Turnbull sibling’s weekend is full of activities.. Four hours north to the top of the mitten. The Harbor Springs area is filled with tourists and boats on Lake Michigan. After breakfast on Saturday, there was a Farmer’s market at the Methodist church. While my sisters in laws searched for treasures and fresh veggies, my two brothers took turns walking me around the market and back and forth to the boat slips. The vessels ranged from small sailing boats to hundred fifty foot yachts. visitors and locals were walking to explore the goods offered. Cut flowers, lavender dried and fresh competed for customers attention. As we walked, I wondered how many miles we traversed.
The hustle and bustle of the market contrasted with the whispered waves lapping against the wharf and slips.
I was glad that I had trained on a stationary bike daily. The heavier all train cane help navigate bumps, curves and grass areas. I left avoiding other shoppers to my sighted guide.
I was glad when it was time to find lunch. We joined another couple from Northville that wanted to visit. The place chosen for lunch was a working farm and restaurant. We were ushered to a large picnic table. I straddled the bench only to find the seat pressed into my hip replacement healed incisions. It kept me answering questions like a teacher. Jack’s wife Trish, asked many questions about the equipment and programs that I used to read and write. Most people think that there is an app for everything. They don’t realized the work and training it takes to do most tasks. I tried to talk about both topics.
Finally, the food arrived, gratefully I dug into a spinach and chicken sandwich with kettle chips.
Upon returning to the cottage, I rested. Eager for the bonfire on the beach to watch the sunset.
&&&. poem
Harbor Springs
Harbor sheltered from storm’s tempest.
Almost to the straights Between Huron and Michigan waters.
Rolling waves change with the prevailing wind.
Boats race with sails unfurled , from Chicago to Mackinac
Only the best sailors finish.
Rest of the hopefuls fall behind.
Some os the large sailing vessels, pass by our cottage.
Prey to the wind’s whims, hope for full sails.
Rigging is pulled, to catch the faintest breeze.
It is a waiting game .
No wind means still waters and a slow time.
Good that some have a small motor when darkness falls.
carolaspot@aol.com
copyrighted 8/4/25
traveling up and down the blind highway 