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CAT OF THE DUNES
Posted in cats, Lake Michigan
Tagged body surfing, cats, cats named Flyboy, Lake Michigan, ring-billed gulls, tuxedo cats
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WHEN THE MOON HITS YOUR EYE . . .
Posted in Moon shots
Tagged Full Moon, September full moon, that's amore, when the moon hits your eye
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THE FUN COUPLE
Posted in Michigan, South Haven
Tagged Charley & Natalie McKelvy, Clementine's, Michigan, South Haven
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A SUBLIME SOJOURN IN SOUTH HAVEN
(South Haven, MI) We met Mary and Dave for a leisurely luncheon at Clementine’s yesterday, in a booth by a window. And then, of course, we strolled around town, from high to low and back again. It was a beautiful late summer day on the west coast of Michigan, and we just grooved on it. And we have been grooving on South Haven ever since we first “discovered” Van Buren County’s seaside resort, at the mouth of the Black River, on the Shoreline Bicycle Tour in August 1987. Yes, that would have been just two months after we moved permanently to Michigan. And we have made day trips to South Haven, in all four seasons, a permanent part of our mental health plan. Yesterday’s visit certainly fulfilled that plan, and, as a bonus, we got up close and personal to a Double-crested Cormorant that was happily diving for fishy delights at the mouth of the Black River. We saw an inbound sailboat on auxiliary power and just plain folk out basking in the afternoon sun. Ah, South Haven! It was number one on our gratitude list yesterday and will be again, real soon. Here are some of the photos from our day in the sun in South Haven, beginning with Mary and Dave in the booth (sorry, Dave for the lack of leg room) at Clementine’s:
Posted in Lake Michigan, Michigan, South Haven, Uncategorized
Tagged Black River, Clementine's, double-crested cormorant, Lake Michigan, Michigan, Pure Michigan, South Haven
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THE COURSE OF A GAME
(Chicago, IL) My friend Joe Rochetto and I had every intention of attending Saturday night’s game featuring the two Sox: the hosting Chicago White Sox vs. the visiting Boston Red Sox. Always a great match-up, particularly late in the season with the Red Sox vying for a Wild Card slot in their hotly contested AL East division. Yes, the White Sox appear to have the AL Central wrapped up, but they need to stay focused on the prize, and, so we marched off from the Monastery of the Holy Cross, where we had attended Solemn Vespers with the monks and the angelic singers of Schola Laudis, to witness a great baseball game. Did we have advance tickets? Nah. We were gonna just throw ourselves on the mercy of the box office and come up with a couple of ducats for say $12 a pop, somewhere near the foul pole in right field. Well, as were approaching what Guaranteed Rate Field, aka Sox Park, we saw fireworks, signalling that a White Sox batter had hit a homerun. A White Sox batter had indeed hit a homerun, and were we there to witness it? No, but we were close. And we were close to attending the remainder of the game until the ticket agent informed us that the only seats left were in the gold section and were selling for $87 a piece. Too rich for our blood, so we retreated back to the monastery over at 31st and Aberdeen from the ballpark at 35th and Shields. We were hoping to find a friendly place in which to view some of the game on a sports channel, but we found no such place. So we headed for home and tuned in the game on the radio. We were thrilled to hear the White Sox come back from a 7-2 deficit and actually go ahead to make it 8-7. But when Joe dropped me off at our dump in the dunes at 10 EDT, the Red Sox had evened it up in the eighth to make it 8-8. I listened in hopeful silence on my recliner as the Red Sox scored a run in the top of the 10th and the White Sox put men on the corners in the bottom of the inning, only to have the next three batters fail to drive them in and win the game. But, as we said, during our long, fruitless march to and from the ballpark, “At least we know the Sox will win.” We just didn’t know which color sox the winners would be wearing.
Posted in Uncategorized
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DUNE CAT
Posted in cat photos, cats, Flyboy
Tagged cats named Flyboy, cats who go for walks, outdoor cats, tuxedo cats
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HESSTON STEAM & POWER SHOW
(HESSTON STEAM MUSEUM, IN) On Labor Day, there were three different railroads to ride: narrow gauge, vintage amusement, and craftsman railroads. We rode the first two, and found the line for the third to be too long, so we went back and rode the narrow gauge again. But we shall return to Hesston before the end of the year, most certainly for the Hesston Ghost Train, which will shock-and-roll the last two weekends in October. We might return the first two weekends in December as well to tour the snowy woods on the Candy Cane Express. Who knows? All we know is that Labor Day ain’t Labor Day without the Hesston Steam & Power Show. Here are some photographic highlights of our day in the steam (and be sure and check out their website at: HESSTON.ORG):
Posted in Hesston Steam Museum, Labor Day
Tagged Hesston Steam Show, Labor Day, Steam trains
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DOWN THE LINE
Posted in Labor Day, summer, trains
Tagged end of summer, Labor Day, South Shore Railroad, summer, trains
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SURF CITY, MICHIGAN
(Harbert, MI) I spent a lot of time in the surf at Surf City, New Jersey as a kid. Now, as an old fart, I get to hit the salt-free, shark-free surf in Lake Michigan at what I call Surf City, Michigan. And, as a bonus, we can hear in the night if the surf is up for a morning splash. How cool is that?
Posted in Lake Michigan
Tagged fresh water lakes, Lake Michigan, Michigan, Salt-free, shark-free, Surf City, Surfin' Safari
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DAY IS DONE
Posted in Labor Day, Lake Michigan, Michigan, sunset
Tagged end of summer, Lake Michigan sunsets, September, Sunset, Sunset Coast
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SWIMMING LESSONS
Life with Charley:
You Can Go Home Again
by Charles McKelvy
Yes, you can go home again.
Really!
I base my claim on a recent realization I had while driving through the South Shore neighborhood of Chicago. I realized as I drove north along South Shore Drive that I was home, again.
The past—specifically the first six years of my life from May 7, 1950 to May 7, 1956—was present. I was back in the formative neighborhood of my early childhood, and I was feelin’ it.
Was I ever.
No, I’m not getting all Twilight Zoney on you here, but I think a lot of you know what I’m talking about. Face it, sports fans, we’re all getting older, a second at a time. And, as we wind down the mainspring of our lives on the mortal coil, we tend to look back.
And why not?
When wiser friends than I firmly suggested that I “should not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it,” I took them at their word.
Good advice.
And so, as I advance relentlessly into the eighth decade of my life, I rather enjoy looking back. And, lately, circumstances have enabled me to take a really good look at those aforementioned first six years of my life, when I lived in South Shore with my parents and baby brother, who arrived on the scene in the spring of 1953.
I am no expert on early childhood development, but I have interviewed those who are. They all claim that those young, developing brains of ours are—well—big, wet sponges lodged between our ears.
So my little McKelvy brain was on full record as I grew and developed in South Shore in the early 1950s. I didn’t need a camera or tape recorder to capture all those formative experiences with my parents and little brother, because that wonderful wetware between my ears did it all.
And those memories are there for instant retrieval, especially when I trigger them by one of my regular drives through the old ‘hood.
Take, for example, a recent drive home through South Shore:
I caught the red light at 79th Street and South Shore Drive and happened to look to the left. There for my wondering eyes to see was a sign identifying that stretch of green space along the big, blue lake as Rainbow Beach Park. I knew it simply as Rainbow Beach. I knew at once that I was in for a flood of memories, chiefly of my late father, James S. McKelvy, taking firm hold of my infant self and gently guiding me into the gentle surf of Lake Michigan. I couldn’t have been more than 18 months old at that point, but I was lovin’ it. And, as I waited for the green light, I was lovin’ it all over again.
Yeah, you really can go home again, and, sometimes, you have to take a trip down memory lane, or South Shore Drive, or whatever, in order to get there.
Well, I was there that afternoon in 2021 reliving that afternoon in 1951 when I was learning to swim from the master.
Yeah, my Dad.
The same guy who had rescued distressed swimmers from the big surf of the Atlantic Ocean along Long Beach Island in New Jersey. I knew I was in the best hands possible, and my dear old daddy sure got me lovin’ the whole experience of being in the open water.
So much so that I found myself entering open-water swimming events as an adult. Just such an example being the Fox Lake Challenge Four Mile Swim my swimming buddy, Tom “Griff” Griffith, and I entered in September 1986. That was a year after my father died. He was very much on my mind that chilly, post-Labor Day morn out there along the Fox River northwest of Chicago. Griff and I had trained for the swim in Lake Michigan between North Avenue and Oak Street in Chicago. Yes, we had more or less swum the full four-mile distance before our big day. We reckoned we were fit to be victors in our age groups, but then the race director dipped a thermometer into the water and shook his head. Now, this was in the age before swimmers could wear wetsuits for outdoor swims. We were all eyes and ears as he shook his head and proclaimed: “Hmmm. 64 degrees. If it was up to me, I’d cancel this event, but I’m leaving it up to you swimmers.”
There weren’t all that many of us—no more than 20 at the most—and we were all pumped and primed enough to chorus: “Let’s go for it.”
We all hopped into the icy drink, shivered and shrank, and then stroked on down the four-mile course. A course, mind you, that involved both the aforementioned Fox Lake, and then a channel that led to the Fox River. At least that’s how I remember it, but all I could focus on that morning was warming up in that chilly water and staying on course.
Mind you, the better prepared swimmers had arranged to have friends in kayaks and/or canoes escort them along the way, but Griff and I figured we’d buddy up and stay on course.
Well, right way old Griff said he was too cold to do much more than survive the swim. He told me to go on ahead without him, and, reluctantly, I did.
Sticking with my tried-and-true freestyle, or front-crawl stroke, I crawled across Fox Lake, looking up every couple of strokes to see where in tarnation I was. I could see some faster swimmers on up ahead, along with their canoe escorts, so I followed them.
And, in keeping with the theme of this essay, I truly went back to Rainbow Beach in 1951, and said, “Hey, Dad, how about swimming with me today?”
Dear Old Dad did just as I requested, and he was with me the whole, entire four miles. He swam before me, behind me, and beside me. He never left my side. I know he was more than a little amused when I overtook the fastest swimmer in the race, a nationally ranked Masters swimmer from Indianapolis. I caught up with her just shy of the finish line, and, as I approached her, I could see why I had caught her. She had hypothermia and was floundering, barely able to doggie-paddle forward.
I asked her if she needed help, and Dad and I were ready for an open-water rescue, but she was out of her head with the chills and screamed: “Don’t get near me!!!”
Dad said, “Back off, son, and call for help.”
Father knew best. I did the best thing for that poor woman I could by waving my arms and shouting for the race officials at the finish to paddle over in a rowboat and pull her out. They did. They had her wrapped in blankets and sipping warm fluid in no time; she lived to swim another day.
So did I. And so I waited for Griff to finish in fine, but utterly chilled, form. “Guess I still have a little more baby fat than you,” I told him.
He laughed and said I must have channeled some inner resource to finish as well as I did.
I shrugged and racked my success up to some “higher power thing,” knowing full well that I had gone home again to Rainbow Beach and enlisted the moral support of Dear Old Dad.
And Dear Old Dad was mighty proud that morning when the race officials gave this big boy a second-place trophy for the 30-39 year-old age-group.
My time that day?
No idea, except to say it was one of those magically real times of my life when my past informed my present.
So, yes, you can really go home again: I have a trophy on my mantlepiece to prove it.
Posted in aging, Chicago, swimming
Tagged Chicago, Fox Lake Challenge, James S. McKelvy, Lake Michigan, Rainbow Beach, swimming
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PHOTO STOP AT 57TH STREET
(Chicago, IL) I had my Canon PowerShot SX50 HS digital camera at the ready Sunday as I motored home from the Monastery of the Holy Cross on what I call the scenic route along the south shore of Lake Michigan. So when I caught the red light at 57th Street and Lake Shore Drive, I snapped off two shots: one of 57th Street Beach and the other of the Museum of Science and Industry. Behold:
Posted in Chicago, Lake Michigan
Tagged Chicago, Lake Michigan, Museum of Science and Industry
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SEA DUTY
Posted in Lake Michigan, swimming
Tagged Lake Michigan, open-water swimming, tow-floats
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A FAIR DAY IF EVER THERE WAS ONE
(Berrien County Youth Fair, Mich.) We had the fairest of Fair days on Wednesday as we walked from horses to llamas and fancy chickens and swinging fairgoers and back again. It was all too beautiful, and, like everyone else on the fairgrounds, we were pent up from having been deprived of the Fair last year due to the COVID lock-downs. Here is a visual record of our fabulous day at the Fair:
BACKROADS BICYCLING
I was talking to a friend in Chicago on Sunday about the comparative merits of bicycling in the Windy City and in the Great Lakes State of Michigan. A native Michigander, he readily agreed that the latter trumps the former 10 to 1. Maybe 100 to 1. Why? Because we have something Chicago doesn’t have, and that being lightly traveled backroads. Let the following photo speak for itself. It shows Natalie (last fall) pausing to take in the view along Elm Valley Road just north of Three Oaks, Michigan.
Posted in Bicycling, Michigan
Tagged backroads bicycling, Chicago bicycling, Michigan bicycling
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FAIR FUN
Posted in BCYF, Berrien County
Tagged August, bacon, Berrien County Youth Fair, county fairs, pork
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FORTY-FOUR AND COUNTING!
Posted in Dunery Press, Natalie McKelvy
Tagged 1977, August weddings, Charles McKelvy, Natalie McKelvy, the Dunery Press, wedding anniversary
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FIELD OF DREAMS
Posted in baseball, Chicago Cubs, White Sox
Tagged Field of Dreams game, Iowa baseball, White Sox, Yankees
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AL FRESCO DINING AT WDSP
Had me a high ol’ time Sunday afternoon, riding to the nearby Warren Dunes State Park in sylvan Sawyer, Michigan. Yes, WDSP is the only country club I would ever join. Why? Because it’s the people’s park, for the people, of the people, and, it was with the people I dined al fresco on the beach, with my trusty e-bike at my side. Could life be better? I don’t think so. Oh, I tried the veggie burger, and, I must say, it had a spicy kick to it. Me gusta mucho. Here are the snaps from my snappy Sunday ride:
Posted in Michigan, Warren Dunes
Tagged Lake Michigan, Michigan, Michigan State Parks, Warren Dunes
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