Locations in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, known for their huge amount of snowfall every winter, have over 300 inches of snow. The snow seems bent on never releasing its wintry grip on the landscape. Even in Northern Michigan’s lower peninsula where I live, people have built snow-lined labyrinths in their yards as a way to escape their houses. Mangled mailboxes, many with their doors bent open, poke upwards through roadside drifts along our main road as if waiting to be fed. The journey from our home by the lake requires some climbing skills when we venture up our own personal ski hill. After about a 150-foot trek up our twisted driveway, we can catch sight of the main road at the top of the hill. Once there, we begin a fairly easy descent of about 300 feet towards the main road through a maze of maples, oaks, and pine trees. If I had actually understood geometry in high school and college, I would be able to figure out the icy slope of the line.
Despite slippery roads and bone-chilling cold weather, winter in Northern Michigan continues to create one of the most beautiful landscapes I have ever seen. Although the cycle of plowing, shoveling, salting, and waiting to see what Mother Nature has in mind for the ten-day forecast can be a bit tedious, I am always fascinated by the daily changes. Recently, I power-walked four miles on the road knowing that yet another storm was headed our way. Bomb cyclone, anyone? Peaceful in my solitude, I admired the woods and the secrets the trees held close, the crows seemingly warning me to watch my step as I dodged icy areas on my journey, and the occasional presence of a vehicle approaching me reminded me that I was not alone in the world. Despite seeing others, I did not wish for conversation. A simple wave of acknowledgement was sufficient.
As I return home after my walks, the birds seem to welcome me before I step inside the house. If I do not replenish the feeders with seed or suet fast enough, the birds become gangs of gangly children squibbling (a new word I accidentally came up with), letting me know I need to get my act in gear. Pileated, red-headed, red-bellied, downy, and hairy woodpeckers all move to their own beat, so to speak. Chickadees, nuthatches, finches, sparrows, blue jays, and mourning doves all join in on the festivities with their various coos, chipper calls, and beautiful whistles. A cardinal couple shows up almost daily, and I always try to sneak a shot of them with my camera. Sometimes I am stealthy enough, and I capture a shot, but I do not want to disturb them when they are dining. My husband and I call out to each other when we spot the cardinals in the woods. Our affection for this couple seems to grow every year. Each morning before sunrise, I make my way outside to shoot sunrise photographs, and I listen carefully for a cheery greeting from a chickadee or blue jay.
Since December 31st, 2017, I have taken a photograph of the sunrise no matter where I am or what the weather conditions are like. Probably about 85% of my sunrise shots have been taken at Higgins Lake. Each one of them is different. Although some of my favorite sunrise shots have been taken in places such as Whitefish Point, Marquette, or the mountains in Colorado, there is something quite magical about my mornings at Higgins Lake. The landscape provides a vista for introspection or meditation. To borrow from Dorothy and her oft-quoted line, there truly is no place like home.
One morning recently the moon and stars lit up the pre-sunrise sky. The day before I had put on my knee-high winter boots and waded through about six new inches of snow in our yard so that I could head out onto the solidly frozen Higgins Lake. I held onto the branches of a huge pine tree growing near the shoreline and stepped down over the ridges of ice and layers of snow. Once again, I created a large heart-shaped path in the snow along the shoreline. I am working on my third one since January. I am rather proud of my work of art on the lake. Creating this heart makes me feel like a kid again. Although my landscape in Michigan is quite different than where I grew up along the Arkansas River in Dodge City, Kansas, the connection for me is still the same: nature and my desire to explore the world on my own. I suppose this stems from being an only child, and my parents allowing me to figure things out on my own. My late mother was a talented artist, a jokester, and someone who loved me despite my terrible teenage years. She would have loved seeing this enormous heart on the lake. Knowing her and her sense of humor, she would have asked to be photographed while standing in the middle of the heart with a red-feather boa wrapped around her winter coat.
My mother passed away on March 22nd in 2008 after a battle with Alzheimer’s disease. She was born in 1918, and she lived an imaginative and very creative life. My father died in August of 2012 at the age of 92. He loved my mother’s decorated eggs, artwork, whimsical designs (she even decorated Quaker Oats containers in order to fill them with gifts), and he tolerated my guitar playing. He dedicated himself to hard work as he ran both a restaurant and our small farm. In retrospect, it seems as if my mother was always indoors creating artwork somewhere in the house, and my father was always outside working somewhere in the yard or the field or tending to the various livestock we had. If I had completed my chores, I was allowed to explore whenever I wanted to. I realize that the sense of wonderment I felt as a child is even stronger now that I am older. I wish my parents were still alive, and I could have a conversation with them about what I have learned as I embrace these moments of solitude.
This quiet time for reflection will change as spring moves us forward and people begin to return to Higgins Lake. Warmer temperatures will allow to the lake to thaw, and it will reward us with its groans and cracks as it begins to shake loose the layers of ice. Fishermen will head out towards their favorite fishing spots as they catch the sunlight in the wakes of their small boats. Early morning water skiers will glide through the smooth water and create small waves that roll towards the shore. Robins will call as they forage the lawn for insects. I will edge closer to the water, careful to protect my camera from harm, so that I can try and capture the sun’s reflection upon the water. Perhaps this will be yet another slope of the line I do not fully understand how to calculate, but it won’t matter. My moments of solitude will be all I need.
First of all, no matter how many people have joked about it over the years, Gregg Allman did not write “Melissa” about me. In my bluesy, sultry-voiced, still-developing-mind, I imagined that if he had only known me, he would most certainly have written the song about me. Having one’s name associated with a highly popular song is sort of like telling people you are from Kansas. You wait for the chuckle and the inevitable comeback: “Did you know Dorothy?” from the The Wizard of Oz. Or better yet, was I actually Dorothy in disguise? Hilarious! As the character Cher would have said in Clueless, “As if!” I decided I should stop wearing pigtails for the rest of my life, and that my gingham dress had to go. I haven’t quite given up the red shoes yet. I do believe that if I create the right playlist for myself, I can become anyone I want to be. After all, we have had the power all along to let music guide us down whatever long and winding road we choose to take.
Even if I had stumbled across a yellow brick road, I can’t imagine life as a gal named Dorothy. What must she go through to have a name so associated with a fictional character? I have loved my name all of my life, and I thanked my mother a few times during my terrible teens for bestowing it on me. According to my mother, I was named after a relative who was born in the 1800s. It was as if my mother had been waiting all of her life to name someone Melissa. Luckily, I came into her life before our dog Stinker. I doubt if even Gregg Allman could have come up with lyrics for that name.
According to Gregg Allman’s memoir, he was searching for a name to use in a song he was working on, and he heard a woman calling for “Melissa” in a grocery store. In my young and very fertile imagination, I imagined it was me. One problem though: I had never been to Florida, which is where Allman was when he heard a woman calling for a young girl in a grocery store.
When I was in high school, my head inflated with a music-filtered ego, I imagined a cute teenaged boy with long dark hair and deep brown eyes, essentially George Harrison’s look-alike, strumming his guitar, and singing to me. The room would be dark. He would stare into my eyes. After he was through, he would lean forward and tell me how beautiful I was. That actually happened to me once at a party, only at the end of the song, the young guitar player asked if I liked the way he played the song. I said yes, and then we stared at each other, clueless as to what was supposed to happen next. Unfortunately, romantic fantasies do not always end well.
My love affair with the late Tom Petty’s music grew out of listening to his songs and realizing how perfect some of them were for my running playlist. In the 80s, I used a Sony Walkman with cassettes in them and in the 90s, I had a portable CD player to listen to tunes. Listening to the same CD for a six-mile run made me slightly crazy. Around 2010, I received an Apple iPod Nano that turned my life around. Playlists! A device I could stick in my pocket! Of course, Apple has now discontinued the iPod Nano, and, naturally, I dropped mine the other day. The face cracked, but it still works. Kind of like me. I’m not ready to switch to my phone for a playlist or whatever new thing Apple is selling for my playlist, because it won’t fit into the pocket of my workout pants. As Tom Petty sings, “I Won’t Back Down” until I don’t have a choice. I’m very stubborn, and I thank my late father for that distinctive trait.
I have only recently returned to walking on the roads with a definite pep to my step since my surgery in April to fix an acetabular labral tear in my right leg. My surgeon wants me to hold off on running until April 2018. I am being very patient and listening to my doctor on this one. I recently graduated from physical therapy, and I will miss those weekly trips to Traverse City where I drove the back roads and enjoyed checking out the animals at the beefalo farm on Fletcher Road, slowing down while passing the sheep farm on Boardman Road, and avoiding deer making bad decisions all along the way. In the past six months, I have seen eagles, hawks, and a sheriff stopping speeders in front of me (whew!) on a routine basis. My music playlists have all been extremely helpful in getting me pumped up for physical therapy. As the Allman Brothers sing, “I’m just looking for some good clean fun.” And there is no place like the physical therapist’s fun house to experience that good-time feeling.
On Labor Day weekend, I listened to Tom Petty’s song “U Get Me High” on my playlist as I walked the 5K along Lake Superior in Marquette, Michigan, during the weekend’s races. My son ran the half-marathon, and he had been competing in road races all year. This was the first race I was able to participate in since November of 2016. I had asked my physical therapist, Josh, to write a note giving me permission, so that my family would believe that I had healed enough to walk in a road race. Yes, walk, not run. I was thrilled to be out in the rain and wind, inhaling the air and being part of a group of people who loved road races. I wondered what some of their stories were as I walked along, singing to the songs on my playlist. After the race was over, I enjoyed a beer with my son and husband at Blackrocks Brewery, and I could not erase the happy grin on my face as we sat in the bar. I am now gearing up to walk the Turkey Trot in Traverse City on Thanksgiving Day. I walked in the Turkey Trot last year, but I was in a lot of pain. Did I mention that I am stubborn, and I should not have been participating? This year, I am ready to walk pain-free. I no longer need a note from my physical therapist.
During all of my travels over the years, either walking on the road or driving, I have realized that depending on radio stations, including the multiple offerings on Sirius, or listening to my CDs does not always fit my mood. My trusty little iPod with its randomly named playlists (Walking, Training, Marquette) works perfectly in the car or when I am out walking on the road. When my friend Susan and I took a road trip to Michigan’s Upper Peninsula this summer, I created a playlist with songs I knew would remind us of our high school days, and other songs I knew would make us feel the happiness groove as we worked our way along Lake Superior’s shoreline taking photos and collecting rocks. Although my right leg was far from healed, I could move around enough to get where I needed to go. Music and great friends have always been my inspiration to move.
I know that as time moves forward, my leg will continue to heal, and I will participate in more road races. As far as my photography goes, I can now bend low enough to the ground to shoot photos I could not take for a long time. I can also climb steps now, so that will open up another vantage point for me. When my husband and I were at Tahquamenon Falls a few months ago, I ventured down the 94 steps to the brink of the falls to shoot photos, and then climbed back up. My heart was racing, but I don’t know if it is because I was woefully out of shape, or had a super adrenalin rush. After all, as Tom Petty sings: “It was a beautiful day. The sun beat down. I had the radio on. I was driving…runnin’ down a dream.” It might have been a small goal, but in my last three visits to Tahquamenon Falls, I had only stared at those steps as if they were lined with rattlesnakes. Someday, I kept reminding myself. That day arrived.
In Gregg Allman’s last CD, he covers an old Willie Dixon song with great poignancy. Gregg passed away on May 27th this year. The lyrics to the song are words I wish we could all live by: “I live the life I love, and I love the life I live.” Life is full of challenges, and some days are really, really tough. The death of someone you love, cancer, a brain tumor, and a broken heart are just a few of the things that can knock us down. Music, even if we have to seek it out, can lift us up again. I hope your playlists inspire you as much as mine do, and I hope you never hesitate to update your playlist if it isn’t helping you get your groove on.