Impressions of my new home

By Kristen Counts
Sun contributor

“I could never live here!” These were the words that I adamantly expressed to my boyfriend on my first visit to his new home in Glen Arbor in September, 1998. He was teaching and living at The Leelanau School, a boarding and day school located just north of the town of Glen Arbor on M-22. I could not imagine enduring the cold, harsh winters of the north. In my mind were pictures of me shivering as I trudged my way through many feet of blowing, blustery snow, a gross exaggeration of my imagination. I also was unable to fathom a lifestyle among adolescents. I did not know my boyfriend could sincerely like living in this cold, adolescent-infested place.
Although, we did go for a romp in the dunes and a walk by the lake, while the September wind blew wildly through our hair. That day we found a Petoskey stone on the beach. I knew it was ancient, and I thought it was interesting. I must confess that I did think the area was pretty during the season in which I visited, but to be totally honest, I was newly in love and could see very little else but him.
In the summer previous to my first visit to Glen Arbor, I was living in West Virginia, working at my summer occupational therapy fieldwork placement. I remember on a hot, sweaty Appalachian evening in particular. I was sitting on the bedroom floor with my back resting against the bed, nursing a big bowl of ice cream, phone pressed to my ear. My boyfriend was describing Glen Arbor to me, trying to put it into words. I said that I though it sounded like the frontier portion of Cedar Point (an amusement park). He replied, “Well, kind of.” How difficult for him to put into words a simple place that was to slowly reveal its many quiet virtues and graces to me.
Later on, during late fall and before the snow fell, I was in Toledo, Ohio, working on my last fieldwork placement. My everyday life was very stressful at that placement, and I missed the one I loved so far up north. One ordinary day, an odd-shaped envelope appeared in my mailbox. It was from my boyfriend. I opened it quickly while I sat in my warm, running car at the end of the driveway. Looking inside the envelope, I found a rock. The ancient stone that we had found on the beach was polished and came with a note. The stone felt smooth and cold in my hand. I felt its contours with my long, cold fingers while I admired its intricate patterns. Empathy and love were shown to me by the note enclosed which reminded me of our place in the span of time. Big, hot tears dropped down my cold cheeks. Feeling this polished stone in my hand was meant to bring me peace. And it did.
Now I am living here, in this lovely little town, and I am at peace. As the old saying goes – “Never say never.” In June of 1999, I found myself marrying that Leelanau teacher and moving due north to that adolescent-infested place. Funny how you can eat your words, every single one of them, and have them taste so sweet.
So many sweet things have impressed themselves upon me since I have resided in this little town. Some are the common surprises of so many urbanites who make their way up here – unlocked car doors, dogs off their leashes, faces that smile at you as you walk down the street. I’ve come to depend upon, even find comfort in, the familiar faces that I see when I go to town. We wave, chat and smile at each other. Such a contrast this is to the high-pitched vocal amazement that is expressed when you actually see someone you know in the city. I also enjoy the community at the school, especially the teens who have become a part of my daily life.
One of my favorite first experiences in Glen Arbor was strolling around on the wooden floor of the video store with my boyfriend looking for a movie by candlelight. The electricity had failed due to strong winds, yet we were still warm while savoring the incomparable aroma of wood burning in the stove.
Other experiences that I cherish have included seeing the northern lights and the milky way for the first time. Never had I experienced such an incredibly clear night sky. I had the great fortune to observe celestial bodies with an astronomy group at the observatory. Great teachers I found in the dark night.
Yet another sweet surprise occurred on a day when I had gone into the coffee shop to rest after work. An older gentleman was sitting on the piano bench, chatting with visitors from out of town. I thought that I had seen him before in town. He wears a green hat and drives an old Mercedes. As he pondered what to play next, I asked if he knew any show tunes. He proceeded to play some good ones, and I enjoyed our interaction — a lovely treat when I did not expect it.
Another fond memory that I have is the big, white clumps that took many bright leaves to their final resting place during the long awaited first snow. The hats came out to play that day. Everyone in Glen Arbor seemed to wear hats. Hats atop heads that were home to a picture perfect dream of a winter wonderland. They walk up and down the street, in and out of shops — red hats, yellow hats, woven hats so tight that they made their wearers look like eraser heads. And tassels, and balls, and tails on the hats to boot.
Yet when the hat people are sleeping, when the stores are not welcoming the customers, this is the time I love the most in Glen Arbor — early morning and late night. Stillness permeates. I drive slowly, tenderly through the darkness so as not to wake the sleeping town, feeling like I keep a precious secret. At the point in the road that meets the drive of the school, I look straight into this gentle darkness, making my left turn home with safe passage.