The Empty Kayak - by Rebecca Sinclair

It was another beautiful day in Glen Arbor, Michigan. My family and I were spending the week out of our summer to enjoy our favorite cottage on Little Glen. 
After a few days of relaxing at the lake, we decided to hit the Crystal River for some quality kayaking.
Once we arrived down at the river, we each climbed into our kayaks and began our voyage. At first, everything was going smoothly, even though my Mom found out she had a small hole in her kayak. The water was just high enough for the kayaks not to get stuck in the sandy bottom of the river. Then the river got narrower and really shallow, and the bottom of my Mom’s kayak soon became filled with water. What began as a nice leisurely trip down the river, soon turned into a paddling struggle down an obstacle course filled with long pointy limbs, rocks, and areas of an inch or less of water, which easily caused a traffic jam of kayaks if you weren’t careful. It was a battle of nature and nature was winning. 
As the struggling continued, we came across a long black tube-looking tunnel that was just wide enough to fit a small kayak through. I would also like to mention that in order to get through the tunnel, we had to lean way back, almost flat against our kayaks to avoid bumping our heads on the top of the tiny tunnel.
My Dad and sister went through the tunnel first followed by myself, and then my Mom picked up the rear. We were not prepared for the strong current that swept us down to the side of the river once we arrived out of the tunnel. After the three of us got our kayaks straightened out and free from the riverbank, we waited in anticipation to watch poor Mom come out of the tunnel. Minutes passed but still no Mom. Finally we heard a distressed voice coming from the other side of the tunnel yelling my Dad’s name, “John! JOOOHHNN!!” So my Dad reluctantly got out of his kayak and disappeared over the bridge to find my Mom. The whole time this happened, my sister and I thought this to be quite humorous and really wanted to watch our Mom go down the tunnel, so we started yelling words of encouragement in hopes that she would go through. 
More minutes passed as we waited to see Mom come out in her kayak. Suddenly we heard a noise from the tunnel. I was thinking, “Oh boy, this is it…here she comes!” Finally, a kayak came out of the tunnel and it turned out Mom came out of the kayak because the kayak that appeared from the tunnel was empty!
Lets just say, there was a little more tension from the kayaking party once my Mom had climbed back into her wet kayak, after she had walked around the other side of the tunnel.

What Are the Chances? - January Haulenbeek

I don’t believe in luck. Good or Bad…never have. I am however, beginning to see how there really is something to being in the right place at the right time. Lately I am seeing this over and over in my life. Maybe it is because I am looking for it. Maybe it is because I am taking time to really listen to other people tell their stories about it. 
We had a great day. We spent the morning hiking trails near our rustic campground just south of Traverse City. We spent the afternoon wine tasting on Mission Peninsula. We traveled in two vehicles on the way home. My husband Todd and I and our friend Phil in one car. Phil’s wife Rose and Britt and Todd in the other. Tired from the full day we all decided to head back to camp. We decided that we would forgo stopping for one last hike and just head back to make dinner. Not far from the campground Phil spotted a few dead elm trees and an old apple tree by the side of the road. “Oh man”, He sighed. “That is perfect Morel mushroom hunting conditions. Should we stop? We’ve just got to!” Todd pulled off the road and did a 180. Rose pulled off onto the shoulder on the other side.”What are you doing? I thought we were heading back?” “We are just going to stop for a minute to look for mushrooms here,” Todd and Phil said together.” “Fine,” said Rose, “We are heading back to camp”. Clearly irritated by the sudden change in plans, and all for mushrooms…..again. You see, we call our friend Phil the Morel ninja. So far this spring he has found over 300 and counting. Phil doesn't just like hunting Morels. The ability to find them wherever he is seems to be woven into his DNA code. He knows where to look and how to see them. It is a weird 6th sense. It literally pains him not to stop when he senses the perfect conditions. Rose drives off toward camp and Todd and Phil get out to take a look. I lay my head on the seat back and close my eyes. It is hard to keep my eyes open with the sun on my face and Michigan wine in my belly. Todd comes racing back to the car and pulls open my door. “Where is my knife? We have to cut a bird loose!” What? Where? How? I am not able to ask any of these questions before Todd races off again. For the next 5 minutes I watch Phil and Todd gently free a little black bird from a deadly mess. It somehow got one foot tangled in twine and then became completely tangled in a bush. Had it not been for Phil and his addict like need to find morel mushrooms this little bird would have been a goner. The guys came back to the car after the bird flew away. They only looked for mushrooms for a minute and came back empty handed. This got me thinking. I am beginning to see, more and more, how when we respond to those things within us that make us who we truly are we find ourselves in the right place at the right time. We find ourselves right were we are supposed to be, playing our part in the bigger play of life. We all have a leading roll to play in our own lives that when we embrace it authentically we can’t help but positively impacting the people (and animals) around us. I am not talking about Hedonism and the pursuit of happiness for the sake of happiness. I am talking about taking the time to recognize the truths and desires in us that make us unique. You know, paying attention to the things that catch our eye.

An Umbrella In Name Only - by Gene Haulenbeek

My wife and I had arranged to spend a weekend camping with some good friends from our, then, recent college days, circa 1974. They were to arrive at Orchard Beach State Park two days behind us. It was a beautiful area. The campground was situated on a bluff overlooking Lake Michigan so access to spectacular sunsets every evening was the norm, or at least would have been had the weather cooperated. It looked somewhat threatening but we could not be certain if it was going to rain or not. No matter however; we were quite prepared, and a wet night in our cozy little tent was still an exciting venture.

At that time we didn't own much in the way of camping equipment. In fact, the tent we did have was on loan from my wife's parents. It was an ancient dark green canvas umbrella tent with a center pole. It was older than dirt and darn heavy. You would never close the windows and the doors in this thing. That was like putting a plastic bag over your head… suffocating. And in hot weather being inside that thing was akin to being the Pillsbury Dough Boy in an Easy Bake oven! But at night it afforded more than adequate protection from the elements and provided a safe environment.

Late that evening as we lay resting in our sleeping bags, I on one side of the pole and my wife on the other, (NOT convenient), we noticed the patter of light rain on the top of the tent. We were not concerned, of course, because our tent, the impenetrable precursor to Kevlar, would protect us. As the rain continued, we drifted off to sleep for a spell. It could have been a couple hours later when I was awakened by a somewhat steady drip of water on the side of my head. Grabbing the flashlight I noticed a tiny little hole around the center grommet at the top of the pole. It looked harmless enough but certainly was enough to allow just a small bit of water to drip into the tent. Our solution for that was to stuff a towel over the umbrella supports below grommet to catch the water so that it wouldn't interrupt our sleep. It rained relatively hard but we remained dry. As the rain subsided so did any concerns that we had. That is, until the wind came up! The walls of the tent heaved intensely as the wind, accompanied by more rain, lashed at us. Still I felt secure albeit a bit uneasy. All we could do was attempt to go back to sleep which proved to be altogether futile. Suddenly, there was a --RRRRIIP!-- The grommet at the top of the tent gave way completely and the entire tent collapsed on top of us! I scrambled out of my sleeping bag and made my way to the front of the tent. Holding the tent up with one hand and grasping at things with the other, I worked feverishly to salvage what I could from the pouring rain. Susan, wrapped snuggly in her sleeping bag, giggled as I did what I could to make the best of a really hopeless situation. She did not seem to grasp the severity of the situation. When she caught the stack of wet napkins I tossed back at her, it became more clear. Needless to say, we abandoned the tent for the rest of the night for the relative comfort of the car.

The morning greeted us with sunshine and fair skies. We were in good spirits, regardless of our situation. Even then, we were old pros at this camping thing. We knew that there were too many good times yet to be had to let a little nasty weather alter our outlook on the great outdoors.

Tiger's Baseball - by Chris Nyhof

Ever since I was a young kid, I loved the Tigers. I got that love from my Grandpa John. I remember being at their house, and the sweet voice of Ernie Harwell would fill the air. Grandpa loved to listen to his Tigers on the radio. If I was visiting him at his farm, having Sunday coffee at their house, or up north at their cottage in Newaygo, Ernie and the boys were there. He took me to my first game many years ago. My Grandma still loves to tell the story of the mini bats my brother and I got. We would stand in the isle and swing those bats as hard as we could. Grandma was convinced that we would hit each other, or someone else. Every time I would see my Grandpa, the conversation would always find it way to the Tigers. Sadly many of those years were losing seasons. Still every time we would talk, and talk about "the boys". At first it was Sweet Lou, and Tram. Latter it was Gibby and Morris. For a while it was about how they seemed to lose all the time, but next year would be their year. A few years back my Grandpa was diagnosed with Alzheimer's. His mind slowly started to slip, then much faster. No matter how far he slipped, two things remained constant. First, his love for his family. Second, "How about those Tigers." 
I still remember the day I heard that Ernie Harwell had passed away. It was a sad day for me. The voice I had grown up listening to was gone. Mr. Harwell reminded me of Grandpa so much. Both were shorter men. The loved the Tigers, and were soft spoken, respected family men. When Mr. Harwell passed, my Grandpa didn't know. His mind was deteriorating, and many for the things happening in life were passing him by. I didn't tell him, because I knew the he would have be saddened to hear that news also.
Last year my Grandpa lost his battle to Alzheimer's . He passed away just before the start of spring training. I will always have a special reminder of him when "the boys" get ready to start the season. I also have a picture in my mind of what heaven is like. I see my Grandpa sitting by a lake, an empty chair next to him waiting for Grandma. On the other side is Mr. Harwell calling the Tigers game.

Legs Inn - by Ben Schmidt

Approaching Cross Village a couple years ago on, I think, M-22 between Harbor Springs and the Bridge, we popped around a corner on a sunny, summer, mid-week afternoon and Boom! there was a restaurant with a full parking lot. "Wow", we thought, "What's this?" Legs Inn. Rustic but elegant. Log building. Driftwood sculptures. Tables on a broad lawn in a beautiful garden. Mostly Polish fare. Even Polish exchange students as servers, from Poland, thick accents and all, girls almost as beautiful as my wife. Great experience. Only in Michigan.

The Ride of my Life - by Kayla Atsaphanthong

It was a warm August day at Michigan adventure when my dad, brother, and cousin wanted to go down the Funnel of Fear. So I tagged along hoping I wouldn’t die. My cousin AJ looked really excited, while I on the other hand looked pale as milk. As we got our tubes I looked up, “Wow” I said.

“Yep,” AJ said, creeping up on me. “All 6 maybe 7 stories high, but don’t worry you’re not going to fall”. That last sentence he just said creeped me out. “Don’t worry you’re not going to fall.” Have people fallen off before and would I be the next one? So yeah, I had a lot of things on my mind. When we were on the stairs, we stood there waiting and waiting and waiting. I looked over at AJ, covered in sweat and looking a bit fried. We were like burn’t bacon on a sizzling pan.

After 50 minutes we reached the top! “Next” the life guard said. My dad and brother were already in their tube. Then she pushed them. All of a sudden we heard a high pitched scream. “Who’s that?” AJ said.

“You mean that girly scream? That was my brother,” I replied.

“Next,” the life guard shouted. I stuck my hot, sweaty foot in the water “Ahh that feels nice” I said. “Kayla quit playing around” AJ said. Oh no, I thought in my head, why do I have to die at the age of 11?! We were sitting in our tube. Then, without a warning, she pushed us into complete darkness.

Light was coming in but a figure was almost blocking it; it’s AJ! AJ was going backwards . “AAAAAHHHHH I don’t know where I’m going!!!” he screamed. Suddenly there was a flash and we were outside, bumping on the sides and laughing. “Wow that was awesome!” I said,  jumping off the tube. “Told you! Let’s go on Shivering Timbers next,” AJ replied.

Waterskiing before Church - by Wade Eldean

As a kid, excitement arose when the summer weekends would come around because my friends would move back in next door – kids who came with their parents to stay on their boat for the weekend. My excitement could only be kept back by the clock, as I was told that I had to wait until 8am before knocking on companionway doors.

The Canels and the Wachs were the usual subjects. On many occasions, I would leave at 8:15am on Sunday Morning with the Wachs on their Boston Whaler, headed to Saugatuck to go waterskiing or climb a dune.

We often lost track of time and found ourselves racing back to Macatawa on Sunday mornings so I could get to church on time. Lake Michigan doesn’t always cooperate with your plans and there were a few times that we left the Saugatuck channel and headed into much bigger waves than when we arrived. The added weather would raise the stakes a little in the race back for
church. As you can imagine, a 17’ Boston Whaler doesn’t offer the most comfort when racing
across Lake Michigan, but moms don’t have much indulgence for a family that isn’t ready for church on time because they are out on a boat goofing around.

Therein lies the quandary for Uncle Charlie: throttle back and take it slow or throttle up and make it to church on time? Being late, let alone being late for church, is not mom’s style.  Throttling up meant that Uncle Charlie would save his own behind from bringing me home late for church, but it also meant the opposite for us kids - Our behinds were going to take a beating! We would each plead our case or fight for a good seat on the padded cooler. If that was taken, you would hope for a throwable cushion to sit on, or else you would just get the hard fiberglass bow. Fortunately for me, Capt. Charlie usually assigned the padded cooler to the guests and his own boys sat on the open bow, regardless of how much pleading and whining came from them.
So now, as we make our way back to Macatawa, the waves bounce us off the seats as we held on strong so we didn’t fly off the boat. Then we braced hard for the landing. Although the cooler seat gives some relief, I still took a pounding in big waves. However, my ride was much better than what was happening on the bow directly in front of me I would watch my friends bouncing around so violently that screams were likely heard from shore as tears ran down their cheeks. Eventually we’d get back to the slip at Eldean Shipyard where I quickly jumped off the boat and ran home for Church.

I cherish memories of climbing nearly every dune, water-skiing behind the bridges in
Saugatuck, and having a blast every time! Our butts always recovered from the bruising and I would be back at their boat again at 8am the next week knocking on the cabin door wanting more. So just remember, Throttle UP! – There is a lot of boating to do before Church on Sunday Morning!

by  Wade Eldean

Gun Lake - By Christina Kelley

                I have never been more excited for a family getaway. No we were not going anywhere exotic. Rather, it was right in our own backyard so to speak, in our wonderful state of Michigan. We had rented a cottage on Gun Lake for a few nights and planned to play, eat, and relax. So why then was I so excited for what seemed to be a simple vacation? You see, after being so focused on my career for the last 10 years this was my first summer being home full-time. No more scheduling family time around deadlines and meetings. It would also be our last getaway before the school year started. I was going to soak in every minute.

This was our home away from home located a few feet from Gun Lake. My 4 year old Christian asked, “Are there guns in Gun Lake?” - Kids and their questions.

Here’s the kitchen. I kinda wanted to cut this kitchen out and bring it home with me.

What made this trip special were the people that we shared it with.

We had a house full. This included me, my husband, our 4 kids, my nephew, older brother Tom and his Fiance, my parents, my cousin, and my aunt. Did I mention two dogs?

This is my eldest and my nephew. There is nothing like a good game of checkers.

We spent the next few days playing on the beach, boating, and tubing. Tubing was quite an entertaining sight as the kids became instant bobble head figurines.

Most of our time was spent on an activity that my boys consider the best thing in the world- Fishing.

Here’s Kaden and his grandpa, catching some sunfish.

It’s amazing how obsessed they got casting and reeling.  All. Day. Long.

Unfortunately, we didn’t catch any turtles.

(I actually was glad we didn’t. I heard those things stink up an aquarium)

 We spent countless hours splashing and laughing. I even spent a few brief moments lounging on a tube anchored onto the beach with a cold beverage in hand. Can I get an Amen from you other mothers? It was pure bliss. I swear the sky had never looked so blue and the clouds so cotton-like and white.

See - I have evidence of me lounging.

It’s not the ocean, but then again, there are no sharks.

It was the first time since I was a child that I had seen my dad jump out of our anchored boat so carefree into the lake. I also realized that my youngest daughter preferred holding worms and fish rather than her dolls.

Share life with those you love, jump off docks and boats, soak in the sunshine, laugh often, and bask in His masterpiece.

This, my friends is what life’s all about.

The Upper Platte - by January Haulenbeek

The Upper Platte River

“I’m sure you’ll be just fine”, they said

In truth what could possibly go wrong?

Your kids are older, you’re all in good shape

And your husband, he looks quite strong.

The current flows smooth, not rough, not wild

The scenery, no place can compare.

Take time to admire all creatures on shore

Take time to view birds in the air.

Well this sounds delightful,

A fun family trip.

The strangers advising us,

They did not flip.

So into the water, canoe, kids, and gear,

The sun shining bright in the sky.

Pushed off from the shore, excited and ready,

Picked up by the current passing by.

The first three minutes went exceptionally well,

We had made a most excellent choice.

Puffed up in pride at our parenting prowess,

We had almost missed her small voice.

Our youngest asked, “Why are the trees laying down?”

“They are stretching out into the river!”

Coming up fast was a maze of downed trees,

No room to pass, just a sliver.

“We’re not going to make it!”,  I screamed in fear,

“Relax” said his voice from in back.

“I know I can navigate us through this mess,”

“We will make it through that crack!”

“Paddle hard on the right, nobody lean,”

“Girls please stop crying”.

We did make it through with no room to spare,

But boy those strangers were lying!

The river raged on for miles this way,

A tree and rock obstacle course.

Every last muscle in my body was tense,

My strained, screaming voice now so hoarse.

Now lay before us a choice to make,

Two tunnels ‘neath an overpass.

Did they say to go left? Did they say to go right?

We should have paid attention, but alas.

We chose wrong! Decided to go left,

We really should have gone right.

Our canoe now beached atop a rock pile,

All our children screeching in fright.

Our little one screams, “I don’t want to drown!”

We were stuck there what seems like forever.

Husband says, “I’m just going to swing the back end around,”

Middle child exclaims, “ I’m never canoeing again, NEVER!”

We finally dislodge spinning out of control,

Boys grinning ear to ear.

Girls folded over in fetal position,

Totally petrified, frozen in fear.

In silence we travel the final last leg,

Our confidence kicked to the curb.

Great expectations of new family fun,

In reality not so superb. 

So what is the lesson? What have we learned?

What can we possibly say?

Put your kids in a canoe, take advice from strangers,

It’ll be a great story some day!

by January Haulenbeek