Janet E. Peters’ childhood memories of Charlevoix,

Written September 2021, as I enjoyed remembering - Back to Book 3

Sounds

          Acorns hitting the bedroom roof over my head; the deep horn of the freighter blowing for the bridge on its way down to Advance, clearing the channel walls by inches; the wonderful, deep “Beeee ohh” of the old foghorn; the noon whistle, calling us up from the beach for lunch; the many sounds of tennis balls being hit on the tennis courts; the clang of the metal handles hitting the May pole-like center, at Michigan beach; Bobby Schrock, Terry Shwab and other older boys playing football after dinner in Pavilion Park; Faye and Betty, high school choir members Gram had hired for the summer, singing in harmony as they cleaned up the kitchen after dinner in time for Faye to go play softball, a sport she continued to enjoy well into adulthood; waves lapping the Frolic as Gramp (Robert R. Ware [Sr], also known as Skipper) took us sailing and the sound of lines hitting the mast; the gentle sound of waves lapping the beach; Gramps’ “Hard a lee”; Gramps’ LOUD whistle; Gram’s “Now, Robin” as she gently chastised him; the loud snores coming through the transoms of every bedroom in the cottage when I awoke one night to use the bathroom and quietly laughed, wishing  I were a composer and could set those snores to music; the canon starting off the club sailboat races in afternoons; hearing Chopsticks being played ad infinitum in the Mithoefer cottage across the street

Smells       

          The unique smell of the cottage, welcoming us back; just out of the oven chocolate chip cookies awaiting us as we trooped up from the beach;

Sights

          Fresh salmon-colored gladiolas in a vase by the front door of 212, which the hummingbirds all loved; children making drip castles on the beach; sunsets at the Michigan beach, an after-dinner ritual; boys diving off the boat houses or the railroad bridge; the penny Gramp put on the railroad tracks for the train’s wheels to squash; Gramp laying out the Frolic’s sails to dry in the grass in front of the cottage; the beautiful greens and blues of the water; billowing, colorful spinnakers on sailboats racing down the lake;  the little Dockside Press along Belvedere Avenue and all the books on lake history in it; having lunch at the Parkside while enjoying the view of Round Lake from their windows; Mom and other family members on our backs on beach towels at the site of the old hotel, giggling as we watched the show of shooting stars (and making enough noise the night guard had to come over to see who and what we were up to); the regular arrival at the kitchen door of the “flower lady” with the back of her station wagon filled with arranged bouquets in water-filled coffee cans.  Gram always had fresh bouquets in the bedrooms when we arrived at the cottage; the last summer of Mom’s life, wheeling her near the apple tree by the back gate to watch the deer enjoying the fruit, then driving down to the Belvedere beach and seeing more of them – a  record of 17 deer that evening.  Mom was thrilled.

Tastes        

          Gram’s homemade strawberry or peach ice cream and the frustration of only one scoop per summer as Gram invited all those who’d helped churn the ice cream, their families, and others to enjoy that  wonderful taste. (When Mom [Evelyn Ware Peters] made it at  home, we insisted she make TWO batches, so we could enjoy it more than once.) S’Mores at the end of picnics at Fisherman’s Island State Park; Houston’s perfect popovers; my first taste of Ranch Dressing, served at cocktail parties with baby vegetables from Bluff Gardens; pies at Jesperson’s, which Sunny Hemingway had told us about when we met her one day in Petoskey, those pies a  treat which became a must each time we were shopping in Petoskey; shrimp dinners at Argonne; eating cheese crackers with peanut butter while waiting for the Ironton Ferry; Having Jeffs at the counter of the pharmacy in town; the search for Al-Meda candy each season, a candy treat Mom first remembered when “the candy lady’s son” came to the cottages to sell their products.  By the time I was hooked on it, that young boy and his wife were the owners and Uncle Jack Ware and wife Carol even found them at their Florida home during the winters.

Other adventures, treats, and traditions

          Gramp rowing me from the bayou, across the deep and scary channel, then around the old river off Chicago Club; Gramp, brother Jim, and Judge Allen having to get back to shore when Grampa had a heart attack while they were in a race of club boats.  As I remember the story, Gramp was giving them sailing instructions as they heading in; the thrill of being allowed to get into the ice or milkman’s horse drawn (don’t remember the vehicle – just the horse) and ride from our kitchen door, down the street that used to be in front of 212, until we got down the hill by the tennis courts, where we hopped off and ran back to the cottage; playing under the umbrella-shaped mulberry tree at the other end of the (later) sidewalk in front of 212; playing bingo at the old Belvedere hotel; hearing a large freighter blow for the bridge, we hopped from our beds, threw on coats over our night clothes, dashed into the car, picked up Houston as he came out of his cottage, and hurriedly drove down to the Michigan beach to watch the show as the captain maneuvered the ship between channel walls barely wide enough to let him through.  And the people watching from the channel tossing cans of beer up to the sailors on board; catching crayfish in the water behind the boat houses the years the water was high; Going on a picnic along Lake Michigan north of town instead of our usual Fisherman’s Island destination because Hilty Fraser was wearing a cast.  (Shouldn’t have bothered – he was as active as all the other kids); impromptu Fishermans’ Island State Park picnics with the Mueller/Allen tribe; though we could wear our bathing suits to the table at lunchtime, we always got dressed up for dinner; reading in the quiet corner on the north side of the porch, while still able to view the goings-on in the living room; my brothers and I heading for the Allen cottage on Belvedere Avenue on rainy days because there always were interesting games being played there; on ice cream-making day, shopping with Gram for ice from Heise’s, heavy cream from Max Bauer’s dairy, and rock salt from (?).  Other days I went with her to buy meat from “Souppy?) at the little grocery at the top of the hill on Bridge Street; white fish, beets, and beet greens on Gram’s menu the day a family was due to arrive at 212; cousin Johnny Ware (Jack’s son) stopping at the kitchen door of the bakery on the way home from a date to bring fresh donuts back to the cottage for breakfast; sitting on the side porch with Gram as we snapped the green beans for dinner; riding a bike over the Rustic Bridge – SCARY!; hearing stories of the two Belvedere cottage fires Gramp helped fight; Gram and Gramps enjoying playing bridge with the Valiers and the Caldwells