For a few years we didn’t bring Hoover to Long Lake. Everyone knows, and is told, that cats don’t like change. They have their places and don’t welcome new ones. They don’t travel well. Upsetting their routine upsets them. We believed that was all likely true and for about three years Hoover stayed home, with daily visits from his cat sitter, while we frolicked at the lake.

Hmm. Then we let him give travel a try. He has a favorite blanket in his carrier (that doesn’t accompany him to the vet). Right from the get-go, Hoover was ready to get going. After several months of regular weekend visits, and longer visits too, he seems as comfortable at the lake as at home.

In warm weather, he moves from window perch to window perch, watching the birds and small mammals. Chipmunks, chipmunks are his favorite. He also finds the small red squirrels quite fascinating. In cold weather, he sits for long periods watching the area around the bird feeders. After awhile, he’ll find a cozy spot and fall asleep, no doubt dreaming feline dreams of the hunt.

And the best warm spot of all is by the fireside.

This is how the Lake House looks approaching in a kayak on a late summer evening. Nothing grand. Just welcoming. There might be a ceiling fan turning the warm air. Maybe dinner will be sizzling on the grill. Well, that might be true if I were arriving by kayak and Steve was home. It’s a mighty rare evening when I would be doing any cooking.

But it’s early January now. This is what the lake is up to. It’s mostly thinly frozen. The ice is creeping toward Belly Button Island. Our small bay is ice-covered.

The kayaks are cleaned, UV protected, and stowed in the garage waiting for spring. By ice-out in April we’ll be back on the water but, for now, we watch the lake turn solid. The turtles are snug in their cold muddy places. The beavers are active but not seen much. They are mostly living off the cache of downed trees stashed convenient to their lodge entrances. Deer will soon be browsing on the cedar trees that rim some sections of the lake. An adult Bald Eagle flies low over the lake looking for dinner. Our bird feeders go quiet. Winter is here.

Some call ice fog “pogonip.” Pogonip is an adaption of the Shoshone word for cloud (pakenappah). That’s what The Old Farmer’s Almanc is referring to in December when it says: “Beware the pogonip.”

We gather around the firepit on a dark, chilly night. Even if all you are doing is having good unspooky conversation and roasting marshmallows, you can’t help but look beyond what the fire lights.  At least in Michigan, you know you aren’t going to be some creature’s evening snack. Nothing bigger than a raccoon is likely moving about. The 2000 or so black bears that live in Michigan’s lower peninsula hardly ever even claw at people. But gazing into the shadows, it’s still easy to remember what scary stuff our ancestors knew could be lurking there.

This night was a cool almost-fall night. The sky was clear. We could look up and see our Milky Way galaxy all milky like it is, and was.

Moonset. Not yet dawn. But not quite still night. It would be so good to be sitting in Ghost Bay right this very minute, watching moonset happen.

I am in the city now. Moonset must happen from some vantage point in my city. Don’t you think? Maybe from the river’s edge, at just the exact perfect time. But I don’t live near the river. Maybe from a highrise, aimed in the right direction a few times each year. But I don’t live in a highrise either.

Long Lake. In Ghost Bay. This was August, 2011.

This is April 3rd on Hillman’s Long Lake. Geez. We checked our logs. Last April 3rd we had just gotten the dock into the water.  Ice out occurred about two weeks earlier. On April 3, 2010 we were paddling in Ghost Bay and I saw a giant pike spring out of the big weed bed. There was a loon near Belly Button Island. And this year? Well, you’re looking at it.

We are crying “uncle” here in Michigan. And it has nothing to do with the fact that about a week and half ago we were paddling in the waters off Cedar Key, Florida.

I drove home today through sleet, freezing rain, and snow. Made it home without incident, but many others were not so fortunate. Cars were in ditches, flipped over in the median, and sitting by the side of the road apparently waiting for the blizzard to pass. I-75 was awash in emergency vehicles and motorists in trouble. There were definitely moments when I wished we had not followed our habit of  swapping out the snow tires in mid-March.

I hope our feathered migrants know not to head here yet. Loons? Stay where you are. And you ruby-throated hummingbirds? I assume you’ve left Costa Rico, but definitely hang out in Tennessee and warmer places awhile longer. Michigan is no place for the delicate ones this early April.

Our young neighbor Zach says the walleyes on Hillman’s Long Lake bite most frequently through the ice at twilight.  They are probably so distracted by the beautiful sunsets that they lose their sense of self-preservation and just decide to nibble those tasty minnows after all.

Steve caught this nineteen-incher a little before sunset, on a tip-up.  Not much later than an hour after this fish was swimming in the lake, we were eating walleye for dinner.  Very tasty!

Just when you think that this lake can’t come up with another “best of…,” it surprises you. This is not photo-shopped. This fake-looking sunset is real. Just like my eyeballs saw it.

The dock is out of the water. The kayaks are packed away. Summer people are off doing whatever. The lake is quiet. The lake is spectacular.

The trees are at peak fall color.

The motor boats are almost all tucked into their shrinkwrap for the winter.  A few diehard fishermen move about. Nick the water skier gets some chilly twists and twirls in as the day progresses. But we own the beautiful quiet October morning on a still Long Lake.