I grew up in Michigan in the home of two parents who ministered to people in three communities. Besides pastoring, writing, and speaking, our family did a lot of fishing in the lakes that dot that beautiful state. My sweet father seemed to never tire of dragging soggy row boats in and out of Michigan lakes so my mother could fish until it was too dark to see a bobber.
My sister and I learned early to bait our own hooks and take our own catches off the hook. We also were pros at catching night crawlers at night with a good flashlight and quick action that yielded a coffee can full of bait for the next adventure. Evelyn and I also knew to take our place in the fish-cleaning assembly line our family formed to turn our catch into the flour and cornmeal fried delicacy we then ate late at night after our day on the lake.
My mother was the fishing expert and addict. I used to think the waters glimmered and the fish cowered when mother showed up. I also knew to take a good book when mother “went fishin’” because if the bluegills and catfish started biting, there would be no time limit set on our expedition.
Over the years I have come to realize how much a person is shaped by the environment in which one develops. Both Bill and I grew up with a strong sense of place and have been driven to create a place that would shape and define our own children. We have always wanted to make our place a home our kids and their kids could come home to. And even when they were far away, they would carry home in their DNA.
I have lived now in Indiana for five decades, much longer than the time I called Michigan “home”. I have learned to love Indiana and its vast “oceans” of corn and soybeans, wheat and grasses. I love the smell and beauty of freshly plowed soil and newly mown hay. Yet I still have fresh water “seas” in my veins, and my soul quickens at the sent of the breeze blowing over a fresh water lake surrounded by pines and birches.
So imagine my surprise and delight when for Christmas Bill gave me a week in Michigan to do whatever I wanted! All winter and spring I have been planning this trip, choosing places I most wanted to absorb that would be “pure Michigan” to me. I wanted to choose places, too, that would let Bill truly experience the essence of Michigan.
Because my family could never afford a hotel of any kind, especially one on any of the Great Lakes, I chose to drive the south to north border of the state, hugging Lake Michigan on highway 31. I chose to spend four days on the northwest side of the “mitten” and three days on the very Dutch and Norwegian southwest shore.
In Petoskey (famous for the fossil-formed stones that wash up on the Petoskey beaches), we enjoyed the historical Bay View Inn on Lake Michigan and made day trips from there to the enchanting town of Glen Harbor near the Sleeping Bear Dunes, visiting galleries full of the creations of the artists inspired by the breathtaking environment. We ate dinner every evening where we could see (and smell) Lake Michigan. We had our fill of lake perch, prepared exactly like my mother did, dusted with a simple mix of flour and corn meal, salt and pepper and pan fried.
The last three days we spent in Holland, and like the name implies, this area has a strong Dutch influence, from the Windmill Island and Dutch Reformed Churches, to the greatest Tulip Festival this side of, well, Holland, where sometime in May color reigns with acres of tulips of every variety.
This time of year, however, fruit is everywhere! In the Petoskey-Traverse City area, it’s cherries—huge sweet black bing cherries and red sour cherries—to buy and to pick. Cherries everywhere! Cherry pies, cherry jam, cherry scones and muffins, cherries to eat fresh like candy.
In Holland it’s blueberry season. There are acres of blueberry fields where families can pick-your-own blueberries. And when blueberry season is over, it will be peaches, then apples. The sandy acidic soil of Michigan is perfect for all kinds of fruit and also for pines, birches, dogwoods, hydrangeas, and azaleas. Flowers, too, love this soil and bloom from home gardens, planters, and window boxes.
My sweet lover drove around a thousand miles to give me Michigan. When we were headed home, we went through the little town where I grew up, past the church my parents pastored on the St. Joe River, where the youth group speared carp and fished for trout. We had our last dinner at Bill’s favorite Michigan restaurant, Win Schuler’s In Marshall, famous for prime rib and crocks of cheese spread.
When we got home, the corn had grown a foot, and the Madison County 4-H Fair was about to begin. We got on our old dilapidated golf cart and took our dog Windsor for a ride to check on the pines and birches Bill has planted around our creek for the last 50 years to give me a feel and smell of Michigan. Home again. And again.
Michigan
To live between the Lakes,
To always have the awareness
That we are safely held
By great bodies of water—
No August can be so dry,
No summer so hot
As to erase the knowing
That there is water enough.
The sign says NO SALT—NO SHARKS
Great bodies of fresh water
Fed by deep springs—
We live aware that there is water enough
For my parched soul
Water enough.--GLG 7/2023
