We chose a destination on the map, a place with a name hard to wrap our tongues around, that neither of us had ever been to before. We took an entire day and took our sweet, winding, whimsical time and way to get there. We found places we’d spotted on maps and in brochures. We found things that no map or brochure can point you to, small and not-so-small details that delighted and surprised us. It was the perfect juxtaposition of the expected and the unexpected, a true adventure. And so, as the grand finale to this little series of vacation photographs, come have a little glimpse of the beautiful Keweenaw Peninsula with us.
We took the roads labeled “scenic” and “shoreline” as much as possible, for obvious reasons. It’s the same great lake whose waves we’ve seen pounding the shore of our own home state, but it was no less breathtaking here!
We peeked hopefully beneath the leaves of these thimbleberry bushes, and were mocked with loads of not-quite-ripe berries. So we bought thimbleberry jam instead at…
…a fairy-tale bakery that smelled of gingerbread, surrounded by magnificent fragrant rose bushes. I never thought I’d meet a bakery that smelled as good outside as it did inside, but I was wrong. The fact that the delicious muffins we also secured here were baked by kind bearded monks in long black robes only added to its charm.
We climbed a red wrought iron staircase, which wound tightly to the top of…
…a perfectly picturesque lighthouse with a shiny red tin roof.
We picked wildflowers, ate the most delicious fresh lake trout right in view of the great lake it was caught in. and explored a historic fort. 
And then, as a fitting finale to the day, we drove right to the top of Brockway Mountain to see for miles in every direction, and join other happy people who were also taking time out of their busy schedules to watch the sun as it slipped like a giant copper penny into the lake spread out below us. 
And then that magnificent sunset chased us all the way down the long road home. The tired little people nodded off to sleep in the back seat, cheeks rosy with sunshine and sticky from after-dinner mints, and the great dark dusk engulfed the rugged shape of the peninsula as it rose to meet the twilight sky behind us, as the music played, softly and fittingly:
“Let us all be grateful for a land so fair,
As we raise our voices in a solemn prayer:
God bless America, land that I love,
Stand beside her and guide her
Through the night with a light from above…” (Irving Berlin)
It took six hours of driving to get there.
The bad news, however, is that when we arrived at the much-anticipated first scenic viewpoint, all we could see was white.
Because sometimes, you just need to go higher and then everything becomes clear.
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,
Rejoicing Hills 