My daughter snapped this photo of a Bald Eagle outside our window last winter. We live in a log home on the top of a hill overlooking East Grand Traverse Bay, so sometimes eagles, hawks and other feathered friends fly by at eye level.
This handsome bird landed on a tree branch and stayed there for quite a while, no doubt looking for his dinner that night.
Photo: Marissa Boursaw
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One of the things that drew me to my now-husband back in the day was his love of sports cars — a love he still has to this day. Once a car guy, always a car guy. Now I’m a car girl. I don’t know all the inner workings of the engines and floor pans and rocker panels, but I can pick out a Chevy Bel-Air or an Austin Healy 3000 coming down the road towards me.
When I hooked up with Tim circa 1980, he had a gray Triumph TR3, which we dubbed “the dragster” because of its long lines, despite the small frame. Aside from my pal’s 1958 Corvette in high school, the dragster was the first sports car I ever drove. I worked on my family’s cherry farm at the time, and it was really fun driving that thing to work, parking it next to the barn and watching the guys on the crew ooh and aah over it.
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