East Harbor State Park
Wow! Who knew that Ohio had a coastal shore? I s'pose I would have if I had ever taken the time to think about it, but. . . So much world and so little time. Even fewer brain cells. . .
It still doesnae feel solid enough to call it a decision, but my wandering notion to start the Great Lakes tour on the southwest corner of Lake Erie landed me here, in the very last campsite available in this busy resort community. 4th of July hadnae even registered on my radar until the young woman handed me the tags letting park officials know I will be here until 7/4. Well duh!!! I was just following the meteorology reports. Warm and mostly sunny until the wee hours Wednesday. Starting the tour from here leaves out Lake Ontario, but. . . So much world and so little time.
Cemetaries and abandoned buildings are among my OTR intrigues, more for the rest stop value than actual interest. They are among the more restful spots to take a break on the road. Urban Renewal is a calling born during my street days, beginning when I toured Upton Sinclair's book, "The Jungle" in the actual stockyard community it was set instead of facing the HS Dean who "specialized" in policing my family. The four siblings ahead of me had left an indelible mark on his regimine. He made one Hell of a welcoming comittee on my first day of HS. The streets of Upton Sinclair's novel felt downright safe compared to his ambush in front of my locker.
Making my way up the point of Lake Erie, up the Detroit River, along Lake Saint Claire and up the Saint Clair River will bring me to the knuckle of Michigan State's thumb on Lake Huron. Most of that route is the eastern edge of Detroit's urban sprawl. Rumor has it that Detroit is one of the most abandoned Metroplexes in the world. Detroit is also one of the centers where I did the hardest of my street years. It was far from abandoned when I rolled through between 1970 and 1973. I rolled in at 16 on a marriage liscence I couldn't and still can't take seriously. I rolled out on a plane to Army boot camp, with a whole lot of rolling in between. It is hard for me to imagine Detroit abandoned. Between '70 and '73 it earned the media nickname, "Murder City," but it was far from abandoned.
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Long, rambling talks with both Hubs and best beloved Sis this morning have me feeling like the trek should continue. The YS and family drama continues to look worrisome and my guilt strings are strumming something fierce, but we have the age old question of that fuzzy, twisty line between helping and ? ? ? insert term of preference here. It has been worrisome for a long time and it is not ours to sort and I certainly shouldn't be making their middle-aged problems my full-time job.
Beneath the strums of the guilt strings I find a nostalgic bout of longing for time with the family. Does that qualify as "Homesickness?" For sure, I am glad to be missing the heat, despite the local AC chill of what the locals call, "A heat wave." I find myself wondering why these folks have AC, at all. Go figure. It's all in what you are adapted to.
So much for the peace and quiet. A gas generator and a boom box moved in to the camp site across the way. Oh joy. A continuous hum and second hand music over tacky speakers. Persilly is crying.
Vent, vent. Persilly and I are holed up in the truck, escaping the racket while we pray for a peaceful end to the unwelcome racket. Might as well be camping on a construction site instead of a camp site. At least construction sites are quiet after working hours.