A Beautiful Campsite
Glenn, MI
July 21, 2019
When sorrows come They come not as single spiesBut as battalions
– Hamlet
When it rains, it pours
-Same idea, with less pomposity
Slave-driven triremes carried the material goods and mental heritage of Greece and Rome through the shoals and storms of the Mediterranean and, over the tide of time, to us.
Columbus and Cortez overcame dysentery and near mutiny to conquer the Atlantic on what we’d consider the maritime equivalent of Jim and Huck’s Mississippi raft.
Lewis and Clark required a year and a half to ascend the Missouri, climb the Bitter Roots, and descend the Columbia to find the Pacific.
Sailing schooners required months to cross the 17th century Atlantic; rolling sooners took at least as long to transverse 19th century America. Many died, and many others no doubt wished they had.
I recalled these hardships a couple nights ago, to inject a little perspective into what was evolving into an extended evening of arduous travel. Or, as it were, a protracted period with no travel.
Hartsfield, as we were reminded repeatedly over the PA, is “the world’s busiest and most efficient airport.” Of the former assertion we had no doubt, and ample evidence. Of the latter, we were a bit more circumspect.
From each end of the concourse, delayed or stranded passengers converged on the Delta ticket counter in the center, like Depression-era soup queues, though with more anger and less patience.
Every gate was a mosh pit, with its poor agent as the featured attraction…like the Stones at Altamont.
To their credit, every rep sang his tune with professionalism, grace, and empathy, soothing the savage beasts who unleashed a barrage of anger and frustration…and one persistent question:
“What is going on?”
Scattered thunderstorms, a few of which Alexander and I dodged when returning from his annual band camp in La Grange, dotted the North Georgia skies Friday afternoon.
First sporadically, then persistently, outbound flights were delayed, in-bound flights circled, crews were scattered. Most were unable to assemble where and when needed to allow flights to depart as skies finally cleared.
Checking the monitors, the only flights not at least three hours late were those that had already been cancelled. Our scheduled 7p departure was suffering rolling delays in 20-30 minute increments that stretched inevitably into hours.
Our plane was at the gate, with pilots and three flight attendants already on board…waiting…wondering…when the federally mandated fourth flight attendant would show up.
To kill time, I at one point approached the gate for what I fully expected to be a vacuous status update. The lady ahead of me at the counter raised one of my concerns. I eavesdropped….subtly at first, but soon with no choice.
“I am afraid our flight will get to Grand Rapids too late for me to get a car. Do you have any idea when we will depart.”
“No ma’am. I’m sorry. We are waiting for one more flight attendant. Her flight landed a couple hours ago, so we are waiting for her to get here.”
“A couple hours ago?!? Where the [hell] is she?”
“I don’t know. We are trying to find her.”
“I can’t believe this! She should be fired! Well…after she gets on this plane so I can get to Grand Rapids. Then she should be fired! And so should you!”
She immediately stormed away…and the agent looked plaintively at me.
“Can I help you, sir?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing…”
An hour or so later, a round of applause arose from the gate area. The wayward flight attendant had arrived. We boarded a few minutes later, and almost four hours after our scheduled time.
We learned after we had taken our seats that the stewardess on whom we had been waiting had indeed landed a few hours earlier…only to be detained almost two hours on the the tarmac. She then rushed to ensure we could get where we needed to be.
When we finally arrived, the air felt as if we’d never left Atlanta. The temperature after midnight was a tropical 85 degrees, with humidity to match. But what did we care? We were tired, but on our way to one of our favorite places. And it had beds.
We landed in the small hours, grabbed our luggage and our car (National was kind enough to remain open two hours after their normal closing time), drove to the house, and collapsed by 2:30.
I rose five hours later, poured my coffee, settled on the deck, opened my book, and stared mesmerized over its pages toward the lake, at a familiar view that never gets old.
Rita soon awoke, flipped on the kitchen lights, and then watched them flicker out…along with everything else.
Large swaths of southwestern Michigan had been without power the last couple days, and had now recruited us into their ranks.
While unusually warm, the weather was not inclement, so we expected electricity to return within hours. Meanwhile, we went to South Haven for lunch, to buy whatever groceries required no refrigeration, and a couple bags of ice to store a few dinner items that did. And so we could keep the wine chilled and the beer cold.
Residents along the southeastern shore of Lake Michigan handle heat a bit differently than do those on the coasts of Florida, in the foothills of Georgia, in the swamps of DC, or the banks of the lower Mississippi.
We stepped into the Phoenix Street Grill, and were told, as the outside temperature crested 90, that they had just closed the kitchen.
“It’s too hot,” the lovely waitress informed us from inside the air conditioned restaurant. We chuckled…much as a Michigander might laugh at how Atlantans react to a snowflake drifting east from Alabama…and grabbed lunch at the hardier establishment next door.
We returned as afternoon rain rolled in off the lake, cooling a house that had squeezed the last cold drops from whatever conditioned air we had pumped into it that morning. We poured ice into a couple coolers, drinks into a our glasses, and coals into the grill.
Cell reception is often mercifully poor at the house, and without power we were relieved of wifi as well. Out came the books, conversation, and board games, under the supervision of clearing skies and a sunset worthy of Rembrandt.
It was wonderful, as if we had retreated to a distant, innocent, pre-electronic age. Like, say, 2006.
As dusk dissipated, we had accommodated ourselves quite nicely to our relaxed rusticity. Other than me at one point slamming…like a mourning dove full-speed into a closed window…headlong from the darkened kitchen into a clear glass door, we were no worse for wear. Before long, we may even find where we left our long-lost circadian rhythms.
Storms returned overnight, but power did not. No matter. I just made a quick coffee excursion to CJs Cafe, beside the blinking traffic signal at the lone intersection that is downtown Glenn. As I bought a couple cups from Maddy, the young hostess, I mentioned we had lost power.
“Yeah. Us too,” she said. “This happens a lot when it gets hot. The last time this happened a lot of people lost power for several days.”
“Oh…”
At that moment a couple texts arrived:
“Consumers Energy(1/3): Our crews are working 24/7 to increase safety, determine damage and restore your power. We estimate that most
“Consumers Energy(2/3): customers will be restored before 07/23 11:30 PM. Some outages may require more time-consuming repairs.”
With a shrug I put the phone away, grabbed my coffee, and thanked Maddy. “I’m sure I’ll be back soon.”
Back on the deck at the house, hard rain has moderated to a drizzle. The lake is coming into view, its crashing waves a soothing soundtrack to what is suddenly a gorgeous morning. This should be the last rain we see this week. Temperatures will be more seasonable, struggling to reach 80 any day.
Which is good, since we may have no power for several of them. But who really cares? We have access to places that do, and abundant sources of hydro and solar on hand here…plus a veritable private beach, incomparable views, and each other.
The quotes introducing this note notwithstanding, we have no sorrows. Why on earth would we…and what type ingrates must we be if we did?
Our visit may have become a bit more of a camping trip than we might originally have planned…but they are beautiful grounds, and it is a wonderful tent.
JD
