Because
COVID confinement has changed life as we know it, we expect our annual
pilgrimage to South Haven to be changed. Seeing magnificent Lake Michigan in
many moods does refresh my spirit, sagging from four months of disorienting
events. South Haven’s culture of appreciating simple, natural, sunset beauty
draws me, and hundreds of tourists and locals, to the lakefront every evening.
COVID also colors the trip.
Day One. Baby blue sky,
Prussian blue expanse churning into sandy-brown shoreline curls. Golden sun
shining in bright white diamonds dancing on the lake. But… in a blink of the
eye, gray sky. Ash-stone-battleship grays in massive mountains upon bulging
billows. Because it’s tradition, we sit on a fire-engine red bench to watch the
sun set behind the crimson red lighthouse. No sun. Instead, raindrops.
Disappointed, we shelter.
August
2’s sudden sky-change from stunning blue to somber gray certainly smacks of the
sudden sea-change of society last March. One minute, normalcy is clear, the
next it’s all a gray area. Fearing dastardly droplets, we scurry to shelter.
Well, some of us anyway.
Debate rages on between the maskers and no-maskers. In South Haven, the divide is very pronounced. Only 20 percent at most of pedestrians wear masks. Stores strictly enforce mask wearing, citing threat of closure by Michigan state if they don’t. Restaurants, however, serve patrons at sidewalk tables amidst throngs of unmasked passersby.
Balancing
a desire for safety with a desire for fresh lake breezes, we set up lawn chairs
and read in glorious sunshine on a grassy area near water but not near
sidewalks. I had prepared and packed enough food for two people for three days.
When we see that we would not feel safe dining outside South Haven’s
restaurants, we eat all our meals in our hotel room. They are super-simple, but
we are content, if not as free as in previous Augusts.
Day Two. Spectacular
colors in August 3’s sunset. Horizon campfire of golden glowing embers as the
sun burns itself down and washes upward to honey-tinge taupe clouds. Lighthouse
a black silhouette, its beacon blinking green. Slate-gray waves wash over the
pier and thunder to shore. Black-suited surfers zig-zag-stitch sideways along
four-foot curls.
I
feel mixed emotions watching skies skitter above and hearing surf pound below.
Since March a dangerous undercurrent thrums. Winds blow fast. Yet peaceful
beauty abounds. And a steady gaze reveals that the beacon still blinks green.
Besides
the sunset tradition, I like to walk the South Haven beach. This year the water
level is extremely high, making the beach very narrow and precipitously tilted,
but I do get my toes in the sand. The ugly green-brown of dirty dishwater,
waves climb up to shore and loudly sneeze freezing spray onto my ankles.
Uncomfortably, I walk toward the lighthouse anyway. Swirling grit unsteadies my
balance and sands callouses. My frozen ankles cry uncle after only a few minutes. I hope that I will walk through
these disorienting times patiently enough that God can work off my rough edges.
Day Three. Our third and
last chance for a South Haven sunset does not disappoint. Fireball spills
glitter across the lake. Blinding banana-bumblebee-butterball brilliantly backlights
rogue vine leaves. Even weeds glow under the Almighty’s paintbrush.
An
old Girl Scout campfire song comes to mind: Day is done, gone the sun, from the
lake, from the hills, from the sky. All is well, safely rest, God is nigh.
Posts
