Fresnel Lens
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The Boy Stood on the Burning Deck
Two lighthouses in two days, with a storm during the night in-between. Yesterday, we drove to Whitefish Point and saw the light there. Mainly, we wanted a long enough drive to get the boys a decent nap on the way back. Today, we went to Point Iroquois, which was closed, but the surf was still open and there were plenty of rocks available to be thrown. The main event was last night though, at three in the morning. A slow-moving storm crept south from Canada and dumped a ton of rain on us. Forecasts called for flash flooding and 2″ to 3″. My informal measurement, a yogurt cup left out on the deck last night, captured 1.5″. Your results may vary. The rain began around three, with no wind or thunder, but the rain fell heavily on the uninsulated sleeping porch roof that it alone was deafening. It was a long, hard rain that went on and on. It went on until dawn, when I eventually fell asleep only to be awakened again. This time by Wyatt. It being after six by then. The boy? He was David, who was part of Anne’s nonsensical dream that was also punctuated by the rain.
Daddy!
Whitefish Point
We drove up to the old light station at Whitefish Point and saw the shipwreck museum there. This museum has always held a fascination about the Fitz, but now with the recovery of the ship’s bell, it has become an obsession. Now in addition to Gorden Lightfoot playing on endless repeat they now also have the bell.
On July 4, 1995, 17 miles northwest of Whitefish Point, a diver wearing a special one-atmosphere deep diving suit called a Newt Suit, cut the last stanchion that secured the Edmund Fitzgerald’s bell to the pilothouse. Slowly, gracefully, the 195-pound bronze bell ascended 500 feet to the surface, welcomed by the daylight of a pleasant summer afternoon. For family members in attendance that day, the raising of the Fitzgerald’s bell signaled the beginning of a memorial and closure to 20 years of grieving. A replica bell inscribed with e as a permanent grave marker. Wreaths, handwritten letters, poems, photos of children and grandchildren yet unknown to the lost crew were placed on the water over the wreck site as a gesture of farewell.
“Finally, we had our funeral. It’s a grave now. There is no reason why anyone should dive to the Fitzgerald again. Let them rest in peace.” —Ruth Hudson, mother of Bruce, 22-year-old Fitzgerald deckhand.
Contrail Sunset
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Cabin Mess
Let’s face it. We’re slobs. All of us, but we’re lovable slobs. Besides we’re family. You’ve got to love us. Right? We tried sweeping once, but that did not last. Don’t worry though, we’ll eventually clean up our act. Probably on Wednesday, when everyone leaves. It’s a good thing that we haven’t broken out the Brio. In other news, Wyatt is feeling better and took his first step.