Michigan and Ohio Bring Beaches, Bears, and a Brief Visit to My Dying-or-Maybe-Not Mother

The end of summer found us leaving New York and making a mad dash for Ohio and the Hungarian Food Festival held in Parma, which coincidentally took place the VERY day we were slated to arrive. Who knew?

Best Team Spirit Award Goes to…

This Lady! She was DECKED OUT.

I’m not Hungarian, but I got this cool dog shirt.

Here’s the sneaky one himself.

Joe, that’s who.

Did you ever think you were on a trip around the country for one reason—such as seeing the beauty offered by each of America’s states—and then slowly become suspicious there’s a whole ‘nother reason for the trip you didn’t know about? No?

Just me, then.

I’ve told you a few of my issues (don’t worry, there’s more to come, and you’ll be oh-so-intrigued!) but my husband isn’t packing a light carry-on himself. I’ve always known he had a bit of a passion for Hungarian and German food, and have planned his birthday celebrations around these restaurants in the past because they bring him joy (and I get wine).

[He’s 100% Hungarian in heritage, and we were stationed in Germany in our youth so he developed a fondness for the cuisine, by way of explanation.]

I’m now starting to suspect our camping spots and times are coordinating a little too closely with nearby events of this nature and/or Hungarian or German restaurants to visit. I will continue to investigate these suspicions and keep you informed.

All I know for SURE is I had to get up EARLY two days in a row to make it to Ohio in time for this Hungarian festival, and I am 100% sure that’s not what I wanted to do.

But I love him. Right? Probably. So I kept the whining to a low roar and begrudgingly crawled out of bed and into the truck.

It was pouring rain by the time we arrived at the festival, but poor weather deterred exactly zero local Hungarians from turning out, and lines were long for each of the food offerings. I amused myself by battling other pokemon players in the on-site gym, while Joe partook of all his favorites, plus packed up an extra helping for later.

Secretly it feels good not to be a huuuge dickus maximus about what he wants to do, but someone’s gotta save him from himself, you know? There’s a fine line between supporting his interests and turning into a walking crepe. I’m personally on guard against the latter…

My Mother Gets Covid

My mother in better times, doing a book signing at her local library

I’ve written about my mother on here before, but in case you didn’t know or remember, she has very late-stage dementia, and is now ten years into her diagnosis. By this point she is nonverbal and can only walk with help from the bedroom to the living room. Her husband Chuck has been determined to keep her at home, so he brings in help five days a week, plus gets other local assistance as he can.

When Mom doesn’t feel well, no one knows until she goes down because she can’t tell them. By the time she was hospitalized she’d already been heading downhill for days, and a test at the hospital confirmed pneumonia and COVID. When my brother went to see her, he was told she was probably not going to make it due to the level of health compromise she’d started with and where she stood at this point in time.

Joe and I rushed back to PA the next day, lucky that their house was only four hours away from our campground in Ohio. Tootie came too but we left the camper, figuring that Joe could go pick it up in a day or two if the worst should come to pass.

I was very torn in my feelings. I knew my mother would NEVER want to live this way, and my heart broke for both her and Chuck every time I visited. The truth is I lost my mother years ago, and the shell that was her body continued on without a permission she’d never given. She always told me she wanted to go to the heaven she believed in, so maybe COVID would finally end her long nightmare and bring her wish to her?

But the hospital put her on paxlovid, plus IV fluids and antibiotics, and damned if she didn’t make it through! By day five of her hospitalization her lungs were clearer and they said she could go home that Friday. Shortly after she arrived home her condition boomeranged, but Chuck decided to keep her at home and allow her to pass peacefully if it was her time. My brothers and I agreed.

Yet here we are—weeks later—and Mom is eating and drinking again, although still confined to a hospital bed in the living room. It seems her mind has been long ready to leave, but for whatever reason her body continues to cling to this place.

We arrived back at the campground in time for one day of sightseeing in the small town of Ashtabula along Lake Erie before it was time to move to Michigan.

I’d really been hoping to visit my animal rescue cohort A.C. Wulff while in Ohio, but alas it was not to be, so here’s a shoutout to A.C.’s blog with links to current and recent projects. Next time, my friend!

Beaches and Bears, Oh My

We’d hit Lake Erie in Ohio, and realized in Michigan we could step foot on the shores of THREE Great Lakes: Lake Michigan, Lake Huron, and Lake Superior. Look at us go!

First we took a jaunt up north to Mackinaw City, where we met some bears AND locked eyes on Lake Superior and Lake Huron, all in the same day.

I had read Bear in the Back Seat and the author—a wildlife ranger—mentioned a place in Michigan where you can watch bears in natural habitats of large fenced and wooded areas without being at risk. Naturally I was intrigued about such a place, and determined to see it for myself one day. I was nervous, though, because if the bears weren’t happy and cared for, then I too would be in the know and miserable about it.

Very Jurassic Park

Since going there I’ve done some research, and I’m still thinking on how I feel about the place, which will probably engender a blog post all its own. For now I will relay two things I felt were positive, and two things that made me uncomfortable.

The bears looked healthy. It was end of season for them, and they were packing on pounds for hibernation. Their coats were shiny and most seemed content. The big males and the young females had woodland acreage to escape the prying eyes of humans when needed and where they could dig themselves a haven for their long winter’s nap.

But the owners of this place allowed and hawked pictures with cubs, which is just wrong and creepy and very ala Tiger King. The cubs seemed distressed, pacing in an enclosure with a cement floor and looking for a way out, and there was no way in hell I was participating in that kind of exploitation. Super lame.

Which in the end made me question the motivation of these folks. Is this place really here to help bears or are they using bears for their own ends?

More to come on this when I further collect my thoughts…the world is seldom as black and white as we wish or think it should be.

Except for Nazis. Those are always bad. Trust me. I’m lookin’ at you, trumpistas.

The campground—which was oddly called Bear Cave RV Campground and actually sported it’s only little cave under the camp store and office—left a lot to be desired, and provided no sewer line for most of the campsites. The only thing the place had going for it, IMO, was this beautiful turkey who called it home and roamed the grounds clucking and eating all day long. Yay, something I could feed! She was surprisingly not a fan of dried fruit but loved nuts.

And lastly, we came across this young man escorting a turtle across the road, AWWWW. He— the turtle, not his escort—was of the snapping variety, as fortune would have it. That poor man fared better than Joe and I when we sought to provide the same service to a snapping turtle: we tied up traffic for ten minutes for a dude who was much more interested in killing us than getting to the other side! We were embarrassed and soundly beaten into submission, a day that lives on in infamy…in our minds at least.

Until next week, I bid you adieu. Or, as the Czechs would say it (my duolingo practice is finally paying off), Na shledanou.