Happy Birthday, Uncle Sam

Happy Fourth of July. Like so many other things, it isn’t quite what it seems to be. The actual day Congress voted for independence was July 2. That’s when Adams—part of the committee that oversaw the Declaration—thought the holiday would be.
They finally got around to ratifying the Document itself on the 4th. It wasn’t signed until sometime in August. So, pick your day and celebrate. For us in Michigan, it’s really the start of summer. None but madmen and children small enough that their pain receptors haven’t yet connected to their brains go swimming in Lake Michigan before the Fourth.
It’s a beautiful lake. I’ve taken friends who have lived along the ocean down to see it. They are often astonished that something wet and fresh enough to drink (Green Bay, Milwaukee, Chicago, Gary, Kalamazoo, Grand Rapids and uncountable small towns all do) can look so like the ocean.
But it’s cold. Only after a spell of truly hot weather—without much wind—does the water along the shore climb into the 70s so that an adult (with attached pain receptors) can go in without whimpering. Right now, on this Fourth—after recent wind and rain—it’s back down in the 50s.
You’re liable to have about ten good days for dipping more than your toes in the Lake, usually between July 4th and mid-August. The beach sand is some of the finest on the planet, even when it’s cold out. The State of Michigan had the wisdom decades ago to string the Lake Michigan shore with large public parks from the Indiana border all the way to Traverse City. You can camp or daytrip.
These are still wonderful parks—at one time there was budget enough to maintain them better. Most of the concession stands are shut down; the life guards have passed into the mists of history. There are still red (don’t swim), yellow (watch yourself) and green (go for it) flags, but everyone ignores them and few may know what they stand for.
A day in paradise is that rare occasion when waves are four or five feet and water is warm. You can body surf for yards or just stand and get knocked about. You can ride small surfing boards or inner tubes and then pull yourself back out for the next wave. (Life guards used to run up red flags whenever things got that much fun [See? Budget cuts aren’t completely horrible.] But there can be real danger—especially near a pier where there are powerful currents and undertows.)
No one should swim in Lake Michigan who hasn’t been told how to survive being caught in an undertow and dragged out to sea under water. Don’t walk on the piers in heavy weather. The most popular pier—in Grand Haven—has a large monument to all those who have been swept off to their deaths in storms. Waves can hit 15 feet. But there are no sharks.
On a relatively calm day, walking out a quarter of a mile into Lake Michigan is a glorious sight and experience. The promenade along the Grand River and out into the Lake is the finest I’ve walked either at the Atlantic, Pacific or Lake Michigan coasts.
People come for hundreds, even thousands of miles with their campers. Reservations at popular State Parks on holidays often need to be made a year in advance. For a few hours on the evening before the July 4th Holiday, US 31 looks like New York City at rush hour.
They come from Chicago, St. Louis, Indiana, Ohio, Wisconsin, Detroit, Texas, Kentucky, Ontario, the Carolinas, New York and even further. In the course of a summer it is not unusual for me to see license plates from every state but Hawaii. One year I actually saw one from there.
In between the State and county parks (some of them hundreds of acres in size) are the cottages. People from Grand Rapids and Chicago seem to predominate. Although you will also have cottage owners from as far away as Texas—they just leave a car up here.
Chicago people cluster in whole colonies—spending the season in summer homes that have been in their families for generations. There are plenty of winterized, year around homes for people who commute from the shore to inland jobs the year around.
I know of one man who parks his family along Lake Michigan and commutes to his job in Boston. If you want to buy a home on the shore itself, just tack several hundred thousand onto what would normally be the price of that particular house. Even in a nasty recession.
That’s why it is so wonderful to have the parks with their hundreds of yards of open beach. Within 20 miles of my home there are five huge state parks, three large county parks and four city-owned parks. The smallest of these is contains a few football field lengths of public beach.
In one, guides will show you nature trails, you can stop in at the museum to learn how the huge dunes were formed or you can climb to a long walkway at the top of the dunes to see what they look like in their various stages of development. You can camp in all the state parks and at least one of the county parks.
Here come the tents, the pop-up tent campers, the camping trailers, the sometimes house-like motorized campers, the boats, the dune buggies, the four wheelers, rolling up US 31 or coming across on US 94 or 96. It is a procession that goes on all summer.
Of course you cannot forget the hundreds—no, thousands—of small lakes dotting the entirety of Michigan. Many have their own public beaches, campgrounds or boat launches. Their shores are lined cheek by jowl with cottages and winterized homes. People rent, own and/or commute from these as well. Tonight I’m going to the home of a friend on one of these lakes to watch fireworks over the water. We’ve done it for years.
The real push to get out of the hot cities begins this weekend. At ten miles from the shore, we are degrees cooler than inland. Drive toward the shore and it gets cooler by the mile. (That coolness gives us lots more snow in winter, too. An occasionally significant downside to living here.)
It’s party time here. I stood behind a man yesterday at my super market. All he was buying was tomatoes, strawberries, hot dogs and hamburger. Four hundred dollars worth. I kidded him about following him. He shrugged, “Come along. Just bring your appetite.”
The days are obviously gone when you could stand in line at the checkout and see Paul Newman or young John Kennedy ahead of you. But we still have some good festivals and parties here. In any case, Happy July Four.