Writing and Wayfaring: Blue Views and High Dunes

Little boat, great lake

Shadow and shoreline, wave greeting wave--Lake Michigan

Growing up in so-called "flyover country"--in Illinois, on the edge of Chicago but days away from any ocean--I never thought I was missing much living so far from the coasts. I absorbed the sense that my part of the country was considered second-rate--hickish, dull, boring, bland--by the cultural powers in America (i.e., New York City and California), but I didn't accept this biased bi-coastal point of view. For one, I had such little exposure to the coasts, to seaside living, until I was in my 20s and living in Ireland. You can't miss what you don't even know. Even when I did begin to gain a more intimate knowledge of the sea, I found it a very startling and often bothersome force to reckon with--what with its big, gross clots of seaweed, its stinging salty water, its poisonous, scary, and mostly hidden animal populations, its fickleness and potential for human destruction. It took me awhile to adjust to and appreciate the sea. I couldn't stop comparing it to the types of large bodies of water I was more familiar with--the mighty Mississippi River that runs down the border of western Illinois and, more close and important to me, the Great Lakes of the upper Midwest, especially Lake Michigan.

Lake Michigan and downtown Chicago, from John Hancock Building

Coastal people may try to convince a landlocked soul that a lake is only a poor man's ocean. Don't believe them, my fellow Midwesterners and inland dwellers. Certainly not if you're close to any of the Great Lakes--only the largest combined area of fresh water on earth. The Great Lakes live up to their name. No one who grew up in the shadow of any of them could possibly ever feel deprived or jealous of the salty waters that East and West Coast folks like to boast and brag about.

There are 5 Great Lakes--Michigan, Erie, Superior, Ontario, and Huron. Each one of them is so big that most Americans and Canadians who live near one will likely have acquaintance with only the one closest to them, and even then only a regional portion of one. These are not a string of charming little lakes that you can easily compare with each other. In my lifetime--40 years and counting--I think I've only had sight (on the ground) of two or three of them. And I've got my feet wet in only one--Lake Michigan.

Moment before the socks and jeans come off

The portion of Lake Michigan that I know best is its southern extension, the part that supplies water and particular weather patterns to Chicago, Illinois; Milwaukee, Wisconsin; Gary, Indiana; and the numerous humble little lakeside towns that make up southwestern Michigan near the Indiana border, an area known to local folks as Michiana. It may surprise people who don't live in this part of the country to learn that all these 4 states have a shoreline with plenty of fine beaches. Hell, in Chicago you can walk to the beach straight from pounding the pavement along the Magnificent Mile high-end shopping district. You just walk north on Michigan Avenue, cross a street and follow a path under the overpass of Lake Shore Drive, and there you are. It's not the quietest beach oasis the city has to offer, what with the rush of the Drive behind you and skyscrapers such as the John Hancock Building looming over you. But the vast blue of the enormous lake stretched out in front of you is a powerful antidote to the frenetic pace of the Midwest's greatest urban jungle. In the days I worked downtown, I occasionally would walk over to this beach from the office after work, letting the lake wind blow away any memory of the stale office air of the past 8 hours. In the morning, in finer weather, I often opted to ride the 145, 148, or 151 bus to work, even though it meant a longer ride than on the el (well, sometimes) and a longer walk from my apartment building on the north side and to my work building downtown--simply because those bus routes went along the lake. It was just a nicer way to start the day and tolerate the traffic and crush of fellow commuters, watching the waves crash up on the beach and against the break wall and the sunlight or clouds alter the color and clarity of the water.

Shoreline in Chicago, looking north from John Hancock Building

Shoreline in Michigan, factories of Gary, Indiana in the distance

Beach in New Buffalo, Michigan--off season

Lake Michigan, sunny Sunday afternoon

Lake Michigan, moody Morning morning

Lake Michigan, a few minutes later same Monday morning

Away from the city, there are plenty of other Lake Michigan shores I've known, especially while growing up. With my family, on field trips with school classes, and on outings with the local Bluebirds and Campfire Girl troupes, I've greeted the lake from the harbor at Door County in Wisconsin, from the sands at Illinois Beach State Park in Zion, and from the dunes in Indiana and Michigan. Yes, Indiana and Michigan have dunes. Loads of 'em. High things they are, too. And Michigan's dunes represent the largest freshwater dune system in the world.

The dunes in Michigan where I've left most footprints are at Warren Dunes State Park, in the very All-American-sounding town of Sawyer. These are in the lower southwestern corner of Michigan and on the eastern shore of Lake Michigan. I've been to the Warren Dunes many times, and yet I feel as if I know a very small part of it--a bit like the lake it cozies up to. The last time I went there was just less than 2 weeks ago.

The Warren Dunes, Michigan

View of the lake from Tower Hill, Warren Dunes

Back in the day--me with my mother at the dunes

Tower Hill--the big dune, 240 feet high--in the late 1960s

The great thing about the Warren Dunes is that it's still pretty much a regional secret, especially in comparison to other tourist targets in Michigan like Traverse City and Mackinac Island. The beach at the park can get crowded in the summer, and there's quite a few "cottages" and second homes in the area owned by Chicagoans, but the overall feel is still rather unassuming, undiscovered, humble, even backwoods-ish. Half the businesses around here look as if they operate out of someone's house, whether the business is practicing art therapy or selling handmade sausages. And even the more professional looking businesses keep it homey with names like Bud & Elsie's, Rosie's, Oink's (ice cream, of course), Luisa's, Peg's. Business hours? Your guess is as good as mine. One little cafe my sisters and I approached during our last visit (to the town of New Buffalo) boasted itself as "Open Year 'Round" on its front awning--except the day we were there apparently (a Tuesday afternoon). Imagine that.

Home cookin'

Take a seat, watch the street

:-)

Waiting for the local coffee shop to open, New Buffalo, Michigan

Perhaps the odd hours the local diners keep explains the sign I saw on one church in the area: FREE BREAD. Is that for the poor in town or for tourists looking for a bite to eat whenever the whole region is out to a really long lunch? Other local churches draw 'em in with marquees that read "Tired Of Being Judged Come Here" or (seasonal?) displays of a giant chair on the front lawn with a life-size scarecrow-ish looking Jesus sitting chummily next to another stuffed, albeit smaller, human-like creature.

It's not all quirk and kitsch around here though. As I mentioned earlier, the down-home, unpretentious feel to the area is genuine and mostly non-touristy. Independent too. There are some chain stores and fast-food joints here and there, but most of the businesses are strictly local and one-of-a-kind. There's also a healthy winemaking industry going on here. Just Google "Michigan wineries" and see how much fun you can have with the grapes in this state. Near the Warren Dunes, many of the wineries (as well as a few local breweries and distilleries) are clustered around Berrien Springs and Baroda. The wineries and vineyards are tucked away among woods and quiet country roads. Most offer tastings of 5 wines (or beers and liquors) for $5 or so. The wine stewards at these places will shoot the breeze with you while you're tasting as if they were bartenders in an old-timey neighborhood tavern--at least on the weekdays. They say the weekends can get a little hectic. Wine tours and self-guided wine trails are popular past-times around here. Even if you're not a wine lover, it's worth driving around the area. It's all quite beautiful and peaceful, and some of the wineries themselves are charming and lovely to see.

Tasting the whites at Domaine Berrien Cellars in Berrien Springs

The beer barn at Round Barn Winery (and brewery) in Baroda

Indeed

Vineyards at Round Barn Winery in Baroda

Tasting bourbon at Round Barn

Then there's the main attraction--in my point of view. The dunes. It should be made clear these dunes are a natural gift to the region, just like the Great Lakes. They are not man-made, not an amusement park. You can certainly have fun with them. Warren Dunes State Park has long had a reputation for excellent hang-gliding. It was especially popular in the 1970s and 80s--I remember the skies dotted with at least half a dozen gliders in my visits as a kid. The sport died out for awhile then but is said to be coming back in favor (along with windsurfing) in the past couple years. Sandboarding seems to be a big thing at the dunes these days too. Which makes sense given the park features dunes taller than 200 feet high. My most recent visit I even got a chance to try a little sandboarding down the big dune, Tower Hill. A very unexpected chance. I'd hiked the back way up the big dune while my sisters hung out in one of the flatter sections at the foot of the hill. At the top I met a local dude named Chris who was all on his lonesome waxing a small board with foot stirrups on it. "Wanna give it a shot?" he asked me as I was snapping photos of some of the beech tree corpses on the hill. He said I could sit on the sandboard instead of stand and shot a little video of me scooting my way down. Here's me in all my unathletic glory.

Chris, my new sandboarding buddy, on Tower Hill

A Michigan man and his sandboard

Chris surfing the sand at Warren Dunes

If you'd rather just swim or lay on the beach, you can do that. The beach at the Warren Dunes is a 3-mile stretch of clean sand. It gets hotter than a carpet of lit coals in the summertime--you'll scorch the soles of your feet walking across it without shoes or sandals. The only relief is swimming in the lake, which is cold pretty much year round. I loved swimming in the lake growing up. No salty water to swallow or sting your eyes and no worry about sharks or jellyfish lurking in the depths. The worst part was the initial cold on wading in, and a narrow path of stones to cross over in the shallow part. Otherwise it was pure refreshment and relaxation.

Warren Dunes beach

My sisters walking along the shore

My mother and brothers Eric and Dan and sister Bonnie and brother Brian (in water) at the Dunes beach, late 1960s

Dune sand

Warren Dunes long grasses

Line of trees leading to lake

View of Tower Hill

Me and a tree

Me on top of a dune

Meanwhile if you wanna picnic at the park, you can picnic. If you wanna camp, you can camp. If you wanna hike or watch birds, you can do both to your heart's content. There are trails that take you away from the beach, over the dunes, through woods of beech, sugar maple, and oak trees, across long-grass-covered hills, along streams and under the nests of warblers, jays, and woodpeckers. If you wanna burn a million calories, try climbing the Tower Hill dune without resting. Do it on a summer's day if you wanna sweat off a good ten pounds while you're at it. If you wanna do something reckless and carefree, like a child, roll yourself down the big dune after you get to the top. Get the sand you've gotten all over you--in your hair, in your ears and between your teeth, in your shorts--off by running back to the lake and jumping in. It's quite a rush. Don't believe me, just ask the ghost of my 10-year-old self. Ask any supposedly nature-and-wilderness-deprived Great Lakes kid. Shout your coastal pity across any one of the lakes, people of Manhattan and Boston and L.A. and San Francisco. You'll wear out your voice and wait a long time for an answer. Those "backwater, flyover Midwestern" lakes are too wide, too great. They mock your bi-coastal pride.