Grinch and Radical Betty explore a cave (click for more)

Hands down, I think I have gotten more feedback about that Pictured Rocks kayak trip a bunch of us took in June than any post I have ever written. I posted pictures but I realize that I never really wrote anything much about the trip itself. Since people seem interested both in the trip and kayaking in general, here goes.

The trip was my cousin Aimee’s idea. She lives on Lopez Island, WA and is an expert kayaker who guides expeditions around the San Juan Islands. Others on the trip were her mother (Radical Betty), her brother (Grinch), me, and my 21-year-old daughter (Lizard Breath), as well as a father-daughter team who signed up independently. Our ages ranged from 13 to 84 with levels of experience all over the map.

Our trip was guided by Northern Waters, which operates out of Munising, Michigan, a 2-hour drive from our family’s beach near Brimley. Betty and Aimee drove over there the night before and stayed in a motel. Lizard and I drove over early the next morning, as did Grinch.

We met in the parking lot at 9 AM, where we paid for the trip ($115 each adult), signed releases and were fitted with wet suits and life jackets. There is no bathroom on the premises so we drove down the street to the Shell Station and topped off the tank in order to use that one.

We drove about twenty miles to Miner’s Beach to launch the kayaks. (There was an outhouse there.) We decided to use three tandem kayaks (me and Lizard, Betty and Grinch, and the father-daughter team) and two singles (the guide and Aimee). Transporting the kayaks between the parking lot and the beach (and back) was just about the most difficult part of the trip. From the water to the top of the bank, there was a steep incline with deep sand to trudge through. The single kayaks are significantly bigger and heavier than my little Walden Vistas and the tandems are huge. It took four people to schlep one of those. Fortunately, we had Grinch and a few amazons to help :-). It was a very hot day (mid-80s) and when we got all that gear down to the beach, I hit the water in short order!

Once on the beach, the guide showed us how to put on all our gear, helped us adjust our foot rests or peddles pedals (thought that word looked a little weird) correctly and then gave us a lesson on paddling and steering, etc. After we launched, we had a little time to practice as we headed west around the rock formation known as Miner’s Castle. I have been kayaking for a number of years now but I have never paddled a tandem or steered with a rudder, so that was all new and I learned some other things too, making the lesson very worthwhile.

After Miner’s Castle, we headed to the end of Miner’s Beach, where we swam again and ate our packed lunch. Ours was Liz’s pasta salad, soon to appear on my blahg. Aimee shared some canteloupe and dark chocolate with the group.

As lunch ended, the sky over Grand Island started getting a little dark and threatening and we could hear some rumbles of thunder. The guide listened to his weather radio and found that there were pop-up style thunderstorms, some severe, in the Keweenau Keweenaw (sorry, too lazy to look up correct spelling) Peninsula to the west and near Manistique to the south but nothing significant in our area. A rule of thumb in uncertain conditions is that if lightning appears, wait twenty minutes and reassess. While we got our kayaks ready to go again, we kept a watch for lightning and when none appeared, we launched for the second half of our trip. It was the right decision because the dark clouds turned out to be a “plassover,” as we often say on the beach.

For this half of the trip, we went the opposite direction, eastward, which is where we saw most of those beautiful colors. (The pictures I have on the web do not really do the colors or rock formations justice because they are optimized for faster loading.) There were waterfalls, little caves to nose the kayaks into and places where water seeped through many feet of sandstone and “rained” on us. At one point, the guide rescued a wayward garter snake from the water and we brought it back to the beach at the end of the trip. Another interesting event was when a small rock fall occurred within feet of where we were kayaking. Aimee, who was probably the closest and has experience skiing in avalanche country to boot, beat a fast retreat from that. I’m sure we were all thinking about when one of the huge rock towers on Miner’s Castle suddently decided to drop into the lake a month or so previously. We were roughly in the area of “B” on this map from the Northern Waters site. Miner’s Beach and Miner’s Castle are marked.

Kayaking? Is it safe? Can anybody do it? Don’t you tip over a lot? What about the Eskimo Roll? I am no expert but, to me, kayaking is an intuitive sport, much like cross-country skiing. The technique involved should be accessible to anyone in reasonably good health that gets regular exercise. A lesson or two never hurts but, if you are just going to paddle around a lazy river, it’s easy enough to just get in and start paddling. Although I have experience, I regard bodies of water like Lake Superior with a lot of respect and appreciated being with a guide at the Pictured Rocks.

Although Northern Waters does not require experience for their day trips, some restrictions are in place, mainly regarding weight, to weed out marginal participants. For example, the 75 pound minimum weight requirement keeps out little kids, for whom this trip would *not* be appropriate. I got the idea that the guides will tailor the trip somewhat according to the skill level of the group in general. For instance, I suspect if they perceived that people were getting tired, they may turn back toward the beach a little sooner. But that was not characteristic of our enthusiastic group!

Oh, do you tip over a lot? Well, not unless you’re doing something off the wall, like trying to splash nearby swimmers with your paddle, roight Marquis? 😉

I do not know why I didn’t notice it *before* I went for my walk this morning but when I walked into the kitchen *after* my walk, my hyper-sensitive nose started bleeping like crazy! Bad smell! Funky odor! What died in here? Weirdly enough “no one” else seemed to notice it. And Mouse, who *would* have noticed it, wasn’t up yet, so we know who “no one” is, right? 😉 It wasn’t the garbage, that was already safe out at the curb in its A2cart or whatever that thingamajig is.

On top of that, two (count ’em) vee-hickles needed the help of a repair person today. Jim, areya readin’ this somewhere? If so, the green honda encountered a razor blade the other day — in the street, it wasn’t deliberately slashed, just a freak accident — and subsequently received new tires. The Indefatigable, at 14 years of age, just has issues. It goes around town just fine if you remember to keep track of how many miles you’ve driven since the last fill-up. But tomorrow it needs to pull a trailer to kzoo. So. The guys at A2 Muffler were glad to see their old buddy today. (Uh, the jeep, not necessarily the GG.) So, that’s the vee-hickle scoop, for those who care, whichever side of life they are on.

I did have to dispense with a dead rodent. Don’t worry, I took my glasses off so I wouldn’t have to look at the decomposing body and I boiled the tongs I used to dredge it out from under the sink. And I also hosed out the A2cart thingamajig, not because of the rodent, just because it stank to high heaven. There were some tense moments this morning as the normally vee-hickle-abundant Courtois family debated how to get who where when and how.

Horrible smells are gone. The green honda is home with new tires. The Indefatigable is (I think) ready to go tomorrow. With the trailer. Running lights? Hmmm. Everybody got where they had to go today. My school friend Sandy (yes kids, I do have school friends) was kind enough to drive me home from our breakfast meeting.

It is hot and humid here. There was a good rainstorm. There were a few too many people around here today. It gets like this in southeast Michigan in the middle of the summer. There is always a day when I am just about jumping out of my skin. There’ll be a day in about February, or maybe November, when I’ll miss this. It is swampy here. Gitchee Gumee is too many miles away. I love it here anyway.

Lemme see, Kathy (my sister-in-law) has once again reminded me that I have been remiss. Quite a bit remiss this time! So, here we go:

• July 1, anniversary: Suzie and Barry (28th?)
• July 2, birthday: Tim, married to Katie, a Fin G4 of the Miller clan
• July 2, birthday: Judd, a Fin G4 of the Miller clan
• July 2, birthday: Edie-Lynn, a Fin G5 of the Miller clan, daughter of Nate
• July 3, birthday: Ana, a Fin G5 of the Miller clan, daughter of Katie
• July 3, anniversary: me and the GG (24th) (5-week vacation anyone? ;-))
• July 5, anniversary: Pooh and The Marquis (26th)
• July 5, anniversary: Jay and Carl (21st)
• July 6, birthday: Sally our niece, 30-something
• July 9, birthday (we think): Haley Sue our niece, 10 (?) Becky, correct me???
• July 14, birthday: Sandy my cousin, a member of the Tucson Crew
• July 14, birthday: Sheila our niece, a year younger than her sister Sally
• July 15, birthday: Doug our nephew, 24
• July 15, birthday: Becca, Fin G4 of the McDowell clan, Suzie’s step-daughter
• July 20, birthday: Roberta my aunt, The Commander’s sister
• July 22, birthday: Aimee my cousin, my age
• July 22, birthday: The Marquis, husband of Pooh my cousin, also my age
• July 22, birthday: Dennis our nephew, 16

Anyone else? Lemme know!

(Fins, does all that G4/G5 stuff make your heads spin? :-))

“Give Jean this money and, if there are any bags left, get me one. Do NOT let her refuse the money!” I said that to Mouse this morning before she left for her job at the Ann Arbor Young Actors Guild Summer Theatre Academy, a 2-week day-camp that we have been attending and/or working at absolutely forever.

This is probably somewhere back in my blahg archives but it may bear repeating. When Mouse was in second grade at Haisley School, The Ann Arbor Young Actors Guild (YAG) partnered up with Haisley to stage a 2-week summer day camp with a focus on (what else) theatre arts. After some unsuccessful attempts to recruit “at-risk” kids to attend the camp for free tuition (the school district was paying), teachers at the school who were involved identified some non-at-risk kids that they thought might benefit from it. Mouse was invited to attend. The tuition was free, I had seen the YAG director in action, Haisley School is in our backyard, and Lizard and the GG were heading out to the badlands, etc., for most of that two weeks. To me, it was a no-brainer.

Problem? Mouse didn’t want to have anything to do with the idea. “No, I do *not* want to do that!” So, I bribed her. As the first day of camp approached, I had some qualms. Was I doing the right thing? What if she hates it? Is theatre really a good thing for a shy kid? (I actually thought Mouse was shy in those days and didn’t realize that she ran the universe.) The first day rolled around and we packed her a lunch and I walked her over to the school. When we went in the front door, we were immediately greeted by Sue, the YAG director. I don’t remember the exact words or gestures, but I was shooed out the door by Mouse in very short order. You get out of here, Moom.

I have vague memories of actually cleaning my basement that week and, as far as YAG goes, we never left. There were more theatre camps to follow and eventually both kids started to act in plays. And stage manage. And assistant-direct. I think each kid has at least a 25-plus resume of YAG plays. At some point, I became the administrator of the organization. I loved that job in many ways and the summer academy was just about the most fun of all. By that time, we were at the U of M Student Theatre Arts Complex, in the “shadow” of the Big House, aka, the UM Stadium. It is not an exotic site for a camp but most of the kids in our camp don’t much care. They are there to do theatre and that’s about it.

I quit last fall. Rather abruptly, unlike me. The whole thing was just too much at the moment. I still absolutely positively love all of the people that I worked with. And the kids and the parents (well, most of them ;-)). And, just all of it. Jean and I went for coffee today and she said they were doing ice cream cones this afternoon. Did I want to help? Sure! It was fun. There were three of us. I can’t believe we ever served ice cream cones to 90 kids without three people at the snack table. I’ll go back to visit next week and help with the snow cone machine and who knows what else. I miss that place.

Anyway, this summer, Mouse is working with the esteemed Tina as assistant director of the Shakespeare group (Midsummer’s Night’s Dream), and, when I got over there today, she handed me back my money. Why? Because a YAG bag was already there with my name on it. It was apparently built into the order. Thanks, Jean! You are more than the best! And Sue, you have the best camp in town.

I have a pretty good collection of YAG bags now. Purple, blue, red, green, and now yellow. I guess I just can’t completely leave!

Yesterday. Got up early. Walked the beach. Cadged coffee from Radical Betty and Grinch and retrieved Froggy from his all-nighter (grokka) with Green Guy, getting my daily dose of political commentary in the process. grok grok. yeah, Green Guy sure knows a lot o’ stuff! grok grok. Saw The Commander off to water ex and other octo-adventures. Cereal, email, dishes, pack. Kayaked the bay. Put as many boats and boat-related items away as was physically possible (note to GG, we need to put the rollers out for the Starcraft). Said good-bye to Suzie and Sandy for the year (sad). Drove to St. Ignace. Gas at Shell, holding my nose to shut out the odor of the gargoyle. Fast coffee at McDonald’s drive-thru parking lot. Crossed the bridge and on to the Houghton Lake Group Home. Obtained a few crackers to tide me over. Continued on down the I75 SUV Speedway to the Planet Ann Arbor. Went to the Kroger uscan (sigh). Sat in the Kroger parking lot in the rain and returned a call from Karen. Got back to the Landfill. Shoveled through mail. Cooked. Battled fruit flies and rodent crap. Sigh.

Don’t really want to be here because it doesn’t seem like there is a whole lot to look forward to. But here is where I am. So, while I was waiting for Marci at Barry’s this morning, I got on-line and made my own fun:

• INP 203 Designing User Experience II (Tuesdays, 9-12)
• INP 275 Web Database (Mondays, 6-9)
• INP 290 Web Design Practicum (Mondays, 9-12)

I hope none of those classes get canceled because I need something constructive to do this fall. I’ll be anxiously watching the class status until the minimum number of students has enrolled. Oh yeah, there are some little voices in my head.

Maybe I should check out some of the programs at one of the big universities around here. And then there is the breaking news that google.com is opening a big new office here on the Planet. I wonder if there will be anything there for an old baggy programmer webmom wannabe like me…

Onward and maybe somewhat upward this time around. Yathink?

Said Jed Clampett on the Beverly Hillbillies reruns that were blaring at the laundromat yesterday morning. It is now around 9 AM Tuesday and as soon as I finish writing this post, I’m hitting the road. I’m feeling a little emo this morning. I was hoping a nice solitary kayak trip would give me some insight as to why or at least some strength but, although it was a nice ride, nothing particularly insightful came along, so I guess I’m just gonna have to just motor along about as usual.

I pulled all seven kayaks and assorted paddles up on the bank. Yes, that includes the Regenstreif kayaks. I flipped the canoe over. It is too heavy for me to drag up the bank alone. I cannot budge the Starcraft. To my eyes, it looks like it should be pulled up a considerable amount. The water is low this year and we can only hope there are no NW gales. All of the life jackets (I think, there’s one on the porch) are in the garage on the brown shelves. As are extra paper towels and tall white kitchen bags. The refrigerator is in relatively decent shape considering we’ll be back up.

I think I will travel the I75 SUV Speedway all the way down, for various reasons, construction be damned. I may or may not stop at the Houghton Lake Group Home on the way. If anyone needs to call me (you know who you are), my cell phone will be on.

It was fun up here the last ten days. We gave Grandaddy a pretty good sendoff I think, although ashes have not been scattered yet. Later this summer… I miss all you guys. I wish I had had a little more time with each of you. Life is so goddamn short.

Anyway, to paraphrase Radical Betty about a million years ago:

The beds are made
The dogs are out
The guests are gone
Now dance and shout

NOT!!! It’s a bad pic but the beds *are* made:

But I am not in the mood to dance and shout. The summer has really just begun and we are ready for more guests here!

I am outta here heading back toward the Planet. Onward.

“You are a broken robot bad robot head,” said Green Guy this morning as I left for my work day after cadging a cup of coffee from him. I am not sure that “broken” was the actual word but neither Radical Betty or I can remember the actual word. But it *was* a work day. Actually it all started last evening with the weekly preparations for garbage pickup…

The Commander: The garbage is all ready to go! I’ll just pull my car around and get it out of the garage.

Garbage Woman (hopefully): Did you get the bags in the shed?

The Commander: There aren’t any bags in the shed!

Garbage Woman: Ohhhhh, yeeeess there aaaaare…

The Commander: No, there aren’t.

Garbage Woman: Yes there are.

The Commander: That stuff is just old charcoal and stuff.

Garbage Woman: Nooooo, it is no-ot. C’m’ere, I’ll show you. [dum de dum de dum. Heads toward the shed.]

The Commander (approximate words): Well, why didn’t you say it was in the *barn*? I didn’t know what you were talking about!

Garbage Woman: Now, don’t panic when you see how many bags are in there…

Well, I don’t exactly remember what was said next but there were 6-8 bags in there. Garbage Woman swooped into action and stomped them all down and let the air out so they would fit into the two already almost full cans. And we loaded ’em into The Commander’s trunk and schlepped ’em up to the road. The End.

Until today:

• Lockview Laundromat: three triple-loaders plus a regular-sized machine for some towels The Commander found in her car after the fact. Started after 8 AM. Finished by 9:30!
• Sheets back on the upstairs beds: “Well, that’ll take you the rest of the morning!” opined The Commander. Wanna bet? 15 minutes flat! No, I do *not* make those fussy old nurse corners. Life is too short!
• Clean the bathroom and replace the moldy old shower curtain.
• Shake rugs and sweep the beach back out of the cabin, using a vacuum cleaner to suck up dust bunnies along the way.

I will never be able to emulate The White Tornado and you will not catch me ironing on the bank with my iron plugged into a tree. We’ll talk about my ironing exploits in the dank, dark, slimy Landfill dungeon another time. I hate housework and I am more like a combination of whirling dervish and out-of-control robot bad robot head when I do get down to it. But it was time and we are now ready for the next crew to come up. And I think I had more to say but The Commander is talking and that is a Good Thing (!) and whatever it was I wanted to say is definitely not more important than me sitting here talking to The Commander.

Sam and Kayak Woman powerbooking with Nick looking on, pic by jcb (click for more)

Yesterday we (me, the GG and Mouse) headed over to Sam the archaeologist’s cabin. Mouse and the GG stayed through the afternoon and I stayed overnight and today Sam and jcb drove me home. Uh, home being the shores of Gitchee Gumee. The Planet Ann Arbor is in a couple days. Sam hung around here while jcb made a trip to Canada. Ohmigosh! I am too tired to blahg about it much!

The terrain around Sam’s cabin is not at all like what we have here on Gitchee Gumee, but the feeling is somehow the same. It is a bunch of land without a whole bunch of cabins (houses) chockablock. You guys, can we please send some real-estate developers to Mars or Jupiter or someplace? They are just bad. I am sorry. Like I said, I am tired.

The weekend was filled with (not necessarily in order and definitely forgetting some things) walking, swimming in L. Manistique, flinging leeches up onto Sam’s beach to die (Sam did that, I was just a leetle bit squeamish), rain, thunder, poison ivy, cleaning our feet with alcohol, drinking wine (speaking of alcohol), lupine, outhouses, eating all kinds of stuff including potato chips, washing our hair in L. Superior, members of the danaus plexippus species doing their business, french fries from the Newberry McDonald’s, treadle sewing machines, digital cameras, checking email and blahgging (or trying to in my case) from a waaarrrless connection that I will not disclose, a beach fire at Sam’s neighbor’s, southwest winds, northwest winds, outhouses. What am I forgetting???

THANK YOU jcb!!! For fixing some of the issues my powerbook has been having!

Ababsurdo is going offline today. We are traveling over to the Smith cabin on Manistique Lake. There is an internet black hole there. That is okay. Seeya tomorrow.

Sunset on Lake Superior, July 6, 2006 (click thumbnails for larger images)

Swimming, kayaking, water lice, dogz, trespassing attempts, orange plywood, toilet seats in the trees, rocks, unsuccessful cylinder hunts, golden eagles, aliens on the beach, garbage and more garbage, dishes and more dishes, Clyde’s, moths on the deck. I don’t know what else.

“Cabin of Finlayson Clan. Built in the early part of the Twentieth Century. 1924. May she stand forever.”
— J. Finlayson (click for a few more)

“We’ve owned this beach for 80 years and we know about riparian rights!” I once said to a drunk, rather misogynistic ATV driver from the Canadian side. He had somehow found his way down the Armstrong-Faunt Wetlands Drainage Ditch onto our beach and was looking for some “ashphalt” so he could get outta there. He peered at me in amazement. You could tell he was thinking, “80 years? You are obviously an old bag (grok grok, she sure is! grok grok) but I don’t think you have been around quite that long?!?”

No, I haven’t, but my grandaddy and two of his buddies were and they bought this beach back in the 1920s. They built Birch Point Road, now a wide, paved county road, and they each built a log cabin. My grandaddy used to take the train out from Sault Ste. Siberia to the cabin and he would get off at a little stop called Gladys and walk the rest of the way. I’ve been to Gladys but I don’t think I would recognize it without Jack to point it out. Radical Betty and Jack, their siblings, and the McNaughton kids used to play rum-runner and coast guard on the beach.

Up until I was six years old, we spent summers in the old cabin. I can remember sleeping on the front porch with all my cousins. Jim (2 years) used to caw at the crows early in the morning. There was a person named Elizabeth, our great-aunt, who would tell us to just growl right back when it thundered in the middle of the night. There was a wood cooking stove in the kitchen that I can remember my Grandma using to bake pies. Sometimes with blueberries that came from out in the front yard. And when there was a big old northwest wind, there would be a roaring fire in that huge fireplace and we would stand in front of it forever after we went swimming.

I guess to finish this off, I could write some sappy stuff about how all the families that used to stay together at the old cabin loved each other very much but space is space and they ended up with their own cabins. But today is the day we *finally* did Grandroobly’s funeral home visitation and I am tired and out of words, not to mention editing steam. When Karen and I arrived home at the cabin tonight, we got out of the car and a lake freighter blew a master salute. How appropriate can it get?

P. S. I won’t even pretend to be an expert about riparian rights but I do know where to look that kind of stuff up.

Well, not really, but it is relatively quiet in here after a rather loud, green grok grok morning, so maybe I will try to actually write something, since all the party stuff caused yesterday to get completely away from me.

I think if I re-learned anything from throwing such a huge party it is that we are lacking in chiefs around here, even though one of us is known as The Commander. If I had a dime for every time I said, “I don’t know,” in response to a question yesterday, I would be, well, maybe not rich, but. I am okay at motoring along getting all the thises and thats done. All the little tiddly stuff. Putting lasagnes together. Cooking breakfast for ten. Serve yourself. Scrabbling together lunch for thirteen. Here it is, get it yourself. Processing dishes. And garbage. Cleaning toilets. And sinks and tubs. Sweeping floors. Shaking rugs. Going to the laundromat. Changing sheets. Lugging things (chairs, food, garbage, laundry, etc.) around. Orchestrating an overall plan and delegating specific things to various people? Not.

I am not a chief. I am glue. When I worked for the actors guild, I remembered things. When and where the plays were. Who the families were, who had paid for what, who hadn’t paid for what, where the YAG lights were. If you wanted to actually get something *done*, that was Paula’s department. When someone would ask me what they could do to help, my usual response was, “I don’t know.” If you asked Paula, you would definitely get something to do. “Set up the concession table.” “Pass out these forms.” “Pick up that trash and sweep the floor.” She was pretty good glue, too, but she was also a *chief*! She is over on the other side now and I miss her and it’s complicated why I don’t work for the actors guild any more but probably one big reason is that there is no Paula.

And then there was the Forsythe Science Fair. I was the registration dragon. I kept track of the projects. Assigned them numbers. Labeled the tables. Made a map of the tech room. Figured out what to do with two- or three-person projects. Showed panicky parents where their kids’ projects were. But if somebody asked me what they could do to help, my usual response was, “I don’t know,” and I would point them in Vicki’s direction. “Arrange the sandwich table.” “Go get the clipboards.” “Put those posters up.” She was the chief and she was a good one. Actually, she still is a good chief. But we don’t do the science fair any more. Our kids gradgiated from middle school eons ago and we were so happy about that, we were disruptive at the ceremony but that’s a whole ‘nother entry.

Anyway, somehow we made it through yesterday without a chief. Well, except that Jan gently steered us through some of the difficult logistical parts. Like, “You know, it is really nice behind your garage and you could put the tables inside the garage,” etc., etc. Jan is *way* too polite to say, “y’all do NOT want to make people hang out and try to eat on the beach with a cold, screamin’ northwest wind blowin’ the food and paper goods all over hell’s half acre.”

That party is done. It was fun. It was wild. A big bunch of Fins and Piedmont/McNaughtons and a smattering of MacMullans for good measure. We had WAY too much food. Enough to feed all of the Fins and Macs again tonight. And I was so tired this afternoon that I practically fell asleep on the beach. Until The Marquis threw some sunscreen at me. Darn, when it first woke me up, I thought it was a beer! Oh, well.

A few weeks ago, The Commander said something like, “We don’t really need a garage.” I said, “Well, we have one…”

And we did need a garage today. We made a beach party and it was as windy as hell but we had the garage and it was warm on the road back behind the garage and there were wine spills but not oil spills and lots of people were there.

Oh, what the hell. I am outta words for today. Good beach party. Love y’all.

Hap-py An-ni-ver-sa-ry,
Hap-py An-ni-ver-sa-ry,
Hap-py An-ni-ver-sa-ry,
Haaaaap-py An-ni-ver-sa-ry

And that’s about all yer gonna git from me ’cause there’re about a brazillion people here and parties, parties, parties. Parties on the beach and parties on the deck and parties in the cabin. I spent all morning going to the grocery store and processing dishes and making lasagne and it was hotter than Hadies and just about the time I got to a space where I could take a break, Gitchee Gumee coughed up a bunch of clouds and the temperature dropped about 10 degrees (outside, not inside, it’s still frickin’ hot inside) and the wind came up and it started to spit rain.

Here’re some o’ them thar vee-lociraptors emerging outta Gitchee Gumee and you can click for more beach bum pics. They’re from yesterday when it did turn into a beach day. That is all I have today. I don’t think I could write anything more if I tried. And pizza is fine for dinner tonight as long as somebody else orders it. I’ll make the G&Ts!

Velociraptors (click for more)

Asks The Commander.

“Four,” said I, in a deadpan.

“Where are we gonna put ’em?” asks The Commander.

“Well, we *do* have a garage,” said I.

“Oh, yeah,” said The Commander.

Yes, there are five vee-hickles out there this morning. By the end of the day, there will be nine. Engineer’s dream.

I am really not paying any attention to the boats this year. For the purpose of this post, when I say boat, I mean lake freighter, not kayak. The boats have always been one of main the topics of conversation around here as well as a great source of interest and excitement. It is beautiful here and sometimes it is exciting. And then there are the days when you have to really reach to conjure up any kind of excitement. These days, there aren’t as many boats going by as there used to be and B52s do not come screaming along over the treetops any more. Jim and Grandroobly had a particular interest in the boats and Jim went so far as to cultivate the truly amazing talent of burping the name of one of them, the Paul R. Tregurtha.

The Paul R. Tregurtha

When a downbound boat makes its first appearance upon the horizon, the beached whales perk up. They abandon all of the usual vapid conversations about cooking bats and Sam Small and Levi Large and onion bag hats and processing garbage and terraforming, dum de dum de dum. grtok grok They start to speculate. Is it a big ugly? Or a salty? What is that white thing? Is it the Cort? Or Big Butt? What port is it from? Is it the Joseph P. Cotton? Grandroobly used to delight in identifying boats correctly as soon as the least little smidgeon of boat appeared on the horizon. The beached whales would be amazed! How can he do that? Well, how he could *do* that was that he had been up at the cabin listening to the scanner. He had heard the boat call in fifteen miles out from Isle Parisienne. And you can’t even see Isle Parisienne from the beach. It’s over the horizon.

One day, after a long, windy, gray, boatless day, The Commander and I were doing the kitchen dance trying to get dinner ready. Grandroobly was sitting in his rocking chair having a little snort with his binoculars at the ready and my little beach urchins were quietly engaged in some sort of pre-dinner activity. Suddenly, one of the girls yelled “BOAT!” Anyone who might have watched the ensuing butt-bumping scramble that The Commander and I did in our attempt to get out of the narrow kitchen to see the boat would’ve thought the space shuttle was landing in front of the cabin.

The view out the front window. If you look closely, the Cort is downbound. It’s hard to see.

I always used to get caught up in this boat stuff and I would keep a pair of binoculars with me at all times to check the identity of the freighters. Those boys were so persnickety about getting sand in binoculars that I finally bought my own pair. I’m pretty careful with them but they are a little sandy. This summer, for about five minutes, I considered the idea that I didn’t really need to pack my own binoculars. With the boys gone, I figured I could use whichever damn binoculars I wanted. But I stopped that nonsense short at the thought that they might well find a way to get back at me: tip my kayak over, make it snow in July, bear in the cabin, etc.

Change happens. Those boys are gone now and we can’t hear the boats call in any more. Homeland security or merely a quantum leap of technology, I don’t know. I just can’t be bothered with checking up on the boats this year. I just don’t care. I can recognize some of them without the binoculars. Like Big Butt, which is currently upbound just past the island. I get the binocs out sometimes to look at something unusual but I couldn’t be bothered checking up on everything that goes by. Even on a slow day. But yaknow? The Talking Binoculars is on her way and I am sure that she will keep us informed.

And, somehow I have actually managed to write this entry, even though The Commander has been talking to me the whole entire time I have been writing 😉