It had been many years decades since I had been to one on Great Lakes, and while I knew that the lakes were gigantic, big enough -- at least from my perspective, standing on the shore -- to be indistinguishable from the ocean, I had somehow forgotten exactly how much this fact was true.
Stephen and I flew from New York City (LGA) to Grand Rapids, where we rented a car and drove about an hour west to Saugatuck, where we had rented a cabin in the woods. The trip only took about four hours, which we figured was about the same amount of time it would take to get to Fire Island (assuming one or two minor traffic jams, which is usually a safe assumption).
We arrived several hours before check-in and had lunch in town. It was our first time in Saugatuck, but we had heard it described as 'the Fire Island of the Midwest.' Given that the actual Fire Island is now stratospherically expensive -- and given that we each had connections to Michigan -- we had long been intrigued.
As it turned out, the town was relatively empty.
Most of the gays, it seemed, had fled the scene with the onset of cooler weather.
But it was still comforting to see signs of gay-friendliness, mostly in the form of rainbow flags displayed in many of the storefronts.
A part of me has always been reluctant to embrace the rainbow flag, which can feel trite and superficial -- something 'safe' that corporations use to decorate their parade floats -- but I had to admit that it was comforting to see so many of these flags in the middle of small-town Michigan, where like so much of the country, it's sometimes feels like gays don't exist, or shouldn't exist.
The off-season demographic in Saugatuck seemed to comprise a lot of boomer seniors. Every restaurant was playing lowest-common-denominator soft rock from the 1970s: James Taylor, Cat Stevens, Harry Chapin. The fresh perch was excellent, however.
After lunch, we walked up and down the banks of the Kalamazoo River, where the town is located. Originally there was a lot of industry, but it's now been replaced by tourists and yachts with horrible names like 'Bit o' Finance.' Like many offseason beach towns, it felt a little desolate. We began to question our decision to come to the Fire Island of the Midwest in October.
But then we drove to Oval Beach, a public beach just a few miles away, and were awestruck by the water and the dunes and deciduous trees, which were just entering 'peak.'
Really, we asked ourselves, what more could you want?
We next went to our cottage, which had originally been built in the early 1900s but had been refurbished in a manner befitting its location as a gay destination.
On the screened-in porch, I played a game of checkers with one of the ghosts.
I then decided to go on a run, thinking it would be nice to take the trail through the woods back to Oval Beach, which on the map appeared to be maybe a half-mile away. As it turned out, getting to the path through the woods required climbing what felt like the steepest staircase in the world. (I think I read that it's twenty stories, which is how big the sand dunes are.)
At the top of the staircase, I took the path through the woods.
I didn't realize that forests could grow on sand.
The hill going down was much steeper than it appears in the photograph. I felt dizzy as I compared what I saw on my phone to the reality.
I reached the other side, where it was slightly dismaying to realize that I would have to go back up.
But the trees were so beautiful.
On the way up, I passed through a stand of evergreens.
I imagined this herd of trees running north, which is what trees will do over time.
The path became increasingly steep, even though it looks like it's going down. I was kind of dying, to be honest. I remembered being a kid in the 1970s and hearing about how Walter Payton used to train in the offseason by running up sand dunes. Fifty years later, it made a lot more sense.
But I made it to the top, where I was then able to go back down the steepest staircase in the world.
The next day, we went to Douglas Beach, which was a little more accessible, and no less beautiful.
Many of the beaches were marked 'private' but my understanding of the law is that nobody owns the water's edge, and so we felt comfortable walking along the shoreline.
It's easier to feel adventurous in a gay-friendly town.
We weren't worried about getting gunned down by a MAGA.
Many of the houses have long staircases down to the beach.
But many of the staircases are falling apart.
I've read that the waters of the Great Lakes are also rising, and we seemed to have found evidence.
More optimistically, we talked about moving to Saugatuck and starting a stair-repair business.
People often build impressive-looking structures to warn the water, and the water doesn't care.
I tried not to think too much about rising waters and global warming. (Or war.)
It was enough to look at the sun on the water.
And the turning leaves.
One thing that's amazing about Lake Michigan (and presumably all the Great Lakes) is that this coastline isn't relegated to one spot. It's pretty much endless, as we learned the next day when we drove to another public beach just north of Saugatuck (and south of Holland), where we parked in the prettiest parking lot in the world.
The path to the beach was a bit rough.
Nobody was sweeping the stairs, which stuck me as sort of dream job if it were to exist and pay a living wage (with a pension and healthcare).
It was another steep climb to the summit.
And an even steeper descent to the water, which we decided not to risk.
It was enough to walk through the dune grass.
The sand was incredibly soft.
Over the hills, the forest beckoned.
The stairs going down were treacherous but lovely.
