It took six hours of driving to get there.
Six hours in a truck with no air conditioning on an 80+ degree day (nothing a few rolled down windows couldn’t cure).
Six hours of “I Spy” scavenger hunts with melting M&Ms doled for prizes (a distraction tactic for restless little travelers that worked marvelously).
Six hours of this question from a certain small person in the back seat:
“Is that a mountain?”
“No, not yet,” we’d patiently reply. “After we get there, we’ll take you to see a mountain.”
Six hours of that question, over and over again, of every slight protrusion in the landscape. And we smiled every time, because it was far too endearing to be annoying. By the time the day of the promised outing arrived, I think we were looking forward to it almost as much as she was! 
The bad news, however, is that when we arrived at the much-anticipated first scenic viewpoint, all we could see was white.
Where were the mountains? Completely obscured by a smothering blanket of heavy fog, that’s where. Anti-climactic would be an understatement.
So, what’s a parent to do to save such a day? Well, you find the shortest trail to the highest point in the area, get out of the vehicle and start climbing.
Because sometimes, you just need to go higher and then everything becomes clear.
“In those days, Jesus went up to the mountain to pray, and He spent the night in prayer to God. When daylight came, He called His disciples to Him and chose twelve of them, whom He also designated as apostles.” (Luke 6:11-13)
We had to shout to hear each other as we climbed the spray-soaked stairs and rocks. Up among the dark leaning cedars, past graceful ferns and wild lily of the valley, holding small hands fast as we peered over rocky ledges. At Bond Falls, it was not hard to imagine this:
Meanwhile, the little girls made friends with the ducks that came begging along the quieter edges of the river for handouts…
…and got to admire the rare wood turtle their 
So, was the highlight of this vacation day actually visiting a waterfall, as the title of this post might indicate, or was it getting up close to the animals living around it? The answer to that might vary depending on which of us you asked, but in my humble opinion, the beauty of each served to compliment and enhance that of the other…
I certainly didn’t expect the guardhouse to be the most inspirational spot during our tour of a circa 1840’s fort, but that’s how it turned out. As I stood next to the row of prison doors, looking down the narrow hall to this window of light flooding in, a verse of a favorite hymn came overwhelmingly to mind:
Come with us to the beach! You know, that one that kind of seems like our own little secret, since you have to drive around a giant mud hole to get there, and then try not to get stuck in the sand while parking where the woods end and dunes begin. The other people sharing it with us are so far away we can almost imagine that the only creatures we have to share it with are the stray seagulls eyeing our cooler in hopes of handouts. The sand is so hot it scorches our bare feet and the water is cold enough to leave your body tingling deliciously after a single dip. It’s perfect.
Come wander amidst the white bleached driftwood, polished smooth by a thousand relentless waves. Come find smooth silvery bits to tuck into pockets as souvenirs, leaving behind the charred bits that are lovely memories of sunset beach fires and happy gatherings.
Come toil up through ankle-deep sand to smell the wild sweet peas clinging to the dunes, trailing tenacious vines along the heaps of shifting soil beneath the nodding grasses.
Come watch a little blue sailboat slowly unfurl its white wings as it heads out to sea. Come watch the children with sand for freckles who build endless castles, never tiring rebuilding what the relentless waves erode. Come beware of children with mischief twinkling in their eyes and that bucket full of fresh cold lake water they’re saving for when you’re back is turned (it will be refreshing).
And when the sun and the wind and the splashing and the dunking and the running and the wandering has produced an appetite that seems as boundless as the blue waves reaching to the horizon, come and eat. There are slices of cold turkey, pickles and Jarlsburg wrapped in pretzel rolls or soggy sandwiches accidentally dropped in the lake, whichever you prefer. We have rosy-cheeked Ranier cherries and sandy granola bars for dessert, to hold us over until we drive past the ice cream shop that stocks Mackinac Island Fudge on our way home.
There are two things that cause writer’s block for me: having nothing to say, and having altogether too much to say.
“Why are there ducks zooming around and around our house?” I asked my husband between bites of pizza. It was our youngest daughter’s first birthday, and we were celebrating out on the porch. There was a chocolate cake resting in state on the kitchen counter, awaiting its demise, and the sunshine of a splendid June day was slanting long across the green fields. She was grinning happily as blueberry-purple-carrot puree dribbled down her chin onto her bib, oblivious to the fact that this was all supposed to be about her. “It’s almost like they’re playing or something.”
I began creeping my way across the yard, in hopes of catching a photo during one of these chimney pauses. And then the plot thickened: as a couple of them were fluttering about, one landed…
poked its head in the chimney…
…and then disappeared! What?!
Freedom is not merely the happy state of a blessed country. It is also can, should, and far more crucially, be the state of a soul. And if the souls of the people of a country are not free, can it really be said that such a country is free?
We like turtles around here. However, I must say that the biggest turtle enthusiast in our family is my husband. He’s the one who knows the interesting facts, has found rare turtles species in the wild and knows how to pick up a snapper without getting snapped. It’s an affinity that began for him in his childhood, and was one of the things I immediately liked about him when we first met—and still do.
But me? While I do have nice childhood memories of watching for turtles sunning around the edge of a pond we passed during family walks, oddly enough, the first memory that comes to mind when I see a turtle is also one of the biggest Biblical disappointments I ever received as a child. There was a verse my mom would read us in the spring, from the beloved lyrical King James Version we were raised on. It goes like this:
There’s a breeze coming in off the lake, this hot afternoon in early June. There’s blue sky smiling down at me through a lacy frame of green, green leaves. Summer is in the air, and I am, appropriately, drinking it in from the luxury of an airy vacation hammock. If the air is full of summer, the views are no less so—and so I offer you these vignettes, all visible, more or less, from my leisurely post.
A kayak,
A jeweled beetle climbs relentlessly upwards
Relentless waves
Bare feet,
Ducks dabble along the quiet green edges.
Great clouds sail sedately by,
The Thunder Moon doesn’t technically occur until July, but if ever such a name was appropriate for a full moon, it was this one. It seemed to rest and roll along the tops of this magnificent soaring June thunderhead at sunset, like some whimsical bright ball up there bouncing down cloud stairways. As I watched from the porch steps, the billowing cloud rumbled faintly and the liquid gulping of a bittern echoed along the lake shore as dusk slowly fell—and I thought about David’s words:
And, while we’re on the topic of the moon, just for the fun of it, I thought I’d share a few interesting lunar-themed links I’ve happened across recently. Hope you enjoy them as much as I did!
Rejoicing Hills 