Grand Haven

When we were coming home from Italy a few years ago and were nervously going through our first return trip through customs (because if you live in Michigan, Canada doesn't count), the nice man who interviewed us gave us an outsiders view of our home state. "Where are you from?" he asked in his all business, no nonsense tone. "Michigan," Jon replied in his slightly shakey, I've never done this before tone, to which the officer replied "Michigan!" his tone immediately turning to one of astonishment, "Got some troubles over there. You still have a job?" I guess to some, our state economy is at best a mystery, at worst a complete horror. 

But there is so much more to our home than the outsiders view of a suffering economy. Michigan is a beautiful land of water and woodland. Our lake shores feel as vast as the ocean but without the salt and the sharks. I love to travel and experience new plances every chance I get, but I love coming home, and I'm also always happy to take a vacation right here: if not quite a staycation, then a statecation.

We were on the road again last weekend, this time for a family wedding on Jon's side that took us to the beautiful "west coast" of Michigan where the soft, fine sand stretches over small dunes and into the lake. There we soaked up time with family we hadn't seen in years. We buried our toes in the sand while watching the sun sink toward the horizon behind an unmarred span of lake. We attended a chilly but sweet wedding and danced into the evening. We broke bread and drank wine together. We came home refreshed and invigorated. 

To Washington D.C., in 99 pictures

Our annual fall away-schooling adventure took us to Washington D.C. this year. The weather was great, the crowds were relatively low, and we had a great time. And we may have learned something, too.

Days 1-2: Getting there is half the fun...old inns, mills, and covered bridges in Pennsylvania.

Day 3: the White House (where we saw the Presidential dogs playing in the yard), and the monument side of the National Mall

Day 4: our first day of Smithsonians, including the Museum of the American Indian, and the Air and Space Museum, plus dinner at a gastro pub in our neighborhood

Day 5: Our second day of Smithsonians, including the American History Museum and the Natural History Museum (not as good as the one in Chicago)

Day 6: The first slightly chilly, wetish day. We started at Arlington Cemetery, then drove down to Washington's Mount Vernon for the afternoon. 

Day 7: The National Zoo on a wet morning, then the weather cleared for dinner in Maryland at the National Harbor, followed by a tour of the monuments at night.

Day 8: Ford Theater, the Capitol Building, The Library of Congress, and The Supreme Court Building. 

Day 9: our last full day, and the only really cold and wet one, we drove to Jefferson's Monticello

Wherefore art thou now? Stratford

This really is starting to sound like a travel (b)log, but we're home now, and as I type Jon is in the next room trying to fix the vacuum while Calvin is cavorting in the yard with the rest of the neighborhood hooligans, so I'd say we've finally returned to normal. The laundry is even done.

A few years ago we journeyed through Stratford (Canada, because one does not simply journey through Stratford, England from Michigan) and stopped to see The Pirates of Penzance on the way. It was delightful. The entire experience was delightful, except that the one day was too short. So last year we did it again, seeing Midsummer Nights Dream, and Alice Through the Looking Glass, and adding an extra night. The second trip was even more delightful—we discovered Jenn and Larry's Ice Cream shop, after all, but ran into trouble finding anything more substantial to eat (reservations are a must, everything is overpriced, nothing is foodie style...it's a sore subject).

Then this year we practically perfected the trip. We have our favorite place to stay nailed down, and we visited Jenn and Larry's every day (which doesn't go unnoticed by the owners of a small time shop), and we mostly figured out how to handle meals. For us that meant forgetting about the persnickety restaurants on the main drag and bringing pizza home to the hotel so we could play in the pool. The only thing wanting this year was the weather, but after the camping trip we just had, who's complaining? It was warm enough to swim for at least twenty minutes before blue-lip syndrome set in, not so hot that walking along the river in dress clothes elicited a sweat, and just rainy enough to make things interesting in the evenings. We never even needed our umbrella, but I will say that our Dark Sky App has really come in handy these past couple of weeks.

This year we saw The Adventures of Pericles, Prince of Tyre and The Sound of Music. The first was as spartan as the second was extravagant, and thankfully we saw them in that order, because I imagine doing it the other way around would have been a serious let down. We also were given a very special, two-hour private tour of the Festival Theater, a rare treat that was probably the highlight of the whole trip. Well, that and the ice cream.

Housekeeping had a really good time arranging Calvin's menagerie while we were out...

Tawas Point Lighthouse

If this were to read as proper travel log, there is one last thing from our camping trip that I've left out. In Tawas Point State Park, on the Tawas Point Peninsula, stands a lighthouse. Although it's renovated and well-kept so it looks fairly new, the light is old enough to no longer be standing on the point of the peninsula. See, for as much width as Tawas Point seems to be losing to the lake every year, it is extending its tenuous hold farther out into it instead. Today the lighthouse stands just a little past midway through the peninsula. For this reason, and you can imagine why, they no longer use it as a warning beacon for freighters, but as a guiding light instead. I'm not sure what that means, but I assume the mariners out there do, and they're the only ones in danger of running aground on cantankerously growing peninsulas, so we're all set. I will say, though, that it was of some use in finding our tent on the way back from the bathrooms after dark.

The lighthouse grounds are inside the state park, so if you don't already have the state recreation passport on your license plate, you'd have to pay the entrance fee to visit (so be sure to visit the lake-side beach while you're there, and maybe hike to the point to look for piping plovers, too). If you're staying in the campground the walk is just a pleasant third of a mile. The old oil house is still there, and a small building that, whatever it once was, is today the gift shop. You get your tickets in the gift shop (at your own peril! Look out for such traps as the penny-squishing machine, keychains, and other gewgaws that no one needs but children will beg for mercilessly) and proceed to the house at the bottom of the light for your self guided tour.

The house tour will take you at most ten minutes if you just look, twenty if you read the posted information. The choice is yours. There are plenty of interesting period artifacts and a few books to look through. The second story of the house is off limits to visitors—that is where the "lighthouse keepers" (read: docents) live. An interesting side note: apparently this job is open to any number of people who are willing to pay to do it. You live in the house with its beautiful views for the duration of your "appointment", watching the house and answering questions during its tour hours as best you can. Our neighbors' have family members who have done this for a week every summer.

When you are done touring the house with its five rooms, it's time to get in line to go up the light. This is a spiral metal staircase, the entrance being the same as the exit, so wait times will vary depending on the number of visitors and their agility. There are three landings on the way up and tradition dictates that as you go up, you wait on each landing until the next is free before moving up, staying out of the way of visitors who are coming down. Eventually you make it to the top, which is big enough for the light, the docent, and probably three more people—I know we three fit up there, but Calvin's kind of little. It was a tight squeeze, but the view as beautiful, even with the clouds. Unfortunately there's this big light in the way, but oh well. Go at the right time (just before the 6pm closing time in spring and late summer) and the light will already be on.

Once back outside, enjoy the lovely lake and bay, and be sure to look for frogs.

Reunion on the 4th

My dad's birthday is on the 4th of July. He's quiet and unassuming, so he never makes a big deal out of the event, but I definitely grew up thinking that his birthday was a big deal. I mean, all the people, all the celebration, all the fireworks! Who else gets fireworks for their birthday? The illusion was perpetuated, at least in part, by the wild shindigs my grandparents threw every year, first in their stately old home with the suburban backyard and friendly neighbors, and later in their newly built larger home deep in the woods. In my memory these gatherings were always part birthday party and part 4th of July celebration, but the largest portion was a reunion of sorts, a meeting of long-time friends and family with catching up to do.

I don't actually remember how often they threw these parties. In my memory they were an annual thing until they sort of petered out, probably as kids (my generation) got older and other activities got in the way. When I was younger, there were great big tubs of beer and pop, high chairs littered the back patio, and we spent the evening lighting black carbon snakes in the driveway. I remember the smell vividly. The last party I really remember I was in middle school, or maybe high school. My dad was wearing a weird short-sleeved plaid shirt and a mustache, and his cake, made by a talented family friend, was shaped like a computer—the old desktop kind with a big monitor and clunky keyboard (only at the time it wasn't old).

So partying on the fourth has a long tradition in our family, just one that hasn't been exercised in an number of decades larger than one. As all extended families do, ours scattered to the call of school, work, and the next generation. Some of those revelers I haven't seen in nigh on twenty years. In that time the kids of my generation have gotten married and had children of their own. Others, like my grandparents, have passed away. In all those years, a lot has changed. If you go too long between reunions, you don't always recognize the people you are there to see.

So my dad's cousins held the reunion this year, down in Indiana farm country where my grandfather's baby sister is still living with many of her children, and their children, surrounding her. She is the last of her generation, her three brothers gone before her, but she is sharp and young at heart, and it was her birthday, actually later in the month, that brought us all together this year. We spent three days playing with cousins we see more regularly, and getting to know those we haven't seen in many years, in some cases ever. There was a big hill good for all kinds of play, trees for climbing, and a field that proved perfect for kickball. And while the kids roamed far and wide, the adults huddled together, sharing memories of the past and details of the present, our tight groups a stark contrast to the great openness of the heartland around us. Because that's  what a family reunion is about.