Lake Erie

My 14 year old son drives his mother crazy. He likes to point out the things he'd like to do someday.  What drives her crazy is not that he'd like to jump out of a perfectly good aircraft or that he wants to visit less than stable parts of the world. She hates that he refers to this collection of desires as his bucket list. "A bucket list", she says, "is for old people and I'd rather that the child that I worked so hard for, not plan for his death." Fair enough.

Ohio to the south. Ontario, Canada to the north.

I'm 45. Is that too old for a bucket list? Probably. I have too many things that I still need to start or even to add to that list to even think about the finality of my visit to this realm. Still, I think this Great Lakes trip is a good "goals list" item to check off. Visiting all the Great Lakes was never an actual stated goal, but it is one of those things that has a quirky uniqueness to it that makes the whole trip noteworthy. Even if it wasn't perfect.

I've heard that makers of oriental rugs intentionally stitch an imperfection into their work. Only God is perfect, so who is some rug maker to show up the Creator?  Lake Erie was our imperfection. At each of our stops, we found a beach, kicked off our sandals, and made our way to the water, letting the chilly northern water of the lake wrap itself around our feet & calves, or more sensitive areas further up. The kids would run on the sand while Jen and I had to pick out a few good rocks from beneath the water's surface for my little collection. We found the lake, but the water was out of reach.

It was the last day of our trip. We were going from Streator, Illinois all the way home to New York, by way of Canada. That is one long day, I'll tell you what. A long day after a long trip. After clearing the border at Detroit/Winsor we cruised up Highway 401. Our plan was the same as it was for Lakes Huron and Superior. Get close, find a road that ended at the lake, and look for a beach. Our closest opportunity was about 3/4 of the way across. Passing through West Lorne, Ontario we saw Lake Erie on the horizon.

I've seen this lake dozens of times. All our trips to Illinois and points west have taken us past Erie, time & time again. But I've never been in it. We drove through the town, out of the town, the past a patch of homes situated to take advantage of the beautiful view. Beautiful, indeed, but sitting up as high as we were, I was betting that the winter wind was killer. We were up high.

This is when I realized that I was staring down a Canadian dead end sign. A yellow diamond with a black checkerboard design. The end of the road. The minivan stopped at the guard rail. We weren't going any further. Stepping out of the van, I was greeted by a fence and a drop off. There was a path, on a steep grade going down fifty feet or so to the lakeside, that looked like it was more suited for a group of adventurous middle schoolers or some festive and/or amorous youth, than for two middle aged parents and three kids. Down wouldn't be an issue. Up on the other hand...



Dead end, kids. No soup for you!

The view up the coasts wasn't very promising either. High wooded cliffs up and down the coastline made beach prospects in the vicinity very unlikely. So, that was it. That would be our Lake Erie visit. We could have searched for another spot, but one was unknown. We had an hour or two of Canada left. We had another border crossing to go AND two more hours from Buffalo to home. This would be it.

So, we wouldn't get into the water. The same water that touches exotic locales like Buffalo, Cleveland, and Toledo, would not caress our feet. C'est la vie. Nothing is perfect.

Cliffs and barbed wire fences. It ain't happening.

Forget the makers of oriental rugs. I prefer the attitude of the Navajo. They leave a line of imperfection in their rugs that they call the spirit path, so that when they die, their spirit can escape through that line. With their spirit free, they can continue weaving. So, this imperfection will allow us to contiue our journeys & keep wandering. Perhaps one day we will wander back and finally set foot in Lake Erie.  With any luck, it'll be before I'm old enough to call it a bucket list.