Maine to Michigan
It’s a long way from Cadillac Mountain to Cadillac country, especially if one drives the back
roads to go through Canada, which is the quickest route to the “UP” -- Michigan’s upper
peninsula. So JJ and I left the land of lobster rolls, fairy houses and fluffernut sandwiches and
meander through Maine’s farmland, marveling at the barn stars. Maine barns and houses are a
single unit...so in winter, farmers can run down the hall and milk the cows without ever leaving
home -- which leaves me wondering how cold it must get in Maine.
Jenny and Jeff have been pouting since leaving Mt. Desert, but perk up when we hike White and
Green Mountains on our way to Quebec –and then around the Georgian Bay to Sault
Ste.Marie and down....until I discover that – my passport has expired! Ah the fundamental
lemma! I’m pretty sure I can get into Canada on an expired passport and driver’s license, but
can I get back to the US, and dare I chance it? As visions of authorities throwing JJ into the
pound dance in my head...I head for Toledo!
This is a very big country and there's a price to be paid to
see it. There is never enough time in any one place, and it
takes a very long time to get from one place to the next
with no time to stop at all the great places in between. So
down, down, down we go in the sizzling heat through the
Adirondacks, past wooden slatted armchairs, past Lake
Placid, past the Thousand Islands to Niagara Falls. As one
drives along the Niagara river toward the Falls, the flow
turns to whitewater, the rapids become more violent and
I’m reminded of the scene from the movie ‘To Fly” when
the balloonist calls down to the trapper paddling along in a
canoe to.. ‘get over…falls ahead’! NO KIDDING!
Apparently one fifth of all the fresh water in the world lies in four Great Lakes - Michigan,
Huron, Superior and Erie. The outflow empties into the Niagara river and eventually cascades
over Niagara Falls. So yes, these are
indeed vast, amazing, humbling, aweinspiring, breathtaking, overwhelming
…’falls ahead’!
Across the Mackinac Bridge, the longest
suspension bridge ‘between anchorages’ in
this hemisphere, onto the Michigan peninsula, past Marquette and up the peninsula, under a
canopy of maples until I arrive at the main gate to the “camp”. I'm somewhat surprised they let
me in - very gypsyesque are we! Just 5 more miles along dirt roads, through primeval forests
and across the wooden bridge to the shores of Lake Superior to the Club…another place out of
memory.
The Club was formed in the late
1800’s as fishing and hunting
retreat, and ever since, generations
of families have spent summers
together here and it’s a close knit
crowd. Fifty executive log cabins
line Lake Superior’s sandy beaches,
and their executive log boathouses
line the Salmon Trout River that
flows behind them. Wooden
footbridges run across the river,
connecting this slice of civilization
with the wilderness beyond.
There’s a general store cabin, an internet
cabin, Oscar’s….the children’s activity cabin,
and the lodge -- its walls covered with old
photos of blindfolded donkeys pulling building
materials across the first wooden bridge;
and photos of turn of the century Grande dames
in full dress and corseted 18” waists rowing
genteelly down the river or gathering in groups
for picnic dinners at one of the lakes; and of
Aldo Leopold, a father of conservation whose
report on these mountains helped turn them into
a site for research in field biology and geology.
The dogs are given their own double dog bed to make
them feel welcome, and I am given a collection of
survival tools: a compass; forceps; a whistle, a bear
bell and a rain jacket.
I'm loaded for bear should I get lost in a downpour
while pulling porcupine quills out of the dogs’
mouths and noses and want to indicate my
whereabouts by whistling out a proscribed number of
blasts! Why do I need these things? Are they
sending me into the wild alone? Are popovers and
tea involved? But I accept these tools and
instructions with grace…because those are the
RULES! And there are many rules
and traditions...unw
ritten rules that one
is expected to know ... such as dining room dress codes and
where to sit; and ways to save places without looking like
you’re trying to create a cool table; and rules about leaving
keys in the car so others can use it in case of an
emergency; dropping your hat on the path to indicate you are
fishing that hole; the subtle differences between July people
and August people -- the elements of a culture passed from one generation to the next!
By day, we fish for cruising coasters and rainbow
trout while the dogs fish for frogs; or we hike the
mountains and walk along crystal clear streams and
swim in waterfall pools, past rattlesnake orchids and
wintergreen and wild sarsaparilla. These people are
naturalists one and all – they certainly know their
flora and fauna...and they know them in Latin! We
spot deer and Sandhill Cranes and suffer no quills,
though dog noses in the air and soft woofs indicate that something is definitely out there. By
night, we sit in our screened in porch and mock the giant flies as the ancient call of the crane
drifts over the lake. Then, we take to the boardwalk and dinners with friends at lodges and lake
camps, and after that, we sing hymns .... because those are the rules!