Chicago for Thanksgiving

I cannot remember a single Thanksgiving that was not spent by my family in the state of Michigan. In my earlier years Thanksgiving was spent at my grandparent's house in Pleasant Ridge, and later at their home in Brighton. As the years went by Thanksgiving moved to my house, my parent's house, and then I moved out and was again a guest for that holiday. Changes really get away from you from you at that point and in no time I was bringing my own family to my childhood home for that celebration. But through all those years Thanksgiving was always spent in Michigan, so this was a very special Thanksgiving indeed that saw the three of us and my parents pile into our van and head to Chicago to spend the holiday with Curtis and Julie and her family. The traffic was light (we left early Wednesday morning to be assured of that) and the weather was congenial until we got there (when it turned to a mix of snow, ice, and rain).

Just like being at the kids' table again, all the parents stayed at a nearby hotel while all us kids stayed at Curtis's place. We visited a liquor store the size of a small local Kroger, smoked turkey on the roof of Curtis's building, roasted marshmallows, watched parades and football, and shopped Michigan Ave on Black Friday. We even ate dinner and played pool on the same furniture we enjoyed at my grandparents' house in Brighton, and enjoyed the family recipes from both our past and from Julie's. It was a great trip.

Turkey on the roof...

Taking the train town for shopping...

Bloomingdales in downtown Chicago is in the old Medina Temple, and the new owners have a done a wonderful job of integrating, or at least protecting, the original architecture. Best stop of the day, excepting maybe our browse through Room and Board.

Sitting on a million dollars of carpets in Bloomingdales. Really, a million dollars worth at least—the top carpet alone was $35,000.

It was a good trip.

Chicago for Labor Day

Where else would we spend the long weekend? Since we have gotten most of the yard work done for the year, that is. It had been a while since we visited Curtis and his digs in Chicago so we packed up the night before and headed out early Friday morning in order to avoid general holiday traffic. Curtis can really make the big city feel like a small one—we picked up fresh meat at the local market, ate at a restaurant where he knew most of the staff, and played in a local neighborhood playground. He can also show it off to its full advantage, mile upon mile upon mile—on Friday we drove to the Aquarium, on Saturday we took through the city to dinner, and on Sunday we walked the four plus scenic miles to the beach and Navy Pier. It was the best of many worlds.

This was actually our second time at the aquarium, though I'd forgotten how incredibly expensive it is. And how worth it. It was a serious discovery visit for our curious four year old.

We caught a 4-D movie, then settled in to watch the fantastic dolphin show they've always been known for. I still remember taking in their great water show back in middle school, and I think we were all looking forward to it.

Unfortunately, like Sesame Street and so many other wonderful entertainments from our childhood, the Shedd Aquarium water show has become over-produced, over-technologied, and over-acted. We wanted to see dolphins, penguins, and beluga whales, but we saw more of the changing lights, wire-flown people, and the probably over-paid six year old with the disgusting fake smile (who we were supposed to believe was indiscriminately chosen from the audience, liars) than we did the beautiful animals. I wrote them a letter.

 The rest of the aquarium was amazing, though. Really enjoyable.

There are lots more Aquarium pictures in the Chicago album.

Then we rowed our way back to the condo to grill fresh steaks on the roof and take in a gorgeous sunset, even if it was a tad windy and chilly.

Saturday we shopped resale just for the aesthetics of it, and used books for the good literature. We also tried the door at the Museum of Holography, but we, like the people wo left he note on the door in the dust, knew it wouldn't be open.

Shopping in Chicago is fun. Duh.

And the next best thing about Chicago (besides the company, of course) is the food. Duh. Though Calvin might say it was the train ride we took to the fabulous, fabulous Mexican restaurant where Curtis knew everyone and we took our own wine.

Sunday was the most beautiful of all the days so we spent it outside, heading to the beach while touring the city on foot.

And the Navy Pier, of course.

 And a final night, this one absolutely beautiful, of grilling and eating on the roof.

Julie was there, too. And Calvin is the new photographer. It was a great trip, and now we're home. More pictures in the Chicago album.

The Huckleberry Railroad

Actually, we kind of like touristy kinds of things. It's something I come by naturally; while other families might have steered far clear of Wall Drug, my family followed those signs, which started 500 miles away on remote and well traveled highways alike, to get our free cup of water and snap a few photos. Jon and I have mostly stuck to national parks on our own travels, but every once in a while a sign with enough bright touristy appeal will take us off the beaten road and right into the trap. One of our most regularly beaten paths, of course, is the line of highway between here and "up north" in Michigan, and we've become familiar with the traps along the way—mystery spots, overlooks, and discount malls alike—but the one sign we had yet to follow was for The Huckleberry Railroad and Crossroads Village. Having our four year old train lover always with us it's hard to believe that we'd resisted this long, but until this past trip the timing had never been right; often we've tried to spend every last moment possible in north country and then we've passed the railroad sign too late in the day to stop, or else it's been winter and the place was closed. But this time we planned ahead and left Petoskey with a stop at the Railroad in our sites for just after the lunch hour.

So let me just say that sometimes there's good planning, more often even the best-laid plans go awry, and then, once in a blue moon, there's something far better than well thought out plans—there's good luck with a sprinkling of good timing. We left Petoskey knowing that the forecast was for showers and storms and a 90% chance of rain that afternoon, but as we neared the park in a determined drizzle, we could see blue skies behind the last of the afternoon clouds. We decided to go for it. What does a little rain matter when you're riding a train, right?

I can think of only one thing that would make a tiny, out-of-the-way attraction like Crossroads Village busy beyond belief on any given day, and that would be the Day Out With Thomas Celebration Tour, but since it visits each railroad only one weekend each year, what were the odds we'd run into that trouble? Yes, we really are one in a million. As we approached the two ticket booths we were pretty sure we'd be out of luck, but instead were informed that there were a handful of tickets for the last train of the day. Great! We only needed three, after all, and now all we had to do was come up with something to do while the rain blew past. We walked past the incredibly long line of families waiting to board the 2pm train in order to use the bathrooms, and afterwards regrouped on the suddenly deserted (and covered) platform to form a plan. Then, through the rain and the whistle of the train, came a quiet "psssst" from one of the sharply dressed train conductors; "Want to ride in the caboose?" he asked with a wide smile showing underneath his ancient-looking but appropriate handlebar mustache.

Uh, yeah. He was not bothered by the fact that our tickets were for a much later train, and he ushered us quickly down the line, handing us into that happily bright red last car, and then boarded with us. I figure the rain worked for us in two ways. First, it kept the ticket sales down so there were a few left for us, and second it sent some of the people with pre-purchased 2pm train tickets home so that we got to enjoy our 40 minute ride while the last of the rain showers blew past.

I remember Calvin's first swimming class, back when he was only 6 months old; the teacher was concerned that he was afraid of the water because he didn't crack a smile once during the first few weeks, but he wasn't afraid—he was absorbing and taking stock of the situation. It was this experience that kept coming back to mind as we sat in the little caboose for 30 minutes before seeing anything that even remotely resembled a smile, and even at the end of the ride our little thinker was only vaguely pleased in a visible sense. I hoped that our friendly conductor wouldn't be disappointed, thinking that the little boy chosen for such a coveted seat was ungrateful or uninterested, but the story of the swimming class seemed a bit much to share at the moment. In any case, Calvin thanked him for the ride as we descended once more to the Crossroads Station platform.

Again with the timing, our need for indoor entertainment had come to an end; as we had pulled up to the station at the end of our travels, the rain had stopped and the sun come out to shine through the thick air of a now warm and steamy afternoon.

Once stopped we explored the caboose a bit (something we missed out on doing at the front of the journey since we boarded last minute) and then spent a few more minutes exploring some of the retired cars near the station while we waited for the next train to board and depart so we could watch it.

There's not a whole lot more to Crossroads Village than the Huckleberry Railroad itself. Really it was like a much smaller version of Greenfield Village with much less attention given to the old buildings and their stories. I wonder if we had visited on a less cartoony weekend if maybe things would have been different.

My very favorite find of the day was the old farmhouse. It wasn't so much the farmhouse, though, as the lady and her vacuum inside. Look at the name on that vacuum, and then look at the floor she was in the process of cleaning when we walked through (with dirty feet, I'm sure).

They don't make vacuums like that anymore (in more ways than one).

The upside to the Thomas situation, though, was the activity fair. Attentions may have been drawn away from the beautiful old buildings and their lessons, but after a morning in the car an afternoon of craziness might have been just what the sane-parents fairy ordered. Bubbles, model trains, and even a little ice cream sent us back to the car well exercised, both mentally and physically, and well fed.

And would you believe, after all the good luck we'd already had, and even though I parked the car without a second thought for any more than the rain and the crowds, when we walked back to the car through a baking, sunny heat, we found it parked in the shade. Who put that tree there? Thank them kindly, please. Yes, sometimes luck far surpasses the benefits of planning.

It was also at this time that we finally learned how much Calvin really had enjoyed that train ride. "Can we come back next week? Please?"

Back on Walloon

August for me is a calming time of self gathering and contemplation. It's the time of year when the garden work is done and the most beautiful flowers are blooming, the most delicious foods ripening. The beginning of the month is also one of the hottest times of the year and as such has historically sent many a family headed to cooler, more relaxing climes. I remember Jon's dad once referring to the Zilwaukee Bridge as the place where, when headed north, he leaves all of his worries behind. Although for me that drop point is probably farther north, in Westbranch, I completely understand the sentiment, and for the past week my worries have lived in Westbranch while we took in the turquoise waters of Walloon Lake.

Saturday saw us up bright and early, headed for north of the forty-five, our spirits weighted only by concern for what we may or may not have forgotten. Good thing they have a Meijer up there now. One thing we didn't leave behind? The caterpillars. By the time we left only one of them had strung himself to a branch and was preparing to go into chrysalis mode.

We arrived in time to share in the beautiful sunshine and warm water (78 degrees!) with my cousin's family before they headed back south. It's hard to believe that thirty years ago we were those little kids, our parents were the "kids" and our grandparents were the parents. 

Two kids in a hammock. I think our grandparents would have loved to see this.

Sunday dawned bright and windy. Did I say windy? I mean batten down the hatches kind of windy. The sun was warm, the water was warm, the wind was windy.

The caterpillars were happy. And just look at the color of that lake.

Wind just means having to work up a sweat before getting in the water, for whatever that's worth when you go to get out and you're wet all over.

Look at that churned up water.

Monday was sunny and windy and slightly less warm and we headed to Charlevoix for some entertainment and some smoked fish. Because you can't go north without enjoying smoked fish and smoked fish dip.

Tuesday, after breakfast in Petoskey, we spent the morning on the farm of an old friend (of Gram's) who was kind enough to invite Calvin for the morning chores. We met pigs, fed chickens and collected eggs, drove out to count cattle (who were elusive in the woods, of all places), and bottle fed a calf.

Wednesday dawned bright but chilly, so half the crowd headed to town for Pirate's Cove golf.

But it turned warm and sweet by early afternoon and we ended the day in the beautiful lake as the sun dropped lower and lower in the sky.

Thursday, after breakfast in town, we were lucky enough to meet Ada, the newest member of our extended family, who was born to Polly and Justin just the day before. I can certainly say she's a beautiful baby. I can also certainly say that Calvin was glad to be leaving her there.

Calvin seemed to greatly prefer these babies, which we passed on the way home, to the human one.

Thursday afternoon was almost as beautiful as Wednesday afternoon and we spent the time relaxing on the dock and in the water, but ended the day in town at the aptly named Sunset Park. Every year, it must be done.

 Friday morning I took my coffee out on the dock and watched the storms rolling in, by, and beyond.

With weather like that predicted all day we headed into Mackinaw City for fried fish at the Key Hole and fudge from Murdick's (what you don't know is that we'd gotten fudge in Charlevoix, too...)

And would you believe, by the time we got back to the lake the sun was shining and the storms were blowing just north of us, close enough that we could visually enjoy the line of contrast between the storming clouds just north of the lake, and the wisps of vapor sporadically obscuring the sun shining over us.

What a beautiful afternoon with which to bring up the rear of our vacation week.

And the storm that came after we were already inside for the night was like a final farewell, a reminder of the baggage waiting in Westbranch for pickup on our way back down.

We don't give in easily, though, so on our way home we made a stop at the Huckleberry Railroad for one last bit of vacation (the touristy kind), but that's for another post.

There's another 44 pictures from throughout our week at the Lake in the Walloon Lake 2010 photo album. Enjoy. We did.

Camping, a dry run

I camped with my family when I was little and have fond memories of the experience. The Girl Scouts often got me out and about, too, and then in high school I camped several times with friends. That, however, is the extent of our camping knowledge, but we have friends who have also enjoyed camping in the past (with far more experience between them) and our sense of adventure got the better of us, so this weekend, on a day's notice, we packed up and headed over to Irish Hills to camp for one night in the state park there. The event was an unqualified success.

There was a lot of teamwork setting up tents.

And then we were hot and tired enough to have to go swimming.

Then more setting up—a fire and lanterns, water for dinner, food stuffs, yadda yadda. A one night dry run was probably a good idea, but I'm not sure I'd ever plan to camp for just one night again.

Mmmm...campfire food.

Scavenger hunt in the woods.

Roasting mallows for s'mores by the fire.

Playing card games with four year olds is a whole different animal.

Bedtime story by the fire. Thankfully Curious George is the only one who got sprayed by a skunk.

The biggest success of the trip? The Stanley Thermos we got for Christmas. We made coffee before leaving home on Saturday, around 11am, and poured into the preheated thermos. On Sunday at 7:30am the coffee was still hot enough to enjoy.

And yes, by the way, that is Calvin peaking out from behind a tent room divider. We had a three room tent for the night. This was new to me. Also new was the existence of electrical outlets (several of them) at each and every campsite, and the rampant use of them throughout the camp. Aside from the apparently popular trend of stringing your tent or RV with gaudy novelty lights (so, as my dad says, you can find your own site when you're stumbling in drunk at 3am), there was even a site with a flood light trained on an American flag all night. Camping. It's not what it used to be.

But we got a good night's sleep, and had just as many helpers the next day to take the site down.

Then we went GeoCaching.

And then we went into Irish Hills for a little amusement before heading home. Finding amusement in Irish Hills, however, is a little like visiting a graveyard for good eats. All the places Jon remembered from childhood visits were dead, though not gone.

The Prehistoric Forest—closed for about seven years(?) but listed as a creepy place to explore uninvited.

Stagecoach Stop has only been closed since 2008, but its heyday was back in the 1970s when US12 was still the main route between Detroit and Chicago, before the interstate. All this according to the creepy fat old bearded guy who was driving around the place in a golf cart. We think he used to own it and/or the hotel next door (which is still open). Either that or it's even creepier that he was buzzing around on that golf cart.

There is something photogenic about dead and dying 1970s attractions, though.

What? Unnecessaryquotes.com it is.

There's nothing quite like sitting on the feet of a giant lumberjack. Actually, according to creepy bearded guy this lumberjack used to be one of the Muffler Men.

And lunch at neon barbecue. Creepy bearded guy was here, too. Maybe he owns the whole US 12 strip in Irish Hills. Or maybe he wasn't even there at all—all that shows in the picture is his cart...

Camping. It's something we will definitely be doing again.