Upper Peninsula of Michigan, circa 1975

Can you see it, out on the horizon? A low black blotch along the water. A freighter, riding low in the water, moving its cargo of iron ore from Ashland, Wisconsin, to somewhere in the lower Great Lakes. A romantic vision, even before the eerie lyrics of Gordon Lightfoot became part of our memory.

I am blessed to have been raised within a three hour drive of views such as that. Copper Falls, Potato Falls, Saxon Harbor, and Ashland in Wisconsin. Just over the border in Michigan are Ironwood proudly displaying the world’s tallest Indian, Black River Harbor, the Porcupine Mountains and the Lake of the Clouds.

In 1975 we started our vacation at McLain State Park just outside of Hancock, Michigan. I don’t know what it is about this state park, but it has always held a fascination for me. I think it is the amazing sunrises and breathtaking sunsets over Lake Superior. Late in the evening, when all is still, you can hear the water lapping at miles of beach. When the weather is not cooperating, the waves pound upon the shore, spraying the lake water inland.

Somewhere on the highway, heading towards Copper Harbor, there was a small gift shop on a bluff above the water. The proprietor sold pieces of driftwood with paintings of birds on them, rocks with paintings of birds on them and framed paintings of birds, along with lots of polished stones picked up from along the shore. The building had a small tower. Up two flights of stairs there was a little windowed room with fantastic views of the Lake, scenes made even more memorable by looking through the telescope bolted to its four foot high post. The iron ore freighters were still too far out for any detail to come into focus, but at least you could now make out the outline of the vessels.

Five months after we returned home from that particular trip, one of those freighters along with its 29-man crew would succumb to the will of the Great Lake. You can't spend anytime along Lake Gitche Gumee without hearing the strains of the ballad of the Edmond Fitzgerald.

Hey, it's me again. Mom is so stressed out over her lap top not working that she just really is in no state of mind to write her blog tonight. She is so busy trying to save her lap top, that I jumped on the desk top and she hardly even noticed. I just really don't like the desk chair on wheels. It is hard enough to prop myself up on my haunches without the chair rolling away from the desk.

That is nothing compared to what Mom is doing on the lap top. She has to hold just exactly so or the screen goes blank. She has more stuff on it than she thought and she is trying to get it all on a jump drive, but like, if she breaths the screen goes out on her. I know how much her blog means to her though, so I am glad I can help her out by at least writing something. The best part is putting my picture on her blog. This is my "I loved going on vacation, but I am so happy to go home" picture.

Wow, how come the first part is suddenly different. Dumb puppy paws!

I think Mom wants to get back on the desk top, to check and see if everything she saved on the lap top will read on the desk top. She is so weird. Dad wanted to buy her a new one yesterday, but she wanted to shop around. I think that this is all teaching her patience. She needs to learn alot more patience. She needs to learn that God will take care of her, and her writing, and her computers, but she just has to trust Him.

It's so much easier being the wonder dog. My only job is waking Mom up in the morning. That and being massively adorable. It's so easy for me to be a success. I wish it was easy for Mom.

I came home from the Green Lake Christian Writer's Conference totally inspired to write, write, write. Hmm? Hasn't happened yet this weekend. My lap top is continuing to have issues. In fact, we went to Wausau today, and my husband said, "we are going to buy you a new lap top today. You are making me crazy." It's not like buying a loaf of bread. For him perhaps it is since he bought Bimbo brand bread last week. I am not kidding. I should take a picture of it for next time.

Anyway, so I am just making up excuses now. I promise to get back on track tomorrow. In the meantime, enjoy more pictures from the Conference Center.

Mysterious stairs in the woods

The beautiful rose garden, just outside my window in the building in the background

I sprang out of bed at 5:50 one morning and went down to the lake to watch the sunrise. Well worth it - I should have gone down there every morning. The weather was perfect the entire week. It was tough picking just one picture of the sunrise though - I took a ton.

The Conference Center

“Can’t we stop the car and get out?”

“No,” Mom answered from the backseat of the Buick.

“Why not?” My sister Pat never took “no” for an answer. “It looks so cool out there.”

I agreed, but being the dutiful good daughter, I kept my mouth shut.

“It’s owned by the Baptists.” Mom’s cousin Doris sincerely thought that was the answer that would satisfy us.

So we drove, once again, through the beautiful, mysterious grounds of the Green Lake Conference Center. It was the early 1970s. We went to the Green Lake area each fall to visit Doris and Richard and to explore back roads, picking wild grapes. The drive often made a detour through the Conference Center grounds, but we never stopped for fear the Baptist police would arrest us.

Flash forward to 2010. Yes, I am here, on the Conference Center grounds. Legally. And I can explore to my heart’s desire. Well, not really because I am not here to goof around. I am here to write and learn to write and meet people who write, people who will give me the affirmation which I need.

I know that I should practice writing description and tell you about the ancient buildings, the rock walls, the romantic harbor. Maybe next time. This time you just get pictures. Besides my laptop is ill and I should try to cure it before I type much more, and lose everything.

To all of my faithful readers (both of you), I am taking another week off. This time it is for a very, very good reason. I am going to a writer's conference. I am so excited I can't wait. I am also a little apprehensive; you know, the big buildup and what if it is a bomb.

I am going to Green Lake to the beautiful conference center started by the Baptists many, many years ago. Here is the website telling some of the history of it http://glcc.org/glcc/Green%20Lake%20Story.html . Doesn't it sound awesome? When I was a kid, my mom had a cousin who lived in Green Lake, so once in a while we would drive through the Conference Center grounds. It is gorgeous there.

They have been hosting a Christian Writers Conference there for 62 years! Crazy.

I hope to learn a little bit, hone my writing a little bit and hopefully make some connections that may further my walk along the trail towards publication. Or at least start me on the path. Or at least show me where it is.

Wish me luck. And I will be back writing soon, hopefully from a more interesting prospective.

Oh, Canada

Our trip to Canada in 1974 was full of stories but none tops the one I will share now. In fact, very few family stories from my entire lifetime top this tale.

We had stopped at at wayside for one of the many pit stops we took on any trip.

It was a large rest area and I wandered off somewhere, exploring. Pat and Mom used the facilities, while Dad walked the dog. I came out of the woods where I had been roaming, and decided I best use the outhouse while I had the chance.

When I came out of the little girls’ room, the camper was no longer parked where I thought it had been. I looked around and saw it driving off.

My parents were about to leave me in the middle of nowhere, in a foreign country – ok it was only Canada, which, at the time, you could get into without any ID. But it was still a long way from home.

I began my sprint. And I don’t run very fast, I never could, and usually when I ran as fast I could I would end up tripping and falling flat on my face. Luckily that didn’t happen this time.

About the time I had been finishing up in the bathroom, my parents had decided it was time to leave. They saw Pat go in the camper, and since we were practically inseparable, they figured I was already in. Pat, at first, figured that I was in the cab of the truck, but it didn’t take her long to realize that I was not. She looked through the camper window and the truck window, saw Mom, Dad, and the dog, and not me. She started beating on the window, but, with the truck window in between, Mom and Dad were oblivious to her panicked attempts to get their attention.

At that moment, Pat made a crucial decision, possibly a life-altering decision in my regards. Risking her very life, she flung the back door of the camper open just as Dad was breaking for the stop sign before turning onto the road. I had gotten to within five or six feet of the truck by then, so easily leapt into the camper before Dad started to accelerate.

Before I could catch my breath, Pat started laughing hysterically. Within a minute I was laughing right along with her.

At the next break in the trip, when we told Mom and Dad what had happened, Dad rolled his eyes and Mom just looked surprised. Dad did, however, install an intercom system between the truck and the camper as soon as we got home.

Southern Wisconsin

Dad had always been opposed to city driving. He would go great distances to avoid driving through any metropolitan areas. It was surprising, then, that in 1973 we were able to get him to go to Milwaukee to take us to the Zoo.

The Milwaukee Zoo, then as now, is considered one of the country’s finest. It was innovative in the 1960s and 1970s by getting rid of the old iron bars in favor of more natural environments. Each exhibit would have predators of a continent at the back of the exhibit with its prey in the front, separated by a deep moat which went unnoticed by the zoo visitor.

Samson, the huge lowland gorilla, was a zoo star. In his enclosure was a large scale which he liked to sit on. His weight would at times top 600 pounds. He would eye up the visitors watching him, pick one out of the crowd and try to stare them down. If he got mad at you, he would rush the thick Plexiglas wall keeping him contained. On several occasions over the years, he managed to crack the thick glass.

The next day we toured the Cave of the Mounds, a cave west of Madison. Over the years, we have been through quite a few caves. I don’t remember anything special of the cave itself, but outside in what would appear to be the driveway, they had set up sluices so that young geologists could shift through rock from the cave in search of gemstones, or just plain cool rocks. Over the years, we have collected more than our share of just plain cool rocks.

Next we visited The House on the Rock in Spring Green. This would have to be the one tourist place I have visited by far more than any other. In 1973, it was still mostly about the House, which all by itself was interesting enough with all of its passageways, low ceilings, hidden seating areas. Carpet on the walls, stained glass windows, interior fountains, book cases in recesses that were not accessible.

The House on the Rock was the home of Alex Jordan, a sculptor and collector. I don’t know where in the great scheme of things he lost control, but to me, I just liked the simplicity of the House itself, the original Gate House and the Mill House. Over the years, the attraction has been added to and added to. The maze of buildings holding thousands of collections of everything from merry-go-round horses, to butterflies, to room-size music machines, though very interesting to experience, seems to detract from the straightforwardness of the original structures.