The most recent update on the Bloomingdale Trail, a project much like New York City’s High Line:
“I would expect to see at least a part of this open within 4 years,” said Andrew Vesselinovitch, the Chicago Parks Program director for the Trust for Public Land. “But I think that is even a little optimistic.”
The Medill article goes on to mention:
Officials originally aimed for 2016 as a completion date, so that the trail would be up and running during the Olympic games. But with Chicago losing the bid, that aim is no longer necessary.
Much of the article mulls over how long this project is taking, but with funds being cut left and right (for more important things like youth and after school programs), grumbling about the lack of development over this trail is almost insensitive. Yes, it’s true, this would be a nice addition to Chicago and would help in our attempts at dethroning New York City as King City. I just hope they don’t make the Bloomingdale Trail as modern looking and soulless as New York City’s High Line. So far, it looks good. The Friends of Bloomingdale Trail website say they plan on building community murals and you would be able to bike on the Bloomingdale Trail, something you cannot do on the High Line.
Despite forecasts saying the snow storm would last for two days, the skies were sunny today and the snow that kept us indoors melted as quickly as my disappointment (and I thought Chicago’s weather was unpredictable!). Despite not being able to access the park, my boyfriend and I explored the eastern outskirts of Yosemite. Our destination? The Travertine Hot Springs, just outside the town of Bridgeport, California.
We started the day by buying an ace bandage for my knee, which came in handy when we had to ditch our rental car at the shooting range halfway up the hot springs. If we had a truck we could have made it past the ditches and large potholes in the road, but our little Kia couldn’t handle such terrain. One of the most genuine gentlemen I’ve ever met (a BLM ranger) suggested we take a short cut through the shooting range. The gun-toting modern cowboys were nice enough to pause in their target practice and watch me gimp through their field of view. I’ve never been to a shooting range, but from what I’ve seen in movies it’s not usually a free-for-all with people bringing their own targets and leaving their bullet casings on the ground. Then again, when are movies accurate? The juxtaposition between the well kept hot springs and no littering signs versus the piles and piles of used ammunition nearby was not entirely lost on me.
Upon reaching the Travertine Hot Springs, my boyfriend and I promptly got lost looking for the group of four pools. There is one small pool right at the entrance, but we were looking for the secluded set. By climbing up some rocks, we were able to spot our springs and catch some folks in the state of re-dress. Not wanting to be mistaken as pervs, we made our presence known and the folks were nice enough to redirect us to the proper path.
Clothing is optional in the springs, but we kept our underwear on. The bottom of the pools are muddy in a clay sort of way, and smell heavily of sulfur. Each pool has its own water supply and distinct temperature, and investigating the source of the water atop the rock structures is fairly easy, even for wobbly me. We hung out in the springs for a good half hour or so, undisturbed, alternating pools when we got too hot. Taking in the view took a while, as did the fact that this was all free, all public land. I own these springs, President Obama owns these spring, as does Rush Limbaugh and Ann Coulter and every American citizen! Even the echo of gun shots nearby couldn’t bring me out of my relaxed state. Everything was peaceful and right with the world. The temperature of the hottest pool is said to be above boiling, so we did get a bit light-headed, prompting us to leave (or maybe it was the sulfur?). Nevertheless, the warmth stayed with us and we went sans hoodie and jacket on the hike down to the car. The hotel concierge explained that the hot springs are popular at night; she herself has only gone after dark, and sees shooting stars every time.
Ironically, I saw more animals yesterday than I did at Yosemite. It was almost as if nature had heard my digital complaints. Off the side of the highway, we witnessed a freshly dead deer being shredded by six or so ravens. These ravens were surprisingly aggressive. When my boyfriend tried to take a picture of the carnage, they rose up around him in a circle, squawking manically and a scene from Hitchcock’s Birds flashed through my head. While walking to the hot springs, we startled a large jack rabbit and shortly thereafter discovered a newly car-crushed black and white snake. No bear or mountain lion, but I’ll take what I can get.
Thanks for honoring my wishes, Mother Nature.
“Goons” is one of the most original and enigmatic street artists in Chicago. He cultivates an air of mystery, won’t answer certain questions (he laughs if you ask him why he chose the name “goons”), and will contact you on his own time (trust me on that!). Over the past couple of years, he’s developed a devoted following on flickr and his identity has been the subject of much debate. The Viking, a member of his own crew, summed Goons up best by calling him “the most elusive reclusive alcohol abusive lurker of chicago streets.”
As a girl who grew up in New York City, visiting Yosemite for vacation is a surreal but pleasant dream: to traverse a land where the wilderness rules is the exact opposite of the environment I grew up in. The city I currently reside in doesn’t think twice about manhandling nature, even going so far as to reverse the flow of a river and dying it green on St. Patrick’s Day. Chicago doesn’t shut down because of a couple feet of the white stuff. When it snows out here, 9,000 feet above sea level, chains must be put on tires and people lock themselves inside. Driving up the winding and narrow mountain passes lacking guard rails is scary enough, so when it snows Yosemite closes its roads. Humans are so vulnerable out here, and lack any choice but to surrender to the whims of the wilderness. It’s not just the weather – the animals give humans a run for their money as well.
Before each nature walk, a sign warns you that you are entering the wild and that this is bear country. The sign goes on to explain that if you leave food in your car, a bear will damage your car to get to your food. Bear-proof storage containers are strategically placed next to the warning signs and their use is mandated.
Needless to say, I was stoked. To see a bear in its natural habitat? To catch a glimpse of a bobcat, or mountain lion? I was so ecstatic about meeting some wildlife that odd shapes in the woods, or any flickering movement had me freeze and stare. It was all wishful thinking. I saw a plethora of chipmunks (who seemed to have a little game of running out in front of moving cars) and a couple western gray squirrels. The western gray squirrel has larger ears and a less bushy tail than the squirrels I am used to, and while it was nice to see, the squirrel’s presence meant no bobcat or mountain lion prowled nearby. I realized that the animals I was looking for could smell me a long way off, and since this was the kingdom of the wild, these animals have figured out where the trails are and probably stay well away from them (going off the trail path is prohibited, as the park stresses you leave as little impact on nature as possible). Hence my surprise at finding some mountain lion scat in the middle of my hike up to Dog Lake. There I was, visibly excited (once again) over some cat poop. If only I had climbed faster, I could have seen a large defecating feline!
On my first day in Yosemite, my boyfriend and I hiked the lower Cathedral Lakes trail, and it was by far one of the most beautiful natural formations I have ever seen. The sky was a bright blue, without a cloud in sight. On the way down, we passed quite a few people carrying ski pole-looking things, and I scoffed at how ridiculous they looked. I would eat my words the next day when I realized what they were for. My right knee was done for when we got back to the hotel, the bone itself hurting whenever I bent it. Research on the internet revealed the cause of my pain: the constant impact of climbing downhill. How could I have avoided this? By having a damn hiking pole.
The second day saw us hiking small amounts due to my injured knee. We had heard about the approaching storm and I wanted to get the most out of our visit. No pain, no gain, right? Our first stop: Soda Springs. On the way there, a group of ten or more Clark’s Nutcrackers went wild for a good 5 minutes, calling back and forth over a river in the Tuolumne
Meadows. The Soda Springs themselves were copper, yellow and red. I’d never have thought of it myself, but a passing hiker let us know that drinking from the spring is a popular, if potentially dangerous right of passage. Good enough for me! The ice-cold water bubbling up from the bowl sized craters tasted a little like flat seltzer. Afterward, we climbed Pothole Dome to get a panoramic view of the meadow and mountains. We ended the day hiking up to Dog Lake, where I saw the mountain lion scat.
While it might seem disappointing to have a seven day vacation cut down by five days due to snow, the amount I did see in those 2 days was satisfying enough to hold me over until next time. I can’t complain, and the raging storm outside is almost fortuitous since I cannot walk without limping. Cabin fever is sure to set in, as the snow storm is steadily knocking out TV channels and cell phone reception is splotchy at best. In fact, this post would have done earlier if it weren’t for a power outage. Now the power’s back on and the internet is up. Your move, nature.
Photos and some audio to come…
blue sky Bakery and Cafe is tucked away on a residential street in Albany Park, and if it weren’t for the chalk sign the cafe puts out every morning, you’d walk right by it. blue sky is a quiet and small cafe, serving fair trade coffee and their own freshly baked goods, and by all appearances, there is nothing to distinguish this coffee shop from the other hundreds or so in Chicago. Don’t be fooled by its humble appearance; blue sky Cafe and Bakery is a non-profit, tax-exempt organization that employs troubled and homeless youth in order to give them job training- so if you’ve been a lazy citizen lately, you can give back to the community just by having a cup of coffee. Simple and instant karma!
blue sky Inn began in 2000, with Lisa Thompson selling her baked goods at farmers markets by operating out of a shared kitchen. blue sky quickly gained a reputation for its freshly baked goods, and last year in May Thompson opened the cafe. Thompson’s original idea was to open an inn (hence the name), a 5 – 8 bedroom bed-and-breakfast that would employ youth as the cooks, gardeners, cleaners, but the investment wasn’t there. Thompson estimates she needs $500,000 to open the bed and breakfast, but because her organization is so small she cannot apply for state or federal grants. Despite a steady increase in business, the cafe is still a long way away from breaking even and still relies heavily on philanthropy.
I sat down with Lisa Thompson the other day, and asked her why she was shunning the capitalistic model. She laughed and said “opening the cafe was never the dream, creating a job environment and opportunities for youth was what I always wanted to do.” The cafe provides “more visibility to the program” than the farmers markets, and rehabilitating the youth in a cafe is perfect since it provides job opportunities in an employment niche “that isn’t concerned with criminal backgrounds” adds Thompson.
I think there are a lot of people trying but I think that the best thing they need are job opportunities. Job workshops and job training is great but I don’t think there is any substitute for actual work experience. It has real consequences, that have customers, demands, schedules, that have fluctuations in day to day scheduling, high pressure situations with deadlines. There is no substitute for that. There are thousands and thousands of young adults in chicago who are willing to work and who need opportunity and they just aren’t available.-Lisa Thompson
I have this affinity with cab drivers and believe the bonds of “immigrant-hood” are strong between us. These drivers come from troubled or poor countries that most Americans can’t locate on a map. They come alone, without knowing the language, and their ability to learn English and the city streets is admirable and courageous. I’m one of those fares that expect a conversation along with a safe route to my destination, and my ” in” is my immigrantness. I am genuinely interested in their day, having worked in a variety of retail and food servicing jobs and we commiserate together on the rudeness of people, politics, religion, the economy, the difficulty of adjusting to a new country, the self-reliance and loneliness of coming to America without knowing anyone, and the stability of our respective countries. It’s always an enjoyable experience, which is why the following Chicago Sun-Times article almost broke my heart:
Driving a cab is a dangerous job. A new survey from the University of Illinois at Chicago, to be released today, found that one in five Chicago cabdrivers has been physically attacked on the job.
“Cabdrivers are targets for ethnic prejudices,” said Fayez Khozindar, chairman of the United Taxidrivers Community Council.
“She said you are very lucky because I am not going to kill you because today is my birthday,” Kim said.
The article goes on to explain that cab drivers cannot park on residential streets, and the “long walk home” from a commercial street can be dangerous.
If you’re a taxi-loving patron too, I suggest you stop by HACK (or How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love Driving a Cab), a local blog chronicling a cab driver’s experiences complete with telling drawings. For those interesting in becoming a cab driver, follow the link to a How-To article on one of the world’s “most interesting jobs” (if only I knew how to drive!).