Constant Companion

Looking back, I realize that water has been one of the few constants throughout my life.

Growing up in Grand Rapids, I walked the longest 15 minutes to swim at the pool at Lincoln Park. I taught myself to swim there, watching other kids. I was 8 years old.

On the hottest summer days, after mom got home from work, we would pack up burgers or dogs, chips, and Kool-Aid, and we’d go to Kirk Park south of Grand Haven. We’d swim until it was time to grill dinner, then return to the beach to swim or build sand castles, or just look out over the lake. Once the sun would start to set and us kids were wiped out, mom would pack us into the car and we’d drive the 30-45 minutes back home, worn out in the best possible way. 

If we were going to Lake Michigan for the whole day, typically a Saturday or Sunday, we’d drive to Grand Haven instead, cook out, walk the pier, and sometimes jump off at the end of the pier. As a teenager, I swam back to shore with my stepdad, learning to turn on my backside and float to rest as the swells carried me.

Other times we’d go to Riverside Park where mom would read and relax, and my brother and I would go to the pond to catch frogs or crayfish, and run off that kid energy. 

As an independent teenager, my friends and I ended up at the gravel pits where the turquoise water was always cold. It was probably spring-fed, but the water there never got warm, even into late August.

As an adult, Grand Haven and Saugatuck became my own legacy with my sons. After they were grown, I married a second time and moved to Ludington. At every season and mood, I found a reason to be at the beach in Ludington or Manistee. When I was sad, the sound of the waves would comfort me. Watching storms roll in was exhilarating and frightening. Sunsets, always spectacular.

When my second husband’s job brought us to SE Michigan, I was so sad to leave our proximity to Lake Michigan. I missed her so much, having grown up nearby for every season.

After two years renting in Brighton, we were finally able to buy a house that fit our criteria. It was a modest ranch overlooking a lake. It’s not Lake Michigan, but I see it from my desk. It would be difficult to live somewhere else, unless the somewhere else is within view of a lake.

I no longer swim due to disability, but the view of water every single day somehow comforts me. Water is still my companion.