My honey and I have done a fair amount of driving on the county roads large and small this week. It’s a thought-provoking experience.
Where I94 and M14 meet, for instance, always takes attention. Cars traveling west on 14 have to do a triple merge. First you merge, at speed, from the right into traffic approaching, at speed, from the left. Then the lane into which the M14 drivers merged ends, necessitating another merge. Then that lane ends too, requiring the third merge.
Today, as we entered the major merge zone, we glanced at the yellow sign prescribing the next move. It featured the usual drawing of a lane ending and the desired traffic behavior, only the lanes featured on the sign were perpendicular to the direction of travel. We’ve traveled that stretch of road many times and completed all the merges before looking at each other in puzzlement. Neither one of us had known quite how to interpret that sign which, we realized then, had been hanging by only one support.
Closer to home yesterday, we stopped on Huron Parkway for the light by the high school, and as we waited there, girls started to stream past. Some team, maybe the track team, was out for a morning run. They came from behind us, then right-turned onto Fuller, running in groups of two and three but mostly en masse, a dozen or more of them, through the grass.
And every girl had a ponytail. The girls moved with the easy grace of youth and with ponytails swaying, reminding me of the ponytails we wore, and the pleasure of feeling them move as we did. And of the ponytails of the succeeding generations, daughters and granddaughters and, soon if not already, great-granddaughters. My honey and I did not mind being stopped at that light.
A little later yesterday, as the radio played the opening of Brahms’ second symphony, we found ourselves on a road well edged with teasel. Our progress was brisk but not fast, a nice fit with the allegro non troppo. Teasel’s big purple flowers are mostly done for the summer, but the flowerheads remain prominent on the tall stalks.
Which prompted my sweetheart to observe that they looked like notes on a score.
The family farmstands of the county are beginning to have produce on the shelves, including that most important offering, Michigan-grown sweet corn. Sweet corn season is a highlight of summer, so important in this state that our rector mentioned it in Sunday’s sermon.
What do Michiganders do with fresh-picked sweet corn? As little as possible. We consume it as corn on the cob. I knew a three-year-old from out of state who liked to eat our corn raw. The rest of us drop it in boiling water for a few minutes, add butter, salt, and pepper when we get it on our plate, and yum it up.
Our friend Anne used to have access to sweet corn so fresh that it was only separated from the living stalks after the water in the pot was boiling and ready to receive it. She says the experience spoiled her for all lesser corn and that, after that, all other corn was lesser corn.
When I was eight, I was missing my four front teeth—two on top and two on the bottom—when sweet corn season arrived. I remember asking Dad what I was going to do, but he didn’t seem concerned. He was right, too. When faced with the glistening perfection of sweet corn while missing those teeth, I did what any motivated kid would do and bit it with my side teeth. You get a lot of butter on your cheeks eating it this way, but it’s worth it, so worth it.
On the way home today, we turned south on Nixon Road and hoped for the best. Our friend Cindy, who lives just off Nixon Road says it’s been under construction for two years, and she’s a position to know. What changes periodically is the portion of the road open to traffic.
The city’s finishing the latest section, which ended just short of my friend Loris’s driveway. The next section, already being dug up, includes it. As of today, there’s still one “lane” open in the new section. It goes right down the center of the road and includes a heavy piece of steel over her driveway.
A question appeared this week in the on-line neighborhood newsletter. It read, “Will Nixon Road be closed forever?” My favorite answer among the many was, “Yes.”
Loris and family may never be able to go home again.
7 August 2026