It feels like spring today in northern Michigan, with sunny skies and warmer air. It has been three weeks since I last sent a newsletter, a break that was entirely unintentional on my part. I typically reserve Saturdays for pulling this newsletter together, but two weeks ago, I spent the day driving to and from my hometown for a funeral, and last week was recovering from food poisoning.
While I may not have had the time to edit my newsletter these last few weeks, I have been writing when I can and have spent much time thinking about the piece I expected to share with you today. But as I sat down to write this introduction for the essay, I got sidetracked by another train of thought, which led me to revisit some words I wrote a few years ago.
This morning, driving to the coffee shop where I now sit and carve out a couple of hours to gather my thoughts, I saw some brushy weed growing out of a yellow plastic tube that runs to the ground from overhead powerlines. I have noticed this bit of plant life growing up and out of the tubing before, a plastic vase holding 10-foot stems still connected to their roots. Today, the image reminded me of another bit of roadside art where the natural world and human development collided.
The last winter we lived in Interlochen, I began seeing discarded aluminum cans and glass bottles in the trees on the street around the corner, and slowly a gallery formed that spanned over a mile. Beer cans and bottles were tucked on branches like ornaments, like art. They were all at eye level as if the installer had pulled a tape measure from their pocket to display the pieces at gallery height.
I asked my husband if he had seen this exhibit, and he shrugged. While this may have been most people's response when driving past the shimmery show, I fixated on it, which led to me writing about it.
I decided to look back at the essay I had begun today, and I want to share a bit of it. Here is an excerpt from "The Art Installation."
The Art Installation
I don't know when it was installed or how often I drove past the art exhibit before noticing it. A month, maybe more. Or perhaps I saw it the first day it was installed, my eyes catching the shining aluminum and plastic the first time I drove by them, bits of discarded waste dangling in the trees. I turned the corner from Fewins onto Reynolds, and sure enough, the installation lined that road as well, a tunnel of trash to drive through.
I imagine it as an art installation, and it is possible that I am the only one. But for the life of me, I cannot understand another purpose for dangling bits of recycling other than the truth-telling nature of artwork. The whole thing made me pause the first time I drove by, and I have been talking about it ever since. "Did you see the empty beer cans and water bottles stuck on the branches along Fewins Road? Who do you think did that? Do you think someone will come along later with a trash bag to collect them? Do you think that we should?"
The art installation features a vast collection of bottles and cans, some plastic, some aluminum, some glass, hung on branches in the saplings on the edge of the woods adjacent to the road. They appear randomly, every twenty yards for a stretch, then with more distance between them. If you are not paying attention, you may not notice them, but you begin to see them all once you notice the pattern. They line both sides of the road for over a mile, and I imagine the artist also to be a dog-walker, likely creating this piece while caring for their animal, walking first on the north side of Fewins, then returning on the south side. Or, perhaps it was a teenager learning to express themselves, eager for an excuse to leave home for hours while contributing something important. They strutted down the road, kicking cans first before hanging them on the trees like Christmas ornaments.
As I drive past the bottles and cans, I cannot help but wonder, "Why?" Surely, the artist intended this, created this to encourage viewers to question everything: littering, drinking and driving, and single-use plastics. At least, these are the thoughts it conjures for me, and I have now spent four days considering the installation. I drive past it whenever I leave the house now, going out of my way to ensure I can see this strange piece of communal art.
I am eager to catch the artist at work, either adding to the installation or maybe taking it down. Eager to ask them some questions. When I mention the piece, I wonder if they'll stare at me blankly and say, "Art? I was just picking up trash to come and collect later." But I'll push them and say, "Well, why not pick it up in the first place?" Maybe then they'll admit, "I hoped maybe someone else would join in." And there will be the artist's statement, the reason behind it all.
For now, I drive past the installation when I can. I think about it daily and ask anyone who might have driven that way, "Did you see it?" And I wonder, who will clean it up?
Swim Club
I have continued to get into the water once a week throughout March, but our group has been meeting less consistently. March has proved to be the most difficult month to get in the water, and I imagine some of it is just a sense of being over the cold. I am out of town tomorrow (Sunday, April 7), and so there will not be a formal swim club. I hope that we will meet the rest of the Sundays in April, and imagine that will be the end of our cold water swimming for the year. Of course, Lake Michigan stays cold until mid-July, but we’ll put a pause on our formal group as we move into the summer months. Stay tuned for details on the last few weeks and opportunities to join us!
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I hope you have a wonderful weekend. Is anyone planning to see the solar eclipse? My children and I are traveling to see it in the path of totality. What a phrase.
Cheers,
Mae