Letter No. 50 [beach home]
Dear Friend,
Our family spent a week at my aunt’s lake house in Michigan this week, and it felt like we were living life in parallel universe where our old world went on without us while we lived out the week in our secluded beach house, slow and easy. Here are a few moments from the week.
The beach is a ten minute walk from the house. You travel through the trees—they crowd over the asphalt road and let out bird calls and rustling noises as the black squirrels scurry up and down branches.
We go down one evening after the rain. There’s a faint mist in the air and everything is damp and warm, the trees still dripping.
A bit of sunlight streams through to the road and we grow silent as we pass through it, letting it envelop us for a second.
“I think that's a Tulip Tree,” says mom, pointing up to the leaves of one of the towering pillars that stand watch on either side of the road.
“Look for their blooms—they look like tulips.”
Grace finds one and lets me snap a photo. We continue on.
We come to my favorite part: a little river, lazy and quiet, hidden beneath a clearing of massive plants. They make me feel like we’re deep in a tropical jungle. I don’t know what they are, but Adlai says she thinks they’re Elephant Ears. I look it up later, but they must be something else.
And then, almost a surprise, the trees clear to make a little open space and the water stretches out as far as we can see. It’s smooth and calm and blue, glistening. Something swells in me as I look at it. I feel at home; I feel free.
Freshly cut stone steps lead down the cliff to the beach. Some of the family has already made the trek down and are exploring. We’re pulled down the steps, anxious to be near the water too.
The cliffs are eroding; a house on the other side of the steps has been condemned because of it. On the other side though, someone’s been creative with their deck. We admire their handiwork as we pass.
We split off to explore in groups of twos and threes or by oneself. We’re happy to be on the water, happier to be together. I sit and listen. My favorite sound is the sizzle the water makes over the rocks as it retreats.
Mom and dad sit at the top of the stairs watching the water. Mom is still recovering from ACL surgery and the steps are steep; maybe she’ll make it down tomorrow. I look up at them and feel grateful. We have both our parents with us.
The siblings regroup and sit by the water, talking and skipping stones. Eventually, we all make it back up the steps to join our parents as the sun slowly sinks. We’d rather all be together to watch it.
The sun disappears and we head back to the house through the trees. We’ll be back tomorrow.