CORRECTION: Because of a Republic error, the location of Bear Island was incorrect in a column in the Prime Time section Wednesday. The island is located in Minnesota.
ORIGINAL STORY
When my husband, Mike, and I were newlyweds in 1977, I told him I didn’t want to vacation at the same spot every year like his family had done for generations – fishing trips to Minnesota and Canada. I didn’t even eat fish, for heaven’s sake! I wanted to broaden my horizons by seeing new places and having new experiences.
But life is full of irony. Case in point: A few years ago, I asked my adult sons – separately, which vacations they enjoyed most when they were growing up. The answer from both went something like this: “Well mom, I really liked the times we went to Bear Island – an islet in Presque Isle County, Michigan, where dad vacationed as a kid. We could relax there, explore on our own … we didn’t have to drive somewhere every day, get dragged to historical sites … or go shopping.”
And this: Since 2012, we’ve happily spent family vacations every summer in the same place: Door County, Wisconsin. It’s a peninsula surrounded by Green Bay and Lake Michigan. Quaint little towns dot the peninsula, and it’s full of breathtaking natural beauty. And not only do we go to the same town every summer, but we also always stay at the same resort and request the same unit.
Almost forgot … irony three: I love eating fish now.
A few weeks ago, we stopped at Skipstone Coffee in the Door County burg of Sister Bay. As we waited with others who needed caffeinated wake-me-ups, two-year-old Ellie tugged at her Grampy’s shirt, grabbing his index finger, saying: “C’mon, Grandpa!”
Before long, Mike was dancing with the rest of the family, who – at Ellie’s behest – were swinging along to the beat of jazzy music. If I live long enough to watch Ellie march to “Pomp and Circumstance” at her college graduation, I’ll fondly remember that long-ago morning when, with innocent abandon, she coaxed us to dance with her at Skipstone. I hope she’ll always keep a sense of joy and spontaneity.
Sometimes Mike and I extend our stay in Door County at a friend’s cottage, near the northern tip of the peninsula. It’s quieter there than in busier southern Door County. We love hiking in Newport State Park, near the town of Gills Rock. We enjoy the scent of pine trees and listening to waves lapping the Lake Michigan shore and watching snakes slither and squirrels bouncing through the woods. Even walks along the roadside are pleasurable, where Queen Ann’s lace, purple thistles and wild sweet peas bloom.
This year, at 73, I hiked a little slower and more cautiously than in previous summers. One afternoon, Mike and I took a break from hiking and rested on limestone slabs in a remote corner of Newport State Park. We watched as the weather took a turn and winds whipped up whitecaps on Lake Michigan. I pondered the natural beauty surrounding us and wondered wistfully how many more summers we’d be able to vacation up there.
Centuries ago, Potawatomi likely stopped where we were sitting to scoop drinking water from the lake that they called Michigami. They fished, hunted and lived off the land. Later, European settlers made their way to Door County and cut down the forests for lumber, and before long, the native peoples disappeared, as well.
One day, Mike and I will be distant memories, too. But maybe baby Ellie’s grandchildren will walk these paths, too. Perhaps they’ll sit by Lake Michigan like Mike and me, and others have done, to contemplate the history and beauty of the area and sense the sacred spirit of the Great North Woods.
Sharon Mangas is a Columbus resident and can be reached at [email protected]. Send comments to [email protected]