Saying goodbye to the lake for another year

Dwight Peck's personal website

Summer 2025

A photographic record of whatever leapt out at us

You may not find this terribly rewarding unless you're included here, so this is a good time for casual and random browsers to turn back before they get too caught up in the sweep and majesty of the proceedings and can't let go.

Saying goodbye to the lake for another year

late September 2025

Baby Leigh island at the height of its summertime glory, and . . .

. . . seasonally sobered as autumn descends upon us.

A two-masted yacht preparing to sink into the depths of the lake

Though Baby Leigh is sitting on a rocky reef, about 100 meters off on the left side of the photo is the deepest part of the lake, about 30 feet.

A grotestque tangle that's somehow unsettling to behold

Hidden back amongst the foliage is a new state No Trespassing sign, almost perfectly illegible, but dedicated to the same obligatory warnings: No Camping, No Picnicking, No Wild Dancing, No Illegal Drugs, No Swear Words, No Impure Thoughts . . . as if anyone could safely even get onto the island without breaking a leg.

Not so far away, in the gap between the main lake and the 'chute' down to the southern extremities, we'll say goodbye to the legendary propeller-grabber.

A solemn farewell to Cousin Rob's bench on the Tigertail -- we're hitting the long road home tomorrow.

Our well-discovered mooring place along this much mauled shoreline

The water level's down, no need to tie to the Old Boy up to a tree

A pleasant 50 meters of obsolete path

Very well placed for quiet reflections, with . . .

. . . great views on a good day

Just 180 meters across the 'chute' to the western shore

It's hard not to recall times with Cousin Rob here whenever we look at the bench again. That's normal, presumably.

Back home to finish packing, and to haul a ponderous taped-up box of our summer reading to the post office for a 'media rate' shipment. 24 September 2025.

The box, somewhat beat up, arrived intact in Virginia on 17 October, O frabjous day! [Callooh! Callay!]

Last ride of the year

There's a dock that doesn't need taking in for the winter. It's the remains of the family's former pontoon boat shore station that's now attached to the boathouse. Its present job is to support the lakeside end of the deer fence round the property.

The dockside. Brother Eric will do whatever's necessary to prepare for the winter ice after we've gone on our way.

And by the time we come back again, a few more of these doomed trees will have been consigned to history by the Tree Experts.

We could almost suppose that Melvin's questioning why we have to leave so soon.

After all, it will be eight months before they get to play about out of doors again.

Bye bye, lake. We're off. Ciao ciao.

Hurtling eastward across northern Wisconsin and Michigan's Upper Peninsula

On this trip, Kristin's planned to include a stop at the Skyline Motel of the Lake Michigan shore, on Route 2, where all of the commercial buildings promote 'Smoked Fish'.

Kristin stopped here many years ago with a few of the younger girls and some cats, and it's recently been restored by a pleasant young couple.

Lake Michigan

The Bay View Inn next door ('UP's finest home cookking') announces 'Welcome to the best foo . . .d. View on US-2'. The Cut River Inn across the road ('family dining') announces 'Best grub around. Now hiring kitchen staff'.

Dinner in the Bay View Inn

Not bad

And the Skyline's not terribly overcrowded now. Probably, in summer, it will be overflowing, especially with all that 'Smoked Fish' awaiting the devotees, and in winter . . .

. . . with all the snowmobilers.

Over the very, very long Mackinac Bridge . . .

. . . to lower Michigan, and heading south.

We've got off I-75 for some reason, and are hoping to get back on it soon.

The Detroit area, with the majestically patriotic signs of used car dealers . . .

. . . nearly everywhere.

This is a fine establishment called The Leo Collection, with . . .

. . . no straightforward explanation of where that name came from. But it's okay.

On the long road, Melvin invariably settles down amongst all the cargo and sleeps straight through. Choupette sits mostly on our passenger's lap while Kristin drives -- which was once a horrible experience for all of us, with Choup-howling-and-clawing non-stop, but these past few years it's a much more pleasant trip altogether (thanks to calming gabapentin).

At this point, Choup's still calm; call it drowsy.

At least Melvin's squeezed out of the tiny into-the-hotel cat-carrier and is glancing with disapproval at Choupette's recalcitrance.

But, after a while, Choupette's decided at last where she needs to be.

The next night, we're back to the Cranberry near Morgantown, which has become a sort of favorite for us . . .

Back to the Cranberry, and a look-in at the Tropics restaurant, specifically to use its theme-oriented photo opportunity. (Photos by the gracious manager of the Cranberry) [more]

. . . not least because of the friendly manager. Who's still here, and well remembers this fun bit from 2022.

But perhaps mostly because Kristin's become a huge fan of the nearby Lake House restaurant . . .

. . . on the marina on Cheat Lake east of Morgantown.

The Sunset Beach Marina in late afternoon, and . . .

. . . the Lake House -- supremely worth it, as long as you get in and out before the live music begins limbering up.

The last night on the road. Tomorrow, through the wilds of West Virginia

Wonderful, and beautiful, highways throughout the state, mostly thanks to . . .

. . . Senator Robert Byrd from 1959 to 2010 (51 years!) and his 'Appalachian Corridor Highways' projects.

'He served three different tenures as chairman of the United States Senate Committee on Appropriations, which enabled Byrd to steer a great deal of federal money toward projects in West Virginia' [Wikipedia].

Home! (29 September 2025)

-- 'Good to be home, Choups?'

Choupette seems soberly very pleased to be reunited with her favorite tower over everyone else.

-- You're still just one of us, Chouper.

Cats adjusting

A visit to our Aldi to restock the larders, and check out the civilian reactions to our newest regime nightmares.

'F!ck Trump, and f!ck you for voting for him'. 'If you still support Trump, stay 500 feet behind. I don't trust your judgment'. 'Science: it's like magic, but real'. 'F!ck the Patriarchy'. (Bravo)

Four months at the lake were great, but it's even greater to be back in our tiny study, with . . .

. . . some of our favorite vintage Swiss mementoes.

Old photos of the grand milieu that make you smile again, or cry.

(After nearly half a century, we certainly did choose a horrible time to repatriate ourselves.)

Condo adornments in the corridor from time to time by our neighbor Jacqui

Melvin harboring an unformed question

The village of Conques, dept. of Aveyron, Occitania, France (a medieval pilgrimage stop at Abbey Church of Sainte-Foy) (taken 2009)

Coming soon: Settling in and preparing for the No Kings extravaganzas (in Staunton as well as nearly everywhere else).