A Wasted Camping Experience

Sometimes you come home from a weekend getaway, just a simple camping trip, and ask yourself, "why did I do that?" It's not that you had an exceptionally bad time, you even had a few laughs, but in retrospect you just wonder what you did wrong.

Such was a weekend of camping at Starette Lake state forest campground with my sister Judy and my two kids in July 2000. As we pulled into camp, we dutifully read the signs saying something like, "find any open site and set up camp; your camp host will be around to register you." Sounded simple enough. So we found our site, set up camp, and, like usual, I was able to back the pop-up camper into the angled spot only with the help of my son Nick. It was wooded and seemed peaceful enough. It had been overcast earlier, but the forecast promised no rain.

Our neighbors across the road were pulling up camp about that time. They had to head home early for some reason, and confessed to us that they had never paid the camping fee. The camp host had never been around. Surely the camp host would become more of a presence with the weekend now upon us. That wasn't the case.

The next morning, after only a few hours of sleep thanks to partying neighbors to the west and a whip-poor-will at four am, we took a short ride around to other campgrounds within the state forest around Minocqua. We thought maybe we would find a camp host at one of these who could register us. Nope, no luck with that.

But of course when we got back to camp, there was a note telling us to check in at Razorback campground. When we went there, again, no camp host. About that time we decided that we wouldn’t worry about being law abiding citizens. If we camped for free for the weekend, no one could say that we hadn’t tried.

As we were pulling out, though, a state forest truck was pulling in and we were able to flag the guy down. Finally we were registered and legal. Or so we thought.

As we were heading home on Sunday, with a sticker in our windshield, we thought we would drive through one more state forest campground to check it out as another prospect for a different camping trip. We got busted there by an angry state forest guy (who even had flashing lights on his truck) because the sticker the guy from the day before gave us had only been good for that one day and not the whole weekend. Sorry, I am not going back to any of those places.

Be the palomino

One time, when I was a kid, a friend of mine took me to a rodeo. All afternoon we watched the horses and their riders compete in barrel races, roping, steer wrestling and the like. One particular horse, a golden palomino, seemed to be winning the majority of the events.

At the end of the afternoon, the names of the winning cowboys and their horses were announced. Each winning pair would walk to the podium to accept their ribbon. All of the horses were still prancing and full of fire when their riders would lead them to the winners’ circles. All of the horses that is except for the palomino.

Whenever they announced the name of the cowboy riding the palomino, the young man would amble to the stand, his hat in one hand, the reins of his horse in the other. His whole demeanor said, “Aw, shucks, another ribbon?” The horse would just trail behind him, swinging his lowered head from side to side, lifting his hooves just barely enough to clear the ground.

Was this really the same horse who had run so many heats? Who jumped out the fastest when asked to? Who could chase down any steer before it even got started? Had he burned himself up and was now just tired? I don’t think that was it.

For this blond horse with the pure white mane and tail it wasn’t about the prize. The glory came from the competition, from the job he was called to do. It wasn’t about being recognized. He was in it for the fun of it.

When we have a task to do, we should do the very best we can. But not so that we will be recognized in the end. The pleasure should come as we do the job we were asked to do and in knowing we gave it our all.

Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters, since you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. It is the Lord Christ you are serving. Colossians 3:22-24 (New International Version, ©2011)

Another Big Waterfall

The illness that I left home with on July 2, 2000, continued its hold on me into the fifth day of our family vacation to the Eastern UP. My coughing would not stop, but I dutifully crawled into the car each day and directed Himey as to where to drive to next.

That morning after Independence Day, we drove along Lake Superior, visiting the Iroquois Lighthouse and the Shipwreck Museum at Whitefish Point. I have already written about the Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald (see http://chrisloehmer.blogspot.com/2010/08/upper-peninsula-of-michigan-circa-1975.html).

Another place I know I already wrote about is Tahquamenon Falls. Still very cool, but too big for me. Give me some little trickle of a waterfall that I can walk right up to, stick my feet in the water, and that makes me much happier. I also rather have a waterfall all to myself.

By the time we checked into our hotel that night, I just crawled into bed and let Himey and the kids go out to eat without me. We made it home by four the next afternoon. And naturally I immediately started feeling better. Figures. I got healthy just in time to go back to work.

How I almost died almost in Canada

Because we are so weird, on our family vacation in 2000, we went to Canada on the fourth of July. It just ended up that way. We really didn’t have any plan or any idea of what to do in Canada, but since we were right there, we thought we should cross the border to say we were there. Everything pretty much looked the same, so after driving a few miles, we turned around and went back to the American Sault Ste Marie.

We visited the Locks, because that is the obligatory thing to do. Actually we all thought they were pretty interesting. These huge iron ore freighters being raised so many feet by the water beneath was amazing.

Somewhere along the line we found out that the city’s Fourth of July parade would be traipsing right past our hotel, so we returned to our night’s lodging in plenty of time. The hotel was on quite a steep sloop above the street. Himey and I wanted to watch from outside our room, and the kids seemed to be ok with that. Then every time a float or other vehicle passed by from which candy was being flung, we coaxed Val and Nick into getting some and bringing it back up to us. I think Nick only fell for it once. Val, however, threw her little body down that hill and dragged herself back up countless times.

Bedtime came and everyone was ready for it, even though the kids were candied up.

From the upper respiratory infection I was suffering, I was still coughing like a maniac, and sometime in the night I reached for a cough drop in an attempt to abate the misery. Bad idea.

I was coughing so hard that I aspirated that cough drop into my throat and choked on it. I couldn’t cough, I couldn’t breathe. In the dark hotel room, I started seeing spots in front of my eyes. I didn’t panic, but I was worried about what my husband would do when he found my limp body in the bed next to him. I have always been in love with Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, but I sure never planned on dying there.

Just before I was about to pass out, the cough drop had dissolved enough that air started to move into my lungs. I watched HImey’s even breathing for a few minutes. Oh, what we take for granted. I laid down and slept til sunrise.

What is so great about Mackinac Island?

Perhaps it was just my state of health that July of 2000, perhaps my frame of mind, but after visiting Mackinac Island, I couldn’t figure out what the big deal was. Why do people continue to flock to this island where everything is so expensive, the scenery is not any better than other places on the Great Lakes and the old buildings are just as old elsewhere?

We took the early morning ferry and didn’t have much more of a plan than that. We wandered aimlessly for a while, checking out the touristy shops, before we decided to take the horse-drawn wagon tour of the island. It was a good way to get around, but the driver was kind of a jerk. We finally got off at the Fort where we watched guys dressed in period costumes practicing their drills. Then we found some ice cream, which we ate in the shade on the hillside of a park. That was probably my best memory.

Of course, it is a plus that there is no motorized transportation on the island. The horses seemed to be ok, but perhaps there should be a limit on the number of bicycles that are allowed.

It just all was so touristy and so crowded. Maybe at a different time of year, or when it wasn’t so hot out, or when I didn’t have untreated walking pneumonia. I probably should go back sometime and take it all in from a different perspective. Give the Island another chance. Eat some fudge.

Touring Michigan's Past

In June of 2000, I took a new position working in Family Practice at the clinic in Tomahawk. Finally, back in town, less than ten minute drive to work each day. The other bonus, Friday afternoons off. I didn’t even ask for it; they just said this is the deal. Twist my arm to say yes to that.

The only down side was that for the first time in many years, I was dealing daily with coughing kids with runny noses, their parents with sinus infections, the elderly with bronchitis. I thought I had a fairly good immune system. And I think that now I do, but that first month working with all these sick people, it took its toll.

July 2, as we were packing the car to leave on our family vacation to the eastern part of Michigan’s UP, I was sicker than I ever remember being. I just wanted a tapper in the side of the head to relieve the pressure, a little feed bag like they put on horses, only tie it under my nose to catch the drainage. I won’t share the details of the fact that it was also “that time of the month”. I was not happy, but I was determined to make the best of it. After all I had made all those reservations, all those plans. I would not be thwarted.

Our first stop was the Iron Mine in Norway, Michigan. The tour, into the cool, damp mine, wearing a yellow slicker which had already been worn by countless tourists, was just what I needed to heal my illness. I am also claustrophobic, so the tiny spaces and darkness of the mine also helped immensely. What really matters, though, is that the kids, ages 14 and 10 at the time, thought it was great.

Another two hours down the road and we arrived at Fayette State Park, just past Garden on Big Bay De Noc.

In the late 1800’s, Fayette was one of the Upper Peninsula's most productive iron-smelting operations. The town consisted of two blast furnaces, a large dock and several charcoal kilns and grew to a population of nearly 500 residents, many immigrants from Canada, the British Isles and northern Europe. During its 24 years of operation, Fayette's blast furnaces produced a total of 229,288 tons of iron ore. By 1891, the iron market began to decline and the Jackson Iron Company was forced to close its Fayette site.

Soon, all that was left was a ghost town. Until the state of Michigan stepped in, started restoring it and turned it into a state park. It is a very cool. I had naturally been there before, but my husband, daughter and son had not. They were not at all disappointed.

Where can you hide?

Ha, ha, ha! Finally I am on the computer. Those fiendish people who think they own me. Ha, I will show them. Every evening they let me and those other two ignorant cats in the house for a few hours and then they throw us back out into the cold when they go to bed. And that puny kitten they got this summer. Alice. They let her stay in all the time. When they brought me home many years ago, they told me that I was the house cat. Then following a few indiscretions, they said “out with you, you are now an outside cat.” What injustice. But I showed them. I hid last night so well that they couldn’t find me when it was time to go out. So, now I can type on the woman’s computer and tell the world how they treat me. Then I must hide again, always hide, they must never find me –

“Fred! You darn cat! What are you doing? You can’t play on my computer! You are going outside!”

Wow, aren’t we like Fred sometimes? We think we can just hide. We do something wrong and rationalize that if we just hide the evidence, it will go away. We hurt someone and tell ourselves that if we ignore them they will just forget about it. We commit all sorts of sins and think they will just go away all by themselves, that no one will ever know.

We can hide a lot of things from a lot of people, but we can’t hide anything from God. He knows every stupid thing we do, and He loves us in spite of all our mistakes.

Instead of hiding from God, we need to go to Him directly in prayer and ask for forgiveness. He will never hide from us.

"Am I not a God near at hand, and not a God far off?
Can anyone hide out in a corner where I can't see him?
Am I not present everywhere, whether seen or unseen?"
Jeremiah 23:23-25 (The Message Bible)