I'll just say it. Michigan is one of those states that appeal to you if a) you're at least 2nd generation Polish, or b) you spent your childhood there, making fond memories, which in your adult years eclipse the boring reality of the Great Lakes State. Of course this entire observation is based on 6 days spent in a cabin (they called it a cottage, I call it a cabin) by a lake in a small town, so clearly I'm an expert. But honestly it was a lovely time, I just was expecting something magical based on the stories I'd heard over the years.
And speaking of stories, I'd *swear* that my Mother-in-Law, who arranged (and financed) the trip, told me there would be a washer/dryer at the cabin/cottage. But nope. The family legends also left out the bit about no air conditioning. Instead of snuggling under warm comforters and enjoying 45-degree nights wearing the long-sleeved jammies I packed for everyone, I bunked with my 2 children and 3 oscillating fans (it was "unseasonably hot").
There was also no dishwasher, but I'm not THAT much of a weenie--I can handwash a few dishes. The cool thing was geting to use the gas stove, an appliance I've been craving since the first time I watched Food Network. I love that kind of control: Turn it on and BAM! it's hot. Turn it up, it's fah-REAKING hot. Turn it off, it's hot no mo.
There are actually 2 cabins, both owned by my husband's family, across the quiet street from each other. His parents and various visiting relatives stayed in the shady house by the lake. We stayed in the cozy, brown house with 2 bedrooms and a loft. It was dusty and strewn with toys and misfit knick-knacks from the 70s, which was more than magical to my 4-year old girl.
The lake is enormous and surrounded by a gamut of homestyles--from crumbling shacks to sprawling mansions--but the shoreline is 20 feet of mud (an incessant child-magnet). I thought I'd enjoy wading around with the kids until my foot actually sunk into the mud and my husband shouted, "Keep an eye out for leeches. If you get any on your skin, I'll help get them off."
Liesel doesn't do leeches. I retreated back to the dock with an Icehouse and an attitude.
But I do love fishing. I've been fishing in Florida almost every summer since I was little, and I'll happily bait my own rod with shrimp or frozen anything, but I play the girly card when it comes to... nightcrawlers. I mean,
just the name alone... *shudder*
The tales of The Lake always ended with cooking up the day's catch, which is why we got up early on 9/11, our 6th wedding anniversary, and celebrated by taking Uncle Bob's brand new pontoon boat out for two hours of casting while MIL watched the kids. Every time I throw in the line, I think, "This is IT. This will be the fish of legends. They'll remember it for generations." (
I actually think that.) And I'm uncharacteristically unphased when the line comes back empty.
I did catch a pathetic sunfish or two, but we had pizza instead of a famous fish fry for dinner. Honestly, I could have stayed on the boat all day just adjusting bobbers ("Maybe we're fishing too shallow...") and handing my empty hook over to the hubby for fresh wormage ("Jaaaaaaaaay! Bait me!") and then casting again and again for the giant bottomfeeders. On the other hand, perhaps fishing only appeals to you if spent your childhood there, making fond memories, which in your adult years eclipse the boring reality...
