A Wisconsin Adventure

    Day Seven

 

The following morning we are a party of six—including Jim, wife Cindy, daughter Michelle, and granddaughter Patriot—and we are standing on the quiet, far western shore of Lake Superior.

    We are on Wisconsin Point—a narrow, three-mile-long peninsula of woods and wildlife, hiking trails and beach, and which, with its counterpart to the north, Minnesota Point, reportedly comprises the world’s largest freshwater sand bar. The “Point” lies on the outskirts of Superior’s city limits, and separates Lake Superior from Allouez Bay, and the city.

    It’s another pleasant summer day. The air is warm, with occasional sunshine through bluish overcast.

    We are barefoot on the beach. Ally is in her swimming suit. It is tranquil, secluded, and we have the ribbon of sand to ourselves. 

    We are, it seems, removed from civilization. Perhaps it was the circuitous drive and bumpy back road leading here that make it seem so. Or perhaps it is the simplicity of the immense vista before us.

    Lake Superior’s vast, gray expanse extends to the horizon.  To the north, far in the distance, a thin green line—the forested shore of Minnesota—arcs outward along the lake, as far as the eye can see. To the south extends the northwestern shoreline of Wisconsin.

    There is no surf. The water is calm, and very shallow. There is almost no slope of the lake bed. Alexandra and Patriot, wading far from shore, are indistinguishable in the distance. Viewing them through my camera, employing full zoom, I can discern their features and see that the water is still only to their midsections.

    We linger on the beach. I wander about, gathering a handful of smooth, rounded little stones. Alexandra and Patriot return to shore, rejoining our little group.

    Soon our short-lived reunion will conclude. We will gather our things and follow the narrow path back to our vehicles. We will brush off the sand and prepare to depart. After our good-byes, Jim and family will drive home. Ally and I will return to Highway 53. We will journey south, with fresh memories of our sojourn to upper Wisconsin.

    And, as we cruise along, we will look forward to our return.

 

    Ally and I are back in Sauk City.

    We are seated at a window booth in Culver’s restaurant, adjacent the Piggly Wiggly. With its blue and white motif, the fast, casual restaurant—Culver’s ButterBurgers & Frozen Custard—is one of four-hundred-plus locations throughout the Midwest and beyond. This particular site, opened in 1984, was the first.

    We are reminiscing.

    If our friend Vic Ramsey were alive, he would be with us today, ButterBurger in hand. Or we would order to go, and drive the short distance to his apartment near Water Street. We would enjoy the sunny summer day together, as we—Alexandra and I, and Robin and Lianne before her, and sometimes Marcy—did so many times over the years. Later today, or maybe tomorrow, we would visit nearby Devil’s Lake State Park. 

    A thought comes to me.

    Do our loved ones ever visit us from beyond the grave?

    I share my thought with Ally. “I wonder if Vic is here with us,” I say.

    The comment is rhetorical. The answer will remain a mystery.

    I regard the ButterBurger in my hand. With Ally observing, I speak for both of us.

    “Vic,” I announce, “this one’s for you.”

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           Day 8 and Conclusion.

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