On vacation last week my husband and I traveled to the Apostle Islands in Wisconsin. We took a cruise on the beautiful Lake Superior while our Captain entertained us with a rambling standup routine that was from time to time slightly comical. He seemed to be a nice enough fellow, even took it upon himself to fix the toilets that had apparently run out of flushable water or something. Don’t ask me. I don’t use toilets on boats. Especially glass bottom boats.
Anyway, we saw lots of islands, water, lighthouses, and eagles.
There was one passenger on the boat who brought his own very large stash of food for the three-hour tour and ate the entire time, like a nervous chipmunk. Apparently he thought there was a chance of shipwreck and ultimate starvation. Even though the Captain informed us that deer, bear, fish, and other edible creatures lived on and around the islands, and that there were indeed enough flotation devices to go around…unlike the Titanic, Edmund Fitzgerald, etc. More ship humor.
When we left Bayfield and our watery adventure behind, we followed along the great lake, winding through beautiful hills (they call them mountains, but they were pretty short) covered in vibrant autumn colors and bright green spruce like I’ve never seen. Thousands of skinny, soft-needled Christmas trees pierced a blanket of red, orange, and yellow.
The road soon took us into the Upper Peninsula of Michigan where the weather got a little colder and the water got a little choppier. But it was still beautiful and we did some hiking, and believe it or not, a little 4-wheeling with our Prius. Yes, my husband took the Prius down some backwoods dirt trail with lots of mud puddle holes and fallen branches, much like the trails we used to go on in Minnesota State Forests with our dirt bikes until I wimped out and decided to save the money I spent afterwards with the chiropractor by staying home and eating Bon Bons while the boys went motorcycling alone.
On past vacations I’ve complained that my husband passes all the important, scenic picture opportunities, so he was very vigilant about stopping every time I innocently said, “look at that.” Sometimes with brakes squealing and Prius rubber burning as he spun around and raced back to whatever had caught my fancy. With all that gas money he was saving in his new car he thought he could afford to backtrack.
We drove back toward home along the North edge of Lake Michigan. I regret that I didn’t speak up when I saw a sign for, Hiawatha Landfill. That was definitely a missed photo opportunity. What in the world would poor miss Hiawatha think about having a landfill named after her? Sounds very politically incorrect to me. But I think you’ll agree that I did get some pretty special photos along the way – thanks to my husband’s quick reflexes and turnarounds. I especially like the giant mosquito man, don’t you?
Barbara
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