Some days, you just have to give up and laugh. We had one of those days recently. I was in the kitchen about to make breakfast when all our power went out for no apparent reason. Then my husband looked out the window and saw lots of flashing red lights down the road from us. A car had run off the road and crashed into an electric pole. The driver survived, but the pole didn’t.

We both decided to make the most of the situation and go out for a hot breakfast, something our electric stove and coffeemaker couldn’t produce at the moment. We don’t have many restaurant options other than fast food in our area, but we decided that a nearby Perkins Pancake House could probably deliver a decent pancake or waffle. We hadn’t been in a Perkins in over a decade, but what could go wrong?

The answer to that turned out to be almost everything. The first problem was sticker shock. How could a lone, unadorned waffle cost eleven dollars? We ended up ordering two short stacks and coffee. After taking our order, the waitress looked at us and said, “Is that all that you’re eating?”

A short while later, the server deposited a plastic, thermal coffee pot on our table. The brew turned out to be lukewarm, a real trick when it’s in a thermos. We figured that sending it back would be futile, so started drinking and waiting for our order to arrive … and waiting and waiting. Just as we were beginning to think that the chef must have walked out the door, the pancakes and a small jug of maple syrup arrived.

My husband picked up the jug and his hand stuck to the handle. He unstuck his hand, wiped off sticky stuff from himself and the handle, put a clean napkin around the handle and tried again. In the meantime, I was unwrapping the napkin that was around my silverware. This revealed two spoons and a knife. Fortunately, I was able to flag down a busboy and request a fork, a most handy tool when eating pancakes.

Finally, we are able to eat. My husband takes his first bite and says, “This syrup tastes like absolutely nothing.” I try mine and concur. Without a doubt, the syrup was cane sugar mixed with water and brown food coloring. In a state known for maple syrup production, these folks could not even give us artificially flavored maple syrup.

In fairness, I must say that the pancakes were good. I try to look on the bright side of things.

While we were having our dismal breakfast, the electric company crew was working on getting a new pole delivered and installed. Shortly after 7:00 PM, our lights popped back on. I was able to make a hot dinner in the oven. And when I set the table, I gave each of us a fork.

P.S. Although our breakfast did not go well, our electric company did an excellent job of restoring our power in a timely fashion. It’s comforting to know that some things still work.

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For many years, in early April, my husband and I would drive to Atlanta, Georgia, to attend the Carter Center annual meeting. The roadsides from Indiana down would be fabulous panoramas of blossoming trees and bushes. And my favorites of all the gorgeous foliage were the redbud trees.

During the Covid years, the meetings were canceled, and we stuck close to home. Now the meetings have been resumed, but are held in October. Missing the redbud drive, I did a computer search to learn more about the trees. To my great surprise, I discovered I could get my redbud fix right here in Wisconsin.

While redbuds are not native to my state, a hardier variety of the tree has been developed by a nursery in Columbus, Wisconsin, a small city 30 miles east of our state capital in Madison. I have been in Columbus several times to see one of their architectural treasures, but had no idea they call their burg, “Redbud City”.

Each May, they host a Redbud Festival to celebrate the redbuds that grace the downtown boulevard and dot many of their yards. Last week, on our way home from Madison, we decided to pop in and see if the trees were putting on a show. Jackpot! It was a southern spring spectacle in southeastern Wisconsin.

Here are some photos of the Columbus trees in bloom, plus some photos of the town’s architectural star.

Eastern Redbud Facts

Redbuds are related to the pea family of plants. Flowers appear before any leaves open and last about three weeks. Only a half inch across, the tiny blossoms are a delicate reddish-purple color. Leaves are heart-shaped, and seeds are in pea-like pods. The trees can reach heights of 20 to 30 feet. Average lifespan is 50 to 70 years. The Columbus strain of Eastern Redbuds is famous in the American nursery industry “as being the hardiest source for plant production.” Some of Columbus’ redbuds are close to 100 years old.

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Tomorrow, May 1, would be a lovely day to be in France. The French are celebrating La Fete du Muguet, the festival of the lily of the valley. Pop-up shops will be dotting the streets selling sprigs and bouquets of these sweet scented little bells. The flowers are given to friends, family and neighbors as a gesture of “affection and good luck.” La Fete du Muguet coincides with Labor Day in France. Everyone has the day off to celebrate spring, love and social justice.

The tradition of giving lilies as a gift goes back to May 1, 1560. King Charles IX and his mother, Catherine de Medici, were walking in the garden of a knight, Louis de Girard de Maisonforte, when the knight picked a bouquet of lily of the valley and presented it to the king. Charmed by the gesture, the king decided to give these flowers to all the ladies in his court on May 1, saying, “Let it be so every year.”

The custom was reinforced in 1900 when the French couturiers gave nosegays of the flowers to their craftspeople (called “little hands”) and customers. Christian Dior so loved the flower that he made it the emblem of his fashion house.

My own love of the flower goes back to my early childhood. For some reason, my mother had given up on gardening and let our backyard run wild. It was a child’s paradise. Gigantic lilac bushes to hide under, enormous wild rose bushes, towering hollyhocks and lily of the valley in profusion. My mother showed me how to pick the lilies to make a bouquet…hold firmly on the stem and pull straight up. Zip! Out they came like a rocket, no roots whatsoever. My mother may not have liked gardening, but she loved fresh flowers in our home. I was free to pull all the lilies I wanted.

All these many decades later, I live surrounded by the native flowers and grasses we have planted. But about ten years ago, I was walking in the far end of our acre and discovered a huge swath of lily of the valley. They found us, and I couldn’t be more delighted.

Note: The lily of the valley is not in the lily family. The plant is a rhizomatous perennial of the Asparagaceae (asparagus) family. It is native to Eurasia.

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In case you missed this item in the news, some lucky fish now have their own doorbell. Since a doorbell is hard to ring with fins, the fish get assistance from nature loving humans.

The underwater action is in the canals of Utrecht in the Netherlands. Far fewer boats pass through that city’s canals in spring than in summer. As a result, a lock gate on the west side of the city is often closed. Fish gather around the gate waiting to swim upstream for their once-in-a-lifetime chance to spawn.

In 2020, ecologists Anne Nijs and Mark van Heukelum viewed these frustrated, sex-driven fish congregating around the closed dam. They also noted that birds like grebes and cormorants were scooping up lots of those queued up fish for their lunch entrees.

The scientists hatched an ingenious plan to help the fish reach their spawning grounds. They installed an underwater camera at the site. Viewers watching the live stream can push a virtual doorbell which alerts a worker to crank open the barrier.

The call for volunteer fish watchers to the doorbell (De Visdeurbel) was phenomenal. The live feed can accommodate 950 viewers at a time, but over a million citizen scientists wanted to ring the bell. The overflow crowd is directed to a YouTube stream, sans doorbell, and a Fish Doorbell news report. To say the fish have a whale of a fan club is an understatement. Their website has been viewed 8.2 million times.

In this surreal age when many people don’t believe science is real, it is encouraging that so many others are rushing to the aid of pikes, eels, catfish and numerous other species.

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I woke up last Sunday to the news that Faith Ringgold had died. A huge wave of sadness washed over me. I love her artwork, have followed her career for decades and have shared her art and stories with hundreds of children. People need heroes, and she is one of mine.

Faith Ringgold was born in Harlem on October 8, 1930. Eighteen months prior, her mother, Willi Posey Jones, had lost a little boy to pneumonia and was hoping for a boy. She had no name picked out for a girl. A nurse who was attending her suggested, “Call her Faith”, and Faith Willi Jones began her 93-year life journey.

As a child, Faith had asthma and was home bound for many days. Her mother, a fashion designer and dressmaker, gave her daughter scraps of cloth, thread, needles and art supplies to occupy her quiet hours. Faith’s love of art was a continuous path from those childhood moments.

In 1948, Faith enrolled at the City College of New York to pursue a degree in fine art, but she was forced to major in art education instead. At that time, City College limited women to only certain majors. Fine art was for men, teaching was for women. Faith taught in the New York Public Schools from the 1950s to the 1970s.

Even while teaching, Faith was constantly creating her own art. Her work is political; she boldly took on white racism, misogyny and other social justice issues. She stated, “I’m always thinking about what can be better. And if you don’t get out there, the situation will never change.”

Although she worked in many styles, Faith Ringgold will be most remembered for her unique story quilts. These mural-sized unstretched canvases honor the African traditions of storytelling and quilting. She collaborated with her mother on the construction of the story quilts many of which feature women characters.

One quilt, “Tar Beach”, is based on her happy childhood memories of summer nights on her tenement’s tar roof. Families would escape the sweltering heat in their apartments by picnicking and sleeping under the stars on the roof. In the quilt story, a little girl can magically fly up into the stars above the city. The Tar Beach quilt became the basis for Faith Ringgold’s first published children’s book. “Tar Beach” was a Caldecott Honor Book in 1992.

Last February, I learned that the Museum of Contemporary Art in Chicago was hosting a retrospective of Faith Ringgold’s work. I said to my husband, “I absolutely have to drive to Chicago to see this exhibit.” I did not know it at the time, but that trip would be a farewell to this powerful, talented woman who never lost a sense of joy despite the hardships she endured.

Tributes to her are pouring in. The words that struck me the most are from Holland Cotter, the New York Times art critic:

“Certain artists manage to leap over walls. Picasso was one. And some tunnel under those walls, hit resistance, tunnel some more and, once inside, open a door to let others in. That’s what Faith Ringgold, artist-activist to the end, did.”

Click below for a video of highlights from the MCA Chicago exhibit. The pictures are in chronological order.

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