the Gates, visited

I recently met someone who lives in Madison’s (one and only?) gated community and today I finally agreed to come over at lunchtime so that I could inspect it from the inside rather than give in to my immediate inclination to dislike it site unseen (or is it sight unseen?).

My host gave me the password that would open the magic gates. Initially I had intended to bike over, but one look at the hill that I would have to ascend on the return trip and Mr. B bowed out. So much for my great protector. So I took the Great Old Van (“GOV”) with me in case I needed to make a hasty retreat.

The gates were imposing and the GOV stopped, almost refusing to go forth, afraid perhaps that he would be arrested inside on appearance alone. I assured him that he would fit in with other construction type vehicles which were freely getting across the great divide, most likely filled with south-of-the-border laborers ready to do the dirty work for the wealthy on the other side.


GOV mirror eyes gate with suspicion

Inside, there were faux waterfalls and matching mailboxes and many outrageous looking houses (chalets, plantations, every rich person’s fancy). My host is a guy who hangs with the less affluent and so I was surprised at the comfort level he demonstrated toward his immediate neighbors. But then I suppose he doesn’t see much of them. One recent addition to the community is a house pegged at $9 million, belonging to the daughter of the Farm & Fleet CEO. This was to be her summer residence.

summer cottage

neat and tidy

I suppose I can forgive my host for living there. I, too, am comfortable with diverse lifestyles. I try not to shun the affluent nor those who live behind gates (in this case there is a perfect overlap). But when he proposed a walk to the state park across the highway I was more than ready. I figure I had made my sacrifice and breathed the ChemLawn-ed air enough for one day. I needed the prairie breezes and nicely smelly waters of Lake Mendota to lighten my mood.

from the park looking south: across the waters


where is Monet when you need him...

close-up: hangout for butterflies

the Gates, visited

I recently met someone who lives in Madison’s (one and only?) gated community and today I finally agreed to come over at lunchtime so that I could inspect it from the inside rather than give in to my immediate inclination to dislike it site unseen (or is it sight unseen?).

My host gave me the password that would open the magic gates. Initially I had intended to bike over, but one look at the hill that I would have to ascend on the return trip and Mr. B bowed out. So much for my great protector. So I took the Great Old Van (“GOV”) with me in case I needed to make a hasty retreat.

The gates were imposing and the GOV stopped, almost refusing to go forth, afraid perhaps that he would be arrested inside on appearance alone. I assured him that he would fit in with other construction type vehicles which were freely getting across the great divide, most likely filled with south-of-the-border laborers ready to do the dirty work for the wealthy on the other side.


GOV mirror eyes gate with suspicion

Inside, there were faux waterfalls and matching mailboxes and many outrageous looking houses (chalets, plantations, every rich person’s fancy). My host is a guy who hangs with the less affluent and so I was surprised at the comfort level he demonstrated toward his immediate neighbors. But then I suppose he doesn’t see much of them. One recent addition to the community is a house pegged at $9 million, belonging to the daughter of the Farm & Fleet CEO. This was to be her summer residence.

summer cottage

neat and tidy

I suppose I can forgive my host for living there. I, too, am comfortable with diverse lifestyles. I try not to shun the affluent nor those who live behind gates (in this case there is a perfect overlap). But when he proposed a walk to the state park across the highway I was more than ready. I figure I had made my sacrifice and breathed the ChemLawn-ed air enough for one day. I needed the prairie breezes and nicely smelly waters of Lake Mendota to lighten my mood.

from the park looking south: across the waters


where is Monet when you need him...

close-up: hangout for butterflies

Quick, tell me some things about Polska

I am so very impressed with this list of ten memorable things about Poland. You're on Oscar! Here's my list:

Off the top, ten things that stand out about Poland (not necessarily the most important and most certainly not in any particular order of importance):

1. Pansies instead of marigolds. In public spaces and private gardens, Americans go for the gold. Poles plant pansies instead. Everywhere. Lots and lots of them.

pansy mania

2. The food. Okay, it’s heavy. There’s lots of cream and butter and meat. And ice cream and cake and poppy seeds. And sausage. Oscar notes that Polish people have avoided obesity. Someone recently said it’s because Poles don’t use couches as much as Americans do. But they sure have the potatoes.


light fare: cabbage stew, mushroom soup, sausage, beer



first choice: sour cherry- apple, in the middle.



yeast cakes and doughnuts.


highland hut strung with roasted kielbasa.

3. A love of the outdoors: the mountains, the waterways, the forests, or just a scrawny bit of land on which to plant flowers and grow berries. See, after you get yourself a TV, you save up for a car. It can be a cheap car. Next is a scrap of land with maybe a shack on it. That’s where you spend your leisure time. It’s more important than having a washing machine. Of course, there’s a problem there, but we’ll keep hygiene off the list. Don’t want to give the wrong impression …


forest walks


mountain air

4. The market economy has not taught sales people manners. Oscar observes that they can be rude. Indeed! Kep had commented that there are only two types of people – those willing to be engaged in the lives of people they encounter and the sulkers. It was said that the sulkers were the byproduct of communism. I’m beginning to think that it’s deeper than that. They pout and sulk and pick on their nails or smoke a cigarette and ignore you.


pretzel man with an attitude; and a cigarette.

5. Good coffee AND good tea. This theme’s for you and you (even though I do not have a photo of the tea; pretend!).


there's great coffee beneath that great foam. Oh, and don't forget the poppyseeds on the breads and in the cakes. Lots. Carry a tooth pick.

...and quit staring at the sour cherry jam; it's all in the coffee


6. Manipulating the outcome: Poles use all sorts of devious tricks to get by in life on very little. How enterprising – you may say. Yes, if you are not the one that has been manipulated in some way.

7. The parks the parks the parks: Polish cities are all about the parks. It’s more than just the beauty of these places, it is that they are public spaces that draw every inhabitant in, creating a communal stomping ground, a social place where you can be alone and yet not alone. (I have posted enough pics of Polish parks on Ocean. move on.)

8. Religious symbols, churches, chapels – they’re everywhere. No, really. It’s like the Vatican has decided to make Poland its second home. Jesus indeed. Or more like Mary. Poles are more into Mary than Jesus.

in the highlands; for some, it's worth the long hike.

9. Women attend to their skin. I swear, there are more cosmeticians than lawyers. Maybe that’s a good thing. Polish cosmetics, btw, are first rate. And there are lots of them. None of this simple body lotion: there’s anti-cellulite lotion, anti-wrinkle cream, stress-relief lotion, and topical cream for your newly implanted tattoo. And no, I do not know why deodorant isn’t nearly as popular.

10. Café conversations. Poles either like to walk and talk or sit at cafés and talk. Yes, the common denominator is the talking thing. But if you see the thousands flocking to cafés each day you’ll wonder if maybe the café, not the conversation, is the draw.

dogs are okay. as long as you feed them. sugar.

cafe life: generations.

P.S. thanks to Ann for encouraging me to finally move on to Flicker, and to Oscar for working with me through the conversion.

Quick, tell me some things about Polska

I am so very impressed with this list of ten memorable things about Poland. You're on Oscar! Here's my list:

Off the top, ten things that stand out about Poland (not necessarily the most important and most certainly not in any particular order of importance):

1. Pansies instead of marigolds. In public spaces and private gardens, Americans go for the gold. Poles plant pansies instead. Everywhere. Lots and lots of them.

pansy mania

2. The food. Okay, it’s heavy. There’s lots of cream and butter and meat. And ice cream and cake and poppy seeds. And sausage. Oscar notes that Polish people have avoided obesity. Someone recently said it’s because Poles don’t use couches as much as Americans do. But they sure have the potatoes.


light fare: cabbage stew, mushroom soup, sausage, beer



first choice: sour cherry- apple, in the middle.



yeast cakes and doughnuts.


highland hut strung with roasted kielbasa.

3. A love of the outdoors: the mountains, the waterways, the forests, or just a scrawny bit of land on which to plant flowers and grow berries. See, after you get yourself a TV, you save up for a car. It can be a cheap car. Next is a scrap of land with maybe a shack on it. That’s where you spend your leisure time. It’s more important than having a washing machine. Of course, there’s a problem there, but we’ll keep hygiene off the list. Don’t want to give the wrong impression …


forest walks


mountain air

4. The market economy has not taught sales people manners. Oscar observes that they can be rude. Indeed! Kep had commented that there are only two types of people – those willing to be engaged in the lives of people they encounter and the sulkers. It was said that the sulkers were the byproduct of communism. I’m beginning to think that it’s deeper than that. They pout and sulk and pick on their nails or smoke a cigarette and ignore you.


pretzel man with an attitude; and a cigarette.

5. Good coffee AND good tea. This theme’s for you and you (even though I do not have a photo of the tea; pretend!).


there's great coffee beneath that great foam. Oh, and don't forget the poppyseeds on the breads and in the cakes. Lots. Carry a tooth pick.

...and quit staring at the sour cherry jam; it's all in the coffee


6. Manipulating the outcome: Poles use all sorts of devious tricks to get by in life on very little. How enterprising – you may say. Yes, if you are not the one that has been manipulated in some way.

7. The parks the parks the parks: Polish cities are all about the parks. It’s more than just the beauty of these places, it is that they are public spaces that draw every inhabitant in, creating a communal stomping ground, a social place where you can be alone and yet not alone. (I have posted enough pics of Polish parks on Ocean. move on.)

8. Religious symbols, churches, chapels – they’re everywhere. No, really. It’s like the Vatican has decided to make Poland its second home. Jesus indeed. Or more like Mary. Poles are more into Mary than Jesus.

in the highlands; for some, it's worth the long hike.

9. Women attend to their skin. I swear, there are more cosmeticians than lawyers. Maybe that’s a good thing. Polish cosmetics, btw, are first rate. And there are lots of them. None of this simple body lotion: there’s anti-cellulite lotion, anti-wrinkle cream, stress-relief lotion, and topical cream for your newly implanted tattoo. And no, I do not know why deodorant isn’t nearly as popular.

10. Café conversations. Poles either like to walk and talk or sit at cafés and talk. Yes, the common denominator is the talking thing. But if you see the thousands flocking to cafés each day you’ll wonder if maybe the café, not the conversation, is the draw.

dogs are okay. as long as you feed them. sugar.

cafe life: generations.

P.S. thanks to Ann for encouraging me to finally move on to Flicker, and to Oscar for working with me through the conversion.

Wachet auf, ruft uns die Stimme

My calling voice this morning was the voice of work. But I haven’t the stamina from last winter. After two hours of pre-dawn lecture writing (I have a class to present this morning), I crawled back to bed.

And then I did what I do just about every morning: I watched the morning come in.

Some days (today) I am more awake for this than on other days, but rarely does this hour pass without me noting its stunning beauty.

I keep the curtains open in the bedroom. It is completely private: only the white pines that I planted years ago can witness what takes place inside this great room. And I keep the window open. Not in the dead of winter, but at all other times.

And so the day starts with a bird chorus and a misty green outside – gray at first, and more translucent as the sun breaks loose.

In all my travels, no wake-up scene has impressed me more. And I know that it will no longer be with me when I begin my mornings at Bassett.

This morning, just before dawn, from my pillow: sublime.

Wachet auf, ruft uns die Stimme

My calling voice this morning was the voice of work. But I haven’t the stamina from last winter. After two hours of pre-dawn lecture writing (I have a class to present this morning), I crawled back to bed.

And then I did what I do just about every morning: I watched the morning come in.

Some days (today) I am more awake for this than on other days, but rarely does this hour pass without me noting its stunning beauty.

I keep the curtains open in the bedroom. It is completely private: only the white pines that I planted years ago can witness what takes place inside this great room. And I keep the window open. Not in the dead of winter, but at all other times.

And so the day starts with a bird chorus and a misty green outside – gray at first, and more translucent as the sun breaks loose.

In all my travels, no wake-up scene has impressed me more. And I know that it will no longer be with me when I begin my mornings at Bassett.

This morning, just before dawn, from my pillow: sublime.

but soft, what light through yonder window breaks?

but soft, what light through yonder window breaks?

My God! The Stars were not aligned for biking giants last Wednesday!

Thanks for emailing me this! I deeply appreciate knowing that Lance and I were both at odds with the gods of cycling (within minutes of each other last week, he and I crashed).

It seems that his injuries were smaller than mine. But I am reassured: if he can get back on the saddle to do his Tour de France thing, I can certainly not hesitate about resuming my touring de Madison on Mr. B. Which I most certainly did in the last days. To work, to the stores, and then again, last night at dusk: it was all about cycling.

My God! The Stars were not aligned for biking giants last Wednesday!

Thanks for emailing me this! I deeply appreciate knowing that Lance and I were both at odds with the gods of cycling (within minutes of each other last week, he and I crashed).

It seems that his injuries were smaller than mine. But I am reassured: if he can get back on the saddle to do his Tour de France thing, I can certainly not hesitate about resuming my touring de Madison on Mr. B. Which I most certainly did in the last days. To work, to the stores, and then again, last night at dusk: it was all about cycling.

The great divide*

A friend sent me a song with these lyrics:

I've been siftin' through the layers
Of dusty books and faded papers
They tell a story I used to know
And it was one that happened so long ago*

He suggested that it may be a good accompaniment to my forthcoming move.

I’m switching neighborhoods soon – placing myself in the midst of Bassett.

Tonight at dusk I set out for a ride with Mr. B. I loved last night’s amble, so why wouldn’t I love it tonight? Why indeed. My relationship to dusks is unsettling, unpredictable, almost always an issue.

I headed for something nearby, comparable to what I found downtown at Bassett: a body of water and railroad tracks. Only the pond here lacked bike access. And the railroad tracks crossed uninteresting terrain.

But it had a train. Moving fast. Toward me (not to fear-- I am a careful watcher of trains). Almost as exhilarating as speeding down Old Sauk Hill, keeping the hand loosely on the break (I am careful on the bike as well). The suburbs make you do these vaguely daring things I suppose. Maybe I’ll calm down once I’m downtown.

* by Kate Wolf

The great divide*

A friend sent me a song with these lyrics:

I've been siftin' through the layers
Of dusty books and faded papers
They tell a story I used to know
And it was one that happened so long ago*

He suggested that it may be a good accompaniment to my forthcoming move.

I’m switching neighborhoods soon – placing myself in the midst of Bassett.

Tonight at dusk I set out for a ride with Mr. B. I loved last night’s amble, so why wouldn’t I love it tonight? Why indeed. My relationship to dusks is unsettling, unpredictable, almost always an issue.

I headed for something nearby, comparable to what I found downtown at Bassett: a body of water and railroad tracks. Only the pond here lacked bike access. And the railroad tracks crossed uninteresting terrain.

But it had a train. Moving fast. Toward me (not to fear-- I am a careful watcher of trains). Almost as exhilarating as speeding down Old Sauk Hill, keeping the hand loosely on the break (I am careful on the bike as well). The suburbs make you do these vaguely daring things I suppose. Maybe I’ll calm down once I’m downtown.

* by Kate Wolf

migrating geese love this place in the fall... 

migrating geese love this place in the fall... 

hey, slow down, I need a photo! 

hey, slow down, I need a photo!