The Private Beach

Newsletter 2024-07-19

I regret to inform you that oceans are canceled. Actually, I don’t regret it at all. They were always too expensive for what they offered. They’ve been replaced by lakes, which recently got bigger. Or maybe they’ve always been big and I only recently noticed. There’s no way to know. Much to my surprise, there are five rather substantial lakes in the upper Midwest. They’re really quite large. One might even say they’re great, but only if that one is somebody other than me. I’d call them something better, like the Spectacular Lakes. It’s a shame no one lets me name things anymore. I lost that privilege when I called my last kid Waffle.

Despite living in states that touch the Great Lakes for most of my life, this week was the first time I took a vacation to one. I didn’t take the “great” part of the name seriously enough. These aren’t the Okay Lakes. They’re basically oceans, but conveniently located two-hours away instead of halfway across the country. It had somehow escaped my attention that Indiana is a major maritime power. Watch out for our navy. Those triremes are fierce. The interior coastal experience here includes long stretches of pristine white sand. Usually, I’m not much of a beach guy. They lack shade, and half my family members are vampires. If Lola forgets a hat during normal daylight hours, she’ll burst into flames. This time though, I decided to risk immolating my wife and kids for a very important reason: It would be a really cheap trip. Survival is good, but saving money is better. I could always make a new family.

The trip was the brainchild of our college friends, Virginia and Winston. They’re sort of important people in our lives. Lola and Virginia were roommates. Winston introduced me to Lola. She’s been madly in love with me ever since. Don’t ask for her version of the story. It’s much less cool because it’s full of things that actually happened. The four of us were in each other’s weddings. Virginia and Winston are the godparents for our first born child, and, as of this week, we’re the godparents for theirs. They only have one kid, but if they have more, I assume we’ll be the godparents for all of them as well. I can’t imagine there will ever be a better option than us.

Virginia’s family in Indianapolis used to live across the street from a family who had a grandma near Lake Michigan. Her family and that family stayed in touch. Decades later, it finally paid off. Friendship is the ultimate long con. The grandma’s former house is now that family’s communal lake house. They offered to let Virginia use it for a hundred dollars a night. There’s no cleaning fee or online booking system. Reservations are made by calling one of the relatives and asking them to write your name on a calendar on the side of the fridge. Airbnb should be taking notes. It’s an arrangement from an earlier time when people trusted each other and liability waivers weren’t a thing. Consequently, when that family found out that Virginia invited us, too, they did ask us to sign a liability waiver. Our reputation precedes us. They never sent any paperwork over, though, so we didn’t sign anything. It’s just as well because we weren’t a threat to the house, and the house wasn’t a threat to us. The real danger was high above. You can’t sue the sun.

The house was built in the 1950s in a neighborhood across the street from one of the most beautiful beaches on Lake Michigan.