Art in Nature

God was the first artist.  He painted our landscapes with brilliant color which can never quite be captured in another artist's paint or a photographer's camera.  He gave us sculptures and clay and minerals, and He gave us natural art that is so stunning, so breathtaking, that the only way to truly enjoy it is to immerse our souls completely in nature.

But God also has a sense of humor, and in my travels I often find things in nature that imitate life.  Have you ever seen a cloud formation that looks like a rabbit running through the sky?   Or a rock that looks like a heart?  I have, and many other things as well.

Many of the cosmically comedic examples I find are in trees.  Like the baboon that perpetually ran away from my campsite…

And the almost submerged cow lurking on the beach…

You can decide for yourself what I saw in this tree stump…

Then there is my absolute favorite: God's inspiration for medieval weapons…

I don't know if God intended for these things to be odd, or humorous, or if we interpret His art to satisfy our own sense of humor.  Maybe I'm just a little weird in seeing things that aren't really there.  Whatever the case, I take great delight in my hikes through nature, finding things that are funny, or macabre, or unbelievable, and keeping a photo journal of my artful discoveries.  The best artwork from God, though, is the scenery that takes my breath away, fills me up, and leaves me in awe and wonder.  This is why I go outside…

To Look at the Colors…

Listen to the Waves.

Feel the Breeze…

Hear the Music.

Taste the Splendor…

Be Still.

Everywhere I look, there is beauty around me.

It makes me smile, sometimes laugh, and always be inspired.

We're Not In Kansas Anymore

I recently returned from a nine day trek throughout the Northeastern corner of Michigan's Upper Peninsula, and I experienced so many amazing things that my outline already has my story broken into at least five posts!  This first post in the series recalls the beginning of my journey, prior to the days my friend Debbie joined me.  It was a solitary time of exploration, both of the land and of my heart, and I am excited to share it with my few real readers (thanks again!) and my thousands of imaginary ones.

Photo Courtesy of Bob Stovall

The drive from southern Michigan to the U.P. should take about 5 hours, but because I can never be without a hot cup of coffee, resulting in frequent stops, it takes me about 7 hours, and with each passing mile I felt less stress, less shoulder pain, and more clarity in my thoughts.  With Eddie Vedder playing on the iPod, I made my customary final stop before crossing the Big Mac at the Mackinac Rest Area, to climb with a reluctant Rooney up the steep trail to the scenic overlook.  It's a bit of a ritual to look out over miles of treetops, take a deep breath, and simply be in the moment.  Then it's off to the bridge, which used to be a source of anxiety but I have now gotten so used to hauling the tin can over the grates that I can actually look out at Lake Huron on my right and Lake Michigan on my left and enjoy the stunning view from the crest of Big Mac.

I will admit, a ship passing underneath gives me a brief flash of it crashing into the bridge, but that story comes later.

As I drove over the bridge and entered the U.P., I said to Rooney, "Hey buddy, we're not in Kansas anymore".  That's what I always think when I enter the U.P., because it is a place like no other, removed from what we consider the civilized world and into a world that is a bit behind the times, yet more civil than home. I had gotten a late start on my day, so I decided to stop at the Straits State Park for the night.  Bad decision.  It was raining, and I had so much stuff packed in the trailer for "glamping up" my campsite that I had to pull out the awning on Twinkie and unload wicker furniture and a little red wagon just to get in the camper.  I didn't even unhook from the Yukon, I planned to just sleep and get up early, leave by 8:00am for my real destination.

I turned on the first of two full propane tanks, fired up the furnace in the tin can, and settled into my dreamy bed to read and listen to the rain.  The temperature was predicted to drop to 34 F that night, but I was warm in bed.  However, I could not sleep.  I was a little depressed, and very anxious to get to Tahquamenon Falls, frustrated that I had to stop for the night.  After a restless night, I woke in the morning to one compelling thought; I was freezing!  The furnace had gone out, and would not restart.  After packing everything back into the camper, I stopped at the ranger station and asked for advice on somewhere to go in St. Ignace for furnace repair.  Each place I went to sent me somewhere else, always maneuvering the tin can into tight parking areas.  Finally, at the fifth stop, the Mackinac Heating and Cooling owner came outside, checked a few things, and discovered my propane connection had shaken loose underneath the camper.  He fixed it in two minutes, refused to let me pay him (I think he kind of admired me for heading into the wilderness alone) and I was on my way, three hours later than planned.  It was all good though, because my next stop would be Tahquamenon!  I bought a large fresh cup of coffee in St. Ignace, and fifteen minutes later took the exit for M-123, at which point there would be nowhere to stop for coffee or a bathroom until I reached my campsite.

Arriving at Tahquamenon Falls State Park Lower Falls Campground, I was surprised to see a long line of campers in front of me, waiting to check in.  What were all these people doing here?  I was supposed to be camping in a sparsely populated campground in the Fall!  Don't these people know it gets cold up here?  And there are bears?  Geez.  I was lamenting all of this to Rooney, because I frequently talk to my dog on long solitary trips as if he is a person, when I noticed the license plate on the camper in front of me.  Kansas.  Hey, people, you're not in Kansas anymore!  Rooney and I got a good laugh out of that.

When my turn came in line, I was in for another surprise.  Most state campgrounds in Michigan have a "site specific" reservation system, meaning when you reserve online you can choose a specific site.  I like that system.  A few though, including Tahquamenon, are not site specific and you just make a general reservation for the time you will be there.  I assumed that I would check-in, and the ranger would show me the available sites on a map, and I would pick one.  That seems logical.  But we weren't in Kansas anymore, and they do things a little differently in the U.P.  When I pulled up, the ranger told me to drive to the lower loop, pick any campsite that didn't have a camper or tent on it, drive back up the hill, park, and let him know which site I would be on.  As I pulled out to roll down the big hill, it suddenly occurred to me that the five campers in front of me were also driving around, picking their site.  What if one of them took the site I wanted?  Oh crap.  I drove into the campground loop, quickly found my perfect site, but based on the surprisingly low number of empty sites, I had to assume that one of the five in front of me had chosen this site as well.  Looking for a shortcut to head off in front of the other drivers, I felt like Ben Stiller in "Meet The Parents" when he was racing his future father-in-law home from the restaurant.  I cut through a one-way campground drive, going the wrong way, cursing at the dog-walker in front of me who wouldn't move out of the drive, cutting my eyes over to the two campers going the right way on the next drive over.  One looked like he was heading back out, the other was still surveying sites.  As soon as the dog-walker stopped to let her dog sniff a tree, I swerved around her and pulled forward like a bat out of hell, darn it! the other camper was in front of me!  When I got to the top of the hill, I tried to beat that other camper into the ranger station, but he and his wife walked in just ahead of me.  I held my breath as the ranger asked them which site they wanted, he paused, looked at his wife, and said "5".  Yay!  I wanted 4.  We would be neighbors.

After checking in and happily driving back down the hill to the Riversbend loop, I figured out why my new neighbors didn't take site 4.  In my haste to quickly assess sites, looking for the right view and privacy and pretty trees, I neglected to notice that in order to back into site 4, I had to turn the camper at a 90 degree angle and squeeze the tin can between two very large trees, with about 6" clearance on either side.  It took me 6 attempts, with my new neighbor watching me and shaking his head like I'm just a dumb woman, but I got Twinkie in.  I wasn't sure how I would pull her out, but I had 8 days before I had to worry about that!

It was already 1:00 in the afternoon, and I had a lot of work to do!  Normally, I camp simply, but the one time each year Debbie joins me, I "glamp" up, because Debbie is not, by nature, a camper, and I try to make our surroundings really nice for her.  First thing, I got out of the Yukon, shouted to my neighbor "I got her in!", he laughed, then I hooked Rooney on his lead line and hooked the other end to the picnic table.  Rooney can run away and pull a large picnic table behind him, but he only does that if I try to walk away from the site without him.  I gave myself a moment to take in my site.  Standing next to Rooney, I planned where to hang my bamboo fencing, how to set up my chairs and wine bottle hurricane lamps, then I turned and went still as I saw the view behind my site.

I could look right down at the Tahquamenon River from my site, and hear the lower falls that were cascading just around the bend.  Peace.  I was filled with peace.

It took me several hours to set up camp, but the finished result was worth it for Debbie.

My campsite selection is very important to me.  I need some privacy, a view, the ability to place Rooney's lead line where he can sit next to me by the fire, but not get too close to set himself on fire, which he has done before.  I need trees spaced just right to hang the fence.  I need to be close to the water spigot, so Rooney can see me when I fill my jug with water.  (Otherwise he runs after me, picnic table and all).  But mostly, my site has to feel right.  This site was perfect.

I always look for wildflowers, even when I'm not Glamping!

After setting up tables and seating areas that we never once used, and placing some wildflowers in a vase, I was finished.  By now, it was getting chilly, so I fired up the furnace, pleased that it seemed to be running properly, and more pleased when I didn't smell propane outside Twinkie's door.  I wasn't sure if that connection held during my race through the campground to get my site.  But it did, and the tin can was warming up.  Relieved to be done with the work, I took Rooney for a nice long walk to find his "poop path".  Wherever we go, Rooney selects one spot to do his business every day when we walk.  If I don't walk him there, he doesn't poop.  He picked his spot, thankfully not too far away from the camper, as those early morning walks were cold, and we walked on down to the lower falls.  Seeing them surrounded by Fall color again gave me the sense that I was in the right place for this moment.  Even Rooney seemed quite content!

I had planned to include more in this first post, but I have been criticized before for writing long posts, so I think I will end this with a few last thoughts and write the rest in another few days.

My camp was set up, Rooney and I had walked, we had both eaten, the campfire was dying and the sun had set on this long day.  I was so full of anticipation for the rest of this trip, but also wanted to make sure I wasn't missing a moment while looking ahead.  The moon was almost full, and I wanted to take the steep path behind my tin can down to the river.  Rooney was worn out, so I put him in the camper while he checked his emails and updated his Facebook status (just kidding, he wasn't really doing that.  At least, I don't think he was really doing that).  Using only the moonlight to guide my steps, I walked down to the River, sat on the bank, and thanked God for this opportunity, this beautiful place, and a full life.  I wasn't in Kansas anymore, but I was home.

Family Camping at The Straits

For the past week I have returned to Michigan's Upper Peninsula, but this camping trip has been drastically different, because my family came with me.  I had been excited for this trip ever since my husband, Steve, suggested a family camping trip, but it was also something I had to completely prepare myself for mentally.  Camping alone in the woods in my beloved tin can is what I do; camping with 7 people in the tiny Twinkie is another thing all together!

I have camped with Steve before, so I knew what to expect.  We would spend very little time at the campsite, instead spending our days driving to a crowded tourist destination, then walking like cattle being herded into chutes to catch a brief glimpse of something spectacular, then back in the car to drive somewhere else.  Steve loves tourist attractions!  Don't get me wrong, tourist attractions are crowded for a reason.  They are very interesting and nifty places, they are just chock-full of people, which is not where I like to be.  Crowds make me nervous.  But I made up my mind to really enjoy this trip, it being a special treat to have my kids carve time out of their busy work and sports schedules to join us, a time for reconnecting with my college sophomore Max and his girlfriend Lauren, and my high school senior Keely and her boyfriend Connor, and of course, my 11 year old, Nina.

I arrived at Straits State Campground in St. Ignace, with it's stunning views of the Bridge, on Wednesday.  I set up camp, including two tents and a tin can, and waited impatiently for Steve and Nina to arrive on Thursday.  Once they did, we took off on our bicycles to explore the park.

We came upon this intriguing and lovely path through the woods.  I was rather dismayed to see a sign prohibiting bikes.  What?  No bikes?  Sure, there were jagged boulders jutting out at eye level, and the tree roots created Mother Nature's inspiration for obstacle courses, but I would have been up for the challenge.  Sadly, I am a rule follower, so we abandoned the bikes and set off on foot.  Tripping over roots, breathing hard on the uphill climbs, we wove through trees and around rocks, enjoying the silence and peaceful experience of walking in the woods, when Nina turned around to say something to me and stopped in her tracks, eyes frozen.  I looked behind me, and in a narrow break through the trees, we had a stunning vision of the Mackinac Bridge.  If she hadn't turned around, we never would have seen it!

The Straits is a typical State campground, but as each park has something unique to offer, here it is the breathtaking views of Lake Huron melding with Lake Michigan under a 5-mile long  bridge connecting lower and upper Michigan.  Steve, Nina and I walked the shoreline of the blue water lake, with it's desolate beauty and captivating view of Mackinac Island, the Grand Hotel seen far off as a sentinel watching over the water.  Because of the tannic acid leeching from the trees, rivulets of orange, oily water run from the shore to Lake Huron, giving new meaning to the term "mineral water".

Straits State Park was built in 1924 as a simple day use park, but in the 1940's tent sites were cleared along the shoreline.  The booming travel trailer industry in the 1950's, combined with the construction of the Mackinac Bridge, led the state to expand Straits, adding 130 campsites in the lower campground and developing the upper campground with 145 sites in the 70's.

The history of the Straits is colorful and rich.  In 1634, Jean Nicolet traveled through here seeking a passage to China.  He didn't find it, but found instead a lot of animals with fur!  He began the Fur Trading Industry between the French and American Indians.  1723 marked the construction of Fort Michilimackinac for the French to conduct their fur trading.  For several years after, the British and French fought over the fort and fur, but in 1781, Fort Michilimackinac was moved to Mackinac Island.  It bounced between the French, British, and American soldiers for control, but by the 1860's, the fur trade had died and fishing became the major industry in the Straits.  Tourism was born at this time on Mackinac Island, and in 1887, the Grand Hotel was built on the island in just 4 months, with only 300 construction workers!  The bridge was completed in 1957, and the rest, as they say, is history. Now a major tourist destination, St. Ignace offers ferry service to the island, and boasts a quaint town of shops, restaurants, and motels.  The Straits campground, conveniently located 2 minutes from downtown, is a very popular campground, with a feeling of remoteness but close proximity to tourist attractions.

After exploring the many natural beauties the park has to offer, we spend a restful night at the campsite.  Well, Steve and Nina had a restful night in the tin can.  I was forced to sleep in the tent, and while I normally sleep well outside, the pack of dogs, or possibly coyotes, that fought for whatever they fight for at night kept me wide awake.  That, coupled with my excitement for Friday, kept me from sleeping much, but no worries; I was too pumped up to grab a lifelong dream the next morning to feel tired.

Friday morning found us in the car, driving north, to Tahquamenon State Park.  As a young child, my parents had taken me to the general area, but I never saw the falls, and I have waited since then for the opportunity to return there.  It was worth the wait!  The weather was a little chilly and rainy, so not as many tourists as usual were there, and once the sun broke through the clouds we ended up with a nice day to row a boat over the river to explore the lower falls on foot.  I highly recommend this, since you can only see all 5 lower falls by rowing over to the other side.

I don't know if the falls are always like this, or if the recent drought has dropped the water levels, but we could walk right out onto the rock slabs and actually become one with the falls.  We picked our way over rocks and viewed the lower falls from underneath them; it was inspiring and awesome and surreal.  Who can beat being romantically rowed through the Tahquamenon River by your husband to embark on a journey to see one of God's miracles?  As we continued to walk the path along the river to the next falls, the crowd thinned out (wimps!) and we found ourselves alone for a time, just me, Steve and Nina and the river.  I was overcome with emotion, at finally being here, being a part of it, and for once, I was grateful not to be experiencing it alone.  I turned to Steve with tears streaming down my face.  He knew, I didn't have to say a word.

The upper falls are more spectacular, and it is a simple walk down a paved path to see them.  Again, Nina and I walked right out to the top of the falls and looked over.  But I found myself liking the lower falls better.  The twisting trees in the water, the constant current swirling around rocks and roots, the new surprise around every bend, the walk on a dirt path through the woods were all a part of exploring the way the first people who ever saw the falls explored them.  I felt very native, going back in time and feeling my Native American ancestry and wondering if I love it so much because they, the Indians, loved it so.  

Once we returned to the campsite that evening, I only had a moment to bask in the glory of the falls before a flurry of activity.  We had to hurry up and wait for Max, Lauren, Keely and Connor to get here!  I had their tent all ready, with cots and mattresses, sleeping bags, extra blankets, and a roaring campfire to greet them.  Seven camp chairs were set in a close circle around the fire, with errant embers burning small holes in the seats, so that upon their arrival we could just be together.  The brief fall of rain just prior to their getting here couldn't dampen my fire, and it was perfect.

However, the kids, as Nina calls them, came rolling in at 11:30pm, exhausted from working all day and driving 5 hours, so we did not linger around the fire.  The kids crawled into the tent, Nina and Steve went inside Twinkie, and I retired to my tent cot.  Putting my shoes underneath the cot and zipping myself into my little cocoon, I looked up through the peep hole and saw stars, millions of stars, and fell into a deep sleep.

It had to happen though.  I've been lucky this summer, having spent much time in snake infested habitats all by myself, but not actually seeing one.  Waking at 3:00am, I had to pee.  I stayed put for a while, hoping I could just fall back to sleep, but by 3:30 I knew I had to get up.  Unzipping the tent, I reached underneath for my shoes when my hand felt something thick and slimy.  Of course, I screamed and zipped up the tent.  Forcing myself, out of bladder necessity, to peek out the opening with a flashlight, I saw a round sleek body curled over the top of my shoe, with its head inside.  In one jump, I made it into the tin can, where I used the bathroom and then pushed Nina over in her bed to join her.

It doesn't matter that, in retrospect, I realized it wasn't a snake, it was a slug.  But give me some credit, the slugs up here are really, really big.  I was awake the rest of the night, trying to remind myself to breathe.

Saturday dawned, and this was the day Steve and Max had so been looking forward to.  After a quick breakfast and showers, we loaded up and drove to Hessel, Michigan for the Les Cheneaux Historical Society Antique Wooden Boat Show.  What an amazing day it turned out to be.  First, though, it must be said:  the crowd was huge.  We shuffled through roped off docks one by one, hemmed in on all sides by others spectators, looking down at the lower docks where the boats were moored.  While it made me long for wide open spaces, and at times I heard myself screaming in my head to get out of there, I was at least momentarily distracted from the humanity by the boats themselves.  They were gorgeous, and the time, effort, blood, sweat and tears it must have taken for their owners to restore them was impressive.  A few were even for sale, and as soon as I win the lottery I am going to buy one for Steve.

My husband was in seventh heaven.  We lost him in the crowd as he lingered over each boat, asking the owners all about their history and restoration process.  Once the kids and I had enough, we left him behind and entered the very long line to buy fresh made kettle corn, which turned out to be quite possibly the best kettle corn ever made.  My second favorite part of the day was seeing the boats that had that extra little touch, a bit of decorating.  This made me ponder; if adding a bit of glamour to a campsite is called "glamping", then is adding glamour to your boat called "gloating"?  Hmmmm…


The kids took off before Steve and I, to stop at Castle Rock.  After climbing countless steps, they were rewarded by standing atop a huge rock to see for miles and miles.  











As Steve and I drove back to the campground, he was lost in thought, dreaming, I suppose, of building a pole barn and equipping it with boat restoration tools.  At the campsite, he asked me to pull up the internet on my computer.  I wandered around the campsite with my cell phone, trying to find that one spot where I could get a signal, then propped the phone on a tree branch and activated my mobile hot spot.  Steve happily searched for antique wooden boats for sale on the internet while Max made us dinner.  All in all, a great day, despite the crowds, ending with a rainbow on the beach that evening.

I didn't even try to sleep in the tent cot Saturday night.  Connor took possession of it, and I once again crammed myself in a bed in the tin can that is meant for one, which I shared with Nina.  Nina, the talks-in-her-sleep, elbow-jabbing, feet-kicking, restless sleeper.  No rest for the weary, eh?

Sunday morning was again rushed as we prepared breakfast and headed to Mackinac Island on the ferry to go to Mass.  Steve insisted on renting bikes for all of us (really, Steve?  I haven't slept for days and you want me to ride a bike 7 miles around the island?)  then took us up to the Grand Hotel for lunch.  The idea of being at the Grand Hotel was a little intimidating to me, but it seemed really important to Steve that we eat there.  Boy, did we eat!  The lunch buffet that is open to the public is outstanding, with table after table of food.  It was positively decadent.  Also not very smart to eat that much food before we biked around the island.  I spent the entire ride staring longingly at the beach, where I am quite sure I could have napped.  

Even though there were signs posted along the ride warning tourists not to climb the stone outcroppings, the boys and Nina did it anyway.  Steve and I fretted, took pictures, fretted some more, and were relieved when their feet safely touched the ground below.  I wasn't mad though.  What child (or child at heart) could resist?

We bought fudge, ate ice cream, then took the ferry back to St. Ignace.  I was sad to see the kids leave, but they all have jobs they had to get home to, so as they drove off at 7:00pm after lots of hugs and reluctant waves, it was time for Steve, Nina, and me to take down the tents, perform some housekeeping duties with Twinkie, and settle in for another night of Steve and Nina sleeping, and me falling off the edge of the bed in an attempt to escape Nina's kicks.

Steve and Nina packed up their stuff Monday morning, ate a leisurely breakfast by the fire, then took off for home.  I spent the next two delightful hours putting the tin can back to the way she should be, after having 7 people in and out of her all weekend.  But once I had everything "just so", the way I like it, I found myself lonely, wishing Steve and the kids were still here.  Whoa, where did that come from? I assumed that once everyone left, I would be relieved to return to some solitary camping in the woods for a couple of days.  Not so.  I had such a wonderful time with them here, enjoying the kids laughter and all the private jokes we inspired, seeing my husband relaxed and fun, full of love and generosity towards us all, that I wasn't quite ready for it to be over.  Our family needed this vacation together.  With two older teenagers who have separate, busy lives, and Steve stressing over work, and me missing my job, Nina caught somewhere in the middle of it, we were able to put everything aside and just enjoy being together.  It was nice.


I am wrapping up my time here at Straits State Park.  Today I wandered the campground where buying wood is left to the honor system (does my kids' generation even know what that is?) and paths are not for bikes.  I walked to the end of the road in the lower campground, curious about what might be behind the fence marking state property.  I snuck through to find myself standing in a cemetary, and decided that when I die, I want to be buried here.  What an eternal view!



It has been a great trip, the end to a great summer spent exploring Michigan's State Parks.  I suppose the time has come for me to return home, to the real world, with a renewed sense of self to help me tackle life's every day problems with confidence and clarity.  Tonight I will sleep alone in the tin can, missing Nina's warm breath on my face, but at least I will be sleeping and dreaming of waterfalls and my family's smiles.