So my mom drove down from northern Michigan for the weekend. She brought my stepdad and their mini-schnauzer, Riesling, along for the ride. They came down to wish me a happy birthday. I didn’t have the heart to tell them they are two weeks too early. 

Well, the truth of the matter is they had business to tend to back here in Maryland. And my stepsister, Zoe, also has a September birthday. So we shared the love. That’s fine with me. I’m all for stretching my birthday out over the entire month. Why not.

Anyway, for $5 per person, you, too, can have a fabulous family picnic at Sandy Point State Park. I’ll give you a second to take that in. Not per car. Per person. I’ve got to get out of this area. But a fabulous family picnic was had, nonetheless.

And I ate meat. Ribs. Juicy, wet, spicy ribs. Have I told you yet that I’m completely re-transformed to my carnivorous nature? It’s happened. Picnics are best when had with meat.

Oh, and the balls. We love our ladderball in these parts. I used to be a ladderball pro. Then, I’m not sure what happened. But I started losing. Bigtime. I haven’t figured out what changed. The shift in awesomeness occurred around the same time as my re-emergence into a meat-eating world. Coincidence?

I’ve got a rather close-knit family unit. Since my parent’s divorce when I was 16, my life has splintered into 2 family units. But neither is weaker nor stronger than the other. And I love each from the bottom of my heart. There’s nothing better than family time. Since my mom moved to Michigan, it’s hard to get everyone in one place. Even now, my baby sister was down at college in Florida. But you take what you can get.

And this weekend, we got meat…. & balls. Happy 2-week-early-birthday to me. (And happy birthday this week to Zoe!)

*Filed under Social Life*

• Tags
• beach
• birthday
• chesapeake bay
• family
• ladderball
• maryland
• picnic
• outings
• road trips

As the season draws to a close, I can’t help but feel grateful. It’s been decades since I was able to spend so much time up north in Michigan. My best friend, Katie, was home from her tour in Jordan, allowing for face time unlike anything we’ve been able to do in years. I have plenty of complaints about working in education, but I’m reminded how fortunate I am, at least for now, that I can spend this time every summer to unwind and go back to my roots.

It’s no secret that I feel restless in my current location. The weight of the DC metro lifestyle pushes down on my spirit daily. This is not the place for me the thrive. However, this is where I am. This is where I will be. For now. And, until that changes, family visits and road trips to Michigan will do just fine. 

We’re spread all over the continent these days; rarely ever in one place at one time. But we’ll always have Michigan. After all, in my family, no one gets left behind.

Or forgotten.

• Tags
• family
• lake michigan
• traverse city
• michigan
• vacation
• beach
• road trips

The rythym of the waves crashing the wake play music to my motions. Slowed by the sand bar, distinguishable by it’s emerald green color a few yards out, the water moves gently enough to provide a surface, yet lively enough to offer a challenge in my game of skipping stones.

There are two walks we can take at the cottage. We can head south, toward the outlet. That walk will take us past the beautiful new cape cod a few doors down, welcomed to the neighborhood but looking quite out of place between the A-frames and rustic lodges we are used to. We’ll also pass a washed up log. This log seems to stay year after year, resting on the beach, marking the halfway point between the cottage and the outlet. Or, we can head north, toward the lighthouse, toward the cliff. In the distance you’ll see S.S. Badger departing from port, smokestacks puffing in the sunset. The closer we get to our destination, the steeper the staircases, higher into the clouds the homes, and the thicker the grasses.

Today, we’ll head south. The sun sets behind us. Sinking into the sand, our toes warm with every step through the tide. I can only make the stone skip when you aren’t looking. Otherwise, it’s a waste of a good skipping stone; you know, the medium sized, flat along every surface, perfect stone that, when in the right hand, can skip into the horizon. I, on the other hand, will skip it 3 or 4 times if I’m lucky. Every once in awhile I’ll get a few mini-hops in at the end to constitute 5 to 7 hops. Still, you can’t watch… I’ll surely sink it straight into the wave if you are looking.

We walk in stride, heads down in search of more skipping stones. You are the king of skipping stones. Perfect form, perfect hops across the edge of the water. We talk about what makes us happy, about how relaxed we are, about moving “up north”. As the sun drops closer to the lake, I’m glad for long sleeves and the warm water. The sun takes the summer heat with it every night.

We turn for home when the sky turns dark. The last ones on the beach, the only sounds are that of the crashing waves and our shuffling toes in the sand. There are new stones washed ashore. New stories to be told. So we walk slow. Just you, me and our skipping stones.

*Filed under Wanderlust Life and Married Life*

• Tags
• beach
• lake michigan
• newlywed life
• road trips
• skipping stones
• sunset
• vacation
• walks
• fabulous adventures

It was a real downer in the memory department. The glitz and glamour of a childhood memory squashed to smithereens. The sunsoaked laughter and rippling waves upon the shore blown apart by reality. Some things are better left in childhood memoryland, not revisited.

Last week while visiting my mom in northern Michigan, Alex and I were trying to plan a trip of sorts for our last day. With great enthusiasm and happy-memory filled exuberance, I suggested we go to Sleeping Bear. Well, in case you’ve been living under a rock for the past year, this is Sleeping Bear:

And before it made national news as Good Morning America’s Most Beautiful Place in America, it lived in a corner of my mind reserved for the happiest, shiniest memories from being a kid. The memory glistened in summer sunlight, the waves of Lake Michigan crashing below as I stood atop a gigantic sand dune. I run to catch up with my feet as my body tumbles down the side of the steep dune, laughing and carrying on until I reach the bottom and splash effortlessly into the water. Then, I trudge slowly back up the dune, careful and with several rests, to the tip top of the dune to do it all over again. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Well, apparently I have altered this happy moment of my past greatly because this is not what Sleeping Bear Sand Dunes are. And poor Alex had to actively participate in my sad realization last week. In reality, it is not one, steep sand dune that takes you to the glorious waters of Lake Michigan but dozens of steep sand dunes. As you begin your journey, you cannot see Lake Michigan at the summit of the dune. Or the next. Forget about it. You’ll have to ascend dune after dune, trudging along in the unforgiving heat without any respite of shade (these are sand dunes, after all). And finally, after climbing uphill, dune after dune for a miserable eternity of 45 minutes, you will see Lake Michigan in the distance. The distance. Did you catch that? Up and down, up and down you climb, each time hoping that the summit will surprise you with the water down below, but my joyous memories deceive me and we continue along, conserving our water because guess what? Once we make it to the Lake, we’ll still have to climb back. Uphill, both ways.

What were my parents thinking? Or, better yet, What kind of kid actually remembers this as a HAPPY memory?

We made it. It is gorgeous. Lake Michigan has the glistening splendor of natural remarkable beauty. We had our picnic, rehydrated and worked on our sunburns. The gentle breeze calmed our muscles and the cool, refreshing water never before looked so clear. It truly is the most beautiful place in America. But it is too damn hard to get here.

Off we went into the Sahara Desert of America once again, fighting off heat exhaustion, blisters and dehydration. When we finally made it to the last hill, where we could see the parking lot down at the bottom, I began to realize the distortion of my memory. Sure, I ran happily down a dune. But Lake Michigan wasn’t at the bottom. It must’ve been the solace of an air conditioned car, ready to take me  away. Yes, this must be the real memory.

And next time, we’re taking a dune buggy.

We’ve only just begun. In the background, that’s a tiny little lake on the other side of the parking lot. Ahead of us are several dunes. We have no reason to be smiling…

Hiking a little further into the middle of nowhere…

Every hilltop had the magical power of making us think that maybe, just maybe, it would be our last.

Until finally, we saw Lake Michigan… so. far. away.

And then, about 20 long, terrible minutes later, I cried out in serious relief when we saw this:

Welcome to Lake Michigan, you made it across the sand dunes!

Yes, it’s beautiful. The most beautiful place in America! But you’ve already forgotten our car is an hour hike back, uphill both ways, in sand. I suppose it’s like a hazing ritual. Now, Alex has become a true Michigander. He’s survived Sleeping Bear. And forget the dune buggy, the next time I want to catch some rays on Lake Michigan, I’m doing it from the comfort of our cottage, where it’s a short walk down the steps to the beach:

*Filed under Social Life and Personal Life*

• Tags
• beach
• hiking
• lake michigan
• sand dunes
• sleeping bear
• teachings
• outings