Tag: beauty

beauty, nostalgia

Dreaming of Door County

Mary Elyn Bahlert

From the time I was little, I loved to go to Door County. I was lucky – my Dad (I called him FRB, a nickname that stuck with the whole family) had grown up in Door County – and I had aunts and uncles, favorite aunts and uncles, who still lived in the quiet country places of the Door Peninsula. I think of Door County as “my place” – the place I belong, the place I’m tied to. In these later years, I’ve still made the trip from California, flying to O’Hare Field and driving North into Wisconsin and further North Still, to the strip of land that is held by Green Bay on the West and Lake Michigan on the East. I tell people now that I know the “quiet” places in Door County, which is true; a favorite tourist destination now, many of the once small, quiet towns are hubs of activity all summer long and on autumn weekends.

I promised myself on a lonely drive alone from my little apartment in Green Bay along the Bay side of the peninsula, turning off at the junction of Highway 57 that follows the shoreline of Lake Michigan through Baileys Harbor and north, to connect again with Highway 42 in Sister Bay – “Sisters Bay,” in my father’s telling. It was 1974. I promised myself then, as I drove north toward the Peninsula, that I’d always return to Door County. I have. I’ve lived clear across the country in Northern California since the 1980’s, but I still return, as often as I can.

This week, Jeff and I were to be “lighthouse keepers” at the historic lighthouse – still in operation – along Highway 57, and now part of The Ridges Sanctuary, a ring of paths through the woods along the ancient, ancient shorelines of the Lake, shorelines where Lake Michigan has lapped ashore for all time. We had studied the written history of the lighthouse, in order to be prepared for whatever tourists might still come to the Peninsula in late October. We’d been ready to tell them about the history of the lighthouse, how it has been in use through many years, sometimes as a parsonage for the Lutheran Pastor at the Lutheran Church a few miles to the North.

I’d worshipped in that church more than once with my beloved Auntie Irene and her “Peggy,” Uncle Erdreich. They were old world people, from another time, Uncle Erdreich having grown up in a farmhouse less than a mile from the frame house surrounded by woods that he had built up over the years, putting his expertise as a carpenter to work in his own house. Auntie Irene, too, was from another time, an extraverted Bahlert, like my Dad, in a family that has its share of introverts. I’m one of them.

And so Jeff and I had prepared for the week in the lighthouse. I planned as I do for any trip: I thought daily about what I’d wear, what I’d need for the changing season we were sure to experience, making sure my long underwear was clean and ready to be packed. We prepared as we do for every trip, making plans for getting to the San Francisco airport for our flight to O’Hare Field, talking about our plans to stay overnight with long time friend, Joanne, and for our plans to spend a few nights in Shorewood with Randy and Michael before our return to California, to our home.

As the poet has written: “The best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men / Gang aft agley.” (Robert Burns, “To a Mouse, 1785).

And so I’ve had a week – a week completely clear on my careful calendar – fall to me. I’ll be able to make it to my regular exercise class, and I can enjoy my neighborhood walks in these last days of a beautiful autumn in Northern California. Today was a car day: I had the oil changed and I had a car wash for my snazzy Ford Focus.

But I’ll miss my favorite place, the place I’m attached to, the place where I stand at the graves of the ancestors and talk to them. I’ll miss a week of autumn in the Midwest; the Midwest really knows how to do autumn. I’ll miss seeing so many people I love face to face instead of only hearing their voices over the phone.

And I’ll take in autumn here in the Bay Area, its’ own kind of beauty, the changing light, the slow changing colors of the trees in this place.

Autumn sunset, Oakland, photo by Mary Elyn Bahlert, 10/19/2026

reflecting, remembering

Watching the Sky

Mary Elyn Bahlert

Fourth of July has passed for another year. On Saturday night, Jeff and I fell asleep to the sound of booming skies, carried to us from around the whole Bay Area. For several years, we’d climbed to the strip of land that attaches itself to our property to the South East of our property – a strip of land that is almost sold to the people whose house behind ours faces a different street – to watch the fireworks from what we had come to call “The Panhandle.” Not this year. We started to go to bed earlier during COVID – waking earlier each morning, too – and so we were in bed at the end of daylight.

The booms from all over the area filled the air as I lay awake, always falling asleep later than Jeff, who falls into sleep soon after his head hits the pillow. I listened for a while before I, too, fell asleep. As I listened, the sounds took me back to a Fourth of July many years ago.

Some memories shine, as if lit by a magic light from within.

I was little, probably four or five. I lay on a hill in Washington Park on the North Side of Milwaukee, next to my Dad. I expect that my mother and the baby, Suzie, and probably my big brother, Ronnie, were with us, but they did not show themselves in the memory. It’s as if Daddy and I were alone on the hill. Of the five of us, Dad – I later took to calling him FRB, a nickname which stuck with the whole family – holds center stage in the memory. He was the one in our house who talked the most, an extravert who lived with four introverts.

Daddy watched the fireworks with his extraversion on full display, along with the fireworks. “OOOOOH,” he said, loudly. “AHHHH,” the sound followed. With each burst of light, a new sound escaped from Daddy. “OHHH…” he claimed, again. I lay close to his side on the side of the hill. While the fireworks flashed overhead, I turned to watch Daddy as enjoyment and wonder flowed from him.

*

Why do some memories stick, and not others? I’d like to know. Every Fourth of July, I think of those moments, moments now over 70 years old, as the fireworks boom overhead. I’m still there on that hill, laying close to my Daddy, his joy spreading along the grass to me.

*

For many years now, the dry days of summer in Northern California surround me. Photo by Mary Elyn Bahlert, Mt. Shasta in the distance, from the Warner Valley, CA, 06/9/2026

beauty

the gift

Mary Elyn Bahlert

Christmas before last, Jeff gifted me a wonderful altar to be hung on the wall of my new office. When my own room in our house was being transformed into a guest room and bath, I had moved to a wonderful, bright room that opened to the dining room. I’m sitting here now, as I write my week’s addition to thewisdomyears.org, enjoying the beautiful, well-lit room. I always sit in a wing back chair, one of two that had been in Jeff’s mother’s living room before she passed. I love my space – “a room of one’s own.”

As I moved from the dark room down the dark hallway from the kitchen, the perfect place to hang the altar I’d received as a gift arrived, along with the larger, bright space. As I write now, I sit in my favorite place, the open window on my right, and the beautiful wooden altar in my view. At the beginning, after the altar had been hung, I took my time finding just the right objects and pictures to sit on its shelves. The ribbons I hung outside to be blessed by St. Brigid hang at the side, a beautiful, colorful origami helmet in a clear box is carefully set on the top shelf. I enjoy the altar, sometimes getting up from my comfortable chair to take something down, to move a small china vase.

*

Last weekend, our nephew Rainier, Lia and Celeste, who is six years old now, in the first grade, visited us on a sunny Sunday afternoon. They have exchanged houses for a few weeks with a couple who has roots in Seattle. We enjoyed a barbecue together, sitting in the early summer yard, lush green this time of year. Lia had brought the last of an apple pie, and Jeff delivered large pieces of pie to each of us, apple pie with a topping of vanilla ice cream. Soon after we’d finished supper, it was time for the family of three to go home; ever since she was an infant, Rainier and Lia have a bedtime ritual, an early bedtime for Celeste. The ritual keeps everyone sane! – and allows for smooth days with busy schedules for the whole family.

And so Lia and Rainier and Jeff and I gathered their belongings and helped them fill their car. Celeste came up to me, her small hand holding two tiny flowers in her fingers. She raised them so that I could see, offering the gift to me. I looked at the gift as I took the flowers into my fingers. “Oh!” I said: “I know exactly where these go!”

Celeste was curious then as we walked into my bright office and stood in front of the beautiful wooden altar. I took a tiny clay vase off a tiny shelf and carefully placed the gift in the vase. “There!” I said: “It’s perfect! Thank you for the gift, Celeste!”

I stood back to admire the addition to my altar. Celeste stood at my side, looking up at the vase that held her gift. Then, she looked at me. She surprised me; she moved to face me and opened her arms and hugged me, her arms fitting around my waist. Then she looked up at me. “Thank you,” I said.

Uncategorized

Red dragonfly

Mary Elyn Bahlert

I never thought to notice you.
I am sitting on the bench in the hot noonday sun when you join me.
You must feel safe
because you fly away and re-join me.
Now you hunker down with your wings flat on the gray board.
Your furry back arches behind your big black eyes.
I hear your fine wings: “click-click-click.”

There you go – away again.
But you return another time.

You sit closer to me,
making a friend.

Mary Elyn Bahlert, Baileys Harbor, 2024

At the Ridges’ Shore, Baileys Harbor, WI, 5/2025 Photo by Mary Elyn Bahlert

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Bird-watching

Mary Elyn Bahlert

Jeff and I are watching the birds again. Our 100+ year old Craftsman home sits on its lot high above the sidewalks on our street, and so we have no window coverings. Our home is a birdhouse of its own! Outside the front window is a small grey birdhouse, currently uninhabited. Outside the windows of the kitchen stands a lovely crepe myrtle, joined by a beautiful birdhouse made by our friend Jim, and added to the yard this past winter. A circle of wooden lawn chairs in the yard gives the best view of who is moving into the wooden house in the side yard.

Jeff and I sit as quietly as we can in the wooden chairs, watching the titmice make a new home for their nest. The birds are busy; they don’t seem at all interested in us, the bigger creatures who also inhabit this part of the world. And so even as we move around, the couple does not stop their hard work, making room for eggs and soon, little titmice who will be coming into the big world that surrounds them.

I always like the little birds. Most find me unimportant as I observe them. But when the hummingbirds come into the yard, they are aggressive little creatures, sometimes buzzing close to my head as they observe this other strange, big – huge – creature. Quickly enough, the hummingbirds continue buzzing on to other places, out of sight.

I don’t think I have the patience to go about being a true bird watcher. I’ve tried. And I’ve seen some wonderful feathered creatures over the years, some who have seemed as interested in me as I am in them. But I do like to notice the birds who are our neighbors in our place in the city. They’re crafty – finding exactly what they need to make a cozy home in this busy urban area.

The new home of our titmouse neighbors! Photo by Mary Elyn Bahlert, 2/2026