Pilgrimage

Until three days ago I had never seen a Great Lake.  Of course in grammar school I learned the acronym HOMES for these harbingers of geological time; later, in college I imagine, I studied the importance of the Lakes in frontier movement and later in the development of shipping, trade, and simple, elegant movement in the United States.  So I knew of them, I knew a great deal about them, but I had never SEEN them.  Not a single one.  At least not that I can recall with any adult memory.

Lake Michigan.  What an elemental experience.

This Thanksgiving Holiday I have begun to think of as a Pilgrimage of sorts- with Wisconsin of all places as my Mecca, my Wailing Wall, my Vatican City.  That's right- Wisconsin.  My father's sister Nancy lives here, in Sheboygan, on the banks of Lake Michigan (of course.. I am geographically challenged so when she informed me that the Lake was some seven blocks from her house I had to lug my jaw off of the floor).  Some time ago I decided that for this first Thanksgiving stateside in two years I should probably take off for parts unknown.  I felt comfort and rightness in going north, started sending out self-inviting emails and my Aunt welcomed me quickly and happily.

Then, because families are what they are, my parents decided to join me; my honorary Aunt would make the trip as well; and about a week ago we learned my father's younger sister and her husband would join us as well.  I guess my pseudo-spiritual quest for warmth at holiday was infectious.  So off we set, my parents and I, and others, on the journey north.  Over the river, through the woods... through mountains and a stretch of Indiana that Dante himself could not have written with more Inferno-esque accuracy... and suddenly (not so suddenly... more like 15 hours later) we pulled up in front of 1212 Main.

We had arrived.  I had arrived.

And then the Lake Michigan bomb was dropped.  Some blogs ago, I mentioned that Mother Nature gives me gifts in the most precious capacity.  This is certainly one of them.  I had no idea that I would see this  body of water.  I had no idea how striking the colors of the sinking sun which played upon it's surface.  That's right, the Pilgrimage was no longer pseudo-spiritual, but entirely so.  The Lake embraced my soul and wrapped me in its ancient, surreal presence.

I have stared at the Lake every time we have driven or meandered by it, trying desperately to memorize it's immense power, it's old old beauty and endlessness.  Here is something glacial, something ageless and unconfined except by shorelines which barely seem to hold it in place.  Here is something that makes sense in a senseless place and a senseless time.

Mother Nature, Lake Michigan, the Pilgrimage, Tom Turkey.... It is Thanksgiving today.  I can hear my aunts and mother in the kitchen, talking about stuffing and clam dip and the date/pecan scones I made last night.  The sounds of family are as comforting and elemental as the sounds of that Lake that is pulsing and vibrating with Greatness just a few blocks from here.

Stay tuned, my friends.  And Happy Thanksgiving.