Moon Lake

The Mr. does this count down thing. He’s always counting down something. This many days until Christmas, that many work days until vacation, so many weeks until our anniversary. I am not a counter-downer, I find it makes the time drag. I just kind of arrive upon the awaited day surprised that it’s here already.
The beginning of July every year we head up north. I don’t know the exact year this tradition started but it was when daboyz were tiny. Even before the Mr. and I took them north, my parents were taking them. So their history of the northern pilgrimage is even longer than ours.
My parents started thinking about a vacation home in the Northern Michigan area of Moon Lake when daboyz were still in diapers. Don’t take the name Moon Lake too seriously, it’s more of a pond/lake/puddle depending on the rainfall. It’s a humble little lake, but we like to call it ours. It’s not a swimming beachfront kind of a lake. It’s a lake for the eyes.
So every July when the Big Four shut down (you auto workers will know what that means); we head north to Moon Lake for a week or so. Last year with two teenagers, the Mr. and I started to wonder how many more of these July weeks in the woods we had left as a family of four. Happily, daboyz still look forward to the shut down trip north.
The Mr. is of course in count down mode. He should’ve worked at NASA. I am just headed into each day knowing it’s coming soon. Daboyz are making plans and talking about it more every day.
In a few weeks, we’re heading out, to Moon Lake.
My eyes are hungry for “up north.” When I was little, I developed this particular appetite with weekends and summers at my grandparents’ farm. I went quite a few years between the sale of the farm and the Moon Lake days hungry but I find that now my taste is satisfied with up north and it’s a relief to know I’m going to get my “fix” soon.
Have you ever had eyes that are hungry? I want to see the fields flying by as we drive the four hours north. Some of them are the same fields from the farm days, so that’s a bonus. I want to see the same roadside stops we make for bathroom breaks, snacks and a pop. I want to see the little towns that didn’t exist when we started the trips years ago, and the bigger towns that were little back in the day. I want to see the rivers we drive past and the houses I have dreamed about living in. I want to listen in as daboyz in the backseat comment about this or that landmark that has become a part of their marrow over their life time.
I want to drive down shadowy roads with overgrown trees that would never be tolerated in the suburbs. I want to open the door of the closed-up cottage and see the familiar futon and bar stools that have been waiting patiently for a year, frozen in time.
I want to see the family pictures on the walls that were brand-new one year, and sweet distant memories today. I want to see the deer trophies on the walls that have hung at the farm, in my grandparents’ basement, in my parents’ home and now here, at our cottage.
I want to watch my big boys wander into their cottage and settle in like they never left, throwing their bags and books and games on their own twin beds to share a room; just like when they were tiny.
I want to watch the Mr. building a campfire as I stand at the kitchen window. I want to sit shivering on the porch swing before the sun comes up with my cup of coffee watching the pine trees sway down the long driveway.
I want to sit still for hours with a book hoping for a humming bird to fly by.
I want to fill my heart with daboyz and the Mr. and Moon Lake.
My eyes are hungry.

Psalm 123
1 I lift up my eyes to you, to you whose throne is in heaven.