Tranquility

The first six summers of my life were spent in Union Pier, Michigan just over the Indiana border. I remember the air feeling like a warm blanket with cool breezes. I spent every day at the beach with my older sisters except for rainy, windy days. My father drove up on the weekends. The cottage we stayed in had literally two rooms and an outdoor shower. My mom swept the sand out in the morning and joined us at the beach with lunch. It was a mostly idyllic time.

And here I am again, seventy seven years later, to see if what I remember is still true. The air and sunshine feels the same. We're in a three bedroom house with plenty of space to lounge, air conditioning and a screened in porch which my childhood self would have considered a palace. All those years ago, I ran down the wooden steps to the beach and threw myself into the water. Yesterday, I held the rail and worried my balance wouldn't hold on the sand walking to the water's edge. I brought two bathing suits that I don't need since swimming here is a thing of the distant past.

My daughter Sarah made the arrangements for this lovely time-out for us and some friends. We've made a few excursions to the dunes, driven around the neighborhood looking for the little cabin that must have been torn down years ago. My Aunt Lena had a wonderful house in Michiana somewhere on Lake Drive that we never found.

But what is here is the peace and tranquility I remember. That sense of feeling safe and cared for.  We've opened our Merlin App and listened to the songs of more than fifteen birds. The other night a wild thunder storm shut off the electricity and we sat in the dark, surrounded by candles, talking until one in the morning.

The best gift of being in Union Pier is that I've given my daughter and good friends the memory that I've cherished all these years. 

 

Townline Beach