Miscellaneous notes on our group
camping trip to Ludington State Park
Will
Drive for Beauty
A five-hour drive for only a
weekend of camping seems long for people like us whose eyelids get heavy after
just one hour of tires humming and scenery blurring. Our friends seem to have
more energy for driving and need only a brief bathroom break in a five-hour
drive. Yesterday, on our way home from a group campout, my husband and I
stopped three times, once to eat lunch, once to buy Michigan blueberries, and
once in desperation at a Starbucks where we sat nursing coffee and discussing
which one of us the caffeine would take quick enough effect on to keep eyes and
brain alert for the last hour and a half between there and home.
Although we struggled with the
drive, five hours to Ludington State Park was so worth it. For 25 years, I have
appreciated southwest Michigan’s pristine ribbons of sand and pure, refreshing
Lake Michigan swimming. Going further up the coast meant even more of the same,
with the added benefit of forested sand dunes to hike and inland lakes to canoe
and kayak. If southwest Michigan’s
Lake Michigan playgrounds are convenient natural beauty, northwest Michigan’s Lake Michigan playgrounds are breathtaking
natural beauty.
Stuff
Our friends are experienced campers
who bring tools enough to improvise just about any fix needed. Our group has Philips
screwdrivers and four types of camping lanterns, butcher knives, cutting boards,
spatulas and tongs, nonstick skillets and percolating coffee pots. Camp stoves
and red-and-white-checked-clothed picnic tables sit under an expansive kitchen
tarp. An assembly line of kitchen helpers prepares hot meals for 7 to 14 people and
washes, rinses, and dries their dishes and silverware. We sleep in tents, but
we are quite comfortable.
In one respect, camping simplifies
life. One’s campground stuff is significantly less than one’s household stuff.
I find this freeing, similar to living out of a suitcase on vacation. On the other
hand, on this trip I was surprised to note I was more preoccupied with keeping
track of my stuff. Maybe it was my attempted simplicity that caused this, I don’t
know.
I took only one little backpack
that I thought could double as my bathroom bag and my beach bag. Good plan, but
then I ended up packing, unpacking, and repacking the backpack two to four
times a day. One doesn’t need a camera at the bathroom, but one might want a
camera at the beach. Flip-flops are good for both communal showers and beach
walking, so they stay in the bag. To walk to the bathroom just to brush my
teeth, I transferred a zipper bag with toothbrush and paste to my pocket and
then had to remember to return it to the backpack—but not if the bag’s next
trip was to the beach.
Camping
Prayers
Prayers fell into three categories:
thanksgiving before meals, awed praise for God’s creation, and protection
requests—the last for traveling mercies and communal bathroom mercies. Water (or
worse), sand, and long hairs snaked over every surface—and park staff cleaned these
restrooms twice a day. “Oh God, please don’t let my toothbrush fall on the
floor.” “Oh, God, please don’t let my washcloth fall on the floor.” Again, our camper friends seemed to take
bathroom crud in stride, but just the possibilities turned my stomach.
One day we walked a long stretch of
white sand to Big Sable Point Lighthouse, built in 1867. Our friends who’d been
there before had suggested we bring $3 so we could go inside the lighthouse.
Well, going inside a lighthouse sounded historically interesting. And seeing,
for example, the tiny light bulb that was beacon to Great Lakes ships as far as
18 miles away was interesting.
But what our friends had meant
about going inside was climbing up inside. Even as I trudged
barefoot in the sand approaching the lighthouse, I thought how fun to be in the aerie way high up by the beacon. What a great view from
there. Even as I stood at the bottom of the wrought-iron spiral stairs and
looked up, I thought how pretty the lacy pattern on each step was. Even when I
knew I’d be climbing 130 steps, I thought the climb would be only a mild
challenge.
Well. Climbing to the first
landing, I thought, “I can’t believe there’s only one handrail.” Climbing to
the next landing, I wondered, “Are these steps getting skinnier and steeper?” My
self-talk became, “Keep looking up, Jane; keep looking up. Look ONLY at the
handrail.” Occasionally, the opening above me narrowed, and I had to bend
forward to avoid bumping my head. It’s very hard to tilt your head down, keep
your eyes open, and not look down. My stomach flipped a few times. On a couple
landings, when I stopped to peer out a porthole, I remembered my lifelong fear
of heights.
By the time I stepped outside near
the top, I was afraid enough for 20 people. Buffeted by wind, I plastered my
body against the lighthouse itself and a smile on my face. So many visitors
blocked my view, however, I knew I would have to surmount my fear of standing
at the railing, too. Gripping the railing for dear life, I circled the top of
that lighthouse several times to take panoramic snapshots.
Eager to touch ground again, I poked my head in at the top of the stairwell to find my stomach doing back flips at the sight
of the ground through all those see-through steps. All pride aside, I asked a
lighthouse volunteer to hold my hand while I sat down on the top step. I
managed to stand on most steps, but I did sit down again in a few sections. Upon
final touchdown, my stomach settled, and I enjoyed a short video about the
lighthouse. Curtains breezily billowing further calmed me.
As each visitor emerged from his tubular trek, a lighthouse volunteer handed him a bright yellow reward sticker
to wear. I wore mine proudly for two days. I still can’t believe I got up and
down that lighthouse, but I’m glad I did. I’m sure there’s a life lesson
somewhere in this story. The difference between succumbing to and overcoming
fear is in what you look at? Maybe being too far into a fearful endeavor to
turn around helps? Worthwhile achievements may not come easily?
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