Dorothy is correct, “There’s no place like Home”. And for me, there is no place like my little house near the big lake, especially when one of my people awaits my arrival. Once into Indiana, I’d been checking the clock on my phone to see if I had made it into the Eastern Time Zone, my time zone. I know the highway by heart, almost tree for tree, sign for sign, but I never fail to play little mind games to help pass the miles as I inch closer to home. None of us lives permanently at our lake house, but for happy wanderers like ourselves it is not just located in South Haven, but it is our haven. Tonight would be no different then all the times I’ve driven along I-94; I would honk the horn loud and long as I past the “Pure Michigan” welcome sign, I would drive along the lake, past St. Basil Church, the lighthouse and arrive happily at our home.
My youngest greeted me at the door with a big smile and there was a simple homemade welcome on the mantle. Although I reminded her that I still had four states to go, she insisted that the yeoman’s work of the trip was done. I spent three days in South Haven, doing laundry, writing blog posts, visiting with friends and my aunts, and watching glorious sunsets.