Life between the lakes, part 58

 

 

A week-long vacation goes by faster than any other time of the year.  But when you spend it with people you love, it accelerates at lightening speed.

My family and fictive kin just finished our cabin reunion on Muskallonge Lake in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. It was the first time in many years this particular group was able to gather at the same time.

The cabin was alive with new life, as the 5th generation experienced it for the first time. We had kids in the water, a clothesline full of towels, my brother’s awesome cinnamon rolls, deep fried bacon, Charlie’s now famous flapjacks, a little bit of sunburn, very few curse words and the celebration of birthdays, including mine on July 8.

I am told there was a beautiful cake, candles, bad singing and celebration for my birthday and I don’t doubt it.  I was taking care of Jack and Needa on the other side of the lake at the time and missed it.

That’s how this family rolls.

In the cabin, we all squeezed ourselves onto the couch at various points of the evening as old stories were remembered, new ones were told and laughter was in abundance.

Some of the best sounds of the week were the simplest and most common.

The echoed slap of a wooden screen door followed by the rusty springs vibrating.

The lonely call of the loon before sunrise.

The distant whine of an outboard motor as a fisherman headed home at dusk.

The squeals of joy from the children, that go on and on and on.

The high decibel of merriment from the teenagers playing a game of spoons.

The billowing belly laughter from the adults, knowing that in this one week out of the year, our laughter almost shattered the glass. 

Every year at the cabin, we live one moment to the next. Before we know it, the week is winding down. On Friday night there is a tacit sadness among the adults, knowing it is time to pack the bags.

Collectively, it is at that point we realize we didn’t get to do many of the things we wanted to; like one more swim, one more look at the lake, one more bonfire or one more heart to heart conversation in an attempt to mend a misunderstanding.

A larger sadness creeps up on us as the cars are being loaded the next morning as suddenly, we are face to face with the dreaded goodbye.

One by one they depart for home. Grand Rapids, Troy, Wyandotte, Milwaukee, Texas, Iowa, Virginia, Kansas. . .it doesn’t matter where they are going because I get the same lump in my throat whenever they depart.

The last carload drives away and the cabin is quiet.

Why is it that a place that makes you so happy can make you so sad in an instant?

I’d like to suggest the oldest answer in the book:

Love.

Say it loud.

Say it clear.

Life between the lakes, part 24

 

Life between the lakes, part 24

I am currently afforded the time to enjoy simple things in the north woods. It is not every day people can literally watch the sun rise minute by minute over the horizon directly in front of them, but it happens daily with me when the weather cooperates.

And I do not take it for granted.

I count the birds along my walks with Jack and Needa. I watch the trees twitch and see snow ghosts’ fall out of them in the yard. I keep track of the ice shelf on Lake Superior, look for fresh animal tracks, watch the sunset and marvel at the ghostly imaginary figures I see in the maverick snow squalls that race across the lake.

The one thing I learned from the great writer, Jim Harrison, is that in order to be a writer, one needs to have a dedication to awareness and be immersed in it all the time. I know I will never attain greatness like Harrison, but I know I would be content being remembered as a writer people enjoyed reading.

This morning it was bleak and windy. The only bird I saw was Mr. Evermore, the local raven who is still looking for the scraps I used to set out for the coyote I was feeding. Sadly, he is gone.

Late in the evening an amazing thing happens. I stargaze at night and everything is different from what I am used to seeing in the summer. I love the alignments of the stars in winter because they are so different.

As I looked at Orion’s belt this week and gazed south-west in the sky, I see the suspenders that hold up the belt, yet no astronomer has ever mentioned them. The big dipper is spilling the other way and after the light show we had at Christmas, other planets are away, making their rotation.

I am an ear to the forest and it will remain an unsolved mystery. I don’t want anything to pass me bye; especially life.

Tomorrow holds no promises. But tonight, light from ancient stars illuminate the big beautiful sky in a way I have not seen before and never will again.

Life between the lakes, part 12

 

Life between the lakes, part 12 

End of the year, potpourri edition.

The snow has stopped in Deer Park; at least for now. Lake Superior looks like a horizon of slush as the freeze point is closing in on the shoreline.

Meanwhile, the snow coverage on Muskallonge Lake is now quite impressive and the amount of snowmobiles has quadrupled in the last 2 days. I see them on the lake and they pass us on the road. There is something in the mechanism that reminds Tiger Jack Burke and Needa of the mechanical bunny at the track because their ears shoot up and they bark when a sled comes by.

Two nights ago a “moon halo” appeared. This optical phenomenon occurs when the moonlight is refracted in millions of hexagonal ice crystals suspended in the atmosphere. It was pretty awesome.

I know a guy who works in the State Park down the road and yesterday we chatted. He has a great sense of humor and when I asked him if anything exciting was happening over New Year’s weekend he thought for a moment, grinned and said the only excitement might be when they’d ignite the burn pile.

“Last year, it was as big as a house!” he said. “This year, not so much.”

I am considering of spending my New Year’s Eve with a traditional Yooper seven course meal.

It will consist of a six pack and a pasty.

Happy New Year everyone.

Life between the lakes, part 11

 

                                    

Today, Mother Nature smacked Deer Park with her wet, frozen mitten and the word of the day was “snow.”

Snow has been falling lightly for the past 36 hours. Yesterday morning there were four fresh inches on the ground, but when I took the dogs out for a walk this morning there were an additional four inches.

If that wasn’t enough, another 3-4 inches accumulated within two hours and the latest advisory says this won’t stop until after midnight. Right now we are knee deep.

The plow operator stopped to chat and he informed me that three miles down the road the skies were clear.  Considering I am 30 miles from town, I find it quite impressive that they’ve been by three times since 6AM today to clear it. That’s how they roll up here.

I’ve had the snow blower out a couple times and lucky for me there is a kind soul just down the road who has been coming to clear the massive mound that builds up at the foot of the driveway once the plow passes. Having good neighbors in the UP is a blessing; that’s how people roll up here.

If you see a car stuck up here, there is an unwritten obligation bestowed upon you to stop and check on them. Sometimes they are just tourists who pulled off to the side to walk into the woods, but it can also be someone who is stuck, out of gas and afraid.

It happened to me about a dozen years ago when I blew a U turn and became part of a snow bank. I'm guessing the guy who eventually helped me, heard the tapestry of obscenities I was hurling into the woods before he stopped. Or maybe it was just the way people like to pay it forward up here.

The dogs are resting peacefully after their day in the snow. Two walks, a little play and hearty dinner of hot ground beef and kibble have made them content and I share in their satisfaction of what we did today.