At the Speed of Life

Michigan is the kind of place that causes you to slow down, think big, dream out loud and make plans.

The state is lush, musical, vivid, theatrical, simple and serene. The towns that line the lake feel a bit like a scene from a movie.

A pleasant PG-rated romantic comedy set in a place where they serve coffee in big bowl-sized mugs, everyone slows to wave as they pass you by, the local brewery's selections are on special every night, dogs run along the beach milking the last moments of sun-warmed sand, all sweatshirts have big soft hoods and hand-warmer pockets, the road-side fruit stands are always in season, the waves crash against the sandy shores in time to the clink of happy hour cocktail ice, and the bullfrogs sing you to sleep while the rain trickles down the window panes.

Driving through downtown St. Joe, along the river that nudges politely out into the lake, we bumped gently along cobblestone streets beneath vintage wrought iron lamp-posts, ducked under oversized hanging planters with fresh blooms, and crested the hill at the top of the rocky bluff. The lighthouse came into full view, with the setting sun high above it, casting a golden hue on every flower blossom in our midst. The new houses going up along the lake pay homage in style, shape, color and form to the houses of an era bygone, and the views from their porches will nod to the future the residents will create as they enjoy life along the shores of Lake Michigan.

I began to daydream, choosing my favorite house, mixing in someone else's third story porch, the landscaping of this one, with the color of this one's shutters, and that one's beveled stained glass front door. I called dibs, in my own mind, on that one's view of the beach, with the backyard of that one, littered with flower petals from the dogs brushing against it as they played in the late day sun. I made plans to sit on that person's front rocker, with that lady's ice tea, and hear that one's music drifting over that guy's picket fence crawling with hydrangeas.

The weekend was about finding some respite, some corner of serenity, and gaining a little stash of perspective. Leaving the bustle, stress, sights and sounds of Chicago behind, we danced in the setting sun on the sandy beach, skipped some rocks and tossed the frisbee, warmed our toes by the bonfire as dusk turned into night. Visions of a summer cottage along the bluff filled my mind, reflecting and bouncing off of the graceful images that would accompany that type of home.

Arriving back in the city late into the night after such a wonderous weekend, I was glad to be back, but know that I've been wooed. Wooed by the state of Michigan, by the tempo of the life along the other side of the lake, and will be tempted not so far off into the distance to find a way, any way, to make a little part of that my own.

I better ditch the piggy bank for a bigger savings jar. I'm gonna need all the pennies I can scrounge.

For now, however, the photos are valuable and the memories are, to be trite, priceless (and free).


For those return readers, the full "social circle induction, part one" went perfectly. Couldn't have asked for a better guy, with great friends, amazing family and a lovely hometown. His dog was darling, too.