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.

Project 365, days 218-224

218—getting ice cream in town; 219—dinner over an open fire on our first ever family camping trip; 220—waking up in a tent is cool; 221—an orange butterfly (not a painted lady, anyone know what this is?) on our yellow zinnia; 222, 223, 224—rearing the three black swallowtail caterpillars we found on our parsley! What a learning opportunity.

Rearing Black Swallowtails

Two weeks or so ago I clipped parsley from the overgrown plants on our deck and stuck the bouquet in a glass of water, hoping to find use for it over time (the parsley has been very happy this year for sure). Then, on Monday of this week, I decided that we'd gotten as much use out of it as we were going to and went to throw out the remaining stalks. Imagine my surprise at finding a very fat bright green and yellow caterpillar perched right on top of my parsley in my cup in my kitchen. He must have come in on the large bunch nearly two weeks ago and has been munching away ever since (I must say, the bunch did seem significantly smaller, but I hadn't paid much attention).

At his current size and appetite we decided that replacing him on the already pared plants outside would be the end of our parsley crop for the year, and in fact a quick check of the outdoor plants revealed his two brothers or sisters on the now much-munched outdoor plants. Not willing to give up my plants or the learning opportunity waiting to be grasped, we brought all three little buggers inside and made them happy with clipped parsley (organic from the store) and sticks inside large wide mouth Ball canning jars. They could have picked better timing, though—looks like they will have to go on vacation with us next week.

Shall we name them Larry, Curly Parsley, and Moe?

The orange horns are a stinky warning to those who might bug him, but we bugged him anyway and brought him inside. The other two were far more mellow about using the horns, but this guy was feisty.

Here are two of the cats, each in a different phase; the one on the left is much bigger and greener and is in the final caterpillar stage while the one on the right will molt one more time.

Fascinating.

We'll keep you posted on their progress.

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.

Rock climbing

It's so self satisfying.