Michigan

Other than the airport in Detroit, I’ve only been to Michigan once before. Many years ago I was invited by my brother to join him as his sailing team were competing in a race from Chicago (where he was based) across Lake Michigan to St. Joseph. It was super interesting for me given that I had never been on a sailboat. I realized quickly that my lack of skills would relegate me to the role of ballast. Which was fine with me. But throughout my time on the boat, I could really see the appeal of sailing. Not a likely pastime for me, however. I think that ship has sailed.

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We arrived at the house early in the evening. The property is located in a gated community and after making our way through the entrance of the compound, it became clear that we were going to have plenty of activities available to us. On the left was a 9-hole golf course. After that, on the left were tennis and pickleball courts. On the right was a lake with a couple of kayakers. After the lake there were some basketball courts on the right. And so on.

We parked the car and carried our bags a short distance to the house. Decent-sized waves crashed into the rocks lining the lakefront. The air was pleasantly cool after the hotter temperatures of southern Indiana. We climbed the steps to the main entrance and proceeded to settle into our respective rooms. We were fortunate enough to have one on the lakeside of the house offering stunning views over the shimmering water. 

The house, built around 1900, had a comfortable, lived-in feeling. Family history was apparent in the décor and furnishings. It’s a charm you don’t find in more modern, sterile residences.
The house was able to absorb the twelve of us, albeit with one inflatable mattress. It’s a lot of people for a house that size but it ended up working out okay. 

As is our custom this time of day, we put on a kettle and started off with some tea while we took in the view. The early evening sun reflected off the lake and a couple of barges floated by in the distance. We had a brief orientation as to the rules we needed to pay attention to within the community, what activities were on offer (life jackets, golf clubs, oars, towels, etc.). 

Over the course of about three and a half days, we would eat well and bounce from one activity to the next. My kind of vacation. I did find a bit of time to read, but most of the time we were either on the go or sitting around catching up with each other. 

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We were told when we arrived that at some point during the week, there would be a frog race. In fact, frog and turtle races. I’ve heard of such things, but I’ve never witnessed them before. This would be the last such event of the “season”. 

Apparently, this is an age-old tradition in this community, and it persists thanks to dozens of little kids (and their parents) that no doubt look forward to this each week. We were told that there are others in the community, however, that would like to see this tradition put to a halt, likely pointing out the cruelty to the little creatures. 

Having invested about a half-hour of my life observing the event, I don’t feel strongly one way or the other. On one hand, the passion of the kids for these races was palpable. I was picturing myself as a kid totally getting into this sort of thing. I also have a healthy respect for tradition. It’s sort of cool that this goes back decades and I heard parents talking about searching for frogs in the nearby swamp with the hopes of winning a blue ribbon. On the other hand, it’s not without potential carnage. I saw one frog slip through a little kid’s fingers and make his way under a nearby car The kid tried desperately to find it but eventually gave up. In all likelihood, the parking lot was the beginning of the end for the escapee. I’m guessing that others experience similar fates. Even if you don’t meet your demise under a radial tire, the whole thing involves a lot of trauma for the little creatures, even if they do eventually make their way back to the swamp. 

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One evening we decided to check out the nearby lighthouse. It’s a prominent landmark featured on refrigerator magnets and local calendars. Still operational over a hundred years old after it was first lit, it sits at the end of a mile-long jetty. It was a pleasant evening, and after making our way out to the old structure, we stayed there for a while enjoying the evening. Storm clouds gathered on the horizon and appeared to be heading our way. The water was quite rough and as we look out, we noticed what appeared to be a woman on a paddleboard way off in the distance. It was hard to believe someone would be so far out in this weather. And she was heading farther out. At one point, a Coast Guard boat spotted her and appeared to offer her help. She waved them off and carried on. 

By now the storm was bearing down on us so we began to move quickly back down the jetty towards the shore. Finally, the paddleboarder also began to make her way to shore. As she came closer, we could tell she was no ordinary paddleboarder. She had some sort of special competition board with lights for boarding in the dark. Even from a distance you could tell she was a serious athlete. We worried about her for no reason. And yes, we were soon dumped on by a massive rainstorm.

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Sadly, the fun and games came to an end. On Saturday, needed to get an early start for our four-hour plus drive to get to O’Hare Airport in order to catch an afternoon flight to Boise (via Minneapolis). 
All of the logistics meant a considerable amount of time on the road, maybe not by American standards. It seemed like a lot to us since we’re not used to it. But overall it worked out okay. If we have the opportunity to do this again next year, we may need to re-think the itinerary and logistics.