Lake Michigan

Familiarity breeds contempt, but I wouldn't say I feel contempt for Lake Michigan. Maybe I should say, familiarity breeds indifference. I have been looking at Lake Michigan for as long as I can remember. We went to Chicago on a regular basis and one of those memories that has been imprinted on my brain is driving down Lake Shore Drive checking for The Drake and The Playboy Club on one side and Lake Michigan on the other. But really, it was Chicago's skyscrapers that got my attention.

Memories can be tricky. I think I remember swimming in Lake Michigan from some beach in the city. But is that memory real? Not sure. I've contacted by sisters and parents and that jury came back with a split decision. Either way, Lake Michigan is taken for granted. Even now, on my most recent look at this huge body of water from above on a Michigan state highway, my first thought was of Grampa asking Long Duc Dong, "Where is my automobile?" Still inebriated, Dong makes skidding, crashing, and splashing sounds and answers, "Lake! Big lake!" The Donger does understate.

Despite my lack of respect for the lake, it was the waters of this body in which we did the most frolicking and of which we saw the most. Hitting beaches on the east side  in Michigan and west, across the way on the Door Peninsula in Wisconsin, we found the east side to be the most enjoyable. Lake Michigan had fun, power and beauty.

The mouth of the Platte River runs right into Lake Michigan and the best time we had in the water was being spat out. This river ran about two to three feet deep and carried us right along like a big game of human Pooh Sticks. At the end was a long sand bar that separated the river from the lake and Maddie would strike poses as if she were the Little Mermaid, arching her back and facing the shore as waves crashed behind her. It was funny to see, but I am sure in her mind she was singing "Part of Your World" and it was nothing but grandeur. This was the best swimming on the trip.


Thomas at the mouth of the Platte. This sandbar separates the river from Lake Michigan.

Sandy Cheeks sitting in Lake Michigan.

We were in Michigan for a wedding and on that wedding day, while the parties involved were busily preparing for the nuptials, we went sight seeing and then swimming in Frankfurt. This beach was in a man-made harbor, two long break waters reached out to hug the sea and shielded us from the choppy waves. At the end of one was a tall, white lighthouse, so I suggested a walk out to the end for a good view of the beach. It was about a  half mile walk and I say we didn't really realize the strength of the waves until we got out to the end. There were about a dozen people out there, but we couldn't understand why they were standing, back against the lighthouse, like they were stuck with Velcro.

Then a wave hit the boulders and rocks surrounding the end of the jetty and a splash of water sprayed up and over the top, soaking our legs. Interesting, because that wave wasn't nothing. A couple more came and did the same, but I could see a good sized wave with what looked like perfect timing. A little nervous, but sure of our safety, I held the Maddie's hand, while Jen took Thomas'. When that wave crashed a wall of water shot up and over our heads, soaking our once dry bodies through and through with water, mist, and foam. It was like standing at the base of a waterfall. So, naturally, we waited for another. And another. And another. It was strange that we were the only ones doing this. The onlookers would come and go, but no one else wanted to get wet.

Not our pic, but this is the place. Feel the power.
http://www.lovethesepics.com/2011/04/power-of-the-storm-44-ferocious-waves-attacking-lighthouses/

Our last touring day in Michigan was spent enjoying the beauty of the lake. Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore had roads that twisted through dense forest, leafy trees up high and layers of light green ferns below, that would turn into wide open vistas of this big lake stretching out like a blue carpet on the horizon. And so, finally, Lake Michigan regained its sense of awe.

Sunday came and it was time to move on. We continued north, on our way to Michigan's Upper Peninsula. But first, we had to cross the Mackinac Bridge. Five miles long, this bridge crossed the strait that separates Lake Michigan and Lake Huron. On the road, we skipped church that day. But that was alright, because as we drove, 200 feet above these lakes, looking out at nothing but water on our left and right all the way to the horizon, I figured we met God there.

View of the top of the world from the Mackinac Bridge borrowed from Google Earth. We did see one ship, but further away. Jennie didn't care for me taking pictures while driving so this had to do. See that grated lane? You can look right down to the water through it.