I am a creature shaped by my native landscape and personality.  I like to navigate and plant in straight lines. In my yearly excursion with two friends, I was in my element on the Leelanau Peninsula.  I looked at the GPS as we traveled and it was a straight line off into infinity—or at least to the end of Mission Peninsula.  I could relax.  I knew where I was going and could visualize it on the horizon.

This region juts out into Lake Michigan on the west side of the lower peninsula.  It is part of the west Michigan fruit belt which is shaped by the microclimate created by the wind coming off Lake Michigan.  Spring comes late, meaning the fruit does not flower too early and then get hurt by a late frost.  And temperatures year round are moderated by the water.  In this part of the fruit belt, cherries and grapes dominate and we arrived at cherry blossom time.

The first few days of our trip were glorious as we drove by straight rows of blooming cherry trees.  On the Mission Peninsula, quilt-style art decorated barns and homes, adding to the clean, straight landscape.  Even the water seemed to be playing to the theme of the trip, with clearly defined lines between deep blue and deeper blue. 

I like to navigate and plant in straight lines.  I think when I was young I thought this was the way that life was lived.  You had a plan and you carried it out and everything moved along as you imagined, toward the horizon that was clearly in your view.  Of course any adult will tell you (if they are honest) that this is not the way life turns out.  Far more of it is full of twists, blind turns, and fog. 

The day that we drove to one of my favorite places, Sleeping Bear Dunes, the fog had rolled in.  We could only see what was just in front of us on the winding road into the park.  I struggled to see the Lake at the bottom of the 300 feet+ slope but could not see it.  I tried to orient myself to where I thought we were compared to where I had been before.  Finally, against my natural inclination, I decided to try to enjoy the landscape in the fog without any idea where I was. Close up I could see the spring green of the forest, the shadows and light playing through the fog and trees, and a few Trillium flowers.

I prefer to navigate and plant in straight lines.  But I am working on the spiritual discipline of learning to take pleasure in living within the undefined space of the fog, while not being able to see the horizon or travel on straight roads.  I think I can do this as long as I have friends for the journey and perhaps some of Farmer White’s Cherry Pie.