I was born and raised in Minnesota, but my family didn't travel much. While I'd heard the north shore was beautiful, I'd never seen it with my own eyes. I have a good friend who moved there a couple of years ago, so with the problem of lodging a moot point (rooms to rent can be hard to find during August up there, where typical summer daytime highs are in the seventies, lows in the sixties - go figure!), I headed north.
The drive was all it was advertised to be. Grand Marais is on the north shore of Lake Superior, about 45 minutes from the Canadian border. To get there, you follow I-35 north to where it ends in Duluth, then take Highway 61 on up the coast. The road snakes along the shore of the lake, offering tantalizing glimpses of the water. There wasn't a lot of traffic, so I was able to relax and enjoy the scenery as I moseyed along. Trees to the left, the ribbon of road unspooling in front of me, the lake to the right - I was content.
I was only able to spend a couple of days up there, and followed the advice of my hostess, Christie, on how to spend my time. Her friend Denise was in town, and was a willing guide as we visited the best of the local art galleries and shops, took a walk along the shore near the lighthouse in town, and drove on up the coast the rest of the way to Canada to see Grand Portage Falls. (Canada is on the right side of the river in the photo.)
We took time to go out rock picking one evening after dinner. OK, Christie searched the shore for actual good rocks, while I sat there gazing across the water to where it merged with the horizon. I listened to the whoosh of the waves and played with the rounded stones directly beneath my hands. I made a small pile of the prettier ones, and entertained myself by throwing some of the others at a nearby rock jutting out of the water. Sometimes, if they hit just right, the lava rocks would split into pieces with a satisfying clunk, arcing through the air at seemingly random angles before plopping back into the water. It was a good place to sit and ponder life and death and the meaning of it all.
I slept like a baby while I was there. The air cooled rapidly after sunset, so I was able to snuggle under the covers and breathe the fresh air wafting in through the open window all night long. The morning sun warmed the air perfectly, and I was able to spend a few minutes after opening my eyes just admiring the quality of the light filtering through the trees in the wild area at the back of the house.
I hadn't seen Christie in a couple of years, so we had a lovely time catching up on each other's lives. Like me, she's gone through a LOT of changes in the past few years. She's clearly started to come to some calmer waters; it shows in her face. Listening to her stories gave me hope I will come to some sort of peaceful cove in the unsettled seas of my own life.
Home again for several weeks now, I am SO grateful I took the time to meander her direction. The trip helped to remind me it's the journey, not the destination, that's the important part of life. I don't need to worry so much about where the road is going. I do need to remember to enjoy the beauty I find along the journey.
Stop. Breathe. Relax.
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