It was raining when I began to write this. Although no one could rightfully call what we got this afternoon a “downpour,” it was nice to have my windows open to hear the steady drops of a passing shower tapping on my dry-as-dust deck and hard-as-concrete yard. For some reason, the old weather junker we’ve been trying to jump-start for months decided to turn over and run a little while, and we were thankful for even the tenth of an inch or so that my grass soaked up like a sponge.
We are back after being away for a few days to our favorite place on Lake Michigan. It was hard to leave the beach to return here to our arid yards and withered trees, for we sat in the sand and sun and listened to nothing man-made for hours on end. It soon became hard for us to even remember such dry ground as ours when all we could hear was the constant lapping of the lake’s blue-green waves as they just kept coming and coming and coming at us.
Since my kids are no longer kids, and their work schedules and busy lives now rule the whens and wheres of our trips together, we have fallen into the pleasant habit of visiting the great lake together for a little while instead of planning longer vacations. We like it there because it is quiet and uncrowded, and there isn’t a shopping mall within reasonable driving distance. Thankfully, none of us, my new daughter-in-law included, wanted to see asphalt parking lots or amusement rides, check-out lines or continental breakfasts. We ate in small, locally owned restaurants, thumbed through a few antique shops, and took walks in the evenings, but always it was the lake and its endless shore that called to us, morning, afternoon, and evening.
Unlike last year when we encountered all kinds of mechanical obstacles to get there, and we all baked in the parking lot of a tire and brake shop along the way, we had no trouble in reaching the lake this time around. For a while, the traffic was mean and hurried, but once we shed the Interstates we saw more cornfields than cars. It was 97 degrees when we pulled off the highway for good, and 20 degrees cooler than that when we reached the bottom of the long stairway that took us out to the beach on that first late afternoon. Southern Michigan, like central Indiana, is dry, although I got the sense that folks there have had a little more rain than we have had, which isn’t hard since we haven’t had a decent spit come our way for over two months now.
Seeing the marram grass and the shorebirds and feeling the grit of the sand between our toes for the first time in a year was like finding a favorite cousin at a yearly reunion. We quickly made ourselves at home on the beach, each seeing something different on that far blue horizon, the wind making Brillo pads of our hair and reddening our faces. For most part, all conversations stopped…
I am a bit of a rock hound from years back, and even though I have picked up and packed off a ton of Lake Michigan’s sand-smoothed gray-black basalt over the years, I told my wife that I wanted to collect a few of the more colorful beach stones for our aquarium at home. So, on that first full morning on the lake, she promptly emptied a large plastic zip-top bag and told me to knock myself out. She was soon stretched out in a lounge chair, a towel for a pillow, a beach umbrella over her head, and a new whodunit on her lap, and rightfully so. Like the watchful mom she is, I know that she occasionally glanced up to make sure that neither I nor her kids, had disappeared in the rip tides, but otherwise she tackled her book, while I walked and picked and discarded and kept what interested me.
By our last day on the beach, I had not only acquired a bit of a sunburn — for as I usually do, I had underestimated the amount of lotion that I needed — but an impressive collection of granites and quartzes and cherts, none longer than the pocket knife I carry in my jeans. I found feldspars (often called “moonstone”) and small geodes, and even a few pieces of “Lightning Stone,” which is actually siderite spidered with calcite veins. I was quite proud of myself.
To be honest, I had a few stones that I couldn’t identify at all, so I turned to an article by Kathi Mirto when I returned home. She is a Michigan rock hunter who posts nice photos of and articles about Lake Michigan on the web. From her description, I think I also picked up a piece of septarium, a reddish-brown bedrock that, like Lightning Stone, is veined with calcite. Mirto writes: “Another name for [septarium] sometimes is Turtle Stone, obviously due to [its] resemblance of a turtle shell pattern. Sand-smoothed granite and limestone are other common stones found nearby the brown stones. The deep gray and other various colored stones provide a striking contrast from the warm reddish-brown tones.”
Before we left the lake, we hurriedly packed our bags and quickly loaded the family wagon so we could spend a little time on the beach before we turned our backs on it for home. There was just a hint of a breeze that morning and the lake was as calm as I have ever seen it. Joanie and my daughter, Ellen, and I walked down to the water’s edge, not wanting to leave at all, but if a half-an-hour was all we had left, we decided to spend it the way we wanted. I began to look for stones.
In the clear shallows of that serene July morning, I picked up rocks that looked as if they’d come from a jeweler’s tumbler. I found tiny crinoids and corals, too small to have been seen when the waves were rough, and I pocketed two pieces of polished glass, made milky and dull by the countless times they’d rolled across the sands of the lakebed. I filled my pockets.
As we were about to leave that morning, we noticed that a child had written, “Bye” in a ridge of sand that faced the lake. In my mind, I added, “See you next year…”
Mike Lunsford can be reached by email at hickory913@aol.com, or c/o the Tribune-Star at PO Box 149, Terre Haute, IN 47808. Visit his website at www.mikelunsford.com for more information about his books.
Mike Lunsford
MIKE LUNSFORD: Observations on smooth stones and blue-green water…
- Mike Lunsford
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A walk in the woods
I went for a walk in the woods one day last week after work. It was a warm and green afternoon, and a fresh blue breeze blew in from the west like a new spring friend.
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MIKE LUNSFORD: ‘Dowsers’ provide hope more than science
My grandfather was a man of God. Many times I saw him, his right hand held high in the air at his Wednesday night “prayer meeting,” praising the Lord before weeping at the altar on his knees. And yet, he was a “dowser,” a “diviner,” a “witcher” who, as a favor, would grab a forked sassafras stick and find water for some poor unfortunate whose well had gone dry.
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MIKE LUNSFORD: As of today, it’s unofficially spring
Despite the calendar telling us not to rush things, I think it is all right to go ahead and say spring is here. The Ides of March has passed, Easter is coming soon, and I have already been out in my yard with a rake, getting my boots muddy. It looks like spring to me.
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MIKE LUNSFORD: Twain’s Sawyer helps us yearn for ‘wilderness of childhood’
My cousin, Roger, stopped in one day last summer for a glass of tea and a little conversation. Rog has lived an hour’s drive away for years and now, and besides summer reunions, I don’t see him nearly often enough. He’s a good man who has raised a good family, and he owns a healthy sense of appreciation for not only the life he has now, but also the lives we had years ago as kids.
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MIKE LUNSFORD: Cheerful green of wheat fights winter blahs
There is a light drizzle of freezing rain tapping at the door of my cabin today. It is little more than a week before the words I am writing are due to appear on your breakfast table or work desk with your morning coffee and scrambled eggs. But I write when I can, and today, despite a full schedule of televised football games, and the stacks of ungraded papers in my briefcase, and a good book lying open on my nightstand, I am clacking away on a keyboard to the whir of a heater and the steady drip of my gutters.
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MIKE LUNSFORD: On the simple joys of watching it snow ...
It began to snow about 20 minutes ago, as I write this, light, wind-driven flakes that fall silently into my woods as I watch from a window.
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MIKE LUNSFORD: On this day above all, ‘Peace on earth, good will to men’
More than a year after his wife’s death, the great American poet, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, wrote in his diary on Christmas Day.
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MIKE LUNSFORD: Remembering a Lefty Frizzell-kind of Christmas ...
My brother and sister and I sat around a Thanksgiving dinner table a month ago, shifting in our seats just enough to make our yet-to-be digested turkey sit a little more easily, and, as we often do when we get together, we reminisced about our childhoods for a while.
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MIKE LUNSFORD: The wonders of wading in ‘The Iridescence of a Shallow Stream’
I have no idea how many times I have written a story that begins with the wistful phrase, “When I was a boy. ...”
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MIKE LUNSFORD: Little man who came to dinner changes feel of household
My 7-year-old nephew, Carson, came to visit us last week. That in itself isn’t earth-shattering news, for he often drops by with one of his parents or the other, the last time dressed as a ghoul for Halloween. But for a couple like Joanie and me, whose youngest child is now nearly two decades past Carson’s age, having a little guy like him in the house, even for a few hours, takes a bit of adjusting.
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MIKE LUNSFORD: Reflections: a bit of red glass and our daily thanksgivings
I sat in the half-light of my old desk lamp a few nights ago, a chilly wind blowing in from the northwest that made me appreciative of my long-sleeved shirt and purring heater.
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MIKE LUNSFORD: Growing up — and ‘old’ — with many mouths to feed
At our family reunion last summer, I asked my brother if I could borrow a pair of photo albums he had put together. Over the past couple of years, I have committed quite a few of our family’s old yellowing snapshots to newly cropped and digitalized lives, and I wanted to do the same with some of the pictures John has collected for himself.
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MIKE LUNSFORD: Violets in October – a pleasant surprise
I guess I don’t pay much attention to the weather forecasts these days because it surprised me a bit when our furnace kicked on a few nights ago.
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MIKE LUNSFORD: A library is a good thing — even a little, homegrown one
I grew up with libraries, and I can’t imagine there ever being a time when I won’t want to wander one exploring it like some bookworm-Balboa, finding an author or title that I never really knew existed before. Creating those “Eureka” moments seems to be a dying interest now that so many of us download and digest books electronically without ever really considering that there just might be some hidden gem we’d have liked even more had we simply stumbled upon it on a shelf by accident. I think those moments of discovery are not unlike kicking up lost treasure a mile from where X marks the spot.
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MIKE LUNSFORD: The ‘soothsayer’ who came to dinner
I’ve had a good time opening my mail these past few weeks. Sure, I still received the usual junk about lower credit card rates and satellite television packages, but the genuine letters made me smile; most were about a story I wrote in late August.
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MIKE LUNSFORD: The agony of de‘feet’ has this writer on his heels
I don’t know if I can electrocute myself by using a computer and soaking my feet in a pan of warm water at the same time, but I am contemplating taking the risk. My feet, particularly the right foot, have staged a 10-digit rebellion over the past few months. After a half-century of commendable service, my pods are screaming to be taken in for repairs, a big inconvenience for a guy who works on his feet all day and whose “sole” form of serious exercise is putting one foot in front of another walking the local roadways.
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Mike Lunsford: Summer’s hidden beauty worth the wait
The great naturalist John Burroughs once said that nature teaches more than she preaches. I can’t recall a summer where that rings true more than this one, for that old sun of ours truly taught us a thing or two these past three months.
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MIKE LUNSFORD: It’s time to redefine the concept of ‘assisted living’
Although it has been nearly two months now, I can’t forget the few afternoon hours I spent on a hot June day this summer at a local “assisted living” facility in town. I had been asked to speak to a group of men there about Father’s Day, but for most part, the wonderful old guys who came to listen certainly made my day more memorable than I did theirs.
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MIKE LUNSFORD: Observations on smooth stones and blue-green water…
It was raining when I began to write this. Although no one could rightfully call what we got this afternoon a “downpour,” it was nice to have my windows open to hear the steady drops of a passing shower tapping on my dry-as-dust deck and hard-as-concrete yard.
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MIKE LUNSFORD: This summer has us recalling the heat of ’36
It was “only” 99 degrees one afternoon last week when I decided to work on a backyard deck. With a jack and a drill and a little more sweat than I wanted to invest in the project, I went about the business of leveling its sags and dips a bit. The sun pounded down on my head and shoulders like a thug’s blackjack, but as I packed my tools and drank a glass of cool water under a big maple tree a few hours later, I couldn’t help but think about how lucky I’ve been these past few dusty and drought-stricken weeks. I have worked under this summer’s heat lamp for only a few hours at a time, but God help the roofers and utility linesmen and firemen, and so many others, who are out in it day after long hot day.
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MIKE LUNSFORD: We had no better friend than Andy Taylor
The world is a sadder place now that Andy Griffith has died, but at least we still have Andy Taylor.
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MIKE LUNSFORD: Wading deeper into the subject of Blue Herons
Like a relative who has worn out his welcome, the hot, parched weather of this young summer has already overstayed its visit with us, so my wife and I have found ourselves walking our road later in the evenings to keep our feet cool and our backs dry.
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MIKE LUNSFORD: Thanking two dads whose gifts have never stopped coming…
It is nearly a week until Father’s Day, but I have had my dad, and my father-in-law — a second dad to me — on my mind today. I wrote about both men just a few weeks ago, but I have set my mind to write about them again anyway. I don’t want this story to be sad; they both loved to laugh and wouldn’t want that. No, I just wanted to tell them hello, and to thank them again for what they still do for me.
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MIKE LUNSFORD: Raising a flag for my father, veteran or not
My daughter, Ellen, and I stood at my parents’ graves on Mother’s Day a few weeks back and talked about how it couldn’t possibly have been so long since we lost them. My dad, for instance, has been gone for 16 years, and that is nearly unimaginable
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MIKE LUNSFORD: Time to become one of the boys of summer again …
Besides writing for a living, I teach school, and I’m not ashamed to tell people that I still love my classroom. I’ve been a teacher for 33 years, all of them in the same school district, and virtually all of them in the same building. But I also have to tell you that if the next few weeks don’t slide by pretty quickly, I may just let loose of the last thread of sanity from which I have been dangling for a while now. There are a lot of teachers out there who feel the same way.
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MIKE LUNSFORD: It’s time for us to get the real lowdown on dirt…
I have had my hands in the soil as of late. Two Fridays ago, I planted a viburnum bush, three chrysanthemums and a yellow poplar, not because it happened to be Earth Day, but because it was sunny and warm, and I had the whole afternoon to myself. The dirt I scraped out of and back into the shallow holes I dug near a backyard picket fence smelled good, and when dampened with a few sprinkles of water, it soon found its way into the deep wrinkles of my knuckles and under my fingernails. For the most part, I have nothing but good things to say about dirt.
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MIKE LUNSFORD: Make big money: Raise worms at home for fun and profit…
When I think about all of the crazy things my brother and sister and I did just to make a few dollars when we were kids, I can’t help but feel a little sorry for teens this summer as they try to find jobs in what is supposed to be a very tight market. Money, to say the least, was a rare commodity when we were growing up, but you have to at least give us credit for trying.
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MIKE LUNSFORD: ‘When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom’d…’
Had white lace curtains been hanging in the west window of my cabin, I would have had a perfect Wyeth painting to watch last Thursday. A gentle breeze was wafting through my screens, and the sunlight of a warm late March day was fractured by the window sill as it poured onto my legs and feet. I could catch the scent of lilacs as it was carried in by that wind, and it and the subtle melody of the chimes that hang just outside made me as lazy as an old cat.
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MIKE LUNSFORD: A report from the country as a new season brings sense of renewal
Regardless of what the calendar may yet say, spring has happened. It couldn’t have come too soon, and it wasn’t just last week and its windy 70s that have convinced me. I have been keeping a journal of sorts in my head for a fortnight now, stashing away reports of birds and buds and sounds in the crammed cabinets of my mind, all in a file marked, “The New Season.”
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MIKE LUNSFORD: Feeding time at the homestead draws a host of new guests
I stepped outside into the warmth of an unusually mild early March morning last week to do what I always do just before I grab my briefcase and book bag and lunch bag and head off to work. It’s nearly always dark when I leave, even as the sun gets up earlier and earlier in the late winter, so I often go about the business of feeding our cats with porch lights on and a flashlight in hand.
- More Mike Lunsford Headlines
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Tim Cook Defends Apple's Tax Accounting
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Obama Pledges Urgent Aid for Tornado Victims
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Gov. Fallin: Okla. Facing Horrific Disaster
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Okla. tornado survivor finds dog buried alive under rubble
Jennifer Lawrence Gets Naked and Painted Blue as X-Men's Mystique
Pickler's Dance Moves Cause A Stir
Obama to tornado survivors: The country stands beside you
Reporter Cries Over Devastation
Sneak Peek: 'Modern Family' Says Good Bye
Trailer: 'The Last Stand' Available on Blu-ray Disc, DVD, Digital Download
IWitness Look at Moore, OK Tornado
RAW: Moore, OK tornado touches down near school
Robert Pattinson Moves Out
