Take a Bow Jack Frost

Some favorite scenes around the island.

Skies Over Manitou

Sometimes the best views on Treasure Island..... are straight up!

Blowout!

It's that time. It's time to put the many many sprinkler heads that keep the lawn green into a winter's hibernation. The frost warnings are starting to come in--and we don't want to freeze the lines.

So we kill the electricity to the pump, pull the intake, and fire all the lines with 140 lbs. of compressed air. When you can no longer see water coming from the heads--and hear nothing but a hissing sound--then you've completed your mission till next year.

The big bopper compressor in the basement is happily employed filling inner tubes, water toys, and air mattresses--but it really shines come irrigation day.

Just Plain Squirrel

That's right. No name for this guy. Just like the time, years ago, when a cat came up the hill to our home in California.

"Don't give him a name," I said to my wife. "We don't need another pet--we can't get attached--he'll wander off somewhere else after awhile."

Well, "Cat," was with us till he died at the ripe old age of fourteen.

Not that "Squirrel" is another "Cat." I came to really like Cat because he thought he was a dog. He came when he was called and was really eager to please. If he saw you were having a bad day he was right in your lap with a comforting purr.

Squirrel, is another story. His favorite thing in the whole world is to wait until I head for the point after a long day--drink and snack in one hand and newspaper in the other--to take my usual place on the lounge. Then squirrel climbs high into the tree tops which arc over the point, and spends his time pelting me with acorns. Now, it could be that he's trying to be helpful, knowing that my snacks are not that good for me--but I kind of think it's squirrel humor. So I tolerate squirrel--but no more than that--honestly--it's not like Cat--I think.

The Little Tree That Could

In the twelve years I've lived on Treasure Island, I've found that every living thing has its role to play. At first I couldn't see it in the Mulberry on the sea wall--it was always dropping berries all over the place and it blocked a fine view of the lake as well. As time went on I found it also was a favorite haven for all manner of birds--and also a hangout for fish--as they loved to park themselves under the outstretched limbs to grab the berries as they fell.

Pictured above is another tree--one that I almost never even notice. I can't tell you what kind it is--perhaps a berry tree of some sort--but look what it does in the fall! Most of the year it parks itself at the kitchen deck and I walk right by it. But who can't appreciate it now!

What's Happening!

If you are looking for a part of America where the quality of life is rich and improving--look to small town America. Here, people have always been hard-working and fun-loving--but there have been additions in the last few decades that allow for a much wider range of entertainment than ever before. Perhaps it is the aging of the baby boom--or the greater mix of industry--but you can always find something going on close to home.

Last night C and I joined her sister and husband for a quick hop to Wabash, Indiana and the Honeywell Center, where a touring troop of "Chicago" gave a performance that was superior to the one I caught in San Francisco many years before. Of course in San Francisco I had to deal with heavy traffic, high parking fees, and ticket prices five times as high. On top of that, the center puts out a buffet prior to the performance that is top quality.

Today, it was a hop downtown to the 17th running of the Rochester Chili Cook off and Car Show. Earlier in the month it was a production of "Fiddler on the Roof" by the Maxinkuckee Players--an amateur group that is fun to watch.

Small town America, where the people are friendly, the pace is relaxed, and there is always something to do to bring a smile to your lips.

Treasure Island Lights

Once upon a time I kept a little sail-boat in Sausalito, on San Francisco Bay. The trick, when sailing at night, was to find your way back to the slip from San Francisco. The lights could be confusing—from the lighthouse on Alcatraz to the reds and greens of the many shipping lanes, to the carpet of whites and yellows on the shore—navigation by eye was tough. Soon I came to rely on two white lights on the far shore--keep them in line and you couldn’t go wrong as you made your way home.

When we purchased Treasure Island, I thought back to San Francisco Bay—and decided that the seawall lights, which were intended for occasional use, should be held on 24/7, for the local sailor who might benefit from a light or two on a dark night. The lights burn through the winter as well—a hopeful sign that the lake once again will have life come spring.

There’s another angle. When you live on a lakeshore at night—you are mostly looking out your windows at a big black hole. If everyone was willing to keep a few lights on—the scene would be a livelier one.

It doesn’t take much electricity. We use 60 watt bug lights that are reduced to 30 watts through two rheostats. Every season when we come back to open, we find three or four lights have gone out. It is a rare year when we replace half a dozen bulbs--a small price to pay for a little cheer.