After two years of missing the annual migration weekend to Torch Lake, I finally made it this year when Matt set some accommodating dates. Kerry and I took Friday off to get up there Thursday, so we’d have two full days of nothing to do but lounge, loaf and screw around. And that’s exactly what everybody did up there. We did miss quite a few of our regular peeps (it’s not easy to get everybody up north for a weekend) and that was the only regret.
The house on Torch Lake is beautiful and comfortable. The lake itself is ridiculously big, the largest inland lake in the state. You could definitely stay in this house there year-round, it’s that big and practically designed. Kerry’s aunt and cousins put an immense effort into this place, from the gardening to the boats and toys, and everything in between, you don’t have a place this phenomenal by sitting around on your ass eating cheese doodles all weekend. Pull up and you’re greeted with Aunt Liz’s green thumbery, as well as a nod to something else green.
The rest of the place was nothing but ooooh’s, aaaaah’s and wow’s.
This was our bedroom for the weekend.
You know, it’s not often you get to enjoy some deluxe accommodations (free of charge) in a weekend with absolutely nothing to do. If you’re lucky, you get one of those in a summer. The rest is tent camping with the bugs and the people on the site next to you very nearly on top of you, unpredictable weather and sometimes compromised sleeping. That, and you don’t always have these kickass, old-school fans by your bed either.
The grounds surrounding the cabin were choice.
The pontoon frequently offered lovely tours of this massive lake, with Marty expertly at the controls.
The water was absolutely perfect. And in the 90-degree heat, it was also very inviting, something of which we often took full advantage.
The lake itself is pretty huge, with a perimeter of housing that is positively stunning. There are a lot of million-dollar properties on Torch Lake, with many of them alleged to be owned by the likes of Bob Seger, Michael Moore and Eminem, not that that is important, but perhaps mildly noteworthy. While these are not their properties, they are still some impressive lakefront houses nonetheless.
We managed a trip Saturday to nearby Charlevoix to see Bear, about a 20-minute drive from where we were staying. Always so good to see him, great actually. I have a huge spot in my heart for that guy, so catching up with him for a few hours is pure gold. Looking forward to catching him again with Glom in a couple of weeks. Kerry and I stayed in Charlevoix for a short while until we met up with him at the harbor/bandshell on Main Street there
before having lunch with HB (thanks again) and walking with him out by the pier/walk thing
We scored some fudge from Burdick’s to bring back to the crew.
If we weren’t out on the boat, or vegging around the fire, it seemed like everyone was just sort of kicking it on the back patio area, mainly eating and drinking, but mostly drinking.
There was a lot of it, all day and half the night. When we weren’t throwing down some homemade guac with some Stoli and San Pellegrino
we were tearing up some pretty damn fine food over the weekend, including Loafy’s mac and cheese
or some rack of lamb courtesy of Matt
Not to mention the fajita fixings Rusty brought all the way from the El Mercado in Detroit’s Mexicantown, dropping those bad boys at about 1:30 in the morning. No photos of that, though. Reaction time kind of worn by that point.
This is what people do when you go up north. That, and work on your place so it’s a comfy little oasis. Other than that, it’s a lot quality time.
And what’s a weekend getaway without a little fun with the pooches?
We actually brought Rian’s dog, Scout, back home with us for a week. She’s very cute, as you can see here with her spending some quality time with her favorite toy.
The bar as the first night commenced. This was definitely the high traffic area.
More than anything, aside from housing the ‘fridge and all of the booze, it was also home to the industrial-capacity ice machine Matt bought for the place. He said they were getting sick of going to the nearest store for 10 bags of ice at a time. Here, Rusty demonstrates its usefulness.
And please, let me just take a minute to pause here on the Chicken and tell everyone that that dude, Forrest (aka Rusty) was one very cool and genuine fella. Never before met the guy, spent the better part of a weekend with him and didn’t regret a second of it. Straight-up, right-on kind of guy. This kept consistent with the weekend’s company for sure. It was a total mix of people, some of them related by blood, the rest through friendships in one capacity or another, and everyone really easy to get along with and there for the same reason — to chill, decompress and unwind. And what a mix it was. You had three salesman (owners of their own business), an entrepreneur/independent consultant type, a secretary, a guy who manages about two or three different companies, a couple of fundraisers (one of them a Texas Republican; the other a liberal freak), a journalist, two teachers, a pilot, a tavern owner and a spinal surgeon. Fourteen people. Not one fucking ego.
