My friends, Deb and Tim, have access to a family cottage on Lake Michigan near Port Sheldon, and are most generous in sharing it with those less fortunate. I am fortunate to be one of those. Last winter, during a "women's retreat," I took my camera for a long walk along the frozen shoreline and marveled at the wonderful drama that season lends to the lake. Last weekend, during a Mary-Emma retreat, I took my camera for a long walk along the sun-slanted shoreline and was grateful to not be wearing Cuddl-Duds, turtleneck, wool sweater, down jacket, face mask, hat with earflaps and, mostly, those incredibly ineffective gloves without fingers. Drama is good, but a tank top--and summer breeze lifting your hair--is way better. The best.

A little juxtaposition work here, as I took duo-seasoned shots of two of my favorite sights along that stretch: a penguin and Stonehenge:

I was glad to see that my penguin pal had stuck around for the summer. I asked him if he had happy feet, but he just acted like he didn't hear me. Probably sick of that question.

penguin contemplates fresh water living

penguin contemplates fresh water living, originally uploaded by Five eyes.

He's thinking about it. Likes the tundra; temp is good. Not sure yet if he's ready for a low-sodium diet.

Stonehenge, Lake Michigan Campus, Summer Style.

Summer: Not sure how these pylons came to be here, but they're really cool.

A world onto itself

IMG_6025, originally uploaded by Five eyes.

Same pylons in winter, and Lake Michigan takes on an other-worldly feel. A Star Wars planet.

Stonehenge, Lake Michigan Campus

Stonehenge, Lake Michigan Campus, originally uploaded by Five eyes.

I loved how craggy and desolate this looked last winter.

While it will bring relief in many ways, I find myself mostly sad about having to sell our house. I'll save the melodrama for conversations with my 3:00 a.m. ghosts, but I do hope to post a photo of the house here and there--some showing its nicer side, maybe some baring its (my) general dishevelment, if I'm feeling brave. I'll consider it my little tribute to this wonderful place I've called home for twenty years.

I remember seeing this entryway for the first time and being shushed from gushing too much in front of the realtor. I fell hard and fast and knew I had to live here, even if it meant having only $700 left to our names and a refrigerator yet to buy.

Aunt Myrtle's beautiful old dresser, Emma's artwork from Traci Krino's class, a lamp I bought right before Jay's big 50th birthday blowout, some votives I have no recollection of buying, and a wall painted in Benjamin Moore Jack O'Lantern.

A room that's seen great feasts, amazing friends, beautiful laughter.

I really do love this kitchen.

After fourteen years in the house, we redid the kitchen in 2004. It's a wonderful, homey yet contemporary kitchen that we used and enjoyed to a great degree. But from my perspective now, it feels a bit like hubris.

Downstairs bathroom, renovated along with the kitchen. Paint color: Dill Pickle. The lamp shade is broken from being knocked over so many times by the cat(s). Faye, one of said cats, is in the window.

The energy of lightning.

We're off to a wonderfully stormy start to summer; at least three great storms (I've lost track) since the solstice just two days ago. I hope it's a harbinger of things to come.

Three summers ago, I caught my first and last lightning shots during three different storms. Here are some, in reverse order because I don't have the hang of blog posts yet.

woman in full stride

woman in full stride, originally uploaded by Five eyes.

I had no oomph for a good long while a few years ago. I was depressed and lonely and very sorry for myself. I remember sitting in my car outside the Peanut Store one afternoon after dropping Paula back to work from lunch, and seeing a woman I know walk across the street. I was so struck by her stride: easy, confident, purposeful. I couldn't imagine it; it had been so long since I'd felt that way.

A few weeks later, I caught another woman in full stride. She's so clear to me in that bolt, her hair blowing back, her arms in motion and that strong front leg. I've thought of her so often over the past three years, and she's energized me.

out of the black

out of the black, originally uploaded by Five eyes.

Same night. Look at that energy.

last strike

last strike, originally uploaded by Five eyes.

Third time: Kollen Park. Same summer, I just realized. So all my lightning shots were in 2007.

I got so many that night; it was such a great storm. Here's one of my favorites.

most excellent storm

most excellent storm, originally uploaded by Five eyes.

The second time was at Torch Lake, that same year. Early morning--6:00; Eliza, Grace and Ella milling about because the storm woke them in their tent. I imagine Connor and Ian with Nintendo DSs in the living room, but I might be getting mornings mixed up. Taken from Touchstone's front porch, where I stayed nice and dry.

The first time.

Enter spring., originally uploaded by Five eyes.

I’ve been lucky enough to capture lightning strikes three different times.

Here’s my very first shot of lightning—and the most exhilarating. It was my last class of the HAAC Digitial photography class w/Jeff Raterink, and storms were coming. We were scheduled to shoot outside, and no one else showed because they figured it was canceled. So it was Jeff, his sidekick, James and me, down at the farmer’s market in a driving rain, ziploc bags taped over our cameras to keep them dry. We got drenched and blown about and it was one of coolest things I’ve ever done. Here I’m looking west and caught this over the Padnos buildings (I think).

Poppies leave an impressionism.

Something about the soft promise of these poppies that's just...promising.


(From the gentlemen's garden)

I love summer's warm colors.