Autumn comes with a different sound track this year: the various roars and bangs and beeps of construction sites. Two elementary schools are going up in our neighborhood, and the work continues on Nixon Road. If you can stand the noise, you can watch some skilled workers in action.
A morning walk took me past the Logan construction site just as a crane on wheels motored toward the school, bearing a pallet of drywall. The crane operator paused to let the load settle down, then lifted it with great care to an opening on the second floor. With infinite care, he maneuvered the drywall through the opening, which was scarcely wider than the load, onto the forks of the forklift someone drove up to receive it. The sequence of events took place without incident, all part of a day’s work for those involved, but you could hardly watch it unfold without holding your breath.
Nixon Road has become a wild and woolly place not just for vehicle traffic but for pedestrians as well. Where you can walk changes daily or more often, and sometimes you have to venture into the construction area itself to get where you’re going–say, across the street when the sidewalk on your side of the road terminates in a great deep hole. Yes, such holes are marked with traffic cones and such, but there is a distinct lack of suggestions for alternate routes.
So sometimes you just stand there for a while to figure out how you’re going to do it and, just as important, when you’re going to do it, to stay out of the way of the big machinery. I was doing that this week, trying to predict the path of a backhoe the approximate size of a mobile Rock of Gibraltar, when I got to see the backhoe operator scoop a shovelful of dirt from one area and deliver it with precision to a spot just behind the newly created curb of the road. He payed the dirt out of the shovel with as much control as if he were using his fingers.
The other new sound this fall is the constant shhh of dry leaves. We expect the skittering sound from fallen leaves, but these leaves are still on the trees. The long dry spell this summer also seems to be shortening how long the leaves remain on the trees before dropping. Trees are coloring up as usual, but then losing their leaves. It’s still beautiful, but it’s fleeting.
Decorations are going up around the neighborhood. So far, my favorite is a little girl ghost in a family of ghosts, who’s accessorized herself with a bat for a barrette. Across the street from her is a ghost whose hat ends in a pumpkin tassel, which floats quite cheerfully in the breeze.
Elsewhere, there’s a larger-than-human-sized skeleton with its torso emerging from someone’s garage roof, while dozens of pint-sized skeletons scrabble across the yard and up the bricks of the garage. Another house has a yard-sized spiderweb, sans spider, with tiny, twinkling, purple lights.
Daughter Number Two and I made a predawn trip to Detroit this week, to be there in a loved one’s time of trial. There was scarcely any traffic when we set out, but the closer we got to Detroit, the more crowded the roads got. And drivers were aggressive, moving fast and leaving not much space between vehicles. They knew where they were going, and they were in a hurry to get there. The experience made D#2 and I both glad that we don’t have to make this commute on a daily basis.
At length, we found ourselves in a hospital waiting room. It was new and thoughtfully appointed, provided with simple refreshments, a kitchen area, and little white pillars scattered around the room. These turned out to be towers of electrical sockets for folks using electronic devices. Some people used them, some stared at low-volume TVs, some read, and a surprising number stared into space or snoozed.
When we could rejoin our patient, a lady came to the desk to escort us to the bedside. She was quite elderly, nicely turned out, and unobtrusive. This is what she does at the hospital, reunites anxious people without inserting herself in the process. My best guess is that she’s a volunteer, and shows up at the hospital week after week, to provide this small, necessary service to patients and their people, without much expectation of appreciation beyond polite murmurs of thanks. She made our day easier, and did so with grace. She made a difference, and we thank her.
16 October 2026