The Day Trip with a Detour Down Memory Lane

It's been a long time since I've been on a day trip and I've forgotten how good for our mental health they can be. They get us out of our ruts and give us new fodder for our brains to mull over. My husband and I used to do a lot of day trips and after he died I went on five or six a year with the senior hall crowd in my old neighborhood. After moving to my continuum care complex there are still plenty of opportunities to get off campus for a full day but what's changed is the size of the buses. The senior hall day trips usually used 50 passenger motor coaches with bathrooms on board while my CCC takes our 20 passenger mini bus. Having the security of knowing that bathroom was there for emergencies made a huge difference in my willingness to sign up for any excursions that start before 10:00 AM, which most of them do.

Drum Roll please. This week my oldest niece picked me up for a two hour ride up north to my cousin's cottage. It was a beautiful day and along the way we stopped at an Amish farm to buy honey, peaches and tomatoes. I don't know what there is about seeing horse draw buggies and laundry hanging outside on clotheslines that speaks to me in a way that probably lowers my blood pressure but it happens every time I'm passing through Amish communities. 

 

photo by Jim Fisher

As a little kid my mom would take me and my brother with her when she'd visit her sister down in Indiana and that was my first introduction to both day trips and seeing women dressed in long dark colored dresses and men driving horse drawn buggies down the road. My aunt and uncle weren't Amish but they lived in close proximity. My uncle was a traveling Bible salesman and an odd duck who fit right in with his straight-laced neighbors. He wasn't the Paper Moon, door-to-door kind of salesman. (Great movie, by the way.) He called on churches with his sample cases full Bibles, hymnals and candlesticks, collars, collection plates and choir robes. My uncle's prayers before meals were long enough to make you forget why you sat down at the table. At least that's the way my child's eye saw them.

Fast forward to a time when I was hooked on reading romances books with an Amish theme. They represented a simpler time and place when the worst thing that could happen is a fox gets into the hen house. (A naive view of Amish farm life, I know, but just go with it.) My favorite plot device was heroines being placed on Amish farms by the Federal Witness Protection Program. Back then---shortly after 9-11 when the outside world was a scary place---I could daydream myself as that heroine separated from mainstream civilization and my FWPP handler would be a hunky guy who'd fall in love with me and keep me safe until the danger passed and we could go back to the modern world with running hot water and daily showers. Isn't the power of imagination a wonderful thing! And, yes, there really is a sub-genre of romance books labeled 'Amish Witness Protection Romances'. Google it if you don't believe me.

My niece was a teacher and on the drive we got to talking about home schooling, private schools and charter schools verses public schools. I'm strongly opposed to charter schools that are mostly run by churches---at least where I live they are. But the Amish community we were driving through got us wondering why I find it acceptable for them to have their own schools but not acceptable for other religious groups to have them. The new MAGA nominee for Vice President probably would say I don't have a right to an opinion on schools since I don't have any kids. I don't have any cats either but that's just because I allergic. I still can't believe he didn't know he'd be poking a sleeping giant with his cat lady insults.

Back on topic: My niece and I had no trouble filling the drive up and back with conversation about politics, family and past travel experiences. And after getting to my cousin's place the three of us continued on with an organic conversation that flowed easily between current events, decades old memories and cottage life. Her cottage has all the iconic things that a cottage needs to have to live up to the Title: a porch glider, a puzzle table, wind chimes, lots of secondhand furniture and knickknacks that all come with stories, lawn chairs and a great view of the lake. And, of course, a pontoon. 

After lunch we went for a pontoon ride on her lake that only has cottages on about a third of its shoreline. (See the photo at the top.) The uninhabited, wooded and swampy shoreline on the other two thirds of the lake gives you the feel of being farther up north than we were. From the pontoon we saw Loons on the water which are protected divers that unlike ducks can't walk on land. We also saw a bald eagle's nest. After the ride and parking the pontoon we sat there gentling rocking with the waves while we ate pie and swapped hilarious stories involving run-ins with skunks and bats---also part of cottage life. It was a perfect afternoon of fun and relaxation. It's a powerful thing, isn't it, when you can see someone on rare occasions like weddings and funerals but still be able to pick up on lively conversations and warm feelings as if you see each other every day.

I also brought my cousin a gift, a sweater my mom made for me back in the early 1960s. She's a master knitter who does all kinds of fancy stitches and when she visited me last spring I showed her the sweater (pictured below). She mentioned if I ever wanted to part with it she has a daughter-in-law who loves wearing vintage clothing like that. After asking both my nieces if they had an interest in the sweater I decided it couldn't go to a better home. But after my cousin put it on she said her daughter-in-law was not going to get it. It looked so darn cute on my cousin, as if it were custom-made for her. My only regret in giving it away was that I didn't get a photo of my cousin wearing it. Proof that I've made another great placement in my Personal Antique Adoption Program. ©

Until Next Wednesday!

Favorite Places and Widow's Tears

 

Saugatuck, 1895

I needed a mini vacation and I got one last weekend when my niece and I went over to Lake Michigan to my favorite town, Saugatuck, to spend the afternoon driving the road along the beach to see the “cottages” and the waves crashing on shore before window shopping the Main Street shops and having lunch at the oldest restaurant on the coastline. When we left the city, headed to the Big Lake, it was sunny and light jacket or sweater weather. The fall colors were starting to show and Saugatuck was busy with others also wanting to get one last walk-around in this tourist town before the shops close up until spring. A lot of the stores we walked by were selling their stock for 75% off but all I bought was a jar of American Spoon apple butter which as far as I can tell never goes on sale. You could spend a fortune at American Spoon with all their yummy preserves, butters and curds. It’s a small, Michigan artisan brand with a big reputation and a healthy mail order service.  

The town itself was the first one settled in the county but long before it was a town, the first white settle came there by boat to build a log cabin on the mouth of the Kalamazoo River in 1830 where Mr. Butler and his wife traded sugar and whisky for game and furs with the Indians. Three years later they were joined by another white settle who opened up a tannery near-by. Lumberjacks were the next to come along. The log cabin Mr. Butler built has been a bar and restaurant ever since those long ago days and it still bears his name although the log building itself has been rebuilt after a fire or two and no doubt has expanded its size. 

When we got to The Butler we had to wait at the bar before we could get a table. The Detroit Lions were playing the Minnesota Vikings on a large screen TV just over our shoulders and there were a dozen hardcore football fans cheering and jeering while looking in our direction. A couple of young ladies were bantering back and forth about taking their differences outside. I could care less about any sport but I thought if we sat there long enough I’d find some blogging fodder. It’s been a long time since I’ve been surrounded by sports fans watching a game and I loved their animation but it’s too bad they weren’t watching the University of Minnesota game. It would have been interesting to watch this gang react to seeing Casey O’Brien getting The Hug from his college coach after holding the ball for the kicker in Sunday’s game. He’s a four-time cancer survivor with a back story that makes the sports casters’ jobs easy. That hug and Casey's backstory was all over the media. 

A good share of the tables at The Butler over-look the mouth of the river and a marina which---along with their good food---keeps people coming back year after year. Like a lot of tourist towns, it’s hard to find many businesses open in the dead of winter, but The Butler is one that never closes for the season. My husband and I used to do this same little mini trip on clear, January nights when the town looks like something out of a Bing Cosby Classic Christmas movie with its left over holiday lights giving extra sparkle to the snow covered and empty streets. In the winter The Butler can be counted on to have a collection of hardy locals lined up along the bar and snowmobiles rather than cars parked outside.

The last time we were there, my niece had the special---liver and onions---which is something my mom used to make once a week. I hated liver and onion nights but my niece likes the yucky stuff and she joked about my mom being there with us. This year it was a spooky coincidence (or was it?) that the special happened to be another reminder of Mom---pot roast and mashed potatoes. She served it often and The Butler’s special tasted just like Mom's did, confirming its moniker as a ‘comfort food’ in our family.

I was listening to the radio while waiting to hook up with my niece the day we went to Lake Michigan when George Strait came through the speaker singing, “…It's time to say goodbye to yesterday. This is where the cowboy rides away…” and out of the blue tears trickled down my cheeks. I had my husband’s Stetson cowboy hat listed for sale at the time and I wasn’t sure I’d get hold of myself by the time my niece appeared. I did, but I ended up telling her about those lyrics making me cry anyway. The mini vacation turned out to be a great day for conversation between two people who trust one another with each other’s life struggles and joyful thoughts and all manner of human experiences in between. ©

Not the Best of Times...

As if I didn’t already have enough on my April plate now I have a car with a big boo-boo to add into the mix. I have no idea how it happened but my back bumper is bashed in, wide and deep. I can pin-point approximately when and where it happened because I got a car wash last week Wednesday and walked around the entire car before I left the place and it was fine and I’d only been to two places before I noticed the damage. The worst part is that one of the backup camera’s sensors is misdirected and therefore unreliable. I took the car over to the insurance company to report it and the agent told me they will waive the deductible since I wasn’t in the car. That was a nice surprise considering it will need a whole new back bumper and a few other parts and I have a $500 deductible.

So now I’m waiting for the insurance adjuster to call and he’ll probably ask if I have the insurance apt on my phone and “Can you I send a photo?” I’ll say, “No to the apt and only if I can email a photo from my computer.” I can’t take photos on my phone without my thumb included in the shot. And half the time when I try to take a photo I end up turning the phone off instead. That off/on button is right where old cameras have their shutter buttons and apparently I’m too old of a dog to learn new tricks. I’ll have to take the car up to the body shop to get an estimate soon. I haven’t had a claim in more than twenty-five years and I’ve been with the same company all those years. It should be a slam-dunk. But we shall see.

But a boo-boo on my car while annoying and time consuming is not a big deal. A big deal is what my nephew’s family is dealing with right now. His daughter just lost her husband. He was only 35 and he leaves behind two girls under three and a son due to be born this August. It was an unexpected death, a suspected pulmonary embolism. He died the day after Easter while she and their daughters were back here in Michigan for the holiday weekend. Like my mom dying on Easter, now another generation will forever have melancholy thoughts factored in their holiday memories. 

After graduating from college and getting married my great-niece and her husband moved to New York state to work at a religious camp and retreat on Lake Erie. In her case (and maybe his), she was answering a call she’d had most of her life to serve her church. She was filled with joy and totally happy with her life's projectory. They came back to Michigan often for holidays, parties, weddings, etc., and her parents visited them, too, but this time he wasn’t feeling well and decided to stay at home rather than make the long trip cooped up in a car. So she and the girls came back alone. I honestly don’t know how someone with two little ones and a baby on the way will get through this first year. It’s hard enough for widows in my age group who have chalked up more life experiences before losing our spouses. All I know for sure is she’ll have both their families and her church family to lean on and time will do the rest.

Another noteworthy happening in my week: A mini half-day trip I went on through the senior hall. They have a yearly trip labeled “Off the Beaten Path” and the destinations are always tiny towns where they drop us off at a museum and then we’re free to roam the main street shops and have lunch before the bus picks us back up a few hours later. They’re popular trips because most of us who go have a connection to these towns in our pasts. Newago, Michigan, where 50 of us went this week is not a place I had particularly warm, fuzzy feelings about but it’s got a rich history that starts back in 1600s with the French fur traders and voyageurs and includes Prohibition Era gangster Al Capone hanging out in the area. Canoeing and tubing on the Muskegon River are huge summertime draws in the area, but the speakeasies of Capone’s era now exist in the form of a micro brewer and a couple of bars. His lawyer’s former mansion is now a B&B and its said to have tunnels that once connected it to the speakeasies and brothel in the downtown area. Myth or reality, Al Capone and his gang left a mark on a lot of out-of-the-way places in my state and they’re all romanticized to serve the tourist trade. I guess we still love a good Robin Hood story and for some strange twist of reality we probably all assume we’d be on the receiving end of their crime spree and not on the taking-at-gun-point end. 

One thing I didn’t expect on our trip was a gourmet, mouthwatering lunch that was probably the best food I’ve had in years and at half the cost of city prices. That was not just my opinion. We were all rubbing our bellies and raving about the food. I brought home a mile high piece of rhubarb cake that melted in my mouth and made me regret that I didn’t also bring home a piece of the dark chocolate cheesecake and a lemon tart. Yes, a week with a minor car boo-boo and a major heart break should end with sweet treats. At least in my world. ©

 

Wild Animals and Senior Bus Trips

You’re going to be jealous when you find out what I did this week. I touched a crocodile! Yes, a live, living crocodile who was born at a wild animal park. Did I forget to mention he was a baby, only three feet long and both ends were being held by a park guy? Still, I wasn’t going to do it at first---it was a crocodile, for crying out loud and I’m rather smitten with my fingers---but then I remembered that I’m a blogger and what better material to use than an encounter with a creature who, as it turned out, had a baby-smooth underbelly and surprisingly soft, pliable skin on his back and tail. He didn’t feel anything like the pair of sexy, spike heeled alligator shoes I wore back in the ‘60s and are still in the back of my closet, waiting for a-line dresses and my skinny-Minnie figure to come back. Okay, I’ll admit I never had an Audrey Hepburn-like figure but there were a few years when I worked out at a gym every night on the way home from work and they owned a magic mirror that lied to me. I was five foot seven and a half, weighed 125 pounds---a cow by today’s standards. And I’d do anything but diet and exercise to get that body back. But I digress. 

Let’s backtrack: Thursday I hopped on the senior hall bus to go to an 80 acre wild animal park. It was one of four buses that went and because someone screwed up---not me---I got scheduled to go early in the morning instead of on an afternoon bus. I don’t do mornings well. I’m stuck in my ways and so is the dog. He never gets up before ten even though I usually make it up by eight for my coffee and computer time. But Thursday we both rolled out of bed when the alarm went off at 6:00 and ten minutes later we were walking around the neighborhood before the dew was off the grass and before the chilly night air had lifted. I get why people like that time of the day. Its quiet beauty promises something the afternoon heat and hustle of the working class can’t deliver.

I also got to pet a Red Kangaroo, a 5-6 pound baby that the park guy was carrying around in a denim pouch with a draw string closing her in. It had been rejected by its mother and they have to bottle feed it. Its fur was so soft and its eyes were curious, expressive and milk chocolate brown with bright yellow cat-eye like pupils. They start out the size of a cherry at birth but these kangaroos grow to six foot tall, 200 pounds and are known for their kick boxing. The park guy who did all the animal encounter demonstrations was quite the character. Probably gay, had a thick Spanish accent, told corny jokes and was a trained falconer who had exotic birds flying over our heads “hunting” grapes or bits of meat in the case of an Asian owl that was so close above my head I could have touched him. That owl was only six months old but will grow up to have a six feet wing spread! The park has 800 birds---70 different species, with 18 species that are threaten species in a breeding program. 

Part of our time at the park we rode around in a tram looking at their 460 mammals representing 64 species that were grazing in large fields and on foot we sawed their birds and 36 species of reptiles and amphibians---a third of the animals in the park I’ve never seen or heard about before. They did have a few more common stuff like camels, zebras and buffalo and we got to feed the Reticulated Giraffes. God, are they big! For the little kids they had a pen full of African Pygmy Goats who loved carrot sticks. They were every bit as much fun to watch as that video going around the internet of baby goats wearing pajamas. The park actually started out as an exotic animal and bird breeding farm and opening it up for tourists came much later. It was a great day trip for only $23.00 including transportation, the entrance fee, muffins and bottled water. I spent another $2.00 for a buffalo tooth. Don’t ask me why. It was in the gift shop and I had an overwhelming desire to buy something. It was a choice between an ice cream bar or the tooth and at the time I was remembering those great alligator shoes in the closet that can only be worn with a skinny body.

It was a fun day with only one sour notes in the form of a couple of bus mates wearing “choose life” and MAGA hats. When you get on a bus headed for fun leave your politics at home, people! In this tinderbox climate we’re living in wearing your politics on your clothing---like Melania did with the “I don’t care, do u?” jacket---is trolling for blow-back and debate. I was on my best behavior. I didn’t give them any snide remarks or dirty looks. But coming on the heels of Trump's manufactured border crisis and the fact that our next Supreme Court justice will have to pass a pro-life Litmus Test I would have liked to have shoved those trollers in with the adult Red Kangaroos for a good kick boxing match. ©

The baby red kangaroo

the Asian owl

 and for fun, the pajama party video