A Bobbing Head in the Distance

When we stopped at the roadside park on U.S. 2 along Lake Michigan in the U.P., I saw a head bobbing pretty far out and I wondered whether the person was floating on a surfboard hoping to catch some tiny Great Lakes wave that could make them feel Malibu-bound. I didn’t dwell on this, tending to my dogs and mindful of the wind that was whipping and chilly for an August day.

I’m wary of Lake Michigan. Its waves can hide all manner of rip tides. My cousin’s stepdaughter died in a rip tide off Traverse City. I hadn’t seen my cousin for years and had never met her stepdaughter but the thought has stuck with me for years. This beautiful lake can kill you, I think to myself, so I don’t swim when there are waves, only when the lake is calm, gently swaying, tame enough that my legs can talk back to any pull that might show up.

When we were back on U.S. 2, our dogs safely loaded and our pit stops made, a police pick-up truck came roaring toward us, siren screaming and lights flashing. And towed behind the police pick-up was a small boat on a trailer. The head bobbing in the water! That had to be where they were heading. But we didn’t turn around. We kept on in our direction, watching the police pick-up truck in the rear view mirror. We talked about how long it would take to launch the boat, the unloading that takes so long when people are setting out for a happy day on the lake. The police must know how to do it faster, we think. That’s what we hope.

We don’t know what happened. We pray for the best. And we watch the wind and the waves. Always.