Their cabin was rustic, “weather distressed” as Mr. LaVann put it. Authentic. “It’s a look people pay for,” he said and shrugged, and I wondered if that held true for the slightly cockeyed windows and the skull plate and antlers anchored above the front door.
Collecting beach stones is like crafting a life: decisions are needed about what to keep or jettison.
A young woman learns more about herself upon returning to her northern Michigan roots following an embarrassment in New York City.
The joys of a summer bonfire with family at the cottage are cherished through the years.
Daunted by winter winds and a tempest snowstorm along Lake Superior.
The symbols and lives of Great Lakes’ Native Americans explored in a new novel.
Lake Michigan through the eyes of an East Coast transplant.
When thumbing through seed catalogs, I gazed at the photographs of meadows dotted with daisies, sprinkled with scarlet poppies and crowned with golden coreopsis.
Built in 1929, the little two-story farmhouse had its charms. But it was the park-like property on which it sat that compelled us to sign the BUYER line, nearly two acres punctuated in front by century-old walnut, oak and hickory trees, a trio of towering evergreens and a fragrant overgrown lilac bush.
Driving over the Mackinac Bridge and west back to the lake retreat her grandparents once owned, she rehearsed what she would say to anyone who caught her: “This little cabin has been in my family for half a century…”