After my wonderful work trip to New England, I am back in Michigan, at the airport, awaiting the arrival of one of our former exchange students. Lea is flying in from Switzerland for a three-week visit. Prior to hearing of Lea’s surprise visit, I had planned (as of last spring) a week-long get away in Christmas, Michigan along the Lake Superior shore for this month, and not only does Lea genuinely want to go, but my biological daughter and her hubby will also be joining me for at least part of the trip. Apparently my resolve to camp with people made earlier this summer is proving to hold true, with very little effort on my part. And, it’s suddenly okay that my tumultuous relationship with my guy continues to result in him opting to not participate in the things I love to do. It’s not okay that he opts out; it’s okay that he’s not going this time, because some of my most favorite people are.
I also have a new tent. This is a big deal. I’m the type of person (if there is such a type) who, for example, may need a pair of hiking shoes, and will narrow down the options over a period of days, try on a select number of pairs perhaps three or four times – meaning three or four different trips – before deciding to buy. I nearly always have buyer’s remorse, which I think comes from having had extremely tight finances for much of my life (things are certainly better now, but old habits, you know). The tent, unlike the shoes, did not allow me to try it on several times. I just plain bought it. Look at me go.
Once we figure out how to set it up (the instructions reminding me of a bad sitcom skit), we discover the tent has a lot of room, almost allowing me to stand up straight, which, if you are a tall person and/or tent camp often, know what a luxury being able to straighten up can be. Another cool thing is it has what I call the Mud Room – an entryway with no floor (just the earth) but which is covered and allows things to stay dry, like dirty shoes that can be slipped off prior to entering the Sleeping Area. I also really like the shape of my new tent, reminding me of a greenhouse from my former gardening days.
My daughter and son-in-law have their own tent, so Lea and I get the Hoop House to ourselves, which makes sense since we will be staying longer. Our first night, after setting up camp, we hike to some waterfalls, and then cook a big dinner together over the fire. We walk down to the shore, skipping stones across the water, and just laughing and hanging out. This again is a cool new experience for me, all this camaraderie and joyfulness. We watch the sun set (sort of – the angle of the bay is such that the sun sets just beyond our view of the lake), but the colors in the sky and the company of these wonderful people make for a great close to the day.
The next morning I am up before the kids, and take my coffee on a walk to the shore. Grand Island is right in front of me, right out there across the bay, squatting grandly in the unusually calm Lake Superior waters. There are no boats yet, and the sky is overcast. I let my mind float, recalling the evening before with the kids, thinking of the day ahead, and enjoying the breeze coming across the water. There aren’t, in my experience, many moments where the air coming off Lake Superior can be described as a “breeze”, or the water “calm”. I would like to spend more time here, I think, and just as the thought comes, so does the obvious realization that I am spending time here, right in this moment, wishing for something in the future. I take a breath and laugh at myself. A hole opens in the clouds, and a brilliant expanse of morning sun pours a singular shaft of light down onto one small area of the great lake. A boat crosses the bay directly through the sparkling water, heading somewhere, the passengers anticipating their arrival on Grand Island I suspect, yet the vision of the sky, the water, the boat, I hold in my memory as the moment of significance.
