Up out of the warm darkness that is sleep you reluctantly emerge. One eye cracked open you see the triangle of an ear on the other side of a pile of pillows. It’s slowly moving toward you. The music of “Jaws” begins to waft through your sleep deprived brain.
The soft weight of the resident shark settles on your chest and then sneezes into your face.
Feed me.
Good morning Lydia.
It was a wonderful day today, one of my last in northern Michigan. I had lunch with friends down in Traverse City and then I came back through a beautiful gentle snowfall and fell asleep on the sofa with the cat. Perfect.
Since I didn’t take photos (well only a few) I thought I’d take you back to the Clay Cliffs Natural Area where I walked Saturday afternoon. I’d been there a few days before, and I almost didn’t go back Saturday but the sun came out and the sky turned blue and I figured why not take advantage of beautiful weather to make it all the way around the trails there. (If you remember I walked there before but got nervous about becoming lost because I hadn’t studied the map before I started walking, so I turned around and didn’t finish.)
Last time I was here there were 10 or 11 inches of fresh snow and only a couple people had walked the trails ahead of me. Each step was through deep snow and while it was beautiful, it was also taxing. This time multitudes of people had tromped through the woods prior to me. The path was wide and definite and easy to maneuver. I set off at a good pace.
An obvious path makes the walk easier.
I was more confident, knew where I was going, and the shortest way to get there. No meandering for me! Plus I wanted to get ahead of these guys who were getting all geared up with snowshoes and poles and stuff. I ran into them again on my way back out of the woods.
You really didn’t need snowshoes.
Pretty soon I was all the way at the back of the preserve; I could hear the lake’s chop distinctly. Around another curve and there was the viewing platform.
Wonder what I’ll see?
I had hoped there would be stairs leading down to the beach so that I could actually see the clay cliffs, but there wasn’t any way to get down there. The lake sure was pretty though.
Very windy up here. And cold too.
I started this adventure pretty late in the day, so I didn’t stay long on the viewing platform. I headed back into the woods to complete the loop. Pretty soon the path headed back into the field, the field I had tromped across last time, coming from the other direction.
I was so close last time and didn’t realize it.
It was a pretty walk, not at all intimidating, mostly because I knew I wasn’t lost. Amazing how a little doubt can override a good time. I’m glad I went back. Now I can say I’ve walked all of it. I think I should come back up here in the fall and walk the same trails again. It would be fun to see how they look in a different season.
Just a walk in the woods.
Now wasn’t that a nice walk? I’m glad you came along. It’s always nice to have company.
See you next time!
Late afternoon light.
I went for another walk in a nature preserve today and I planned on sharing that with you. While I was there the sun came out! Blue sky, shadows on snow in the woods, turquoise lake. It was all beautiful.
But do you know what was even more beautiful?
Tonight’s sunset! It’s the only sunset I’ve seen during the almost two weeks I’ve been here. Mostly the sky has been dark and ominous. Yesterday the clouds were almost purple – beautiful in their own way. But no sunsets.
Turning grass into gold.
So I decided to show you that instead. Sit down and relax. You’ll get to enjoy it from the comfort (and warmth) of your home. I, however, couldn’t help myself, I ran right out there into the wind. It was magical.
And then the sun began to set.
I’d already been out to the lake earlier in the late afternoon when I noticed the light had turned gold.
The light turned the waves to gold too. It was sort of mesmerizing. While I was trying to get the color recorded I’d notice myself watching through the viewfinder but not taking the shot. Just watching. Silly photographer.
Liquid gold.
Eventually I got cold and went back up the 40-something steps into the house. Where I almost immediately noticed that the sky was beginning to turn pink.
Turning pink.
I didn’t even take my coat off; just got better gloves and ran back down the stairs into the pink air. I was actually saying out loud “Oh my God, oh my God” as the light warmed and the world began to glow.
Sun is going down faster now.
The tops of waves were being blown by the increasingly blustery winds and they began to glow pinkish gold – like little tiny volcanoes.
Tinged with pink.
Wonderful.
Orange crush.
The sky to the south was turning more and more orange.
Orange sherbet.
The sky to the north was pink and purple.
Raspberry sorbet.
I was all alone, standing on a sandy snowy bluff and the entire sky had turned into art. It was indescribable. I turned my back to the wind, protecting the camera, and just watched.
Front row seats.
Bursting from my head and my heart deep thanks began to float on the wind. Thanks for being allowed to stay in this beautiful place. Thanks for one sunset during my stay. Thanks for being able to capture some of it to share with all of you.
Amazing doesn’t begin to describe the moment.
Overwhelming.
I guess you had to be here.
Thank goodness I was.
Gratitude.
Many of you have retreated to warm beaches, beaches with palm trees and lounge chairs, beaches that require sunglasses and sunscreen. Where you can dip your toes in the waves. I’m at a beach too, though it’s a bit different. Just a tad cooler and windier.
Since the windstorm Christmas Eve I haven’t been able to walk on the beach right here at the house. The big waves dug away the bluff and now it’s more like a cliff. Sure, I could hop, jump or maybe roll down to the beach. But I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to get back up. And it’s way too cold to take that risk. So I’ve been looking longingly at the beach and staying up on the bluff in the wind.
Windy lake glows turquoise under a purple sky.
Today some neighbors stopped by to say “Happy New Year!” and I mentioned how I’d like to walk on the beach. They reminded me of a long staircase down in the next group of homes. They said it was covered in snow…but once maneuvered would lead me to a wide beach only a half mile or so away.
Well! This afternoon I bundled up, took the camera and headed up the street, down the stairs and out onto the beach. It was beautiful. And cold.
I’m teaching myself how to use manual camera settings.
Oh so cold. I shot a short video and thought my fingers would actually fall off. It’s posted on Facebook if you’d like to see it.
I found a very nice Petosky stone which was partially frozen into the sand. I got it chippped out and put the whole thing, frozen sand chunk and all in my pocket. I found another beautiful Petosky stone, but couldn’t get it chipped out of the ice. Most of the stones were frozen solid to the sand. Ah well.
Waves just keep on coming.
There were big boulders that had waves of ice and sand covering them from earlier in the day when the waves were higher. It was all beautiful.
All the photos in this post were from my walk on the beach. Notice how striking the sky was too. Every day the lake looks different. The sky changes. Wind and waves and light carve out a new view for me.
Giant ice cubes.
It’s going to be hard to leave this place, but soon I’ll be headed back to my husband and my Katie-girl. It will be good to be home, but it was very good to be here too.
Love my Lake Michigan.
Brrrrrrrr!
Snacks will be available in the spring.
I’m up in northern Michigan, a place that many people visit in warmer seasons; a place that caters to those seasonal tourists.
Fishing boat waits patiently.
Being here in winter it seems odd to be driving past places I’ve visited myself in warmer months. To notice little things here and there that are waiting for spring just like I am.
Kayaks resting.
I’m sure these northern villages are glad when the tourists come back each spring. But I think many that live here permanently are also glad when the last of the tourists leave and everyone can relax for a little bit.
Not the season for bike riding.
I find it beautiful here in any season but I’m enjoying the coziness of remote Michigan in winter. It reminds me a bit of a time years ago when I lived in the Upper Peninsula. I learned then that as long as you find something outside that you enjoy winter won’t be so bad.
Ice cream shop celebrates Christmas.
But I’ll be back in summer too — I can play tourist with the best of them. Even though it will be a lot busier I wouldn’t miss seeing this part of the country with a warm sun glinting off the lake, the roads full of happy people, the shops bustling.
It’s Pure Michigan. And I’m lucky to be here.
Celebrating Michigan.
Beautiful snowy day on the Lake.
Most of you know I’m up in northern Michigan visiting a friend’s cat. It’s been relatively warm here too, but Monday night while I was sleeping about 10 inches of snow silently fell.
And I have to admit it sure is pretty.
Come on a walk with me!
Today, on the advice of Heather I went in search of a Clay Cliffs, a nature preserve not far from where I’m staying. The roads weren’t great and I was a little worried, but I found the parking lot and it was plowed so I pulled in. My mistake was not looking at the map in the parking lot before I was drawn down the path and into the dark pine trees covered in beautiful white snow.
Someone else had been there, perhaps yesterday, perhaps earlier today, and I followed the footsteps into the woods. More than once I said out loud into the stillness of snow covered trees “Well, snowshoes would have been good.”
Nature’s patterns attracted my attention.
I can tell you walking in snow is a lot slower than walking on a dry path. And walking in snow while taking pictures is even slower. After awhile I began to wonder if the footsteps I was following were actually walking on a path. There were no trail markers. Occasionally I saw dog prints along with boots. Were the footprints merely following a dog as it explored? Or was it someone that knew these paths?
Are you sure this is the way?
I didn’t know.
Eventually (ok, maybe only 1/2 a mile into the walk) I came to this sign. Should I take the field and forest loop? What if it just connected to another loop? What had that map at the beginning said?
Which way should I go?
I didn’t know.
I decided to take it for a bit and then come back to the original loop that I hoped would fit the definition of a loop and end back at the car. The field and forest loop went almost straight up a big hill.
I wasn’t cold by the time I got to the top and found a huge field stretched out in front of me. I thought I’d go to the next marker which happened to be near a bench where I might rest.
A nice place to sit…in summer.
If it weren’t covered in snow.
Still, the path lead further across the field. I noticed all the footsteps already in the snow were now going in the opposite way and eventually this began to bother me. I didn’t know where this path led, or why all the boot tracks were coming toward me. When I got to the other side of the big field I turned around.
I walked way over there before I turned around.
If there wasn’t so much snow to trudge through, and if the sky wasn’t so dark I think I would have kept going, but my fear was that I’d end up having to back track to find the car and I’d already walked a long way. (Not so long once I looked at the map, but it felt long!)
Pretty birch and snow.
So I worked my way back down the big hill and continued on my way. Turns out the car wasn’t that far away. And when I studied the map I saw I was within about a 1/2 mile from the destination I wanted to find.
Should have looked at this map first. I went clockwise on the green loop and then all the way across the field, before I turned around and then finished the green loop back.
So now that I know there are only two loops I think I’ll go back and make it all the way over to the lake. Even if there is still snow to slog through.
More winter texture and pattern.
Because there likely will be. Once winter arrives up here it’s not going to leave any time soon.
Snow on spruce
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Freighter abstract
If you’re on FB you’ve already seen this one; cherry trees, Lake Michigan & sand dunes
Quick! What’s the first thing you think about when I say northern Michigan? Does it include snow? Woods? Lakes? Well, you’d be right, but the western edge of the northern lower peninsula is also a beautiful patchwork of farms, orchards and vineyards.
Leftover apples
Every time I’m up here I’m fascinated by the intricate designs and patterns of the orchards and vineyards that dot the hillsides. I’ve always been attracted to repeating patterns, especially in nature. But the orchards in particular have been difficult to capture.
Cherry trees under heavy sky
When you’re on the same plane as the orchard, and perhaps too close, it’s hard to show the symmetry of the tree trunks, the shadows interlocking, the sheer beauty of the trees marching in step. Trust me I’ve tried.
Cherry trees glow in a bit of sun
It’s the same with the row upon row of grape vines. The scale is often so huge that I just couldn’t get the image that truly represented what I saw. But failure has never kept me from trying again.
Hillside of hope for next year’s vintage
Today I’m sitting in the warm living room, listening as waves of Lake Michigan pound the shore, watching clouds scuttle in from the west and white caps racing across the lake. Noting the temperatures dropping; there is a prediction of snow. A perfect day, it seems, to sort through the past two days of photos.
Grapes and cherries share a hillside
While wading through a number of failures I see there are quite a few orchard and vineyard photos that are worth showing you. So that you can see ‘up north’ isn’t all about snow and woods.
Cherry orchard tucked behind a corn field
I drove around aimlessly on Friday, even got lost a few times. But it’s hard to get truly lost on a peninsula. If you go far enough you’re eventually going to run into a large body of water or a small village and you’ll be able to get your bearings. I also had a map.
Young trees next to old and a spot of sun
On Saturday I had a specific destination in mind, but saw more along the way, not related to my quest, then I did when I finally arrived. I think I will have to go back and try again.
Brand new orchard in the making
Meanwhile, this morning I culled a few photos (OK a lot of photos) to share with you. I hope you enjoyed the tour of Leelanau County’s beautiful fruit producing farms! I feel a lot better about my collection of orchard photos now. But that won’t keep me from looking for the next perfect shot.
Turkeys in the orchard!
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Mama! This hat is too big for me!
Katie and her family wish you and yours a wonderful Christmas!
Ho ho ho!
It started last night, the high winds TV weather people had been warning us about. Two in the morning the roar woke me from a deep sleep. High on a bluff above Lake Michigan, tucked warmly into bed, I heard the wind. Or was it the waves. The cat jumped off the bed and streaked away. And then the power went out.
Prime viewing seats.
People say a tornado or a hurricane sounds like a freight train. In the dark, listening intently I could almost hear the train whistle come and go, overshadowed by the intense roar of wind and water. In the dark, not being able to see the lake, all I could do was feel it.
The vibration of the waves pounding the shore hundreds of yards away came from deep in the earth, up through the bluff, through the house footings, through the floors and up into the legs of the bed frame, through the deep mattress and into my bones.
Yesterday I walked this beach now under water.
The house sighed. I lay still. Listening. Waiting. Planning where I’d go if I had to. Considering how to find the cat in her hidden safe place.
I toured the house with a flashlight, checking windows, doors. Listening to things hit the roof, scratch the windows. Calling the cat who remained hidden. Eventually I went back to bed.
The power came back on after an hour and a half. Welcome lamp light made the roar not so ominous. Still, the lake was completely dark and sounded angry. I toured the house again, turning on lights, checking, checking. Looking for the illusive cat.
Remembering cats of years ago I pulled out her food container, shook it and called her name as I wandered. Suddenly, out of the shadows, she raced toward me calling back loudly. Silly girl. She got a tidbit or two and then we both retreated to the warm bed, doors closed against the fury of the lake.
I fell asleep to the sound and feeling of nature running wild, still wearing my glasses, cat purring on my chest. We woke an hour later to find daylight beginning to reveal the lake in all it’s mesmerizing beauty. I ventured outside but it is impossible to catch the feeling of it in still photos, the winds so strong I could barely stand upright on the lower bluff, shielding the camera from the sandblast with my body.
As the morning progresses the light changes. The water turns turquoise and navy and brilliant white. The air is clear and the island at the horizon is visible.
Under dark clouds the air has been swept clean. See the island?
I glance out and see a bit of sun; careening down some of the 42 stairs to the beach I catch a brief moment when the sun slips from behind racing clouds and tips a few white caps with brilliant joy.
Fleeting light.
I don’t even care that I ran out without a coat, that the wind is bitter, the sound overwhelming, the moment brief.
I just know I am blessed to be here.
Turquoise.
Change Is Hard 