Old Mission Peninsula, which splits the west and east arms of Grand Traverse Bay, is covered in cherry trees—their white flowers in full bloom like a seagull-feather coat upon the land. Grape vines, also common here but not as pervasive as the cherries, are barren this early in the spring. At the tip of the peninsula, on the beach below Old Mission Light, it barely feels like spring. A chill wind rushes off the water from Grand Traverse Bay, which twenty miles north opens unobstructed onto Lake Michigan. The waves are choppy, the rumor of snow tangible in the raw air.
Lake Michigan’s water levels have tended lower in recent years, but 2016 is an exception, and the shoals which once could be walked across are now recognizable only by their trees, whose crowns jut green from the waves. I’m not sure what these trees are, but they’re still alive—anaerobic tolerance leads me to guess some species of willow.
I find a swing set beneath the lighthouse, and spend some time kicking my legs over the bay toward the distant shoals.
Salix, Prunus cerasus, Vitis vinifera—I’m thinking about sun and soil, temperature and precipitation, what grows here and what could grow at the beginning of the top of the world. This is the 45th parallel, halfway between the Equator and the North Pole. It’s not a docile climate, but it’s a climate I think I could work with.
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