I do not recall why we turned down this road in upper peninsula of Michigan. On a repeat visit, I noticed that it was a rather small sign that points toward Rapid River Falls. The water in this river flows to Lake Michigan while rivers in the northern portion flow toward Lake Superior. I stood in the river (in a shallow spot) with my tripod to take this photo.

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The pastoral prayer Sunday morning transformed my ambivalence about Veterans' Day. I am conflicted because I value the people who have worn military uniforms, and gave several years of their lives, with some being wounded and some killed. I do not want to overlook or disrespect their significant sacrifice. And on the other hand, war seems so futile and wasteful and devastating. Heather's prayer this past Sunday caught me with her petition that was something like the following: " And we thank You for our veterans who have borne the sacrifice because we have failed to love our neighbor." That's not quite the phrasing, but what caught me was two things: conflict that rages through the centuries and around the globe is because of our human failure to love our neighbor as self; and the recognition that countless individuals (on every side) have paid the price of war and all that effort represents, even death. I have heard it before, but it caught me in a far different way to consider that freedom isn't free. And peace is not real until the whole globe has no more war.

This photo is from the Stones River National Cemetery, site of one of the bloodiest battles of the Civil War.

This is Bond Falls, in the upper peninsula of Michigan. If you are there at noon on a sunny day in the fall, sunlight reflects off the trees on the opposite shore and creates the illusion of paint spilled in the water. I admit that when I happened to be there at noon, I was concerned that I had missed the optimum photographic possibilities. Usually the light is better the few hours after dawn and the few hours before sunset. But this setting defied the "rule". Morning or evening light does not produce this kind of reflection. Obviously the "rules" are not always right. You have to be prepared for the light, regardless of the time.

The rain may have arrived too soon. But the combination of wind and rain cleared the trees of fall color. And surprisingly, stuck them to our picture window when we lived in Galesburg, Illinois 10 years ago. I've tried to replicate this, but the effect is not quite the same as what nature can pull off.

We did find color in the Smokies a week ago, on a road that we had not been on before. We enjoy the small area of Townsend more than the tourist attractions of Gatlinburg and Pigeon Forge. But last week, we stayed in Pigeon Forge and drove the Wears Valley road to Townsend. And there was color all along the way. We also visited some other places that were new for us, including hiking to the Walker Sisters' cabin. While it was certainly quiet by the cabin, we imagined that it must have been a very difficult life for the family in that remote location. We enjoy living closer to the Park than we ever have before.

It began Wednesday night with Madeline"s homework. When did your first ancestor come to America and who was it? The question had come up before, not in her mind necessarily. I've wondered, among other members of my family. Part of the answer was Johannes Herchelroth in 1733, my great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather. But there are 256 persons that make up that generation, which means Madeline (my granddaughter) has 1023 other great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandparents besides Johannes Herchelroth, including some on her mother's side who were here long before the great German immigration of the early 1700s. But I never had an answer to "why" until yesterday when Michael found a narrative from some our extended family that filled in at least an outline of possibilities. As I read the account of persecution and starvation that caused many Germans to leave and come to America, I wept. One of my ancestors, that I interestingly share his name, landed in Philadelphia after a long and difficult sea voyage on The Elizabeth. He was 19. The account is much too long to quote here. But I wonder what he thought when he stepped off that ship in Philadelphia's harbor.

The last thing I did before I left Old Car City this past Saturday was to go upstairs in the main building. Signs invited visitors to see the art gallery. One room had a number of abstract paintings, with a few that could be classified as primitive folk art, but the second room was filled with styrofoam cups.

Every one of them was covered with designs. Not one was the same. Obviously, hours of effort was represented.

The owner of Old Car City "doodles" a cup, or more, most evenings. Just something to do. Some of them you could buy, if you wanted. For the first time all day, my mouth just kind of fell open. Who knows where you will find art?

This past Friday we were on our way from Pigeon Forge, TN to Cartersville, GA, taking the scenic route (not down the interstate). Among the places that we drove through, we stopped at the Hiwasee River where we had ridden the train in September. I thought there might be some fall color somewhere along the river. We found ourselves in a rather remote part of the National Forest driving, on a narrow gravel road. I saw some reflections of fall color in the stream next to the road and stopped to take the photo below. You may have to stand on your head as the reflection is upside down, just as I saw it. I not only like the color and the shape of the trees but how the ripples of the water adds to the picture. Something to look at today instead of political ads.