I Got Lucky at Tahquamenon Falls

Every year, I venture to Michigan's Upper Peninsula to experience a real Yooper Winter.  All alone, I have hiked, snowshoed, crawled, and pushed my way through 3 feet of snow (or more) in sub-zero temperatures to live outdoors under harsh conditions.  I have driven in blizzards, witnessed a fatal car accident during a white-out, and generally been so scared and cold and miserable,  I question my sanity and motives.

But this year I got lucky.  When Mike Wendland, of Roadtreking: The Group, posted an open call to Roadtrekers for a Winter No Rules Rally at Tahquamenon Falls, I asked if I could join him, even though I don't own a Roadtrek or any kind of Class B Motorhome.  Mike assured me I was welcome.  I packed up my Yukon for a winter weekend of car camping and headed north.

I decided to leave a day early, giving myself time to figure out the whole "living in my car like a homeless person" thing before the others arrived.  I got lucky with clear skies, clear roads, and mild temperatures in the upper 20's, making it to the U.P. in a record 5 hours.  Arriving at Tahquamenon Falls State Park, I set up a small tent, placed a tarp on the floor, and created my own bathroom with the Luggable Loo, a folding table, and a bowl to pour hot water in to wash up.




The Yukon was then converted to a rustic cabin, with an electric extension cord running through the window, an electric heater set on high, and an electric blanket in my sleeping bag.  Everything I needed to survive was in the back of the vehicle, including warm layers of clothing, food, a Jet Boil Stove, jugs of water, a lantern, and a good book, which I never read because I was having too much fun all weekend.

At the suggestion of a Roadtreker from the group, I bought an insulating product called Reflectix.  For $23, I easily cut pieces from the roll to fit every window in my car.  It made all the difference in keeping the car warm with just a small space heater.  However, I didn't plan on spending much time in the car, so I started looking for the fire pit outside.

The staff at Tahquamenon Falls State Park had plowed enough sites for our group, one of the largest groups the park has ever seen winter camping on the same weekend.  Unfortunately, when they plowed my site, they buried the fire pit under 6 feet of snow.  I got lucky again when one of the rangers came by and gave permission for a ground fire.  With 30" of snow on the ground, it was a safe bet I wouldn't burn down the campground.  I dug a path through the snow, dug a hole, and started a roaring bonfire.  My evening was perfect.

The first night in the car was less than perfect.  I folded the backs of the rear seats down and spread a camp pad door-to-door, with a sleeping bag and electric blanket on top.  This left me no headroom, so my first challenge was undressing while lying down.  Once settled in the sleeping bag, I quickly realized that I didn't have enough room to straighten my legs, forcing me to sleep on my side.  Then my other side.  Then the first side again.  I tossed, turned, rolled, and contorted myself all night, never getting comfortable and sleeping little.  With the insulated windows and the space heater, I was too hot.  I turned the space heater off.  Then I opened the sleeping bag, tried to straighten the tangled mass of the electric blanket (while still lying on it), rearranged myself, and tried again.


I was up before daylight, just so I could stretch my legs and move my aching joints.  Opening the door and stepping outside, I was greeted with a winter wonderland.  Snow falling, complete quiet, sun just starting to rise.  I went for a walk, and met the first Roadtreker who had arrived last night, Malu from Canada.  We walked in the snow and got to know each other a bit, then started greeting other Roadtrekers as they pulled in.  Unfortunately, the temperatures were still mild and the falling snow was very wet, soaking my coat and boots.  By lunchtime, I was wet and chilled, and wondering how I would dry my stuff out.  I got lucky when Malu came to my rescue.  She invited me to sit in her warm Roadtrek for a cup of coffee.  I hung my coat just inside the door, put my boots in front of her heater, and sat back for engaging conversation and hot coffee.

Malu had traveled alone from Ontario, Canada.  Her Roadtrek was bought used, and she had made some minor modifications to fit her needs.  The Roadtreks aren't roomy, like a larger Class C Motorhome, but you can stand up straight, her modified bed was wider, she had a kitchen, and even a bathroom!  Because it was winter, all the Roadtrekers had winterized their vehicles, using water from jugs just like me and dumping it in a tub.  They flush their toilets with RV Antifreeze.  I was a little envious.

Malu and I stayed in her Roadtrek until my coat and boots were dry, then Mike Wendland, our

Jennifer and Mike
Photo Credit: Mike Wendland

Captain for the weekend, arrived with his wife, Jennifer, and Tai the dog.  We bundled up and went outside to greet them.  Others were arriving as well.  Everyone stood together, greetings exchanged, when a man walked up to us, not quite dressed for the weather.  It turns out, Darryl and his wife had driven all the way here from Georgia to experience their first winter.  Ever.  In their Roadtrek.  Awesome.

Photo Credit: Roadtreker Jeff Martyka

Dinner at the Upper Falls Brewery brought more new faces, all Roadtrekers who enjoy the freedom of simply unplugging their vehicle and driving off to the restaurant.  A nighttime walk to the falls, then a bonfire back at the campground, where I met my RT neighbor Jeff.  We didn't see much of Jeff, because this necktie salesman was off Fatbiking and snowshoeing and hiking, and even going solo to the falls at night to experiment with his fabulous photography.  At the first bonfire, one of us may or may not have introduced Fireball as a means for keeping warm.  We had a group of 25 hearty winter campers, all ready to play like kids again in the snow.

Sargeant Carolyn 

I got really lucky Saturday morning when I met Jim and Rhonda, who invited me into their Roadtrek for warmth and coffee.  Note to self:  One-cup coffee makers do not work with distilled water.  But once Jim figured out the problem and used regular water, I had a nice, hot cup of coffee with their dog, Cricket, in my lap.  We all got lucky with unseasonable temps in the mid-thirties, and throughout the day, we snowshoed to the lower falls as a group, with Sergeant Carolyn leading the way and not putting up with any foolishness.  Some of us did our own thing later, and I drove out to Whitefish Point, which was 20 degrees colder with a monster wind coming off Lake Superior, while others snowshoed some more, explored the area, or napped in their warm Roadtreks.  One Roadtreker, Jeff, even went exploring on his Fat Tire Bike.

Lake Superior at Whitefish Point

I've never been much of a "group" person, choosing to go it alone and welcoming the solitude.  But Roadtrekers are not your average group.  The No Rules Rally was quickly becoming one of my favorite trips of all time, due to the warmth and grace of the people who embrace exploring, new experiences, and lots of laughter.

There is good reason why they all travel in their Roadtreks.  I was welcomed into many of the Class B Motorhomes, and they are very comfortable.  I would have thought the smaller size of a home on wheels would feel confining, but through ingenious design, the Roadtreks feel spacious, even with 3 people and a dog inside.  There is much more storage space than I have in my Airstream Trailer (and certainly a lot more than inside my car!), with useful space conveniently arranged for ease.  The best part of a Roadtrek, though, is the versatility it offers for travel.  Completely self-contained, a Roadtrek allows it's proud owners the freedom to go anywhere, for long periods of time.  Many of the Roadtrekers modify their homes with solar panels, extra batteries, wider beds, and additional tables, which just adds to the ease of their travels.  They can boondock, which means they can park overnight (often free of charge) with no hookups and still have full functionality.  Because of their compact size, parking is not a problem, small campsites are easy to access, and a Roadtrek can handle the dirt roads that lead to some of the best places in America.

Photo Credit: www.roadtrek.com

The people who own Roadtreks are even better.  Darryl and Taera bought theirs just to provide a place to sleep for their two dogs and cat while the couple stayed in hotels.  Vowing to never sleep in the Roadtrek, Taera didn't need much time to change her ways and embrace a life on the open road.  Hotels are a thing of the past for them now!  There were new Roadtreks and old Roadtreks, extended versions and compact versions.  RTer's use their Roadtreks to visit family without imposing, to go grocery shopping, or to carry artwork to a show.  Peter uses his Roadtrek to raise his son, Grant, with a sense of adventure and an appreciation for being outside.  Others load up their dogs and grandchildren for day trips.  And they travel to see America the way it was meant to be seen, by parking their home and getting outside.

Saturday night, while sitting under a brilliant canopy of stars and feeling the temperature drop rapidly, we enjoyed a final bonfire and shared stories of the weekend.  We were approached by another camper, who wasn't part of the Roadtrek Rally but had pulled a huge Fifth Wheel Travel Trailer with a Toy Hauler in the back into an impossibly small campsite.  He stood there a moment, and during a lull in the conversation, he spoke.

"I've been watching you guys all day.  While I've been trying to get my snowmobile to run and hanging out in the Fifth Wheel, you guys have been outside all day.  I saw you go snowshoeing, and hiking, and you stand outside around the fire.  I'm starting to understand that you guys have got it right, that what you are doing is the way it should be done."

Squirrel House
Photo Credit: Yan Seiner

He had a point.  Snowmobiling is fun, but you miss out on conversation, and the sound of running rivers and waterfalls.  You can't hear the snow falling, or the birds singing.  You don't see the squirrel run across your path and disappear into a hole, the way Yan did.  You miss the animal tracks and the ensuing debate over whether they belong to a Pine Marten or a Coyote.  You spend half your day kicking a machine that won't run, instead of laughing at yourself for snowshoeing on your derrière.




Yeah, I'd say the Roadtrekers got it right that weekend.  At the end of it all, Mike Wendland awarded me with a Roadtrek hat, making me an official honorary member of the Roadtreking Group.  I am both proud and humbled to be considered one of them.  I got lucky at Tahquamenon Falls, meeting such a great group of adventurous people and having a terrific weekend outside full of winter activities, laughter, and new friends.

On Sunday morning, the temperature was -6º F.  My bed stayed warm, but the heat didn't travel to the back of the Yukon, and my water was frozen, my propane heater was frozen, even my toothbrush was frozen.  The tent frame was frozen together, the Luggable Loo was frozen too.  I got lucky with milder weather most of the weekend, because if it had been this cold all weekend, I wouldn't have made it.  As I was using a clicker lighter to thaw the tent poles, I watched all the Roadtrekers unplug their vehicles and drive out, waving happily to me from their warm cabs.  Maybe, some day, if I'm lucky, I will be able to buy a Roadtrek and go anywhere, in any weather, and then just drive off.  For now, I will be content to bask in the warmth of new friends, new experiences, and new goals while I pack up my frozen stuff using fingers I can no longer feel and trudge over to the pit toilet as I longingly stare at the taillights of all the departing Roadtreks.  I can't wait for next year's No Rules Rally!

Snow
Photo Credit: Jeff Martyka

If you'd like to see a recap of our good times, check out Mike Wendland's video of the Roadtrek No Rules Winter Rally.  It pretty much says it all.

Two Tyttos on the Way to the Kaymala

After leaving the Porcupine Mountains to join Debbie at Brimley State Park, I was feeling a bit out of sorts.  I had dreamed my whole life of going to the Porkies, and I wasn't ready to leave yet.  Arriving at Brimley in the cold and rain didn't help.  But since I enjoy time with Debbie so much, I was starting to settle in, though with a lingering sadness that I just couldn't shake.  Our second morning at Brimley was still cold and overcast, but the rain had stopped.  I took advantage of the weather to stock up on firewood, fill my water tank, and clean up inside the tin can.  Then we were off again to explore the more civilized sites around Brimley.

First stop:  The Old Indian Burial Ground on the Ojibwe Reservation.  Debbie and I wanted to explore inside the grounds, but signs on the wrought iron fence prohibited entering, and I am a rule follower, so we used our imaginations to determine what was inside all the little boxes.  I had read somewhere that Indians would bury their dead in a shallow mound for 9 months, then dig up the bones and place them in a wooden box above ground.  I didn't know if this is true, but a quick internet search at the Coffee House revealed the boxes to be Spirit Houses, which were built to house the spirits that protect the grave, and supplied with tools and resources the dead would need to enter the spirit world.  We couldn't see what was inside the boxes, but had fun guessing!

I had promised Debbie we would go to a lighthouse.  The previous year was the first time she had seen one, and after falling in love with all the lore about Michigan Lighthouses, Debbie made a pledge to see as many as possible.  We drove 7 miles to the Point Iroquois Lighthouse, and by this time I had to use the restroom, like now.  (This seems to be a recurring theme on my travels with Debbie).  As we pulled into the parking lot, I spotted a restroom building on my right and parked in front of a sign that read "Due to the government shutdown, this facility is closed".   Noooooooooooo!  The Point Iroquois Lighthouse is federally owned.  Did not know that.  We got out of the car, and with a certain amount of envy I let Rooney pee on a bush.  An old man came ambling over to us, asking if we needed to use the restroom.  I guess his first clue was the fact that I parked right next to the door to the Ladies' Room.  His second clue may have been the fact that I was walking with my legs crossed.  He explained that he was a volunteer light keeper, and had keys to the bathroom.  

Google Images

"What are they gonna do?  Fire me?  I'm a 78 year old volunteer, I don't care what they do!"  I fell a little bit in love with the old light keeper.

We couldn't tour the lighthouse, but after gratefully using the restroom Debbie and I walked down to the shore of Lake Superior.  The lake was whipping herself into a fury, with cloudy skies and a fierce wind.  Wearing my Hunter rubber boots, I was able to wade the frigid waters to find a few interesting rocks, while Debbie braved going barefoot.  It was a beautiful area and we happily spent some time rock hunting and letting Rooney swim.  As we were leaving, we saw a sign informing us it is a Federal Crime to remove any rocks from the beach.  We ran for the car, laughing and emptying our pockets along the way, lest some Secret Service Agent was hiding in the trees with binoculars, waiting to slap the cuffs on us and haul us away to Leavenworth.  

That pretty much ended our exploring for this trip.  The weather really was miserable.  A bonfire and a good book sounded just right, so we headed back to the campground.

I always try to keep moving on these trips, because I am well aware of what habits we will fall into at the campsite.  Sit, and eat.  Sit some more, eat some more.  Watch the clock until it's 6:00pm, then add drink to the routine.  To be honest, sometimes I enjoy doing nothing for a while, but then I get bored.  That's when the trouble usually starts.

I was restless.  The rain had started up again, this time harder.  There are no trails in Brimley, nowhere to hike.  The beach behind our campsite was cold and wet.  The campground was just about full with Halloween campers, people were outside around campfires with massive tarps over their sites, children were running and laughing, families shouted back and forth, and here sat Debbie and me, anti-social, alone.  Boring.

Then I realized that the official campground Trick-or-Treating had begun!  If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.  Debbie rudely ignored my newfound enthusiasm as she stayed right next to the fire reading, but I went out to the front of our site with a bowl of candy and my Martha Stewart decorations to greet the families.  While I wasn't technically wearing a costume, Debbie pointed out that the wind and rain had done such a number on my hair, I easily could pass for a scarecrow.  

I spent an hour exclaiming over the kiddies' costumes, calling out to Debbie who pretended she couldn't hear me over the wind, and passing out all the candy.  By the time the last of the trick-or-treaters moved on, I was restless again.  Then the rain picked up, coming down hard enough to make the fire sizzle, and we were forced to run into the tin can.

If you've never seen my tin can, let me explain how this works.  Even though the trailer is 22' long, there is about 4' of empty floor space inside.  Within that 4' space, I have a chair and table.  Now, add my 130lb dog to the 4' space.  You start to get the idea, right?  It was crowded in the tin can.  

Between leaving the mountains too soon, the crappy weather, no trails, a crowded camper and a full campground, I was starting to get a little crazy, and Debbie was not a happy camper.  It was time for a change.

The rest of our evening definitely involves shenanigans, probably involves a little rule-breaking, but I will neither admit or deny the involvement of Captain Morgan.  That's for you to decide.  It began when I heated some apple cider and pulled out a booklet called A Troll's Guide to the Better Understanding of the Yoopanese Language.  Things really started looking up when, after the third mug of hot cider, which may or may not have been embellished by the Captain, Debbie challenged me to speak nothing but Yoopanese the rest of the night.  I double-dog dared her to do same.  All of that would have been great for a few laughs, but we upped the ante when we decided to take our skilled language use to the streets…or at least the drives in the campground.  Donning raincoats and flashlights, we left the warmth and safety of the tin can to visit the four-holer (a bathroom with four stalls) and speak to as many people as possible in our acquired language along the way.

At each decorated site we passed, we called out to the groups of hardy campers huddled under their awnings with kegs of beer, "Lookin' spooky over there, eh?"  If the campers replied with "Oh ya, you betcha!"  Debbie and I laughed and high-fived each other, knowing we had found real Yoopers.  We easily conversed with natives about such important matters as terrorists (people from Detroit who only come to the U.P. during deer season), Chicquito Repellant (12-gauge shotgun), Nubbas (knitted hats worn by Yooper grannies), Camp (Yoopers' second home), Side By Each (standing next to each other), and Kits (children).

One such conversation went something like this:

Yooper:  "I see yer wearing da Kromer" (Official hat of Yoopers, a Stormy Kromer)

Me:  "Oh, ya, you betcha.  Youse guys dem guys wit ta Yooper Caddy?"  (Chevy Impala with no rust)

Yooper:  "Ya.  She was in da crotch, (garage), but we git her runnin"

Me:  "She do a Yogi?" (a controlled 360 degree skid)

Yooper:  "Oh, ya, you betcha.  Not wit a Trooper doh"  (Meaning a student from the lower peninsula who attends a U.P. college should not attempt a Yogi, even in an Impala)

Me:  "Youse got sinkers dere?"  (asking for one of their donuts)

Yooper:  "Ya, but dey got hard.  Need mud"  (coffee)

Me:  "I got mud.  Need sinkers"

Everyone:  Laugh

I must say, Debbie and I got pretty good at Yoopanese.  Or in udder words, we was reg-you-lar Jackpine Savages, eh?  All we needed was plaid shirts and no one would have ever guessed we were Lopers.

We weren't making fun of Yoopers.  I love the way they talk, and the way they laugh with us, not at us.  I love Yoopers because they are cheerful, positive, and hardy.  They welcome even a Troll like me, make me feel like I belong.  They are helpful and creative and strong.  Maybe, that's the real reason why I keep dragging Debbie to the U.P.

Maybe I wasn't really trying to force Debbie to love the wilderness.  I think, all along, I wanted to introduce her to a place where community is everything.  Perhaps I wanted Debbie to know that when I leave home, I go to a place that is its own little country, with its own rules and language, its own culture, and its a good place, with good people.  I just want Debbie to know she is welcome here.

We get so caught up in everything in our real lives at home.  Cell phones, iPads, and internet govern our time.  Throw in a few meetings and a crisis or two, teenage kids' drama, and the PTA, and it's easy to forget about the people in your life as you are overwhelmed by the problems in your life.  But in Michigan's U.P., the information age still consists of neighbors visiting neighbors.  The problems arise from a fickle Mother Nature, and life's joys come in the simplest packages.  Yoopers are slow to judge, quick to help, hard to offend, and easy to know.  For one hour that night, Debbie was one of them.  She walked in the rain.  She laughed.  She ended sentences with "eh?".  She left all her fears and worries in the tin can and put herself out there with no pretensions.  This is what I wanted to share with her.

The tin can is a means of travel.  It makes it possible for me to find peace.  But perhaps Debbie and I are cheating ourselves by hiding in a corner of a campground.  The peace isn't found in the tin can, it is found when we leave the tin can, put ourselves out there, and join a community of good people.  We are already talking about where we might go next year.  She still has her list of requirements for our location, with things like water and electricity listed as a high priority.   I have only one condition:  we must go to the U.P.   It's where we belong.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  The title of this post uses two Finnish words commonly heard in the U.P.  

Tytto means "girl", and Kaymala means "toilet".  

The Snow Day That Shouldn't Have Been

Yesterday was not a fun day.  Or it was.  It depends on how you look at it.

I started my day the same way I start every week day.  Up at 4:45am, prepare my hockey coach husband a cup of coffee to go, start his truck, send him off at 5:00am to hockey practice, then with a hot cup o' Joe for me, sit down at my laptop and have some fun.

I turned on the TV, because even though the most recent snowstorm had blown through on Saturday and I assumed that by Monday morning the roads would be clear and the kids would go to school, I never underestimate the power of the IIC (Idiots In Charge) to cancel school on a whim.  Hmmm…two school districts north of town had already announced closings.  No worries, they are rural areas, probably not plowed yet.  We will have school.  Definitely.

Scuba called me on his way to the rink, said the roads are clear, they will have school.  Definitely.

But the "others" on Facebook disagreed.

The "others" are the hockey moms who also get up long before the sun rises to make sure their hockey players leave on time for practice, then snuggle back into bed with cell phones and tablets to have lively interactions on Facebook.  I also throw my bff Debbie into the "others" category.  She doesn't have a hockey player, she just never sleeps.  One of the most interesting parts of my day is the early morning discussions on Facebook with the "others".

But yesterday, the "others" were being very vocal about wanting a snow day.  I am in the minority among moms who hate snow days.  God made schools for a reason, and kids should go there 5 days a week.  So with caution to push the limits without being offensive, I began a lively banter with the "others" about whether the kids should have a snow day.

A Road in the U.P.

They worry about their teenaged kids driving on slippery roads.  I worry that we are raising a generation of kids who will believe that, even though they live in one of the northern most states in America, a few inches of snow means everything stops.  The "others" wouldn't last a day in the U.P.!

At this point the TV has added a few new announcements at the bottom of the screen.  I started counting school delays and closings, because there are certain rules that the IIC is supposed to follow regarding snow days.  My kids go to Catholic Schools, and the general rule is that 4 other districts in our county have to have a delay or closing in order for us to follow suit.  At this point, the count was 2 closed, 2 delayed, but the city schools were still open, which means we have busses.  So we're still ok.

As the "others" and I continued our argument about whether our kids should go to school, one of the hockey moms posted a comment about something making noise outside her window.  Though Jo was mildly concerned, she did not want to get out of her warm bed to investigate.  I suggested it might be a bear, even though we have no bears this far south in Michigan.  That got her going!

Now another school has announced a closing, and one more delay.  But city schools are still open, and the count was at 3 closings and 3 delays, so we're good.  Surely, we would have school, right?

I offered to drive over to Jo's with my camera to capture her bear in the act, but mostly to prove that the roads in her neighborhood were fine.  She insisted the bus could not drive on her unplowed road.  Wimps.  But it was 1degree outside, and my car had 10 inches of snow piled on it, so I stayed put, eyes glued to the TV.

Our Road

By 6:15, no announcement had been made regarding our schools, so I prepared to wake Bean and get her ready for school.  5 minutes later, they cancelled school.  Really?  But the roads are not that bad.

I was incensed, and took it out on all the "others" who were waiting, wishing, hoping for a snow day.  Two minutes later, Bean sent me a text message from her bedroom asking if she could get up since she already knows school is cancelled.  My day just went down the toilet.

Bean and I went to the grocery store.  I drove her to another town 30 minutes away to play in the snow with a friend.  I ran errands.  The roads were clear, and there was absolutely no reason the kids should have a snow day.  This bothered me so much that I couldn't get past it all day.  Why aren't they in school?  Who makes this decision?  I want answers!

I became so agitated at the spineless, nameless person who is teaching our kids to be lazy and fearful, I finally had to find a way to seek some peace.  I grabbed my camera, and did what I do best; I went outside.

There is something special about being outside right after a snowstorm.  The air is so clear and crisp, everything is blanketed in white, and sounds are muted.  The quiet is complete and all senses are awake.  I walked, I took pictures, I breathed.  I listened, and filled myself with the clean scent, felt the cold air.  It made me feel so alive!  I needed my own snow day, a day to experience the elements of a Michigan winter and remember why I choose to live here.  It helped me to understand that maybe the kids need a snow day, too, not to sit in a stuffy classroom and stare out the window, but to bundle up and go outside to build a snowman, jump in a snowbank, run and play, and nurture a love for nature any time of year.  Bean was off with a friend, staying outside
and laughing, not like a teenager, but like a kid who delights in something as simple as snow.  I was a solitary soul embracing the woods, the wind, the cold, and I found my peace, painted white and waiting for me to leave my footprints in its virgin ground.  When you walk in the snow, you leave a message to Mother Nature that says "I was here".

Later, when I picked Bean up to bring her home, her cheeks were rosy and her eyes were bright.  All the way home, I listened to her excited chatter about what she did outside all day, and she reminded me of…me.  It was a good snow day.

This morning on Facebook, Jo informed me that even though we got an additional inch of snow last night, the kids would have school and her bear did not make a return appearance.  All I had to do was plant the tiniest seed of thought, and I've got Jo snuggled in her bed listening for a bear that could not exist here.  Ain't life grand?

I hope that today, wherever you are and whatever you're doing, you find your moment of peace.  Just go outside, peace is waiting for you.

New Places, New Faces, Same Story…Awesome!

I am one of those annoying people who watched a movie a few years ago, jumped on the bandwagon, and wrote my own Bucket List.  It's a long one, with the top two lines reading "Alaska in the Tin Can",  and "Write A Story".  Further down the list is "Camp One Night in Each of Michigan's State Park Campgrounds".  To that end, I spent last weekend at Port Crescent State Park, at the tip of the thumb in Michigan, along the Great Lakes Bay Region.  I've never before gone east to camp in my great state, so I was apprehensive, mostly about the reported snake population that thrives in the reedy, marshy waters of Lake Huron's shoreline.

The day I left home was my favorite kind of summer day; hot, windy, sunny, but with storms threatening in the evening hours.  The iPod was on shuffle, the tin can was clean and packed, and Rooney was in the back seat looking out the window, with what I swear was a smile on his face.  Newfies are known for their solemn faces, but Rooney looked so happy.  Google Maps re-routed me away from the construction zone on M-25 to take me on a delightful, meandering voyage through farmland and wind turbine fields.  Stretched out in front of me were no less than 100 wind turbines, possibly more.  The majestic towers spun lazily in the breeze, waving to me and sending me along my way.  It was rather awesome.

I came upon a roadside rest stop, and discovered the first site of a natural disaster responded to by the Red Cross.  I then continued along M-25 to catch glimpses of Lake Huron, and storm clouds building in the sky far away over the cold water.  When I pulled into Port Crescent State Park, I knew I still had plenty of time to set up camp before the storms, yet I felt rushed to complete my camp so I could watch the storm approach while sitting on the beach.

The tin can was ready to be inhabited with 20 minutes to spare.  I walked Rooney while we could still stay dry, then settled into my camp chair under the awning and felt the wind shift as electricity filled the air.  I could actually smell the rain coming, and with the first distant rumble of thunder, I felt my surroundings change as the storm came upon me.

It was a lovely storm; not dangerous from where I was sitting, just a brilliant display of light and sound reminding me of how powerless we are to stop nature, and how lucky we are to experience it.

The storms came and went all weekend, but it didn't stop Rooney and me from exploring the park and meeting other campers.  I have always
found that each state park in Michigan attracts a certain "type" of camper, and at Port Crescent I found the best kind of people.  Every camper I met didn't care what the weather was doing, they had come to enjoy the peace of camping along the shoreline of a Great Lake, get outside to walk slowly and take in their surroundings, and share their stories over a fire.  They were a friendly bunch who respected each other's privacy.  And, of course, they all fell in love with Rooney.

Speaking of Rooney, he once again has a brown tail, instead of his usual black and white.  He really must learn not to back up to the bonfire.  While I appreciate torch light, the smell of burnt hair that still lingers in the tin can is unpleasant, at best, and downright sickening when a rainy day turns the odor to wet, burnt hair.  As with the other times, his hair is so thick he never even knew he was on fire until I tackled him to the ground at beat him with a blanket.  I assure you, his expression quickly reverted to the Newfie "sad look".



All in all, Port Crescent gave me exactly what I needed for this trip.  Sunny days, stormy nights, and wonderful campground hosts who were knowledgable about the area and gave good suggestions for things to do.  The campground is quite secluded, miles from the nearest town of Port Austin, and make sure you fill your gas tank in Caseville before you arrive.  Though the black flies were biting, and there are no trails within the campground, and dogs can't go anywhere near the beach without a DNR officer appearing out of nowhere, the campground was clean and my site was on the beach.  The sunsets were stunning, the driftwood was spectacular, and the staff, hosts, and campers were a friendly group, making my stay rather enjoyable.  For a quiet weekend, I would return there to regain peace and perspective in a busy life.  As a side note, I am most pleased to report that I didn't see a single snake.  They must not have known I was coming.

A Tin Can for the Wise One

Last night, I had a long talk with my daughter while sitting by the bonfire.  We had been silent companions, enjoying the heat and the dancing flames, when she quietly said,

"My life is boring".  

She went on to say that she goes to school, she comes home, she does her homework, and she goes to bed.  She never does anything exciting or fun.  It's true.  So I asked her if she wants to invite a friend over after her soccer game today.  She replied,

"I don't really have any friends".

I know what she means.  She has a school friend who has taken her on family trips and loves being with my girl.  But that friend has lots of friends, so our Wise One doesn't spend all her time with her.  My daughter is liked well enough by the other girls, but she doesn't get invited to their homes.  I threw out the names of some girls from her class, but she kept coming back with reasons why they aren't her friends.  Finally she said to me, "Mom, I'm okay with not having friends.  Those girls are all into drama and boys, and I don't care about any of it.  I don't need friends.  What I need is a job."

She's twelve years old, and she wants a job.  So I gave her one.

She said she wants to start her own blog, but doesn't want to talk about kid stuff.  I have heard The Wise One talk passionately about politics and religion and the economy, and while her arguments are well-thought positions with intelligence and humor as her emphasis, she does not have the years of experience for her arguments to be tempered with an open mind.   I think the idea of my twelve year old writing a blog about adult issues is a bad, bad idea.

I asked her if she would like to take over writing one of my other blogs, Rooney Speaks.  I started it a while back, but since I have a hard enough time finding opportunities to write on this blog, I have written very little on Rooney Speaks.

Rooney is my dog.  He is a very large, messy, lovable dog who tends to get himself into trouble.  My daughter adores him and is annoyed by him at the same time.  But she was intrigued by the idea of writing about our lives through our dog's eyes, and I saw a little spark come alive inside her.

Maybe writing is her tin can.  We all need a tin can.  Mine is the vintage Airstream I lovingly live in part-time, traveling to my wilderness and learning about adventure as I go along.  My tin can is where I find my excitement, my joy, and my peace.  My Wise One needs to find her own tin can, but I suspect hers will be much the same as mine.

We made a pact.  I will bring Rooney into the picture more often by letting him come to her soccer games and school events, and taking him with us everywhere we go.  She will write about his antics on my blog.  She is quite excited about this plan.

It was getting late last night by the time we finished our talk, but The Wise One wanted to have a go at the blog.  I showed her how to access it on the computer, then left her alone.  She only wrote one small paragraph, because she said she hasn't given enough thought to it yet, but I was pleasantly surprised by what she wrote.  Without any guidance from me, she wrote using Rooney's voice, not hers or mine.  It is a short piece, but amusing.  The Wise One plans to write more.

This morning, she woke up early - as she always does - and ran out to my computer to see how many people have read her blog since last night.  She was thrilled to have 39 hits.  She already understands the satisfaction a writer gets from knowing someone is interested enough to hear what she (or Rooney!) has to say.

It makes me so very proud to see my daughter wanting to follow in my footsteps.  The best part is, unlike me, she is not waiting until she is having a mid-life crisis at 48 to know what she can contribute to the world.  If she sticks with it, The Wise One could someday use the written word to inspire, and change the way people see themselves and their world.  Or she might work at Target.  She hasn't decided yet.

I hope you will check out her blog, Rooney Speaks, so that when she gets home from her soccer game this afternoon and anxiously checks the dashboard, she will have even more hits.  You might even want to sign up to follow her blog.  That way, someday when she is writing powerful thoughts, you can say, "I have followed her from the beginning!'  Who knows?  Her Tin Can might be my Tin Can.  I dare say, hers will be better than mine, and nothing would make me happier.