Going back home is always nostalgic.
You don't go back just physically, but the trip becomes a step-back through memories.
My husband's family settled in Kewaunee County, Wisconsin back in the 1850's
when the land was covered with hardwood forest,
and farming meant clearing the land, building a cabin, and then farm for a living.
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Early Saturday morning..I tried to catch the sunrise over Lake Michigan out the door.
Imagine, the soft sounds of the gentle waves lapping at the beach.
The beach is groomed each morning, I'm sure the gulls watch in amusement.
Far in the distance is the Algoma lighthouse which must have
received a new coat of red paint this year.
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This shot is a mile and a quarter away South of the lighthouse.
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Walking along the beach, you never know what you will find.
Here are Lichens and Moss---at least six different types.
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Further South, I looked back.
It was a warm day, a brisk wind and steady waves rolling in.
The stones are all smooth from being tossed by the waves and easy to walk on.
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The path began to narrow, and the ledges of sand were a bit unsafe. I went as far as I could.
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Looking back, I wasn't the only one on the beach.
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The soft tones of an almost lavender blue sky, the blue greens of the lake, growing into turquoise then to a mossy green, waves rolling onto the sand and rocks.
The subtlety took my breath away.
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Some refuse strewn the shore, from branches and rocks,
but mostly natural items. I saw very little evidence of man.
Lake Michigan has improved in water quality and from no dumping policies.
I never even found a piece of beach glass.
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A small cedar tree struggles to maintain a foothold along the path.
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The tiniest ladybug was content to sun herself on a leaf.
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A rusty maple leaf, from where I don't know, lay on the beach.
Its sharp points a contrast among all the rounded stones.
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The small pink tab was the only evidence of man I saw on this entire stretch of beach in three days.
I did see several Monarch Butterflies resting on the rocks, some at the end of their short lives.
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The constant roll of the waves, reminds you of your own mortality, as they will keep coming in...generation after generation, long after you are gone.
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Algoma in the distance; the entire town stretching to the photographic red lighthouse.
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Sunrise our last morning.
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My husband standing where seven generations of his family have lived,
and probably where they watched many sunrises on
beautiful Lake Michigan.
A month ago, the sixth and seventh generations, our son and his daughter
played in the water on this very beach.
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Generations and generations of waves.
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Algoma, Wisconsin September 2015
thanks for visiting with me,
and Linking with these great blogs:
Sandi
