Blue Goose ~ Day 4

June 4, 2014 ~ Peoria, Illinois to LaSalle, Illinois

The rain had stopped and I moseyed around the edges of the open land just west of Walmart for nearly two hours. There was a public library two block away, surrounded by fields, both cultivated and wild, and I wanted to brush my teeth but found out it didn't open until 10 o'clock. So I watched half a dozen Goldfinches in the wild flowers and many noisy Killdeer, found a Robin's nest, watched Barn Swallows, and first heard and then easily found Dickcissels singing for long periods of time, perched on small shrubs just barely in binocular range. They look like little meadowlarks and throw back their heads while singing a buzzy 4-note song, preceded by a chip or two. 

There is the problem of cleaning up. Walmart bathrooms are clean enough but too public to brush my teeth or change clothes. I'll have to figure this out. This morning, I used a Starbucks bathroom but am getting more and more grubby. Like all day today I never had a bra on and walked around half the day with underwear in my pocket. 

After briefly getting directionally challenged in Peoria, I got on the west river road and found a beautiful protected wetlands: The Dixon Waterfowl Refuge at Hennepin and Hopper Lakes:

WETLANDS INITIATIVE WEBSITE

For most of the 20th century, Hennepin and Hopper Lakes in Putnam County, Illinois, were drained to make way for corn and soybean fields. But these backwater lakes in the floodplain of the Illinois River 40 miles north of Peoria roared back to life in 2001 when the Wetlands Initiative turned off the drainage pumps and began restoration.

Again, I was the only visitor except for a white cat lounging at the entrance. I did my Hour Sit here almost under a Purple Martin house and watched the sky slowly clear over the marsh.  Being in the car is like being in a photo blind and birds are not spooked as easily. A Great Blue Heron fished minnows in the shallows very near; martins and swallows flew continuously; a Common Yellowthroat popped up just once; Cedar Waxwings, Robins, Red-winged Blackbirds, Canada Geese, Coots and Killdeer on a sand spit.

There was a trail through the native prairie habitat with many  blooming wildflowers.

By the time I left the wetlands, the sky was clearing and by the time I got to LaSalle, it was sunny. Again, I parked under a tree in a Walmart parking lot…

Blue Goose ~ Day 3

June 3, 2014 ~ Morris, Illinois to Peoria, Illinois

I woke up at 5:20 a.m. The sun was just coming up, and it was a lovely summer morning. I had slept quite well although woke up with acid reflux, a result of eating too late and too much. But I found a Tums and drank milk from my cooler, propped pillows behind my head and read more of Hiroshima. 

There was a a physically fit African American woman also freshening up in the travel stop restroom and several men getting coffee and breakfast. The big trucks were pulling out.

I headed west on I80 to LaSalle where I turned south and then west to the Illinois River. Siri's directions to a Starbucks ended fruitlessly near the river out in the country where Starbucks never are so I just kept going, finding one in Pekin, where I used the Internet for a couple of hours before heading to Chatauqua NWR.

The route along the river was quiet, with either dense hardwood forests or open agricultural fields. Homes with backyards rising into the woods and the small towns had almost an Appalachian feel, but much much more prosperous…the towns most likely originated as centers of river commerce…Chillicothe, Lacon, Henry, Hennepin, Peoria. The river and extensive bottomlands with marshes and oxbows and creeks and lakes provide numerous resting  and replenishing places for migrating birds, especially waterfowl and shorebirds. 

“It’s for the birds,” said one of the guys at Chatuaqua NWR, meaning how and why all of the refuge is managed in the numerous protected areas along the river, over 100 miles, collectively designated the Illinois River National Wildlife and Fish Refuges.

WIKIPEDIA

The refuge consists of 4,388 acres (17.8 km²) of Illinois River bottomland, nearly all of it wetland. The parcel is the former Chautauqua Drainage and Levee District, a failed riverine polder. In the 1920s, workers with steam shovels surrounded the levee district with a large dike in an attempt to create a large new parcel of agricultural farmland. The levee district proved to be financially unable to maintain the dike, however, and the Illinois River reclaimed the polder. The complex alluvial topography that had existed before this intervention was replaced by the broad shallow pool of Chautauqua Lake. 

The main habitats found on Chautauqua Refuge are two backwater lakes of the Illinois River, the 2,000-acre Wasenza Pool and the 1,100-acre Kikunessa Pool [Chatauqua Lake]. The Wasenza Pool is a shallow water/seasonal wetland managed to provide critical habitat for resident, migratory, and breeding birds. The Kikunessa Pool is managed to provide a stable water level suitable for fish, resident wildlife, and migratory bird species.

I pulled into a deserted parking lot at high noon and decided this would be a good place for my daily Hour Sit. There was a short trail overlooking Lake Chatauqua which is actually two polders or impoundments that are extensively managed for optimizing food sources for migrating birds. But, after two minutes, the mosquitos won, hitting my face and neck in spite of the bug spray I had liberally applied. I thought how bad can this be? considering the millions of people globally who live and work in jungles and woods. I put an Off-soaked napkin on my head and, when that was totally ineffective, retreated to my car and sat there for an hour. Being by nature a person overly concerned with her personal physical comfort, I am not intrepid about enduring insect. 

I put the Skeeter Beaters on the window, parked in the shade, opened windows a couple of inches, and it was OK. For some reason the mosquitos never found access through the open windows, and if I sat perfectly still, I didn’t sweat much. It was 90 degrees with only a weak intermittent breeze. I saw beautiful birds like a Red-headed Woodpecker, Baltimore Orioles and a Rose-breasted Grosbeak but little else. An Eastern Wood-Pewee showed up briefly and a few Robins, Cedar Waxwings and House Sparrows. 

It was early afternoon and the sun was hot but nudged by my mantra to "just do it," I then walked the levee that divides Chatauqua Lake, seeing Eastern Kingbirds nesting, a few leftover Coots and a lone Lesser Scaup, two Mute Swans, some swallows, Killdeer, a Great Blue Heron, Red-winged Blackbirds. 

The headquarters was just down the road. It was locked until I walked around back and someone realized I was there and opened it up. Two handsome, middle-aged men in khaki and green Fish and Wildlife uniforms seemed willing to tell me about Chatuaqua while I drank the cold bottle of water they offered. I was obviously bedraggled, dripping sweat mixed with mosquito spray and sun screen. But I am careful not to get dehydrated and felt fine after a few minutes in the air-conditioned offices. 

What they do here at Chatauqua is manage water, the idea being to “draw down “ the impoundments on either side of the levee in late spring or early summer so that new vegetation grows which then is available for the fall migration; the process also exposes mudflats which attract shorebirds. It’s complicated and dependent on the level of the Illinois river, which in turn is managed by the Army Corps of Engineers, mostly for barge traffic but also for flood control, rain being capricious and while predictable, is not controllable; only the effects of too much or too little.   

WIKIPEDIA

At the simplest level, in pre-settlement times, Illinois had two watersheds: the Mississippi River and Lake Michigan, with almost the entire State draining to the Mississippi, except for a small area within a few miles of the Lake. This has been complicated by modifications around Lake Michigan, making the Lake itself to some extent a part of the Mississippi watershed.Although it would now be correct to describe Illinois as part of the Mississippi watershed, such classification would not be particularly useful for locating bodies of water within the State.

Since the watershed of the Illinois today now includes Chicago, and as the guys told me, “Chicago is concrete” meaning after heavy rainfall in the city, the river can rise rapidly. When that happens, they cannot draw down. It’s all about hydrology and water having its way. I learned of the dreaded Asian carp (millions died in a recent impoundment draw down), about having to be cautious so botulism from dead fish / maggots doesn’t infect the birds; they told me how the east side of the river has seeps and natural springs continually adding fresh water to this vast system, of how they work with the Army Corps who use wicket gates which are opened or closed to regulate river flow, and of the outflow process and how fast the green vegetation grows once the water is gone. Last fall was great for shorebirds with rarities like the Curlew Sandpiper. The waterfowl need the water and green plants; the shorebirds need mudflats, and every year is different. I thought of young kids playing at the beach with sand and water. Really, what is cool about water is how powerful and precious it is. 

I came to realize these extensive bottomlands and the Illinois River is a big system. I wondered if, because it is close to the Mississippi, my knowledge of this important river was non-existent (which actually is true for most of our country's rivers after the Mississippi, Hudson, Rio Grande, Colorado, Columbia or Missouri) and I certainly never gave it any thought or could have pointed it out on a map. Maybe it has something to do with locale or length of these 100s of rivers. Anyway, the Illinois River is important and "for the birds." 

I made a brief stop at the Dickson Mounds Museum across the river and adjacent to Emiquon NWR, one of the four non-contiguous components of Chatauqua NWR, the others being Merodosia NWR downriver and the Cameron/Billsbach Unit upriver. In the early part of the 20th century, a Dr. Dickson started excavating Indian mounds on his property but was careful only to remove dirt and leave any artifacts. The site was acquired by the state and the museum was built. It is three stories of mainly Native American historical information and exhibits, including 100s of tools and arrowheads (including a Clovis point), pottery, pipes, cooking and sewing utensils, ornamentation and agricultural implements. An impressive canoe made from one black walnut log and only discovered after a 1994 flood (although not made by Indians) was very impressive.

One of the volunteers at the front desk told me of a woman in her 80s who was traveling alone down and then up the Mississippi River and whose kids "were so mad" at her for doing this by herself, and she figured it would be her last grand adventure. People are almost always genuinely interested in a woman traveling by herself and almost all are a bit envious, or so it seems to me. 

It was a pleasant, understated scenic drive north along the west side of the river. I passed Banner Marsh DHC, and almost turned around and went in, but realized the birding in June is not birding in May. But I now will be able to visualize this place and I remembered your stories. 

I found a Walmart on the north edge of town with fields behind it to the west and stayed there overnight, grabbing a Subway sandwich for dinner. The sunshine disappeared and the sky was overcast but not yet stormy. However, I awoke to rain and then a thunderstorm in the middle of the night and finally closed the pop-out back windows. The van moved a bit in the wind but it was kind of cozy almost being in a tent but more protected. I was surprised at how quiet and peaceful it was. 

Blue Goose ~ Day 2

June 2 ~ Warren Dunes, Michigan to Morris, Illinois

Birds woke me up a little after 6:00 and I packed up, showered and drove to the south end of the park which is another Prairie Warbler venue. It is also the area where a Townsend's Solitaire hung out the past two winters near a trail that goes directly west into the dunes and dune blow-outs. DHC, remember this chase?

It was a morning with uncertain weather but I got an hour or so of blue skies and followed the trail up a small dune until I could see the lake. No one else was out this early and neither were many obvious birds, although I did see an Indigo Bunting, a Song Sparrow, Cedar Waxwings, an Eastern Kingbird and a Mourning Dove and got satisfying looks at a pair of Field Sparrows with their pinkish bills and understated chestnut heads who were working in the low open bushes close to me.

Half the birds I do see have stuff in their bills. The thought also occurred to me that June is probably the worst time to convince anyone to become a birder, at least in the upper midwest.

I thought I heard a Prairie Warbler and decided to just do an Hour Sit hoping it would pop out, but I only lasted less than 10 minutes. I never saw it and what I heard moved around and may not even have been a Prairie. Their song starts with a couple clear notes, does a tiny dip and then changes to a steadily rising buzz. I have no doubt they are nesting in these dunes though.

I stopped in Michigan City, Indiana, and headed south, going through the Tree Nursery at Jasper-Pulaski Fish and Wildlife area which is where DHC and I went one spring (or fall?) to watch Sandhill Cranes - 1000s of them, along with 100s of people. There was not one person there today. I pulled into the parking lot and rearranged my van. Already. The sun was trying to come out by this time. The housekeeping done, I started for Mediwin National Tallgrass Praire which I never saw due partly to a lack of attention on my part regarding time and route, and partly because maps are often more general than specific. Roads sometimes have different names, no signage or there are detours, etc. The northern Indiana topography was very flat and agricultural unless there is a river with lush riparian habitat.

Into Illinois and along the Kankakee River where there were lovely older homes, often brick, with established yards, huge trees and generous screened porches. These were a nice contrast to the hundreds of new housing developments one sees in the countrysides, the Quail Runs or Wild Geese Commons or Partridge Crossings. At least twice I stopped to do my Sit, just observing my surroundings but decided against each particular spot until I found a boat launching site on the river where there were several families of Canada geese, each with half-grown goslings. The woods were "lovely, dark and deep" on the north side of the river with modest homes on the open south side, each with docks and assorted boats.

While I sat there watching grackles and Red-winged Blackbirds in the trees and grass, glancing too often at the timer to see how much time was left, one speedboat and two jet skis were launched. The jet ski kids rammed with unquenchable exuberance (a line I always remembered from some story in a high school English class) and the other boat took off downriver. There was a cooling breeze so no insects. I didn't exactly sit for an hour since I had to move the car as the speedboat guy honked at me to get out of his way, and then I moved backwards and forwards 20 feet, always hoping for better views for the birds that had to be here...somewhere. A pair of mayflies hung out for awhile on the right side mirror.

Where to sleep..... I should have checked out the campgrounds along the Kankakee River. They looked wonderful from the road as I drove by, and by then I had realized Mediwin would close at 4:30 and also then realized that these wild places don't have tons of access roads when I saw a sign saying I was "Leaving Mediwin NTP" and would have had to turn around and drive for 20 miles to get to the entrance. Well, I thought, I'll just go tomorrow and started checking truck stops (now often called travel stops) and found out that this could be a possibility for sleeping. I found one just off I55 and it creeped me out. It was a lot with a few 18-wheelers, lots of weeds, a tired restaurant, gas station and store and nothing else nearby. No way....so I did some more iPhone Internet surfing and decided to go north to I80, head west and soon came to Morris, Illinois, where I spent the night in a TA travel stop and it was totally fine.

It was a busy place with truckers sequestered in a back lot and all other customers out front. I was curious about the showers in these places and wandered down a hallway where a worker told me all about the showers and even showed my one which (I am not kidding) looked almost as nice as Bill and Steph's master bathroom. The deal is, one reserves these at the front desk and watches an overhead screen for the first vacancy. There is a key pad code and "you can take as long as you want" said this worker guy with pride. I kept looking at him for some sign of why he was working in a truck stop, cleaning bathrooms or whatever he was actually doing. He looked like a 40-something, slightly aging free spirit, telling me about a trip he took with his grandparents when he was young to "Yellowstone, Santa Rosa, Salt Lake City, Nevada...." and how great it was. He spoke well and wasn't spooky at all, although how does one ever really know? All the showers were currently occupied and I told him I wasn't interested at that moment but just wanted information, and as I was walking back down the hallway, I heard, "Ma'am...there is one I can show you...it's a handicapped one but the others are like this..See, it has plants and pictures on the walls and  two nice towels......." He was right...it was amazingly nice.  It cost $13 which is still a better deal that $100-$200 for a motel.

I wanted a glass of wine and the store didn't sell alcohol so I went to the attached restaurant and had a homemade chicken pot pie and salad bar and checked out the other travelers and read emails.

It was one of those blissfully balmy evenings. I walked a little and ate a King Dong Hostess cupcake, gave the second one in the package to a sheriff's deputy who pulled up next to me. He said he wasn't hungry "but she might want it" and gave it to a young chick in his back seat. I think he pulled her off the interstate as she seemed homeless and vulnerable. She had a few possessions and headed into the store, but I soon saw her walking out to the road again after the deputy left. There was also a man who seemed to be watching her in the parking lot near me but this could be my imagination. He left as soon as she got to the entrance and I then quit paying attention.

I crawled into my bed, read more of Hiroshima and had an unexpectedly good night's sleep. The two factors I thought would be disturbing were traffic and ambient light. The traffic, even though I80 is very busy, was only muted, certainly no louder than what I heard in the Warren Dunes campground the previous night. The light was better than expected and my bed so comfortable that I slept fine, except when I woke up with that burning acid reflux which came from quite a bit and eating late. I get this about once a year, and it wakes me up and is horrid. But, voila, I had milk next to my bed in the cooler and also had some Tums easily available and then just read another hour since I was wide awake. I had the windows all open some so it was cool enough. One thing I didn't do was put anything over the windows but that is an option, both for too much light and more privacy, and I will probably work that out eventually. Oh, just in case you wondered, the bathrooms were at least a 7/10...Claire would approve.

Blue Goose ~ Day 1

June 1 ~ Holland, Michigan to Warren Dunes SP, Michigan

I  left Holland on a beautiful sunny June morning after a lengthy last stop at my storage unit to drop off a last load and throw a bunch of moth balls over the contents and on the floor. It's pretty jumbled but then I occasionally see other people grubbing about in their units and mine seems more organized. Some of my once-organized boxes have a bizarre and unrelated assortment of stuff which will mean delayed frustration in the future.

I drove south to Warren Dunes State Park and first spent several hours at the north end - accessed by Floral Lane. I was in search of a Prairie Warbler so headed over the Blue Jay Trail which goes  through magnificent hardwoods and then up heart-pounding dunes to the blue lake.

Once on top of the dunes, though, I started back down and did the first of my daily Hour Sit...a sit in which I do not read or answer my phone or fidget. I found the perfect spot under a Silver Maple and American Basswood tree which are two of the most common Michigan trees. There was a light cooling breeze and only a very occasional insect.  I wondered if I could possibly bear just sitting for an hour, especially as not much was happening. The only birds I saw were a Towhee and two glimpses of birds flying through the woods. And almost no birds were singing or chipping. It's nesting season and they are tending to that with the annual noisy avian hormonal thing winding down.

Three women walked by, separately, one with her dog. The wind shushed through the leaves and the only other sound was the distant but heavy traffic on I94.

Warren Dunes is a long linear park along Lake Michigan with dunes, dune blow-outs (where the Prairie Warbler nests), forests and swampy areas.

The sitting quietly was surprisingly OK...and when I finally checked the time, I only had 6:47 minutes left.

I hiked down to the Yellow Birch Trail which is wildly productive for birding in the spring, seeing almost nothing. I did hear more birds down here, but the trees reached to heaven and that's where many of them were. Better birders would have identified some (or all) by their vocalizations.  Still, it was a peaceful and pleasant walk in habitat.

I had a piece of cheese and some frozen blueberries and took photos of a grand old Tuliptree next to the parking lot and chatted with Adam who calls me often. His initial sentence was about the Beatles in Germany.

At the park headquarters, I asked if I could drive through the campgrounds to check out if I wanted to stay there or not. Of course, the sweet young girl told me, but drive at 5 mph and watch for kids. There were two options: Semi-Modern and Modern. The Semi had many empty spots but was more isolated and only a couple other campers...one a man with his belly hanging over his belt. The Modern campground had about 100 spots, had either 50 amp power or less than 50 amps ($25 and $27 respectively) and was 5% full this early in the year. I decided to stay. It was beautiful under the tall trees, and it was either that or a parking lot. I will probably not camp much though because it is relatively expensive...relative in view of the fact that I will have to find sleeping places 300+ nights of this year, and $25-$45 will be prohibitive. Finding sleeping places.....one subtext of this adventure.

I picked out spot #88 and paid my $26.

OK...now the tent which I got out and finally had to figure out by going on the Internet via iPhone. I am not quick-witted about putting things together. Richard and I took 15-20 minutes figuring out my little Jet Boil stove which some of you would assemble in 5 minutes. My sleeping cot was as comfortable as a bed. It is the Comfort Cot from REI and is bulky but did fit in the tent. It has adjustable legs for uneven ground or for conversion into a chaise lounge position. I have had a $5 Coleman sleeping bag from Ditto for years and that worked well too.

For some reason, when I parked and opened the door, I thought I would be in mosquito nirvana, but they didn't materialize except about one/hour and I sat and read Hiroshima (John Hersey) for a couple of hours, covertly watching the man across the way who was apparently alone also but had an RV. He quietly set up a Weber grill and made his dinner. There was also another single man just down the road in a huge RV whom I saw sitting and smoking in a camp chair both last night and early the next morning. His campsite even had it's own sanitation station and he was hooked up and locked in place with blocks by his wheels on a concrete pad. The ultimate RV-er. His license plates were Arizona.

I got my little stove working. One pushes an ignition / spark switch while turning on the canister of propane fuel. The first try I heard the hissing but wasn't sure it was not just escaping fuel, which it was. There are a dozen warnings about using anything like this, so I am careful, excessively so. I turned off the gas and kept trying the ignition switch but it didn't seem to be sparking like it did when we tried it last week at Townsend. But then, after a couple more tried, it worked. I was out in the open so figured I was relatively safe.

For 18 months I have had some freeze-dried meals by Mountain Valley. One boils water, adds it to a pouch, stirs, zip-locks the pouch shut, waits about 10 minutes and then eats out of the pouch if one doesn't want to get dishes dirty, which I don't. It was a tasty Pasta Primavera and I ate more than half of the 2.5 servings in the pouch. And had some white chocolate for dessert. The campgrounds don't allow alcohol, and I didn't have any wine with me. So I imagine people discretely drink and the park personnel then CAN kick them out if they become obnoxious. What I cannot imagine is that no one drinks in our drinking society.

I walked about as the dusk gathered and then climbed in my tent, sleeping in my clothes, just taking off my bra. I was already grubby with dirty fingernails, although I had brushed my teeth and washed hands in the shower / restroom building, which was about an 8 (on a scaled of 1 to 10, with 10 being exquisitely clean.) I showered there the next morning and was horrified to discover my very muddy tennis shoes made a mess of the tiled shower room floor which was basically an open area with a drain. I had no way to clean it up, no container to flush it away.

The night was warm. There were predictions for light rain so I had attached the rain fly. It may have sprinkled slightly, or maybe not. The wind blew though most of the night. I woke up a couple of times and laid there listening to muted traffic and generally feeling safe and comfortable, but still a bit vulnerable, thinking about those who camp in bear country, or having fleeting thoughts of insane psycho killers. I would hear scribbling and scratching of the night creatures.

At one point I had to pee even though I purposefully didn't drink after 4 pm, so popped a squat as Natasha says, in the dark on the edge of the campsite. I could have walked to the showers / toilets but peeing outside has never bothered me.

BOOKS

A list of books that have been on the floor next to my computer waiting to be noted. But now,  I have no time left before leaving on a year-long adventure, traveling the US, concentrating on visiting the National Wildlife Refuges. So here is the list:

Elie Wiesel: Night
Justin Go: The Steady Running of the Hour
Jim Harrison: Brown Dog
Don Stap: A Parrot Without a Name
Victoria Sweet: God's Hotel

Michael Ondaatje: The English Patient
Peter Mayle: Encore Provence
Andrew Schneider / DAvid McCumber: An Air That Kills (How the Asbestos Poisoning of Libby, Montana, Uncovered a National Scandal).
Francine Mathews: Death in a Cold Hard Light
F. Scott Fitzgerald: Tender Is the Night

Carl Hiaasen: Skin Tight
Erich Maria Remargue: All Quiet on the Western Front
Alison Pick: The Sweet Edge
Adam Schuitema: Freshwater Boys
Roxana Robinson: Sweetwater

Hisham Matar: In the Country of Men
Stacey O'Brien: Wesley the Owl
Joanne Harris: Five Quarters of the Orange
Molly Wizenberg: A Homemade Life
Peter Godwin: When a Crocodile Eats the Sun (A Memoir of Africa)

Gayle Tzemach Lemmon: The Dressmaker of Khair Khana
J. Courtney Sullivan: Maine
Ann Leary: The Good House
Dani Shapiro: Devotion
John Hersey: Hiroshima

Book: Junkyard Planet by Adam Minter

This was a fascinating book. Who would have known, right? that a book about what we throw away could be so  interesting...

So all of us who put our little recycling bins out are really only "harvesting" Adam reminds us. What then happens to our stuff? "Placing a box or a can or a bottle in a recycling bin doesn't mean you've recycled anything, and it doesn't make you a better, greener person: it just means you've outsourced your problem. Sometimes that outsourcing is near home; and sometimes it's overseas. But wherever it goes, the global market and demand for raw materials is the ultimate arbiter. Fortunately, if that realization leaves you feeling bad, there's always the alternative: stop buying so much crap in the first place."

The author is seldom this confrontational and admits that, he too, wants the latest iPhone.

Much of it eventually ends up in China where things like Christmas tree lights and our "e-waste" and old cars (the average life of an American car is only 10 years!) are deconstructed (often by hand) in order to separate and salvage the components for re-use. Our discards arrive via container ships. That is one part of this story. Of course, as China and India become wealthier and their standard of living rises, they also produce more and more junk.

Each chapter is packed with information as Adam travels the world, riding with Chinese scrap buyers in the US, attending scrap dealer conventions, visiting the scrap factories in China and high tech plants in our country. He concentrates on China's role in this global market since he lives in Shanghai. His family owned a junkyard, a recycling plant in Minnesota, so he has street cred and is granted access where few westerners would be allowed.

His writing is engaging, informative and not boring in the least. After all, we are ones making the junkyard planet. We should be interested. The statistics are astounding.

"We arrive late…but the upper section of the street is still dominated by a long flatbed piled ten feet high with tightly packed automobile bumpers, laundry detergent bottles, plastic washing machine gears. plumbing, defective factory parts, television cases, and heavy-duty plastic bags stuffed with plastic factory rejects from somewhere far away. Workers climb atop it and unload the pieces by hand, dropping parts and bags to the ground, where they're inspected and weighed by two portly men with notepads…We walk the length of the street…The cobblestones bake in the sun, covered in trash, melted plastics, and burn marks where unrecyclable--that is, unsalable--materials were dispatched in the night. Here and there, small-scale buyers cart around old plastic detergent containers dripping of their former contents; the pungent aroma of melting plastic wafts through an open gate. At the end of the street is a drainage ditch--perhaps once a creek--choked with garbage, a plastic mannequin head, and the remains of a green plastic bin with three circling arrows and the word RECYCLING in a English."

"Soon, maybe later today, my old phones will be downstairs in that fisherman's cage, awaiting an acid bath that'll turn them into gold and the sweet stench that chokes this dusty town. But that won't be the end. Soon after, that gold and the other raw materials will be sold to a factory that transforms them into new things--smartphones, computers, and the other accessories of daily life…Still, environmentally secure electronics recycling is far from a priority in a place that lacks access to clean air, water, and--in many rural areas--proper childhood nutrition. Right or wrong, for many Chinese--especially in Guiyu--electronics recycling is a route to prosperity that might allow them to afford those bigger problems."

We wander outside and up a narrow dirt path that winds between the abandon homes that once constituted an old village. The doors are wooden and red, the walls thick cement. Down one lane I see laundry hanging from a line between building, and near another lane I smell old urine. There's no scent of burning electronics here, no stench of wealth…."

Lots of quotes here and these were selected by randomly opening the book here and there. Such is the quality of Minter's writing that every page is compelling…..

Book: An Unnecessary Woman by Rabih Alameddine

A novel set in contemporary Lebanon which makes it worthwhile just for that fact; these authors writing from all over the globe are exciting. I feel immersed for the duration in their countries, most of which are in turmoil.

Aaliya Saleh is a divorced 72-year-old woman living in Beirut. The reader is in her presence while the author muses about life and literature while telling some of Aaliya's story. I did feel he was a bit show-offy and that it was important to him that we know how erudite he is…often denigrating popular culture and authors while musing (in the voice of Aaliya) about life's boundaries and pleasures and disappointments and the realities of aging, often with pertinent passages from his impressive knowledge of literature. Yes, in retrospect, my slight sniffiness is not warranted; this is non-American but universal, specifically about one older woman but generally about all of us.

While briefly glancing through this book, I realized there is beautiful writing on nearly every page: "Poetry brought me great pleasure, music immense solace, but I had to train myself to appreciate, train and train. It didn't come naturally to me. When I first heard Wagner, Messiaen or Ligeti, the noise was unbearable, but like a child with her first sip of wine, I recognized something that I could love with practice, and practice I most certainly did. It's not as if you're born with the ability to love Antonio Lobo Antunes."

Aaliya is getting old; she is not accepted by her family and has few friends. What she does is translate books, but only for herself, never offering them for publication.

"By the way, when the war was winding down in 1988, I think, a publisher called and asked if I would be wiling to 'try my hand' at translating a book. Not one of the translators he normally used was left in our violent city….For a brief moment, a frisson tickled my heart. I could be someone. I could matter. While talking on the phone, I began to rebuild this house of cards called ego. A huff and a puff…."

She dyes her hair an awful bright blue but is not too concerned; it will grow out. She reluctantly goes to see her mother by whom she was never loved enough.

A water pipe breaks and her manuscripts are damaged: "Joumana lifts the title page and sighs. Underneath, the pages are damaged. There seems to be a dry section in the middle of each, the size of a young woman's mittened hand. But the rest of the page, the rest--the smudging, the discoloring, the smell--death, as it always does, creeps toward the core. Mine certainly does."

But the disaster is liberating….as acquaintances arrive to help her…as she thinks wildly of new books to translate: "Coetzee! I would love to do Coetzee; yes, I would….No, I can translate a French book. I can spend a year with my darling Emma Bovary…..Forget Emma, I'm going to translate my Marguerite. Memories of Hadrian, my favorite novel. Marie-Therese may have wanted Vronsky for a husband but I wanted Hadrian. I wanted someone to erect monuments in my memory, build statues…Hadrian or Emma, Emma or Hadrian, a French housewife or a Roman Caesar? Choices, limitless choices--well almost limitless…"

Being the same age….I definitely considered the title.