When I was younger, my family, along with roughly 25 other people from my mom’s side of the family, would pack up and head up to Michigan for a vacation every other summer. We would stay at the rustic Barothy Lodge which sat right in front of the sparkling Pere Marquette River and was nestled in the middle of endless forest. The scenery was breathtaking and there wasn’t a day that went by that we didn’t see deer or some other animal stroll past our cabin.
One of the biggest reasons we picked this vacation spot was for the opportunity to go on the four hour canoe trip down the Pere Marquette. All of us would get in groups of three or four, pack up some food, rent our cold metal canoes, and take the car ride to be dropped off upriver. Once we arrived at the launch spot, we would get in the canoes, get in rank in the water, and head off on our journey.
Usually, the weather was impeccable, with clear, sunny skies, and the perfect warming temperature. Besides, the canoe renters would not let us take off if there was a chance for bad weather. However, Mother Nature doesn’t always listen to the weather men. On one occasion, we were all set to take off, the skies were clear, and the same was true for the weather report. It was going to be another perfect journey, or so we thought. We were about two hours into our voyage, when out of nowhere, the sky started to become an angry swirl of charcoal and steel. We could hear the cracks of thunder away in distance. We did not have many option since we were in a river, had metal canoes, and were surrounded by trees, all excellent conductors of electricity. The adults of the group decided it would be better to take our chances on the shore under the trees than try to keep going on the river. Thus began a whole new adventure.
The storm lasted what seemed like hours, but was really only about forty minutes. All of us were huddled together, each trying to not only calm themselves, but look brave for everyone else. This was especially true for the adults. One of my uncles tried to calm us by singing the infamous, “If all the raindrops were…” song. This worked pretty well, mostly because his version depicted the raindrops being tequila shots, so we all got a pretty big kick out of that.
After the storm blew over, it was like it had never happened. The sky turned bright and sunny. The water was calm again and the wind only blew softly. We got back in the canoes and we were on our way downriver. We made it back safe and sound. All in all, this memory is one that I am glad I have, but I hope I never have to experience again.
