What Do You Do Up There?
It’s a perfect
summer day. The morning dawns with
a misty ribbon of orange at the horizon around Cathead Point. The sun is hiding
to the east, but has been duly announced by every bird on the peninsula. Maggie the Brittany opens a single
doleful brown eye, then resolutely burrows further into the wedge between
pillow and quilt that she found over night.
Coffee and
grapefruit fuel an early morning writing session to reread and edit the chapter
I finished yesterday. I make my
first incursion into a new chapter, the notes for which I’d typed nearly in my
sleep last night. I answer emailed
questions from Pamela Grath, owner of Dog Ears Books about a guest blog I’ve
done for her.
By 9:00 Maggie is standing next to me, expectant. It’s time for her morning run. I jump into a bathing suit, don summer-weight running shoes, and jury-rig ab I-phone holder at my waist so I can
listen to a podcast about the final volume of the Dictionary of American
Regional English. I'm treated to forty-five straight
minutes of linguistic heaven as the dictionary’s editor in chief and the
language columnist from the Boston Globe (why did the NY Times stop publishing
the On Language column?) discuss the intricacies of sampling, analyzing and
publishing such a project. A running English-teacher–turned-speech-language-therapist–turned-novelist’s listening nirvana!
The dirt road and early morning sunbeams filtering through birch, beech and maples give way to paved road, open sky, and an uphill climb to Christmas Cove Rd. The run’s final
turn leads to a mile of beach that is utterly deserted on this July morning. Sunny, high 70s and the lake nearly
flat calm, but not a soul do I see as I jog at the water’s edge. Off the leash,
Maggie lopes up and over the fore-dune, then down to the water for a gulp of
water. At the end, shoes, hat, I-phone and leash are dropped at the foot of the
dune stairs below the house, and Maggie and I swim off the heat of the three-miler.
We climb to the house where she eats her breakfast and settles into her
mid-morning nap while I ready myself for a trip to town.
Thursday is
publication day for the Leelanau Enterprise and this very
vital paper will provide news and notes for activities over the next
week. I buy one at Tom’s Market,
as well as a New York Times and a few groceries, then cross the street to the
library for audio books for the long car rides in the next week. I stop at
Dolls and More to see the work of a doll-making group that’s met over the last
few months, and then head to Dog Ears Books.
Bill O. Smith gives a recitation of “Chickadees at Night,” the enchanting picture book that
he wrote and published and which was illustrated by Charles R. Murphy. Whimsical, informative, funny and
lovely, it asks and posits answers to the dreamy question of what happens to chickadees
at night. It’s an instant keeper. I stay to get my books signed and
engage in a sympathetic conversation about the upside-down world of publishing.
Back to the lake
house for research with a new find: “A History of Leelanau Township.” As I widen my knowledge of this corner
of the world that I so love to live in now, and that my current novel has as
its setting, I’ve become fascinated by the life that went on here in the
past. The “History” is chock-a-block
full of anecdotes, documents, photos and statistics. No revelations on the exact property that interests me the
most, but a great journey nonetheless.
More work on the
chapter and some time with the newspapers bring me to 4:30 in the afternoon;
past the harshest rays of sun on the beach and time for a long swim and some
reading. I finish “Once Upon a
River,” a Michigan- based coming-of-age story about a young woman raised by a river
and the people who are tied to it, but mostly left to her own resources. By
turns savage and poignant, its plainspoken truths are wonderfully written. Bonnie Jo Campbell is another author
brought to me by Pamela Grath. I
love Pamela’s blogs, booksinnorthport.blogspot.com, and homegroundsaintwenceslaus.blogspot.com.
Is it clear yet
that I am drawn to the artists, literary and otherwise, who seem to thrive
everywhere here? After a dinner quickly made and cleaned up, I set off for the
final outing of the day. Back into
town, I attend my first knitting circle at Dolls and More. Five of us gather to knit and chat
with Sally Coohon, storeowner. My
first foray into doll making came years ago when Sally opened the shop and I
stopped in for the first time and saw a new creative outlet with my name on
it. Dolls and More also figures in
my new novel and the inspiring and comfortable creativity of the place delights
me.
The final stop of
the evening is at Cross Farms, home to Richard and Karen Cross who have built
an authentic labyrinth on a swath of their beautiful meadow. Karen invites people to come on Thursday
evenings and walk the labyrinth with its stone-edged grass pathways. It is a
form of meditation, and when the three of us who showed up this evening finish,
we talk about the healing energy of this spot and the network of like-minded
people who’ve found their way to this corner of the world. The Crosses have
also become production growers of Saskatoon berries, “super fruits” with lots of antioxidants, fiber and
protein. This warm and gentle summer evening provided a great opportunity to appreciate the multi-dimensional character of the activities going on at Cross Farm.
A short ride home
brings me to the lake house just in time to watch another stellar sunset; I
can’t remember when I’ve seen so many in a row. A pretty perfect day to report on “What I do up here!”
