nonplussedpilot

It’s only been a week since my dad and I returned from our strange “vacation” as volunteer lighthouse keepers.  But it seems like much longer.  I dunno if that’s a good thing or not.  Kinda spooky, in a way, to recall something so clearly yet to see it receding in the rear-view mirror as fast as warm autumn days toward winter.

Our time up there was special and for more reasons than I will probably be able to convey here.

For me it was a chance to step off of the unending treadmill of a home/work life, with its’ quickening pace and increasing grade.  For my dad, it was an opportunity to check off one more item on a long list of things he has always wanted to do.  Best of all these things, we got to do them together.

The actual lighthouse was a magnificent building dating back 162 years.  Its’ wood frame construction creaked and groaned in the wind like an old rocking chair beneath a sumo wrestler.  It was damp and stinky in the basement, like a cross between a septic tank and recently deceased rodents, both of which we found during our week stay.  But it was also cozy, warm and inviting–its’ bright white painted façade, green windows and red metal roof still sturdy and protective, truly a shining beacon of light on a very dark, very remote point of land jutting out into the chilly waters of Lake Michigan.

The house television captured just two broadcast stations reliably–both PBS.  But there were plenty of things to read on the bookshelves when we grew weary of Antiques Roadshow or Lidia’s Italy in America.  Tomes like Ghost Lighthouses of the Great Lakes, Mysteries of The Deep or U.S. Coast Guard Light Station Operational Standards circa 1951.  It was easy to lose track of time.  Which is what we did.  Suddenly the week was over.  My Pops and I spoke in stereo, “Hard to believe it’s already time to go”.  But it was.

We finished our morning chores of raising the flag, sweeping the steps and unlocking the Fog Signal Building.  We packed up the car, took one more picture together in front of the place, shook hands with the museum caretaker, left our lighthouse keys with her and then, like that, the Grand Traverse Lighthouse was too receding in our rear-view mirror.

With much care and attention from scores of lightkeepers, their assistants and volunteers, the lighthouse survives.  Long outlasting these hearty, dedicated souls, the light continues to guide mariners safely on their journeys through the Manitou Passage.

I reminisced with two close friends a few days later about my trip.  I told them how much fun it was to hang out, just me and my Pops, doing something unique that we both had genuine interest in doing.  I regaled them with the novel idea I had of interviewing my dad on camera, so I could compile an account of him for me.  And then I realized that the friends I was chatting with had both lost their dads.  I can think of at least 3 more close buddies that have lost one of their parents before it was time.  I winced for a second, then realized what a beautiful, priceless gift all this time I have been able to spend with my dad has been.  And not just a week at a lighthouse.  But over 26 years of my adulthood.

I concluded that sometimes we visit far away lighthouses.  Sometimes they keep us safe if we look and listen.  And sometimes we have them right next to us–still today, still shining.  We might call them “Mom” or “Dad”.  Sometimes we are lucky.  And blessed.

“I think I’ll just sit and read today.  You go on without me.”

My dad said this in response to my suggestion we go and do some tourist stuff today.  You know, like, oh sightseeing.  Or maybe eat at a restaurant or something.  In other words, things regular folk might do on vacation.

To me this whole week has been a vacation.  Not quite like they were when I was a kid.  But close to it.  I’ve done stuff I’ve always liked to.  Or wanted to do.  Best of all, I got to do them with my dad.

That’s really what’s been the best part of this oddball sojourn to a remote lighthouse sticking out into Lake Michigan at the tip of the Leelanau peninsula here.  For the most part, all activities that I’ve undertaken for the past 7 days have been with my dad.  I haven’t spent this much time with him uninterrupted by the rest of our lives in basically forever.  No kidding.  With a family of 4 kids, wife and a business to keep running, my dad was stretched like a piece of Saran wrap among all of us.  But there was just enough to keep us all covered.

I almost feel selfish.  But with the demands of my life and the stress much of it has caused, this break is turning out to be exactly what I need.  My dad makes it an absolute pleasure because I like so much about him.

The way he sings the Nat King Cole song Unforgettable  by repeating the song title over and over again because it’s the only line of the damn song he knows.  Or how he cheerfully greets me each morning after determining he knows where the heck he is as I tiptoe downstairs into the living room and wake him up (he sleeps poorly at best anywhere he tries).  Or how he always offers to buy us doughnuts (in the morning) or ice cream (in the evening) as his little “treatee-treatee” to placate his ever-present sweet tooth.

He considers me an adult.  He never talks down to me and rarely pulls out the “father knows best” tone of voice.  Of course I’m well into my 40’s now so I guess I’ve earned this.  But my dad can still sway my thought process if he has something salient to add.  And I’ll listen.  Sometimes he’s full of crap, and I can call him on that.  But he’s always good-natured about that, too.  He will readily admit if he is incorrect about something.  I’ve definitely learned this important act of self-effacement from him.

And today, after gently mocking him for wanting to stay back in the lighthouse (today was our one “day off” here), we set off to get breakfast and check out Sleeping Bear Dunes national lakeshore, about 35 miles south of the lighthouse.  A perfect mid autumn day, too—clear skies, warm winds from the south pushing up the mercury to 70˚.

Sleeping Bear was impressive.  Huge hills of sand and grass heaped 500 feet tall undulating from the Lake Michigan shore.  Created as remnants of the last ice age for us slobbering, overweight tourists to climb 10,000+ years later.  But what panoramas waited for us at the top.  I knew nothing about the place until just a few months ago when I was doing research on what was around here.

I figured we’d get a little time to see some of the area after our chores at the lighthouse were finished so I didn’t want to waste it.  When my dad looked out at the lake from the wooden platform atop one of the dunes he said “Good thing you decided to come with me, Dave!”  Yeah, right dad.  I retorted in a mocking, joking tone “Oh, I just want to stay here at the lighthouse…I’ve got some important work to do around the sofa.”  But inside I was thrilled to share this “new” place with my dad.  None of the rest of our families have been here before.

Tonight, I broke out my video camera and propped it up against the tv.  I muted the one of two channels we could reliably receive to eliminate the noise.  I aimed the camera at where my dad was sitting.  Then I pressed the ‘Record’ button.

I’ve always wanted to capture my dad’s voice, ask him some questions about his life (many of which I know the answers but this act really isn’t for me) and burn the whole thing onto a DVD, the product of which I would tuck into my fire safe.  I would simply have a decent summation of his life.  He’s 79 and remarkably fit.  But he won’t always be.

So I asked him about where he was born (I obviously know when), why he was Mario Anthony just like his older brother who died 3 years prior to his birth.  I asked what his life was like growing up.  Who his friends were in 8^th grade.  Why he felt the need to support his mom instead of going off to college when he was 18.

One answer surprised me.  Back in 1954 at the age of 20, my dad was complaining about not “feeling good”.  So he went to a doctor.  The doctor detected a cancerous lump in his neck that was to be removed “immediately”.  My Pops went under the knife where the tumor was removed.  Just after the surgery, my dad awoke and was told by his half sister Marie that if the operation was not successful my dad would have just 6 months to live.

I never knew this.  Imagine being told you have just 6 months to live.

We know how the story plays out, though.  It’s 59+ years later.  But I asked him how hearing those words affected him.  He said that the proclamation of his pending mortality caused him to be more practical and tenacious—to get the job done.  The 6-month period came and went and my dad just kept on doing that.

This interview will continue on our last evening here at the lighthouse.  We have chores to do around here.  And I with my father will get the job done.

The wind hisses outside my bedroom windows upstairs here at the lighthouse.  Below that sound is a low rumble of waves crashing ashore.  Outside it’s pitch black except for the white flash of the automated light signal perched atop a steel tower 200 feet away.  Its’ one second on/five seconds off cycle is repeated with comforting regularity.  Not quite a strobe light like a camera, the flash still illuminates the wind whipped rain and very low clouds, which seem ready to engulf us at any time.

I listen to the NOAA weather radio perched next to my bed.  The computer-generated words are flat and emotionless while describing gale storm warnings and waves up to 12 feet tall on the open waters of Lake Michigan.  Out here on the very tip of the peninsula, the weather station reports winds from the north at 30 knots with gusts above 40.  It’s not quite cold, 49˚F.  But it’s really ugly out there.

Happily, the lighthouse keeper’s quarters are toasty warm and dry.  My Pops and I spent a busy weekend tending to our lightkeeper duties both inside and out.  We both packed our Gore Tex jackets.  They came in handy.  It rained hard yesterday, even harder today.  It has rained the entire weekend.

On one hand it kinda bummed me out.  I was looking forward to riding my road bike into the town of Northport before breakfast, about 10 miles away.  They have free wifi available near the marina that I planned to use since none is available at the lighthouse.  But after only pedaling about 50 feet, I felt my first drops of rain.  I usually don’t mind riding in the rain, but not for as long as I was about to ride.  I drove into town instead, using the car to bring my dad a fresh, hot cup of coffee and a half dozen crispy cinnamon sugar doughnuts for us to share.  That’s a pretty good trade, though my belly and atrophying leg muscles don’t agree.

On the other hand, I like the stormy weather.  My Pops does too.  Together we agreed it just added an authentic flavor to our experience as lightkeepers.  Imagine life out here without electricity or indoor plumbing—the lighthouse didn’t get either until 1951!  That meant no NOAA weather radios to warn of severe storms.  No luxurious hot showers either.

The wind and rain continue unabated and the effect is spooky.  All we would need are a few flashes of lightning and rumbles of thunder and we’d be present in a real life horror film set.  Happily, the only unauthorized creatures we’ve seen have been a few spiders and one little black mouse.  They appear unarmed.

Tomorrow the rain is supposed to taper off.  Still, the forecast calls for rainfall on and off for the rest of our week.  We’re okay with it.  This sturdy brick building has survived 162 years stuck out here on this remote prominence.  It’s not going anywhere anytime soon.  We’ll be here, too.  After all, the museum opens again at noon and we have to make sure the place is ship-shape.  That’s our job.  Outside, the light continues to flash, pointing out our existence to any hapless sailor who might be unlucky to be caught up in this wicked storm.

As I mentioned last, my dad has long expressed his fondness for all manners of things nautical.  We visited a lighthouse up in Door County, WI this past summer.  During the visit, he reiterated a unique desire—to become a lighthouse keeper.  And, although he had heard of different lighthouse keeper “programs”, he knew them only with fuzzy, roundabout specifics.

That’s about where I picked up the baton.  Given my Pops is about as computer literate as a caveman without fingers, I did the searching for a lighthouse reasonably close that we could experience “keeping” together.

I love hearing my dad’s passions.  His love of travel, architecture, big band music, golfing, wine, Chicago Bears football and more are well known by my Mom, my brothers and I.  Christmastime is pretty simple when it comes to buying a gift for him—a tasty bottle of vino, Bears tickets, a good CD box set.  To commemorate his 75^th birthday, my brothers were thoughtful enough to plan a visit to the cradle of the game of golf—St. Andrews, Scotland.  This was back in 2008 when my brothers were flush with cash and I, unfortunately, was not.

So here was my opportunity to help him realize a dream of his.  After a remarkably simple search online, I came up with what looked like an ideal lighthouse for us to babysit for a while.  I found out how to apply for us both, mailed along our resumes’ and we were accepted.  We chose the dates because, frankly, it looked like a perfect time of the year to be hanging around a lighthouse.

The Grand Traverse Lighthouse is located about 35 miles NNW of Traverse City, Michigan.  It’s also described as the tip of the pinky finger in the Lower Peninsula “mitten”.  Really, hold up your right hand to your face with your thumb pointing right and you’ll find the lighthouse at the tip of the sliver of your pinky finger fingernail.  Got it?  Find it on Google Maps if you don’t.

We arrived here this morning (Friday), one of those crisp autumn mornings where your breath clouds your face for a second or so against the backdrop of foliage in every earthy shade from deep royal purple to dark forest green.  Reds so red, they look bloody.  Yellows so bright, they make you look jaundiced when the light reflects off your skin.  All framed by a cerulean sky.  Just a Technicolor kind of a day.

And there was the lighthouse, actually a stately white two-story square box with green windows and doors topped with a steeply pitched cherry red metal roof.  And perched atop that is a small, 9-sided glass cupola.  From 1858 to when it was decommissioned in 1972, this building helped keep Lake Michigan mariners away from this northernmost tip of the Leelanau Peninsula and the rocky shores that girdle its’ coast.

This lighthouse is actually a museum.  Half of the building is just that, and the other half would be our dwelling for the next week.  The museum manager warmly met us at the door with a smile and handshake.  She sat us down in the comfy living room, gave us keys to the place (really, keys to the whole place!) and gave us our work assignments.

In a nutshell, we’d be greeting folks at the museum, collecting the entrance fee (it’s only 4 bucks apiece) and helping keep everything clean and tidy.  The odd jobs of refilling the bird feeder or taking down the American flag every day at dusk are ours, too.  As I said last time, we’ll actually be working.  Some vacation, right?

To us it is.  We had such fun learning about the history behind the lighthouse, how different lightkeepers had lived and worked at the lighthouse over the years with their entire families—generations of them, too.  And all the visitors we saw today…that inquisitive type—cameras in hand, asking questions about anything and everything associated with the building and its’ purpose.   And of course, each wishing to scurry up the many steps to that 9-sided glass cupola atop the roof so they may peek back into the past from the perch 48 feet above the choppy, silvery surface of Lake Michigan.  Just as the old lightkeepers did for well over 113 continuous years.

Soon enough sunset approached, well after the museum had closed and all the visitors had climbed into their vehicles and headed back south.  My dad and I headed back up to the lighthouse cupola.  As lighthouse keepers, we are allowed to step out on the catwalk that surrounds the lighthouse itself, so that’s where we stood.  The view was magnificent.  We could clearly see Beaver Island 22 miles north.  And gliding over the surface, we watched a distant freighter silently pass in front of the sun like so many vessels had done so before.

Pinks and purples and blues again—then it was dark.  Tomorrow and Sunday the forecast is for rain—lots of it.  In fact, the next week’s forecast calls for either rain or at least thick clouds on each of the days until we leave.  We might not get to see another sunset all week.  That’s okay, though, because the one that we saw tonight was memorable enough to last us a while.

It’s about time I took a vacation.

No doubt I’ve been busy with things at home and work.  If you’ve been reading these posts, you probably know I’ve got some pots to stir on the stove.  But I need a break, too.

What kind of break?  Someplace warm?  Well…it is near the water at least.  I’m going to be a lighthouse keeper on the Lake Michigan shore for the next week.  No, I’m not kidding.

Well, it won’t be just me.  My dear old dad’s coming with.  Truth be told, my dad is 79.  He is climbing that ever taller ladder of orbits around the sun.  Thus far in his life, he has been blessed with considerable health and remarkable dexterity.  Together, my folks have been all over the world–and they still travel as much as they can.  But being a lighthouse keeper was my dad’s idea alone.  Regardless, I’m totally on board with this.  It’s going to be a blast on a number of levels.

Now I’m not so fond of the term bucket list, but this certainly qualifies as something my dad has always wanted to do.  He’s always had wistful visions of pretty much anything nautical.  Huge naval craft, glamorous yachts, wooden piers, the lapping of waves on a shore–all of these make his eyes lose focus and fill with visions of valor, romance and adventure.  The lighthouse–that archetypal maritime fixture–a sturdy, lonely outpost with only a flashing light and maybe a foghorn to keep wayward sailors from dashing their ships against rocky shoals.  The lightkeeper, a stout, ever-so-dependable man literally keeping the flame lit within gales and without–sometimes entirely alone.  Tell me if that doesn’t tug on your soul.  Metaphors as thick as north Atlantic fog.  The more I thought of it, the more I wanted to scribble this onto my bucket list.

My mom, dad and my family all spent a few days up in Door County, WI this past summer.  This peninsula alone has over a dozen lighthouses–some active, some not.  Again, I heard that tone in my dad’s voice when we toured them.  It would be so great to spend an entire day here.  I set about to make that happen.

Surprisingly, a few keystrokes on Google and I had found a large listing of lighthouses hosting “keeper” programs.  But how to choose?  For one, I wanted it to look like a lighthouse.  You know…isolated, tall, picturesque location.  And we needed to be able to drive to it.  I found it.  Look up “Grand Traverse Lighthouse” and you’ll see what I mean.  It’s in the “pinky finger” of the lower peninsula of Michigan, about 30 minutes drive north of Traverse City.

This lighthouse keeper thing does require us to trade our enthusiasm into sweat for the benefit of the lighthouse itself.  In other words, we’re volunteers.  We’ll be helping out by keeping the place tidy, collecting entrance fees to the lighthouse museum, giving tours, even running the small gift shop there.  If there is minor maintenance or carpentry needed, we’re on it.  My dad should be able to wow them with his skills in this department.  I can run the cash register.

In return, we get to stay at a gorgeous, restored, decommissioned lighthouse for a full week!  I say decommissioned because the actual lighthouse was automated in the early 1970’s.  Good thing, too.  (No need to trim the wick or haul up more whale oil from the basement.  There is a modern signal light adjacent to the original.)  Did I mention the place is over 150 years old?  And…some say it’s haunted!  Just in time for Halloween…

So, my pops and I are on our way up in the morning.  We’re required to bring our own food and bedding.  I joke to my dad that we need a barrel of flour, some salted cod, coffee and a crate of limes to stave off scurvy.  Oh, and a spyglass to spot distant pirate ships!  Yo ho ho, this is gonna be a riot…  I really need a break like this.  I’m hoping this to be what all vacations should be–fun.