Signs of the Season

For a few days in August (Or was it just earlier this month? I don’t remember.) the temperatures dropped into the 60’s, and I thought: Oh, it’s time for fall. I thought it was premature, but then I always feel that way, and I welcomed the seasonal change anyway. And then highs in the 90’s returned, and we’ve since been enjoying an extended summer.

Thankfully, the humidity has dropped back down within acceptable (Yep, I’m the judge of that, thankyouverymuch!) northern Michigan norms, and the mosquito population has died back some so outdoor exploration is less frustrating than it is early in the summer. Without much of a plan, Tony and I headed south yesterday afternoon to check out a state park in Interlochen that we’ve driven near dozens of times, yet never stopped to visit.

About half of the campground was closed, which we took as a mere suggestion since it seemed that only cars were blocked. We ducked under the yellow tape and wandered aimlessly under the oaks, hoping the breezes wouldn’t dislodge acorns onto our noggins.


Thanks to the summery weather, our trees are still mostly green, though a few are starting to display their autumnal plumage. Since Interlochen is a touch inland compared to on-the-bay Traverse City, we had hoped for a slightly advanced color season. We weren’t entirely disappointed.



After our meandering, we grabbed some dinner and then went in search of potential super moon eclipse viewing sites. I took a few pictures from the park in Greilickville, but by then the sky was getting too dark for the photos I had in mind, so I threw in the towel on that venture. Considering the lunar eclipse is officially underway, and the sky is completely clouded over, I’m glad I didn’t spend too much time discovering the perfect location. Here’s hoping your view is better :)


On August 2, several rounds of fierce summer storms swept through northern Michigan. We won’t talk about how I didn’t get out in time for the really awesome photos of one of the rounds of storms (not that I’m still upset about missing my opportunity or anything). Ninety mile-per-hour winds accompanied the last round that rolled through, with several notable downdrafts. The storm is reported to have been the worst one the area has seen in at least 25 years.

We got lucky, losing only a few small limbs off our trees, but nearby areas did not fare so well. Today, we decided to hike one of the still-closed trails, taking the signs as more of a “you can’t sue us if you get hurt” warning.

The trail started off mostly clear, though we could see huge sections of forest on either side that had been laid over by the winds. Soon, though, we came across more substantial devastation.


Not long thereafter, our trail was lost entirely to a labyrinth of trunks and branches. We scrabbled on for a bit – finally turning back after a minor mishap that separated group like we were in a scary movie. (We all made it back to the car safely, though not entirely unscathed.)

It is sobering to see the tops snapped off huge trees and to see so many uprooted. It’s haunting to see trees fractured near the base of their trunks, and to see the scrapes the trees collected as they crashed to their deaths amid their longstanding peers.

On a lighter note, just before we rejoined the trail, we came across a fledgling squirrel. The tiny thing wasn’t moving well enough to run away from us, but it didn’t seem hurt either. Petey was super curious, so we allowed him to approach slowly. He jumped back every time the baby squirrel twitched at all, but he gently sniffed it, and then we went on our way.


Whoever said pit bulls are inherently dangerous obviously never met this one.

Hiking Arcadia

Tony and I have always leaned toward the curmudgeonly side, opting for to bushwack our own roads rather than share one with the masses. It’s not that the masses are lesser; it’s that they are masses. Thus, living in Traverse City, we are more aware of the weekend crowds that gather to play in our northern Michigan playground, and we feel pressure to escape. Even popular outdoor destinations like the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Park feel too busy on weekends, so yesterday we decided to aim for a sunset hike a bit south of our normal settings.

After an oddly frustrating drive down US-31, we parked at the Old Baldy Trailhead in the Arcadia Dunes Nature Preserve. We’d driven by the area a few times, but never stopped for a hike. We joined one car in the parking area, and other than footprints, saw no other signs of humanity on our outing. Masses averted ;)

The trail was well-marked, dotted with late summer wildflowers, and devoid of bugs – pretty much the best kind of trail. The mixed hardwoods had a lovely open forest floor, deeply darkened by a rich canopy. But we soon climbed a ridge leading over the dunes.

The packed sand gave way to loose sand as we rounded Old Baldy, an open dune perched 356-feet above Lake Michigan.

The sun shone through a hazy sky, painting the sand peach; a gentle breeze took the heat out of the climb; and the vistas made us feel tiny.

Because there wasn’t easy lake access, we decided to stop by the shore in Elberta so that Petey could get a drink and romp in the waves.
After the sunset in Elberta

The scope of the beauty that surrounds our days in northern Michigan sometimes leaves me breathless. Moving here five years ago was a good choice. I love calling this place home – even on “busy” weekends that encourage us to spread our wings a little.

Unsalted Snorkeling

Halfway through August, we are nearing the end of our “summer B&B” season. Summer’s not over yet, though, and splashing in the water with our work friends (who just wrapped up a week-long visit) whetted our appetite for more time in our unsalted waters.

I remember being chilly when we lived in Miami…when the temperatures dipped into the mid-70’s. Now I’d be happy if it never got warmer than that. Except the high temps make the water nice. We were having a tough time deciding between a kayak trip or a swimming trip, and the mid-80’s we’re scorching in settled it.

We rode the half hour over to Glen Arbor, and joined scores of other folks there on the beach. Though it was busy, it wasn’t packed to the point where I felt like a sardine in a tin can of humanity. Still, I didn’t mind when we swam away from shore to be with the fishes.

I’d have been cool without my rash guard on, but a thin neoprene layer up top was sufficient for our time out. We kicked over to a submerged pier, and discovered some wreckage along the way. It’s funny how mundane things gain interest when they become the underwater home to algae and mussels.

The pilings were less intriguing than I had imagined. I expected lots of algae, and perhaps some elodea and fish. Instead, there was just some algae, no seaweed, and only tiny fish. Still, the pier’s remains were expansive, interesting, and a touch spooky.

The expanse of the lake itself can be a bit spooky, but it was calm (no fear of rip currents), and it’s unsalted (no sharks). I eventually got chilly, and we were both hungry. We returned to shore to bask in the now comfortable afternoon heat to dry off before the ride home. What have you been doing to stay cool?

PS – Life’s been pretty busy these past several months, and I have no idea if it’s going to slow down. I felt compelled to write tonight, but I don’t know when that urge will strike again…or when I’ll have time. If you want to sorta follow along, or just look at photos, I do still post regularly to Facebook and Instagram :)

New Spaces in Old Places

After five years in northern Michigan, the Old Mission Peninsula and its lighthouse are familiar and well-loved places. We often drive along the shores of the peninsula when the weather is not ideal for getting out in – and sometimes even when it is. It’s idyllic, rolling farm country, and I feel at home there. (In fact, we nearly moved there when we relocated from Rapid City.) We’ve kayaked from a few spots on the east side, multiple times, and we’ve paddled out to Power Island farther south on the west side, but we had never put the boats in at the lighthouse. Until last night.

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Ironically, we had set out with the intent to again paddle around the Old Mission Harbor at Haserot Beach, but with winds out of the east, there was more chop than we felt like fighting. We hadn’t unloaded the boats, so we decided to give the other side of the peninsula a try – if it didn’t look good, at least we’d be in time for a sunset.

Much calmer waters greeted us, and we tossed the kayaks and accoutrements in the water before the mosquitoes had time to feast. Though we had no plans upon arrival, we quickly set our sights on the north end of the islet that was almost directly in front of us. As we approached, the cacophony of bird-screech (decidedly different from birdsong) announced the tiny island as a rookery. Though we had no plans to do so, this underscored that we would not be disembarking for island exploration.

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The sun, which had been a showy and welcome presence, dipped below some hazy clouds taking its drama – but leaving a profound serenity. Not an altogether bad trade, I suppose.

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We paddled farther north as we returned to get a better angle on the lighthouse. I imagine other kayakers and boaters have seen the view before, but this was the first time I’ve seen the Mission Point Lighthouse from so far away. It’s even more quaint and tucked away than it seems from the beach.

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Various bugs – including climbing numbers of mosquitoes – increasingly visited, beseeching that we share our eyes, ears, or blood. Declining, we began the paddle back.

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As we neared shore, I paused (well, actually I circled a few times until I was lined up, and then I paused) to appreciate the simple beauty of a few boulders strewn under the water’s clear and shallow depths. Sometimes it’s the simplest scenes that leave the biggest impressions.
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