Tags
art, family, Holland Michigan, Lake Michigan, Love, memories, vacation, writing
Lake Michigan goes on as far as the eye can see — spanning the entire West Coast of Michigan’s Lower Peninsula.
It was somewhere along that space I found myself on a family trip during the early 1970s. Driving the 365 miles from our Ohio home, we joined my dad’s twin brother and his family meeting them halfway.
In the median of the road near the midway point, my uncle Dick and his son, John, dressed alike in striped bell-bottoms and matching hats, waved us on with grins from ear-to-ear, rustling up the butterflies.
The excitement mounted, as the four adults, Bob, Jan, Dick and Joyce — and 10 children — Robin, Della, Michael, me, Mindy, Kara, Kelly, John Tracy and Andy — descended upon the peace and tranquility of my Aunt Noni and Uncle Bill’s home, overlooking Lake Michigan.
Discovering later Noni had only approved one family at a time to visit — the surprised look on her face made sense as we unloaded in a clamorous rush, emerging from the exhalations of our dads’ cigarette smoke. And if we weren’t enough, we dragged in the newly-won carnival canes topped with plastic animal heads from our St. Leonard’s Catholic Church parish carnival.
Imagine our excitement — a carnival and a trip back-to back — which in those days, each one was a rarity. The temporary sleeping quarters were in the basement, complete with wasps nests hanging from the ceiling.
A favorite memory was climbing the stairs for breakfast discovering an extremely long built-in window booth in the kitchen, overlooking the lake. Laden with cereal, eggs, bacon and pancakes, it was long enough to hold us all, including Noni’s black and white German Shepard, Baron, and her three boys — Steve, Billy and Matt.
After that first breakfast out we went to discover the lake, finding our colorful carnival sticks broken in the trash can, the plastic animal faces impeding the view. Noni had placed them there after scurrying around the house all night collecting them, fearing the sticks might find their way into our eyes.
The view and smell of the water was a remedy for the disappointment, a lake which might as well have been an ocean, as we had never been. Taking turns climbing into my uncle’s tiny, gray speedboat, we rode the white caps, the wind whipping us into another world. Our laughter, screams and Baron’s barking, competed with the squawks of the ring-billed and herring seagulls.
The sunsets brought an unexpected icy chill from the water, creating the need for momma wrapping us in white, terry-cloth robes and soft, knitted hats, sitting in lawn chairs eating graham crackers.
One adventure involving my sister, Della, and cousin, Kelly, was a meeting with a weird woman in a white hat accompanied by a photographer, following them around offering candy.
Breathlessly they barely made it back telling their tale of suspense, causing us all to run around on a new adventure, trying to find the spooky strangers.
Another fun day took us out to Holland, Michigan, located on the shore of Lake Macatawa, where we sat on top of a giant replica of the house belonging to the “Old Woman who lived in a Shoe.”
A visit to a gift shop was also on the itinerary, where I purchased a pink wallet decorated with photos of Michigan and some wooden shoes. We also saw windmills, a lighthouse and fields of colorful tulips.
If only my eyes could see that again. What I would give for one more day, lounging by the lake, running with the seagulls — realizing it would never happen again.
Cherishing the memory; and that is all.
Published in The Herald