The Runner is not only a snobby East Coaster, he's also a stuck up New Englander. (Sorry, babe!) I don't mean that he is rude - quite the contrary. What I mean is that he likes certain things to be a certain way. Roads, for example. They should be windy and have trees that could be growing into your lane. Sugaring sap should run in most of them, too. There is no Spring where he is from, just Mud Season. I, too, have my moments. Mine typically center on access to fresh seafood and not being "land locked." Ridiculous, I am aware. But still. When we first moved to Chicagoland I went to 4 different grocery stores before I could find a tin of Old Bay. (The pride of Maryland!) I was extremely agitated by this - what kind of place were we living in now? Clearly we were no where near the Bay, and I wouldn't be organizing large crab feasts in our backyard with tons of newspaper and paper towels and melted butter. I mean, honestly, Dwyer. What were you expecting?!
Much of this changed, however, over the Fourth of July weekend. On a whim that was characteristic of our lives before homeownership, we skipped town with zero plan on Saturday morning, just knowing that we were headed to the Michigan Coast to check things out.
WOW. There were windy roads and farm stands and trees threatening to shove us into oncoming traffic. There was a big sandy beach with Mattituck-like waves. There were even signs alerting swimmers to the dangers of an undertow. An undertow! In Lake Michigan! (I didn't need to read it, though. I could recite that warning in my sleep.) The sand was so hot it burned The Runner's feet! I did miss the salt and seafood, though. But the perk of no salt is that you don't feel desperate for a shower immediately after leaving the beach.
We started in Holland and had a yummy lunch at the New Holland Brewing Company. Several of The Runner's friends had recommended it (for the beer), but the food was quite good on its own, especially the homemade hummus. Then we hit Holland State Park where we burned our feet, read the riptide warning, swam, and threw some sand at other small children. Oh, wait, that was The Talker.