This is the first day I’ve been out on Lake Michigan since early December and I have missed it. As I sat there jamming on the freshening breeze off the floes, the feel of the boat under me and the sound of distant grinding ice, I watched a jogger, several dog-walkers, a couple of photographers, a group of teens, and a pair of young lovers go by. Then, down the beach, came an older man walking through that mix of sand, snow and ice carrying his boots in one hand and leading an old dog with the other. We looked each other up and down and he said, “You’re in a kayak!” and I said, “You’re barefoot!” We looked at each other a further moment and then I said. “I guess this means we can’t call each other crazy.”
While dragging my kayak back up the slippery dune to the truck I met a group of teenaged boys dressed in shorts and carrying a soccer ball on their way down to the beach. Reluctant to leave I rested on a bench and made a phone call and the ice man and his dog came by again. This time the man had his boots on. Going by water I had beat him back to the trail head. He told me he would paddle with me if I was going out tomorrow.
And THAT is why we moved to Muskegon.