Carol had warned Marilyn and me, before we joined her on Beaver Island, that Lake Michigan was still cold. She did not exaggerate. Marilyn and I found that the pause and gasp generally experienced when cold water reaches one’s torso occurred when the water hit the arches of our feet. Carol said that, when she wades, she figures she’s used to the water when her ankles go numb.
So we didn’t swim, but we walked every day along the stone-strewn sand at water’s edge. Carol and I were walking one day and heard an odd squeak, clearly a bird. We stopped and asked each other, “What’s that?” As we stood pondering, a bald eagle flew from the top of a white pine and out over the water. It was the eagle’s voice we’d heard. I’d heard eagles screech before, but I hadn’t heard them chat. When we passed the tree on our way back, the eagle flew off again. We couldn’t see a nest in the tree it had come from, but perhaps there was one nearby.
At various times, we came across water snakes in the waves near the beach. Carol told us they forage there, and each time we saw one, we stopped to watch. The smallest snake had actually caught a minnow and was working on swallowing it. Given that prey was nearly the same circumference as predator, this took some doing. But the Little Snake That Could persevered, the fish disappeared down its gullet, and the mighty hunter swam away.
Then there was the evening of the s’mores incident.
Carol and Marilyn decided to make s’mores using the microwave. On top of chocolate squares centered on graham cracker halves, they placed gigantic marshmallows and let ’er rip. The marshmallows, which started out the size of Rhode Island, puffed to the size of Connecticut, bypassing Delaware entirely. They left no bit of cracker or chocolate visible. Still, needs must. Carol and Marilyn started excavating, and when they hit pay dirt, they lifted their prizes high. Only, despite the fact that the cracker and chocolate were no longer attached to the baking dish, the marshmallow still was. And now it was attached to them, too.
Both sisters started speed nibbling hot goo from their hands and lifted their crackers higher. And higher. The marshmallow strings did not let go. The monstermallows did, however, cool off eventually and, plunking graham cracker halves on top, Carol and Marilyn ate them up–kind of like the tiny snake with the minnow. We laughed ourselves silly.
Beaver Island puts on a Fourth of July parade. This year’s had an awkward moment right at the beginning. Serving and former members of the armed forces led the proceedings into town. Everyone stood and applauded. And the parade came to a halt. Emergency services had responded to a call on the parade route, just before the whole thing got rolling. After a while, the audience sat down again and stopped clapping. Then things got moving again, the spectators popped back up, and we all clapped and cheered.
The last parade entry, and a crowd favorite, was a man lift—a piece of heavy equipment with an aerial platform. It drove slowly along with the lift elevated, the three men on it singing and playing instruments while they processed above the crowd. That was a fine parade, we thought, after the lift moved along to the next block of downtown. We picked up our chairs and headed back to Carol’s truck. A lady stopped us, saying, “You can’t leave now—they come by again!” But we were off to our next adventure: boodling.
Boodling is a Beaver Island thing, explicitly legal there by state law. It constitutes the practice of riding in chairs (or on sofas or at picnic tables) in the back of moving pickup trucks. The trucks must travel less than twenty-five miles per hour. I’ve seen a bride and groom boodling in their wedding attire, and I’ve heard tell of a boodling string quartet.
We never imagined engaging in this activity, of course. We come from the Safety Family. Only, when we put our plastic chairs in the back of Carol’s truck, she asked jokingly, “So, you want to boodle?” And Marilyn said yes. So I said yes. And it was such fun.
Boodling was the high point of our sisters’ Beaver Island get-together. Except for the trip there. And wading and walking and skipping rocks. And the butterflies and the flowers and the eagle and the snakes. And making s’mores. And binge watching Home Town. And, most of all, laughing and spending time with people we love so much and see so rarely. Thank you, Carol, for making it happen.
16 July 2021