I have many memories of this beach in this sleepy town. It always seemed like we were the only ones on the beach. I know that the waters of the lake can be a bit chilling however the sand was always warm. The lack of people made the beach seem remote and magical. We vacationed for YEARS on Lake Michigan in a little cottage in Good Harbor Bay - right on the Lake. We would see the occasional walker but that was it. It was our Lake and we could enjoy it privately, it seemed. It greeted us mornings with a stillness that was so serene. We splashed in the afternoon waves and collected it's Petosky stones offered up. In the evening we watched the sunlight shine across and highlight the color changes until the lighthouse between the islands switched on. Then it was time to watch the sun disappear behind it's edge. We always waved good night and saluted the sun with our after dinner coffee from a picnic table on the bluff. Sometimes we'd have a fire and listen to it's lulling sounds. It was always a treat to open the windows of the cottage so we could go to bed with caressing sounds as we slid into dream filled sleep. It was our Lake.
I'm very lucky that my husband grew up with this same familiarity with Lake Michigan. "It" really feels like an old friend. I have told "it" numerous secrets, hope and fears. "It" has helped me think through problems and forgive and forget. "It" helped me get through those tumultuous early teen years when no one understood me. "It" was always there to listen and never judge. "It" was so beautiful, to boot. I love it and fear it at the same time. I know it holds alot of secrets I will never understand. I know it has claimed lives too. It's magical, that's all. Do you feel that way about a place? I know I'm a bit of a romantic but what about you????
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I have similar childhood memories of Higgins Lake. We would camp there as a family every year, back when they had campsites right on the beach. I, too, used to go to sleep listening to the lap, lap, lap of the gentle night-time waves of the lake.
My mother tells me that I loved to wash my hands using the sand. If we were supposed to clean up for a meal I would walk to the shore, pick up wet sand and scrub away. Made sense to me.
And the hours and hours we were in the water! Our fingers always looked like prunes.
Sunsets were magical, too. Time stood still when we were there. What a great feeling that was and a wonderful memory.
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