGary, prepared a plan for a town, ignoring that previously laid out. What they platted appears on the maps of the present time as the “original plan” and is bounded by Water and Third, and Chestnut and Division streets. The combined exertions of these three men were now set forth to accomplish the end already adverted to. The greatest obstacle to their success was the opposing influence of Col. Ratliff Boon, a man of more than ordinary ability, a courageous patriot and pioneer leader whose influence was not confined by the limits of his own county.
Enthusiastic and deeply in earnest in the contemplation of his favorite theme, Col. McGary did not allow his courage to weaken, and his complaints of Col. Boon were full of bitterness. His address was not displeasing, and his conversations on the subject of the ultimate greatness of his embryonic city, sparkling as they did with genuine ardor, were deeply interesting. About this time Gen. Joseph Lane, afterward of national repute, known as a wise and upright representative in the state legislatures, a hero of the Mexican war, a member of congress, and governor of Oregon, then a young man, figured in the drama beginning to be acted by becoming the means of bringing the weightier men together. Young Lane was engaged with others in rafting logs near Darlington, and floating them to Red Banks, where J. J. Audubon, later the foremost of American ornithologists, had erected, somewhat in advance of the times, a steam sawmill which afterward failed. When rowing back to his home, he stopped on the banks of the river near McGary’s house to spend the night, and then fell a victim to the enthusiastic and pleasing manner of the sanguine Colonel, walking with him over the site of the hoped-for city, then wild with forest trees and underbrush, hearing without resentment the bitter speeches of his companion against Col. Boon, whom Lane admired and counted among his best friends. Lane was soon afterward employed in the clerk’s office in Warrick county, and there suggested to Col. Boon the opportunity in his power of making valuable friends by assisting in the formation of a new county and yet leaving Warrick county large enough to serve his own purposes. Whether or not this suggestion brought the chief actors together, it is true that during the next session of the circuit court at Darlington, an informal conversation was held in the clerk’s office, which led finally to the consummation of McGary’s hopes.
The force of these arguments [in favor of dividing the territory into counties for jurisdictional efficiency] was conceded, the only objection being that Darlington would receive a fatal blow by such legislation, because the relocation of the seat of justice would necessarily follow. At length a plan satisfactory to all was agreed upon. It provided for the organization of two new counties with boundaries so fixed that Evansville and Rockport, then called Hanging Rock and not yet the site of a town, would be the most favorable points for the seats of justice. Darlington was to be left to continue its struggle for existence as best it could deprived of all public support.
In shaping these deliberations and leading to a conclusion, personal interest was doubtless a controlling factor. But be it said to the credit of the actors that private gain was not made at public expense, for great permanent good to the communities affected was the result.
Thus Vanderburgh county, as an organic unit, owes its existence more to the unyielding perseverance and untiring zeal of Hugh McGary in his efforts to maintain the village of Evansville, than to any other single agency.
It mattered little to McGary what name was given to the new county. If any was suggested or agreed upon in the conference which determined the question of its formation, it was abandoned for reasons of policy. Judge Henry Vanderburgh was worthy the honor conferred upon his memory, but he was in no way identified with the formation or development of the county.
History of Vanderburgh County, 1889 [compilation with no single author]. The paragraphs above are extractions of key information from a longer narrative.
The above selections have been lightly edited for punctuation.
Memories of a Midwestern Family 