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A North to South Michigan Christmas by Bill Wheadon

2005 Michigan Holiday Memory Contest Second Runner Up!

In our family it's known as the year that Santa and Mrs. Claus permanently moved to the North Pole. The "North" in that statement is Northern Michigan and the "Pole" the elongated piece of sand, cherries and snow that is Michigan's baby finger ñ Leelanau Peninsula. We had moved from Grand Rapids the previous January, leaving three generations of family behind.

This would be our first "out of the homestead" experience. We were determined to have our own Christmas morning before loading up the sleigh ñ an aging but dependable Jeep Grand Cherokee ñ and heading south for Christmas day. Also making the trip would be our golden retriever and a very unhappy, crated cat.

As with all great endeavors, much of the joy was in the preparation. For over a month we traveled the tiny tourist towns, those quaintly lighted skeletons of their summer selves, their harbors frosted and dipped in white. Here, among the hardy year-round residents, my wife shopped the bazaars and craft shows. I, meanwhile, specialized in local delicacies ñ chocolate covered cherries, exotic fruit-filled mustards and preserves, local wines and other edible favorites ñ particularly those offering samples.

Part of our search included occasional trips to "town". "Town" is Traverse City which offers its own Christmas delights, including an old-fashioned downtown shopping district. When we tired from the shops, we found a cozy cafÈ with a welcoming fireplace and harbor view. Here, we selected a hot drink and some shameless dessert.

On Christmas morning we awoke to six inches of fresh snow. The car had been crammed with presents the night before, so we plugged in the lights and the coffee pot and settled beneath our little tree to open gifts. Both of us kept an eye to the weather. If we could make it down our driveway and off the drifted peninsula, the radio promised improving roads as we headed south.

The snow-bent pines bobbed appreciatively as we careened through our green and white tunneled driveway. As we sweat our way up the last precarious incline onto our deserted county road, Interlochen radio chimed an appropriately triumphant seasonal soundtrack. North on M-22 past Good Harbor Bay we saw our first hint of the roadway, then headed east through a magically lighted Suttons Bay and skated south where the gray of Traverse Bay was broken occasionally by huddling white gulls and some impervious swans.

Traverse City rendered hope for improving conditions ñ slush, indicative of recent road salt. We traveled on through the freshly dipped outskirts, past Kingsley, then east on a snow-swept highway heading to Interstate 131. And finally, south. South over snow toward Cadillac, south suddenly on clear pavement as Interlochen played Handel. "Halleluiah! Halleluiah! Hal-le-lu-iah!"

The cat howled, the dog grew restless and then we were there, being greeted at our daughter's door by our delirious one and a three-year-old pajama-ed granddaughters, their mom, our daughter from California and a son-in-law with a hand-held video camera... and all the wonderful chaos, love and clutter which was that special Michigan Christmas.