A day on Indiana Lake?

Dearest Blog Reader

I hope this finds you doing well. I am fine. In a general effort to make my adoring public green with envy, I am reporting to you from the shores of Lake Indiana in the Lake Shores national park. No, no, I am sure of our location because I just witnessed a young park ranger discharging her duties on this windy August, Saturday morning. She is walking the beach making friends with every dog she encounters. What a great job! I think that I would turn down any promotion that was offered in order to walk the beach of the largest freshwater lake in the universe for the rest of my adult working life of 75 more years. (see "Launching Pad"). I sometimes worry for your long term memory, and your ability to make subtle connections.)

So I am on the beach at the edge of Lake Indiana (No, I am really sure that I am on the shores of Lake Indiana. I turned right at Gary and have not gotten around to Portage. I am in Indiana. Besides, I refuse to call a Superior Lake after a group of people whose moniker employs the name of the male goose. Michiganders is ridiculous.) So I am sitting on the beach at the edge of Lake Indiana having traveled three hours after enduring a long summer of record heat and drought to Beverly Shores, Indiana only to find winds out of the north at 20 mph, a wind chill of 55 degrees, and a rip tide warning that the young ranger was dutifully warning us about on her dog petting rounds this morning. I do love this beach and this town. I suppose it has the good fortune of a couple of nuclear power plants just down the road, and Chicago's effluent being pushed ashore by northerly winds probably keeps the teeming masses out of this back yard.  It always seems a little sleepy here.

Speaking of sleepy, this surf is like a sleep sound machine on steroids. We left home at 0 dark hundred this morning. When we arrived, a beach contingent of five groups huddled on shore wondering if it is worth it. Then suddenly a couple of kids ran down to the edge of surf only to scamper back out shrieking like gulls witnessing Jared drop a turkey club Subway on the boardwalk. It was decided. Blankets were spread. Chairs were set up. Bags of sand toys were emptied of their bright orange, sharp yellow, lime green accessories. For the next two hours, the pounding surf, accentuated by the distant and muffled joy of children having their world expand and contract in rhythmic undulations pulled me along to rejuvenation.

Every time I have been here it has been a blessing. Once, it was hot and not a breath of air was moving. Bev and I spent the day floating 15 feet offshore, rolling off of our rafts and walking up the shore when the bit of current had taken us out of sight of our beach towels and cooler. Another day was spent on a roller coaster ride of three foot waves knowing that the temperature soared 15 degrees above our balmy 80 a mere 10 miles from where we bobbed up and down on that gently rolling surf.

Even today, with temperatures below my comfort zone and surf that is churning, desperately trying to make my great state a little smaller, I have lounged in my beach shelter tent made for non-sun-worshiping pale people and sold to us in the middle of winter on Amazon. I have watched kids scamper in and out of the surf. I have spent a lovely day with the lovely Beverly at Beverly Shores.

Take care

Roger