Out-on-the-Hook!

“Sometimes we are lucky enough to know our lives have been changed, to discard the old and embrace the new and run headlong down an immutable course. It happened to me . . . on that summer’s day when my eyes were opened to the sea.”  - Jacques Yves-Cousteau

Blue-green stretches of water, emerald islands scattered across this fluid canvas, and warm pine-laden breezes – when it comes to restoring body and soul, no place in the world can compete with Drummond Island. And few other places in the world can inspire one to explore, again and again, the tapestry that makes up a summer spent in the north; the rituals of family, the pleasures of friendship, and the immutable cycles of the natural world. There is a depth of feeling and wonder that lies at the very core of spending one’s summer Up North.

For me there is no sweeter pleasure than a summer day spent out-on-the-hook in Harbor’s big bay. I wake up early in the morning, squint up at the sky to see if the haze margin that promises a scorcher is smudging the horizon, pack a lunch, a hat, some sun block, snatch a bottle of water, and dash out the door. I inevitably run back for the book and bottle of wine I left on the table, then dive into the car and head down to Yacht Haven. My adrenaline is pumping in fierce anticipation, and finally – there it is: the jockeying for a parking space, the hunt for the cart to haul items down the dock and the first deep inhalation of diesel as the Up North’s engine turns over and comes to life. Bingo! All my senses are buzzing with the intoxicating elixir of the elements!

It’s WATER time!

Once anchored out in Harbor I take up residence on the deck – my head falls back unto a pillow. I angle my hat, adjust my sunglasses, open my book and settle into nirvana. Lord Bryon once wrote “There is society where none intrudes/By the deep Sea, and music in its roar: I love not man the less, but Nature more.” I would have to agree with this great swimmer wholeheartedly.

Once significantly toasted top and bottom I predictably dive into the water. Half submerged, at one with the aqueous mystery below; I bob around the boat, exposed to the sun and air from the neck up. I am on sensory overload, and I haven’t even broken any laws! I am the most content woman in the world. I surrender to the rhythm of the water and my mind goes as blank as the sky. I might swim a few strokes and then turn on my back to float, letting the energy of the water pass around and through me.

After a while I come back to the present, climb up on to the boat, and flop on to a towel laid out on the deck in a coma of bliss. I slowly drift off to sleep – the smile on my face the same as it was when I was a child and my eyes were first opened to lazy summer days spent out-on-the-hook.

“Summer afternoon – Summer afternoon – the two most beautiful words in the English language.”  – Henry James

Drummond Island Sunsets . . .

The setting sun blesses

my heart with peace . . .

~ Sri Chinmoy

*Note: Sunset courtesy of Mother Nature. Vantage point courtesy of Drummond Island Yacht Haven 
1st photo taken Monday, March 29, 2010
2nd photo taken Tuesday, March 30, 2010
What a difference a day makes!

Aero Sleighs on Drummond Island . . .

as told by George A. Litchard

To give you a better idea of how our winter fun worked, it went like this: We carried two of three hounds with us and we would circle one of the smaller islands (in Potagannissing Bay) and look for fresh coyote tracks. (Coyotes frequently travel over the ice) Finding tracks, we would turn the hounds loose and run the sleighs out about half a mile offshore (usually 2 or 3 sleighs), shut down the engines and wait for the hounds to drive the coyotes out onto the ice.

We then chased down the coyotes in the sleighs and shot them. The real fun was the waiting. Frequently it was 20 to 40 degrees below zero with a nice gentle breeze out of the north at about 40 knots. (We didn't know about "chill factors" then. If we had, we probably would have all frozen to death.) After a refreshing wait of half an hour to an hour, you beat your brittle little frozen body some more by launching yourselves across rough ice at speeds approaching Mach-1. No, the sleighs did not have heaters, and frostbite was something that only a sissy got.

The fact that we were actually killing quite a few coyotes (for which the state paid bounty) and, the general population was still of the opinion that all coyotes, wolves, foxes, and birds of prey should be exterminated by whatever means necessary, must have kept the Department of Conservation from locking everybody up when this stuff was published all over the country. After I became a Conservation Officer, I learned that they, the Conservation Department, had quite a "file" on me, as well as on our particular idea of winter sports. I was frequently reminded of it, too.

The Wing Aero Sleigh was designed & built by Blain Wing in St. Ignace, Michigan in the 1940s

More photos of these amazing machines can be found at this link: http://www.flickr.com/photos/litchard/tags/aerosleigh/

A Community's True Value is Measured by its People and Their Dogs

Chloe' and I walk every day – rain or shine, sleet or snow – there are few things that keep us from the luxury of raising our faces to the weather of the day.

Down state our walks have a very predictable pattern – down the street, up the hill, past Notacat's house hoping for a brief encounter that always ends with Notacat racing up and down his fenced domain. Then it is be on to the Dog Park where Chloe' can lose her leash for a brief but thoroughly enjoyable romp in and out of the trees that make up a wooded green space nestled among the stately old homes of our historic neighborhood. Heading home she walks briskly, eager for a glimpse of a new Border collie that has taken up residence in a house on the hill. An invisible fence keeps the pup confined to her yard ¬ and provides some form of sadistic satisfaction for Chloe' as she runs in and out of Sasha’s personal space, taunting the young collie with her ability to roam at will without the fear of electric shock.

These down state walks provide little, if any, opportunity for getting to know the human residents of our neighborhood. Outside of a hello here or a nod there, few take the initiative for sustained conversation. We are rarely detained, despite the fact that we are always open to taking a risk – open to the possibility of a new great adventure. The sad fact is we more often than not return home with no new stories to share, no new adventures to spin into tales to entertain friends and family.

Walking on Drummond Island is never so predictable ¬ never so “white bread” mundane. Every morning on the Island brings the smell of adventure wafting through the trees – the possibility of new explorations to make us step a little livelier.

We always head out down Somes Road towards the old quarry knowing that each passing car will make room for Chloe' as she roams without being confined to a leash. Clif Haley can be depended on to stop and share a warning about marauding bears. Phil Perry always nods and waves – this despite the annoyance of having to slow to a crawl as Chloe' meanders too near the center of the road. Tom and Sue McCaskill, Roy and Judy Martin, Nancy Kleiner, Joyce Buckley, Carolyn Haley, and all our other neighbors can be counted on for a wave, a smile and sometimes even a friendly honk of their horn. Ross – along with his dog Chardonnay – never miss a chance to invite us down the lane to check out the blooms in his luscious, exotic gardens.

When we first took up residence on Somes I was anxious to start exploring, to meander through the woods and down the shore in anticipation of new adventures and discoveries. When I called Harry Ropp for permission to access his land there was no hesitation in his response – no harsh comments concerning my proposal to be allowed to freely trespass – he readily invited me to wander his woods as I pleased. His generous spirit has provided Chloe' and me the opportunity to have countless encounters with the deer, fox, Pileated woodpeckers and other residents of the wooded limestone cliffs. Our adventures and discoveries include slides down snow covered slopes along with witnessing the first shaky strides of a newborn fawn. We have searched forever for a rack we know must have been dropped by the buck we saw roaming the woods in November.

A similar kind welcome was also echoed by Gert Bailey – but not only did Gert share her beach with its gorgeous views of Potagannissing Bay, she opened up her heart. Each walk since has included a wave or a chat – our conversations encompassing everything from the day's weather to our own personal struggles with health issues.

Eventually we make our way to the office at Yacht Haven where Connor has set up a canine oasis. My walks use to simply involve circling out past the flag pole and then down the docks, up pass the boat houses on our way back to the woods. I might have waved and said a “Hello!” as we past by – but I never spent much time on that leg of our walk until Chloe' learned about Connor's stash of treats.

Chloe' soon trained me to stop at the Yacht Haven office on every walk. Actually, she doesn't always wait for me. She has learned, following the lead of other great marina dogs - Sophie, Cole, Owen, Katie and Finnegan – how to nose open the screen door and search for Connor in anticipation of a dog biscuit or two. Connor is the marina's “dog whisperer”. When I am at Yacht Haven and can't find Chloe' I know that she has headed to the office to get a treat – and to give me a chance to stop and chitchat for a while.

These walks through the Somes Road neighborhood are a joy. And the tales they inspire are as rich and vibrant as the tapestry of the woods we hike, the water whose shores we meander and the members of the community we encounter along the way. It doesn't matter how long Chloe' and I are away from the Island. We know that when we return we will be folded back in – made to feel welcome and part of the Somes Road neighborhood. The people and dogs of this little corner of Drummond Island have made it a good place to live.

A neighborhood is not defined just by the style of the homes that line the streets or their prices. A neighborhood's real value comes from the people who live there and how they help one another, swap stories, and take the time to share a dog biscuit and become friends. Millard Fuller once said, “For a community to be whole and healthy, it must be based on people’s love and concern for each other.”

Drummond’s Somes Road community can take pride in being truly whole and healthy as evidenced by its people ¬ and their dogs!

We're on a Boat . . .

A new generation builds new, lasting memories and starts new traditions of their own on Drummond Island.

The video says it all!