Yesterday morning at dog-walking time, my husband was leaving on an errand and kindly agreed to drop the dog and me off a ways up Huron Parkway. This put us in territory outside our normal range–too far from home for us to walk there and back but terrific for just walking home. The dog was ecstatic. He likes variety on his walks, and he’d never been this way before. New smells! Woo-hoo! C’mon! Keep up!
He was leaning into the leash, trying to demonstrate how fast he’d like to go, when I remembered that the two-prong plastic clasp that holds his collar on was down to a single prong. Huron Parkway, albeit lovely, is a busy thoroughfare, and our dog has no street sense whatsoever. Fortunately, the faulty clasp held, we had an uneventful walk home, and I’ve since replaced the collar.
Yesterday afternoon, I decided to get in on the new-territory excitement, too. Ann Arbor is a city of parks–163 according to its website. Furthermore, there’s a new one. Construction near us has led to sidewalks in new places, and one of those sidewalks goes right past the new park: Buttonbush Nature Area.
Having scoped out a place to park near the north entrance to Buttonbush, I met my friends Sue and her border collie Tesla there to check out the nature area. They hadn’t been there before either, and Sue’s and my spirits were high. Tesla was pleased to be with us, but she’s a laid-back sort and took the new park in stride.
Sue and I noticed a couple things as soon as we set foot in Buttonbush. (Tesla kept her thoughts to herself.) One, the ground is resilient there. You can feel it compress and rebound as you walk on it, the way it does in a fen. Which, given that buttonbush likes marshy, inundated areas, makes sense. Two, the 15-acre park is unimproved. Brightly colored strips of plastic tied to a scattering of trees suggest that someone has a vision for park improvements, but the vision is not yet obvious.
There aren’t real trails that we could find, not even game trails. Here and there are bits of passage, bare places in the duff, but no more than a few steps at a time before the leaves take over again. Tesla didn’t seem to do any better than we did at discovering trails, but she was sure quieter than Sue and I were. Ankle-deep leaves and no trails make for quite a racket.
A creek meanders through the property. In some places, it’s cut quite a path for itself, including an oxbow impressive enough to make us wonder if we were on an island. In other areas, the creek spreads out. In still others, it’s dry. When Sue and Tesla and I visited the park, there hadn’t been any precipitation to speak of in weeks. Last night, there was a thunderstorm and pouring rain. I’d like to go back to Buttonbush when it’s wet and marshy.
Even yesterday, though, the nature area was wet enough to make our ears happy. We heard our first spring peepers of the year. There’s a vernal pool hidden in that oak-hickory forest. We tried to get close enough so see it, but the going was too tough. Some people’s ears are not made happy by the sound of spring peepers. Those people probably have to sleep close to vernal pools. For me, though, the sound of spring peepers is a wonder.
When we were headed home from the cottage as kids, Dad would pull the car over if he heard spring peepers. He’d turn off the engine and the family would sit there in the darkness, tired and content, windows open to the frog chorus. The sound is woven into my childhood as surely as the song of red-winged blackbirds. Sue may even have been with us some time when we did that.
My husband and I pull over to listen to the little frogs, too, when we can, even though when they’re in full voice, we can hear them from our house. Their bold sound delights us. And with Lent drawing to an end and Easter close upon us, we need that joyful noise.
26 April 2021