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"My transistor radio comes from far away; and when it’s night over here, over there, it’s breakin’ day," - Bob Morris and Faye Morris
It was evening, about an hour or so before dark would descend, when I set out on a walk to enjoy the natural experience around me. I was with our recent Japanese house guest, Naomi - a delightful, studious and easygoing woman with a passion for spicy food.
It was a dazzling time to be outside, with the temperature warm but not hot and the sunlight casting glittering shards of broken mirrors over the surface of the lake. The woodlands along the road we walked were lush and green, likely at their peak of seasonal productivity.
Wildflowers stood along the sandy shoulder, nodding in the hints of a gentle breeze. Raspberries had already passed their best and thimbleberries were coming into their own. The end of Naomi's three-week stay with us was already on the horizon.
In a day or two, she would be headed back to her Kansai region on the island of Honshu and her city of Osaka, a bustling metropolis of 2.8 million people - a place popular with tourists, renowned for its cuisine. The time she spent with us passed so quickly.
Naomi enjoyed sitting out at our picnic table in the backyard after dinner, waiting and watching for gray and red squirrels, chipmunks and the two fawns and a doe that have been visiting us daily. She told me that in our part of the world, people and animals live close together, which she appreciated. She told my wife that the solace and peace she found in our backyard helped her slow down and relax.
Naomi's stay coincided with the Perseids meteor shower. For several nights, she and I would sit out in the yard and gaze at the star field, picking out satellites and meteors. She told me she would miss the night skies when she returned to Japan.
I positioned Naomi on my left as we walked. I told her I do the same thing when I walk with my wife, Liana. That way, if a car approached too close to us, I would be able to push off on her right shoulder, shoving her out of the way and into the brush at the side of the road.
She laughed at that when I joked, suggesting that we should practice that move now to be sure it works. We walked at a regular pace, listening to the sounds of blue jays and black-capped chickadees, with Canada geese honking in seemingly playful talk out on the lake beyond the trees.
It wasn't long before we arrived at what I have called "The Wishing Place." We climbed to reach its summit to gaze out over the lake and its islands. While the drop to the water is pronounced, the ledge feels safe in the shadow of tremendous white pines growing up there. Blueberry bushes growing out of the fallen red pine needles had already been picked clean by the local birds.
Naomi took out her camera to take photos and videos of the scene. The sun was going down but was still burning warmly at the top of the tree line. I looked across a wide expanse of open water and saw the Canada geese we'd heard earlier hugging the shoreline along the edge of the nearest of the small islands. There were four of them and they moved slowly across the water in front of a green and gold wall of cattails and reeds.
I moved a few steps to my right to trade vantage points with Naomi. I looked down toward the base of the rock formation. Not far out in the water, looking directly back at me, was a common loon, beautifully marked in summer plumage. It was incredible. I pointed the bird out to Naomi as quickly as I could, afraid that our presence might cause the bird to dive and swim away.
Instead, the loon continued to float where it sat, looking up at us.
For me, I immediately felt a sense of calm and satisfaction come over me to be in the presence of the loon, knowing that we had not frightened or alarmed the bird.
Among some American Indian tribes, loons are considered divine messengers, with their haunting calls thought to be the voices of spirits or ancestors. That was a very cool thought to me.
The last person I visited this place with was my mother, who passed away earlier this year at age 90. Always one for the outdoors, she doubted her ability to reach the top of the rocks here, but with a hand or two on the way up, she had no problem.
The same was true for Naomi.
Some tribes also consider loons bringers of good luck, representing strength and endurance or symbols of connection with nature. All these things ring true to me and resonate within me.
We noticed the sun drop just a little behind the trees and figured it was time to move on. We walked down a more gradual side of the rock formation back down to level ground.
Along the lake we kept watching for birds and animals, while enjoying the plants and trees in bloom and fruition along the way. We found several nests in the gravel of common snapping and painted turtles. The nests were opened and the hatchlings were long gone. But the shriveled-up eggshells were still there.
I picked a couple up and handed them to Naomi so she could feel them between her fingers. She took pictures of the nests and the shells. As we walked farther, down the side of the road, we came across a Styrofoam takeout container from a restaurant that someone in a passing car had thrown out their window a few days prior.
What once had been an order of nachos was now scattered all over the shoulder of the road. Naomi reached out her hands in front of her toward the mess. "Why," she asked. "Idiots," I said.
She nodded her head in agreement.
The lake was soft in its overall complexion as the shadows began to stretch across the surface of the water. In the distance, the trees on the far shorelines became shrouded in blurry end of day half tones and blue-gray appearances that made them harder to clearly discern.
Behind a short row of pine trees, I could see the guarded movements of more geese that were sheltering goslings close to them. I pointed them out to Naomi.
We kept walking up toward a house where goats and other animals are fenced in the front yard. The goats hopped their front legs up to the fence rail, greeting us.
Naomi took pictures of them. One of the goats, which you could just tell was a mischief maker, began trying to tear a yellow reflector off the fence with its teeth.
After a dog started barking on the front porch, we crossed the road and turned around to start walking back. We didn't want to disturb anybody.
On the trip, I pointed out leaning trees loaded with ripe chokecherries. I asked Naomi if she wanted to try one. I told her that they have pits and a bitter taste.
She had been tasting various fruits of the forest on her trip here with us including blueberries, raspberries and blackberries. She liked the choke cherry. I told her some people make wine from them.
The evening began to set down over the landscape while we walked away from the setting sun now. Naomi pointed to an object half buried in the sand on the road shoulder and I bent down to pick it up.
It was a fishing lure, one that floats and dives and wiggles. I carried it back with us.
We found wild rose bushes, way past their blooming days, more chokecherry trees and a lot of white and yellow daises, along with Queen Anne's lace.
In all, we walked about 2 miles, which seemed just about the right distance for our after-dinner stretch.
Later that night, we'd watch for meteors again.
Since then, Naomi has returned to Japan, where she had a newborn grandchild waiting for her. She has promised to come visit us again in a couple of years.
It already seems like it's been two years since she left our house in her plum-colored Yooper hoodie and with touristy Michigan souvenirs she was bringing back to her loved ones so far away.
Sayonara, my friend. It was so good to meet you.
Outdoors North is a weekly column produced by the Michigan Department of Natural Resources on a wide range of topics important to those who enjoy and appreciate Michigan's world-class natural resources of the Upper Peninsula.