Shortly after rising, one day this week, I looked out a window and stopped breathing, mid-breath. Something awful had happened to my vision. Try as I might—and I tried mightily—I couldn’t focus on anything in the back yard. A minute later, it dawned on me that I could focus fine on what was in the house. Just not outside. The problem with focus wasn’t a change in vision but an artifact of the smoke from Canadian wildfires.
It’s been more and less smoky here for weeks, but it’s worse now. The world looks strange. A persistent haze turns the sky chalky and the clouds a yellowish grey. We no longer have unobstructed views of the sun or moon or stars. And, more and more, the smoke just flat-out looks like smoke. It drifts in patches, thick enough in some places to make you want to know in what direction the fire is traveling. We understand that the fires are hundreds of miles away, but the smoke makes them seem near.
The woods, after a recent rain, was redolent of camping. It never had been before. So what made it smell like camping? Rich, moist earth? Nope, that would just smell like wet woods. What else was there? Of course. Campfires. The smoke from campfires. That smell was my first tipoff that the smoke had gotten worse.
There are other tipoffs, now: throat, nose, eyes. Scratchy throat. Scratchy, runny nose. Bothersome, itchy eyes. I even heard a complaint about ears. Then there is the throat clearing, the coughing, the shortness of breath and difficulty breathing. Even the dog keeps gagging and pawing at his eyes. None of this stops him from wanting to go outside, but that’s most likely because he doesn’t know the cause of what ails him. And, if the smoke is bad here, it must be terrible near the fires.
Today’s the clearest day we’ve had in a while. There’s sharp definition to shadows again. It was a great day for the end-of-year luncheon for our French class. Better still, Melinda hosted the potluck at her cottage on Baseline Lake, about half an hour from Ann Arbor. Our family had a cottage when we were growing up, and all of us still prize a lake environment. The prospect of spending time next to a lake appealed to me at least as much as the prospect of lunch with friends.
As soon as Daryl and Pat and I got out of the car to carry our offerings to the cottage, we found ourselves walking next to deer tracks. Pat went on ahead, and I pointed out the tracks to Daryl. “Really?” she responded. “How did you learn that?” It was hard to know how to answer that. This is Michigan, where deer are abundant. Kids here grow up knowing what deer footprints look like—even my husband, who grew up in Detroit. “I was a Boy Scout,” he replied, when asked.
Going with the teachable-moment approach, I told Daryl, “Deer have cloven hooves, which gives their tracks that distinctive, two-part pattern in a sort of V shape.” I promised her more info on the way home. But another carpool carried her off with them, when the time time. So, no tutorial. On the other hand, as we sat down to lunch, a fawn moseyed past, along the edge of the lake. “It’s so young!” people exclaimed and, “Its mother must be nearby!” and such-like comments. “Make good tracks for Daryl to see!” I felt like adding.
Decades ago, my husband and I spent a lot of happy hours on the lake where Melinda has her cottage. The University of Michigan Sailing Club sits a bit further down the shore and, in those long-ago days, the club had a fleet of 470s. Both men and women sail 470s in the Olympics. They’re nifty boats for double-hand sailing, which makes them good teaching boats. And they plane. Planing happens as the boat gains enough speed that the bow lifts out of the water. Sail faster still, and more of the hull lifts out of the water. Planing a 470 is a thrill. Many’s the windy day we came off the lake exhilarated.
If there were sailboats on Baseline Lake today, they didn’t sail past Melinda’s cottage. There wasn’t much wind. Daryl saw deer tracks, though, and we all watched a fawn stroll by. The food and company were pleasant. The conversation was easy—in English, for a change—and laughter abounded. The lake setting was a treat. The sun shone. The smoke abated. All in all, it was a golden, Michigan afternoon at the lake.
30 June 2023