Honesty

Honesty is like an icicle; if once it melts that is the end of it.

~American proverb

On the Shores of White Lake

Mark had meetings in Grand Rapids and decided to stay in the neighborhood for the weekend. You know what that means don’t you? A day of fun and exploration! The last time we were out and about was during Thanksgiving weekend. We were overdue and decided to head north along the lakeshore.

Mark hails from Muskegon and is quite familiar with the environs just north of his old stomping grounds. I had only made a brief visit to the Whitehall-Montague area once during our Lake Michigan circle tour back in the fall of 2009. Today it was finally going to get the poking around attention it deserved.

When we left home fat fluffy flakes (try saying that three times really fast!) were just beginning to tumble from the sky. As we got closer to Lake Michigan and headed north on US 31, the roads become more snow covered and visibility had greatly diminished.

It wasn’t until we returned home later that evening that we learned the area had received 10.7 inches of snow that day. Hmmmmmmm … maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. Ah well, we were already on our way. What’s a few flurries?

We arrived at the sister communities on the opposite shores of White Lake late morning. Having done a bit a research prior to commencing our trip, we learned there were about half a dozen antique shops in the area. Sure enough, as soon as we hit downtown Whitehall, we saw a sign for “Art and Antiques.” Our first stop was at the Colby Street Shops. The art gallery of the shop was actually in the bathroom! Too fun! Mark scored a couple pieces of enameled dinnerware here.

On the north shore of White Lake is the world’s largest weather vane. Measuring 48 feet high and 14 feet long, and weighing in at a whopping 4,300 pounds, it features the White Lake lumber schooner Ella Ellenwood, which was built in 1869 and wrecked in 1901. The weather vane is dedicated in commemoration of the spirit of the Great Lakes sailors who opened this part of the country to the advancement of civilization.

But rather than stand outside in the frostiness to admire Montague’s claim to fame, we decided to check out more of its quaint shops.

One of our faves turned out to be Wildflower II. It is a spinoff of Wildflower Furniture Refinishers we’d see later that afternoon and was tended by the most charming of characters. Art may have been a bit hard of hearing, but his quick wit was amusing. I just love a man who can banter! Mark found a black McCoy pitcher and antique sifter that had to go home with him, especially after Art offered him a 20% discount. And no calculator for this guy … he did all of his mathematical computations the old fashioned way with pencil and paper. Who said that the long division we learned in school way back when would never come in handy?

Even if we wouldn’t have made any purchases, this place was definitely worth a stop. Art told us to be sure to visit his daughter’s furniture showroom, and we promised to do just that after checking out the other stores and grabbing lunch.

(Wildflower II; 4575 Dowling; Montague; 231.903.8705)

Abiding by our preference to avoid chain restaurants and instead rub elbows with the locals, we went with the suggestion of Pekadill’s. With a menu featuring soup and sandwiches, as well as a toasty fireplace, it was the perfect place to take a break from antiquing and the winter weather.

The Canadian cheese soup was delish … though I had to apologize to Mark in advance. I LOVE cheese soup, but it doesn’t always love me, if ya know what I mean. We’d likely have to crack the windows open on the way home!

(Pekadill’s; 503 S. Mears; Whitehall; 231.894.955)

Our last stop in the area was Wildflower Furniture Refinishers and Antique Shop. This big, warehouse-type facility offers antiques in the front, but it’s real claim to fame is its furniture business out back. While I admittedly didn’t have high hopes for this place, it turned out to be my favorite of the day. That was due in large part to owner Sharon Fisk (Art’s daughter) and her welcoming demeanor. As soon as we entered the building she poked her head out, told us to take our time looking around, and to c’mon on back when we were done.

She was in the middle of restoring a beautiful wooden door (I apologize for the fuzzy photo), but took the time to show us around and tell us about her business. What an amazing place! With 33 years in the furniture repairing and refinishing biz, her workmanship and experience were evident in what she showed us. She gave us a tour of the stripping room (furniture, not lap dancing … get your mind out of the gutter!) and the spraying room while she explained her clientele.

Most of her work caters to those looking to restore family heirlooms. Unfortunately the beautiful game table and chairs I had immediately spotted after stepping into the back room belonged to one such client and wasn’t up for grabs. I hate when that happens.

Sharon told us, though, that she also purchases estates and refurbishes the pieces for resale in her antique store. Interestingly, she lost everything to an electrical fire in 1999, but has obviously successfully rebuilt from the ground up. As a girl whose taste tends to lean toward the contemporary, who knew this kind of beauty could be found in old furniture? And, as luck would have it, while we were chatting back in the antique showroom, I spotted two hanging metallic snowflake sconces that had my name written all over them. With a wink Sharon said she must have forgotten to pack them with her other Christmas merchandise and offered them to me for only $4 each. Sold! After we exchanged contact info and I promised to blog about her shop (Hi Sharon!), we headed for home.

I love exploring little towns and discovering what they offer. Time and time again, though, I realize that the best finds are their people. Whether it’s during full-fledged tourist season in the summer months or smack dab in the middle of blustery January, the Whitehall-Montague area is definitely worth a visit. When you’re there, make sure to stop by and see Sharon. She’s one of their greatest treasures!

(Wildflower Furniture Refinishers; 875 Industrial Park Drive; Whitehall; 231.894.9016)

s(No)w Fun

It’s on January days like this that I again have to ask myself the question.

“Why in the heck don’t I live in a more temperate climate where the mercury only moves a mere five degrees in either direction?”

And then I remember that the beauty of changing seasons is one of the things I love most about West Michigan.

Thunderstorms that generate colorful arcs through the clouds and huge puddles to dance in, as well as the promise that dreary and gray will soon be transformed with spring’s multihued rebirth.

Frolicking sandy shorelines while waves tickle the toes, indulging in ballpark frankfurters and s’mores, playing tag with fireflies, and gazing with wonder at a gazillion twinkling stars in the summer sky.

Brisk autumn winds swirling a blaze of fallen foliage, munching on juicy Honeycrips, and carving smiling pumpkin faces.

But you already know how I feel about Jack Frost’s iciness and brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. I would honestly be happy with just three seasons. Can we vote on this? Okay, okay. Even though I’m not fond of it, winter too is part of my territory. I can either take a cue from the northern members of the family Ursidae who hibernate for months on end or I can get out there and enjoy it. As tempting as that former idea may be, the latter is probably far more practical. But I’m not doing this alone. Deni, the boys and I, as well as friends Tom and Jean and their grandchildren, conspired to an afternoon of sledding.

It’s been a while since I last played in winter’s wonderland and I have long since outgrown a warm fur-trimmed snowsuit.

I did remember, though, what I needed to do to brave the elements; layering was the key. Microfiber tights, wool socks, leggings, and stretch pants on the bottom; a cami, long-sleeved tee, turtleneck, wool sweater and down parka on the top. Add a pair of boots, mittens and earmuffs and I was good to go. Which, as I waddled toward the door bundled up snug as a bug in a rug, is exactly what I realized I needed to do! Definitely reminiscent of my childhood days … and again probably TMI. I guess some things never change, huh?

Soccer bowl by summer and ultimate sledding hill when the snow flies, Charlie’s Dump (as it’s known by the locals), was where my posse would convene. I found them positioned near the Porta-John. Coincidence? The hill appeared to be the happenin’ place as it teemed with people and sleds of all shapes and sizes. Everyone was having a great time.

Grab a kid; let’s go!

I shoved off for my first ride with Kaden and all the way down screamed like, well, a girl. Whoa! I don’t remember the hills being THAT fast or the sleds so hard to control. When was my trusty wooden Flexible Flyer on metal runners that you could actually steer replaced with these faster-than-lightening plastic things that take you nowhere near where you intend to go? Add one light-as-a-feather four-year-old to the front of such a sled (that would be Kaden) with all the weight in the rear (that would literally AND figuratively be me!), and you’ll eventually find yourself zooming down the slope backward … and taking out an unsuspecting fellow sledder on your way. Since I don’t have eyes in the back of my head (I’m not a mom, remember?), I didn’t even know what I had hit until I saw him somersault over me. Welcome back to the fine sport of sledding! Since the rules have obviously changed, I wonder … do I get points for all the bodies I bowl over? Fortunately, both he and I emerged unscathed. Unfortunately, I would not be so lucky on Take 2.

I figured I’d better do the next run alone, folded myself into a saucer and was off. Wheeeeeeeeeeeeee! It picked up a lot more speed and even went airborne when I hit a bump. I felt like Aladdin soaring through billows on his magic carpet. Actually, it would have been nice to have a genie grant me three wishes. My first would have been for a safe landing.

As gravity would have it, I did indeed make contact with the ground again … and took the full force of the impact in my lower back. In a word: !@#$%^&*! (Read:  Ouch!  This is a PG-rated blog; I can’t post what I really said!) My remaining two wishes? (1) please don’t let me pass out; and (2) please don’t let me throw up. I lay there for what must surely have been an hour before Deni, Zhak and Kaden gracefully slid in next to me and she wondered if I was okay. I could barely grunt, “No. I hurt my back.” Sister Nurse to the rescue.

She told me to lie on her sled and she’d pull me.  Though I was able to assume the same position that Kaden had mastered for his return trips up the hill,

it’s much easier to tow one light-as-a-feather four-year-old than it is a slightly majorly lumpy middle-aged woman in pain. Tom even came down to help, but they only managed to get me half way up the hill. I TOLD you I’ve put on extra weight these past few months! By the time I crawled my way to the top I thought for sure I was going to die. A hot shower, heating pad and handfuls of anti-inflammatories were in order. After only two fateful rides, I called the sledding thing quits.

You never realize how much your back comes into play until you strain it and feel every twist and turn in those muscles. Like when you have to get into a car and drive home. Or like when you try to bend over to blow dry your hair or brush your teeth. How about rolling over or even just getting out of bed? Fuh’get about it. And going to the bathroom? I’ll spare you from all those details, but let’s just say it was much easier to accomplish when encased in aforementioned layers of clothing.

I’ll be hobbling around in my tennies for the next week or four (no stilettos for this girl), but I think I’m going to live. I’m also seriously considering removing No. 15 (learn to downhill ski) from my Bucket List. In the meantime, I trust you’ll understand if Old Woman Lynn opts to endure the remainder of Old Man Winter inside instead of outside.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to Google “places to live that never get snow and, hence, have no sledding hills.”

It's a Lovely Day in the Neighborhood!

True to the form of my crazy schedule these days, I worked (way too) hard this week. It would have been REALLY easy to stay home and do absolutely nothing. But that notion would have been in direct conflict with my desire to get back into the photography and blogging swing of things. Besides, the temps may have only been pushing the mid 20s, but it was sun, sun, sunny and absolutely GOR-geous. I decided bum-like would have to wait, grabbed my camera and headed out the door.

If you’ll recall, my subdivision is smack dab in the middle of cow country. Cows live on farms, and where there are farms there are barns. Old barns. In my book, they rank right up there with lighthouses. Never saw one that didn’t speak to me. But there’s something about their fading crimson wood adorned with freshly fallen snow against an amazing azure sky that makes them even more alluring.

So I turned right at the “Pavement Ends” sign to see what I could discover.

I bounced down the gravel back roads and pulled over whenever I spotted a camera-worthy subject.

These country byways did not disappoint.

There were old barns around every bend.

I just hope no one wants to know exactly where these rural beauties are. After roaming around for an hour or so, I’m not sure I could ever find them again.

Nonetheless, it was a lovely day in my neighborhood!

She’s Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!

Year’s end is neither an end nor a beginning but a going on, with all the wisdom that experience can instill in us.

~Hal Borland

So, um, yeah. My blog. As I recently relayed to a friend in holiday e-correspondence, I had good intentions. Honest I did. But in the words and infinite wisdom of John Lennon, “life is what happens to you when you’re busy making other plans.” I almost made it through the end of August and actually have about another 1-1.5 months of photos and adventures to post. But things got crazy. Really crazy. And busy. Really busy. With everything that was going on, it became difficult to write in “real time” (as it happened) and I somehow slipped into a routine of work, eat, sleep, repeat. And, if truth be told, until I recently backed up my laptop (another one of those important things I’d been meaning to get to), I hadn't realized that I really haven’t taken any photos since the end of October. Bad blogger!

Know what? I miss it. I love writing and I love taking pictures and I love sharing my perspective of the world with whoever wants to stop by for a gander. All work and no play have indeed made me a very, very, very dull girl. I’ve had to remind myself once again about what’s really important. Like taking the time to live and laugh and love … and pee (that last part was probably TMI, wasn’t it?). That being said, and while I won’t promise it will be every single day, I’m back at it. I’m picking up my camera, dusting off the keyboard and giving it another whirl.

And, even though I fear that the spirit of the moment has been lost, I saw some really remarkable things with some really remarkable people in those last several months of the past decade. While I’m forging ahead instead of trying to play catch up, I do intend to take make the time to write about those experiences as well. I’ll post links back to the entries in case you’re curious (read: really bored).

Life? Even at the risk of sounding way too cliché, it goes on and is indeed only what we make it. I still may not be ready for what it throws in my path, but the upside is that I’ll definitely have something to photograph and blog about!

I’m hoping thinking 2011 is going to be my best yet …

Happy New Year!