Thursday, August 5, 2021

Life between the lakes, part 60

                                                     The final chapter?

Life between the Lakes, part 60. The final chapter?

It has been both a pleasure and a privilege living in Deer Park, MI for the past eight months. I never imagined my stay would last this long (and neither did my gracious landlady and her family.)

The experience of living in this area has been nothing short of amazing. But all good things have to come to an end. Thank you Aunt Carla and your family for allowing me to borrow your sacred place. Being here meant a lot to me and inspired me beyond belief.

So much of life is noise, much of it of our own making. And much of modern humanity worries what will happen if they take the risk and wonder what they will find when the noise stops.

The Upper Peninsula became a place for me to plum these thoughts and ideas that I have always felt and known I’ve wanted to explore.

I’ve witnessed the changing of three seasons, have seen hundreds of birds and watched the eagles help themselves to free fish almost weekly.

I’ve fed the chipmunks and felt like a giant.

I’ve faced the roar of Lake Superior and felt so small. 

And I’ve walked with Jack and Needa almost 500 miles up and down the county road we've been living on.

I’ve seen light from ancient starts illuminate the night and falling starts lite the sky like bursting pearls that burn out in a flash. I’ve seen a flock of cute fuzzy goslings grow into adult geese and take flight.  I’ve watched the coyote, fox and deer do what they can to survive and I’ve watched Lake Superior slowly freeze and thaw.

I’ve seen the way the sunrises and sunsets around the lake shift as the axis of the earth changes. But more importantly, I’ve read and reread every poem Jim Harrison has ever written and have upped my writing game as a result. I’ve written more in the last 8 months than I have in the past 8 years.

Between the lakes you’ll find cabins, forest and shoreline. But within them are places you cannot find with the point of a finger. No photograph completely captures the patchwork of stories passed down, but rediscovering them helps us remember them or perpetuates our dream about them.

I’ve walked for hours on the roads, shoreline and in the woods, watching life in the forest unfold as the seasons change and I am unsure all of me will leave when I do.

And that pretty much sums it up for now.

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