What Do You Do Up There?

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!”

Dog Ears Books