Home Sweet 'Homa

When I arrived at my dad’s place, in northeastern Oklahoma, it was perfect homecoming. The hay had just been cut by a tractor that continued slowly to the southern part of the field. That all too familiar smell of fresh cut hay was in the air, and the sky was big. Big in a way that is only found in a place with flat land. It was nice to be home, if only briefly.

There are great things happening in Oklahoma City and Tulsa, but there is something about small towns. Something that I have finally grown to appreciate. En route to my dad’s, Liz had pointed out signs in a small town that I had passed by many times before. I had almost forgotten that they were there. We pulled over. Off of Highway 69, I took a couple of pictures of the signs that I am pretty sure time has nearly forgotten as well. 

Christmas In July

After a trip to the Upper Peninsula, I made my way down to Oklahoma. I saw my mom, as well as others, for the first time since I moved to Durham. Over a year ago. Though brief (less than 48 hours), it was great to see the family that I had been missing. That being said, my mom had a gift for me. My Christmas gift.

To be honest, I thought that she had forgotten to get her son, half way across the country, a Christmas gift. Come to find out, she was holding on to it for safekeeping. I sat with my mom, Liz, Nana and Papa (the Curtis half of Simon Curtis) as my mom handed me a large box with the Frye logo emblazoned on it. I thought that I had just received a pair of boots. I haven’t worn boots since “cowboy day” in second grade. They were bright red. I opened it and saw several individually wrapped items. This one in newspaper. That one in tissue paper. As each piece of paper was unfolded by my hands, the story unfolded from my mom’s mouth. I began to unwrap each piece of, what once was, my great grandfather’s possessions.

Harry’s razors and shaving brush. His manual hair clippers. His Tuckaway, Gillette travel razor (assembly required). And, a Kriss Kross (I know, it makes me want to jump, jump as well) stropper that uses a leather disc to sharpen the razors. I pretty much swooned knowing that these things were used nearly a century ago. Used during the time when my grandfather (the Simon half of Simon Curtis) was born. Hearing her tell me about it, piece by piece, was well worth the seven-month wait.

  

On a side note: With a career in advertising, I can’t help but be enamored by the instructions that came with the stropper. The imagery, the vernacular, and the assumptions that were made during that time period. It could be a post of its own, but I’ll spare the gushing, and just say that it is beautiful.

Kayaking

The first time white water caught, and intrigued, this young boy’s eye was at Ohiopyle, in southwestern Pennsylvania. The name Ohiopyle stems from an extinct Native American language meaning, “it turns very white.” Why? The focal point of Ohiopylye State Park is more than 14 miles of the Youghiogheny River Gorge that provides some of the best white water rafting in the Eastern United States. It contains class II-V rapids. As a kid, I couldn’t help but want to be in them.

Coming from Oklahoma, there aren’t many white water rapids. At least, there aren’t many white water rapids that could be defined by class. When we got to Michigan I heard that there were kayaks at our disposal. That child-like excitement returned. True, there weren’t rapids in Lake Superior. However, there were white-capped waves and glass like water… all on the same beach.

We spent the time discovering how big was too big, when it came to waves. We used the kayaks as transportation to visit the neighbors, down beach, for happy hour. And, simply tooling around in the bay as the sun set, was majestic.

Now that I’ve finally got my rookie appearance out of the way, I’m looking forward to where Liz and I will kayak next. As far as Ohiopyle goes, it will happen sooner than later.

Still Wedding Season

So, like I mentioned before, it is apparently wedding season. According to my tally, I'm up to five this summer. Liz and I have been to three weddings, in three states, in three weeks.  The latest...

Oklahoma - I got the pleasure of watching my youngest sister walk down the aisle... from a bridesmaid's point of view. Unfortunate circumstances resulted in me being called to action, three hours prior to the wedding, as a bridesmaid. It was a great perspective to watch my little sister get married from. I know, always a bridesmaid. Never a bride...

North Carolina - As a plus-one to Liz's coworker's wedding, I got the pleasure of being mancandy for an evening. The wedding involved two Hispanic families from Queens. So. Much. Fun. The dance moves of a fifteen-year-old inspired me to want to take dance lessons. Okay, if we are going to be honest, a six-year-old had more fluid moves than me.

All of that being said, one of my favorite weddings, held in Brimley, Michigan, involved a Scandanavian bride and a beach.

Michigan - In short, Liz's mom handmade the arbor. It was transported down the beach and planted in the sand. Mrs. Fabry then officiated the wedding from underneath the arbor that she had made. The bride (from Michigan) stood to the left with Michigan land jutting out on the horizon behind her. The groom (from Canada) stood on the right with Canadian land jutting out on the horizon behind him. All the while I was shoeless with my feet in the sand. It was beautiful.

The wedding photographer’s awesome shots can be found here. 

Lake Superior & The U.P.

Tourism officials generated the slogan "Say Yes to Michigan" in 1982 to fuel a state promotional campaign. Yooper residents (residents of the Upper Peninsula) put a more northern spin on the catchphrase, of course, transforming it into "Say Yah to Da U.P., Eh!" For a week, I became a Yooper, saying "yah" to the absolute beauty that is the U.P.

I had never been to the U.P. during the summer, but only visiting last Christmas. The average water temperature of Lake Superior is 40ºF, so I imagined it not being swimmable. I was wrong. Everyday was a shoeless, backyard-beach day, filled with sunshine, saunas and a pure as-you-please pace.

Lake Superior still blows my mind. It is the largest freshwater lake in the world by area, and holds 10% of the world's surface fresh water. To give a vague perspective (take a look at the map above) we were beachfront in Brimley. Now, do you see the point with the Bay Mills dot? It looks like it is pointing to Brimley State Park. The tip of that jutting land is on the horizon when standing on the beach in Brimley. Canada is across the bay as well. Lake Superior is HUGE.

It was a perfect getaway spent with m'lady, her family, and a beautiful beach. Say Yah to da U.P. indeed... "eh!"