404/217
By: Varina Buntin Willse -  Back to Book 3
 
 
The only thing that rivals a childhood summer spent in Charlevoix is an adulthood summer spent in Charlevoix. My memories from my early summers here are layered and rich. They involve pedaling off to Gang in the mornings and wrapping up in warm sweatshirts in the evenings. Trips to town for Cravings ice cream and “fancy” dinners out at The Weathervane and The Argonne. Tacking across the lake in the Summertime and tennis lessons with Erik. Peanut hunts and candle-making in Little Gang, Capture the Flag and Sardines in Big. An epic pillow fight in our front yard that had attracted just about every kid in the resort by the time it ended with a down pillow busting open and spewing feathers as far as Moreland Park.
 
I remember staying up late, with my head literally out the window, so that I could eavesdrop on the antics of the Alexander porch, the gravely voices of David, Chipper, and Moss engraved in my brain. I remember braving that same porch during the daylight hours to beg a piece of candy from Uncle Bud, whose voice was as gravelly as his sons and whose intimidating demeanor belied a gentle and generous soul. Other people stand out in those memories, too. Murphy Reese was nice to me when I was an awkward middle schooler in oversized t-shirts. Chip Bemis greeted all of us Big Gangsters with the warmest, most authentic smile and pushed us faster on the Merry-Go-Round than seemed humanly possible. Ever warm and friendly, Ann Denison invited me to play dress-up in the Blue Bell, which to me was a real-life palace (complete with a resident bat!). And of course my friends and fellow gangsters: Kimmy and Lettie Alexander, Lindsay Tomkinson and our cohorts Shep Hickey and Tug Orr, Hunter Campaigne, Claire Loughlin, Joanna Hill, the list keeps going.
 
The summer spun out across a series of beloved traditions, beginning with the 4th of July bike parade and culminating in Cabaret with Children’s Dances, Regattas and Venetians highlighting the weeks in between. Due to her finely endowed nose, my mother always won the Egg Roll at Games in the Park. She also found time to make award-winning costumes for my brothers and me for the Masquerade--New Coke vs Old Coke topping the list of particularly genius ones. During those special nights at the Casino, my father spun me around the dance floor, as did John McDougall, Rick Tomkinson, and Frank Crump. At the Belvedere, summer after summer, I experienced friendship, adventure, and comfort. I experienced what it is to be known and what it is to be loved. That is the gift of a lifetime, and to watch it happening in turn for my own children is one of my greatest joys.
 
If my childhood summers roughly spanned the 80s and 90s, my “grown-up” summers began around 2000. Suffice to say, the sirens and horns of the Venetian parade resonate differently when you’ve been at the GG drinking hummers and dancing until 2 in the morning. Many nights in my 20s, though, I found myself as a dinner guest at the parties of the “near-retirees” as opposed to hitting the bars in town. Because I was single and staying with my parents, their friends often included me in their gatherings. Sally and John McDougall, who have long been like second parents to me, never failed to include me in their parties, whether casual around their dining room table or fancy in their garage. Likewise, my parents, who hosted frequent dinner parties first at 404 and then at 21, always squeezed in an extra spot for me. Watching my mother prepare for parties days ahead of time--making homemade fudge pie, shucking corn for the pudding-- and then pull off a dinner for 12 without ever appearing the least bit stressed taught me a great deal about grace and hospitality. On these nights, I was always the youngest person at the table, and it was always my great privilege. I found myself in the company of true gentlemen--Jack Syer, Drew Baur, Tom Morris--all of whom had a spirit of mischief and a gift for conversation. I got to visit with inquisitive and spirited women--Bickie McDonnell, Carolyn Morris, Virginia Syer with her pink lipstick, Em and Stella, Kate Tomkinson and Sudi Alexander--all of whom asked questions and told stories and laughed. The laughter was a constant. I remember one night at 404 when a bottle of red wine was spilled and the disposal failed to work, and Eddie Mannion brought in all manner of equipment to attempt to repair it, including the leaf blower. I also remember one night at 401 with Rick and Sue Myer, when we got into such a heated discussion (about what none of us can now remember) that the next day I drew up a “legal” treaty on the subject matter and left it on Rick’s porch, much to his delight. Everything in the world is to his delight, it seems, and I pretty much feel that way about all of the folks of that generation that I have been blessed to call friends. I often said to my mom and dad that their friends had way more fun than mine, and we have the pictures on the wall of the cottage to prove it! 
 
In those years, my mom picked up golf and so I did, too. I would drop the ball wherever Sally McDougall had hit it, and then make my way up the fairway with my 7-iron. Learning to play golf afforded me more time with my parent’s friends but ultimately more time with my parents. Dad often played two balls at once and answered multiple business calls during play, but even when seeming to be distracted, I knew he was delighted to be out there with Mom and me. Any great drive I happened to hit pleased him immensely. And he has been my putting coach for decades now, teaching me to envision the path of the ball and to follow through rather than punch at it.
 
These were also the years that the Buntin Cup was formed. This was an annual tennis match between my father, my brothers, and me. Frazer partnered with my dad, and Jeffrey with me, and we would sweat it out in pursuit of the silver tray bought from the Rainbow Shoppe. The winners were written on it in Sharpie. One year, Frazer and Dad appeared for the match in matching white robes. Like every cottage, 404 is home to various trophies, wine glasses, and medals from throughout the years, but the Buntin Cup tray is by far my favorite hardware.
 
Like most of us, I typically come to the Belvie in July and August, but the summer of 2006 I came in June. When my husband Walker proposed, much to my surprise he and my mom (or maybe more just my mom) had already chosen a date for the wedding: July 22. This fit my teaching schedule--but more importantly accommodated the wedding planner we adored--never mind that we were supposed to be in Michigan, like always! Marrying in July has meant getting to celebrate anniversaries in Northern Michigan, trying out new restaurants like Cafe Sante and The General Store or setting up romantic picnics in the cabana or on the boat. Walker and I recently celebrated 14 years by paddleboarding the Chain of Lakes and then toasting with beers at Short’s Brewery in Bellaire. Northern Michigan anniversaries are hard to beat. What it meant the summer we married, though, was a solo trip to Charlevoix, just me and my dog, Willie. It’s the only time I’ve been here alone and I have to say it was heavenly. Willie and I stayed at 404, and we enjoyed a lot of boat rides and porch time--not too different from what I enjoy with my human family, it turns out.
 
Walker and I started spending summers up here together the year after we married. He enjoys fishing and fun people, and so he’s perfectly happy at the Belvedere! When we were first married and still staying at 404, we had house guests, including four of my girlfriends from college and their husbands. I remember being horribly offended that one of the husbands had secured a tee time at Dunmaglas, having read that it was the best course in the area. No course anywhere beats the Belvedere so far as I’m concerned (never mind that I never actually play any other courses). A couple years later, we had our friends Land and Laura Deleot up for the 4th of July, which in itself was a godsend because that was the year we forgot the double stroller. If you have babies in Michigan, you absolutely must have a good stroller--any mom knows this. It’s your lifeline to the world. The morning after we made the 11.5-hour drive, I bolted out of bed with a vital question: Where is the Bob? The Bob is the double jogging stroller I used daily with our twin girls, Mary Varina and Pierson, who were born in December 2008. I don’t know, Walker replied. I promptly accused him of forgetting it and started dropping unladylike word-bombs. We argued; I freaked out. We then remembered that our friends were due to get on a plane to come visit us in less than two hours. We called with a serious SOS and they rushed to our house, got the stroller, made their plane, and Walker and I have never fought again. The stroller saved our marriage, mostly.
 
By the time the girls were born, my parents had built 217. I have never before or since heard of a piece of land going for sale on the Belvedere, and how my dad managed to snap it up is a miracle, and yet not at all surprising to me. With foresight, strategic thinking, and quiet prudence, he and my mom managed to build a beautiful, unassuming cottage near the back gate with just about no one noticing. It wasn’t there, and then it was--with its lovely antique wrought-iron front door and big back porch and fireplace. They decorated it with wooden sailboats and intriguing portraits, a fresh contrast to the photo-laden walls of 404, and then quickly breathed life into it. It occurs to me now, more than ten years later, that it was hugely generous of them to welcome infant twins into their pristine and peaceful new place, but welcome us they did.
 
The girls took up residence in “Baby Alley,” which was a long closet upstairs, where they could nap and be put to bed early so as not to interfere with what my dad has always called, Big Folk’s Time. From that first summer, I remember carrying them in the Baby Bjorns to the Venetian parade, letting them flop and jabber in the Pac n Plays on the porch, and crawl around on quilts in the front yard. Walker remembers setting them up for a picture on the beach and snapping one quick shot before Pierson simply toppled over backward. Pierson, at least, was fine with sand; Mary Varina wouldn’t so much as touch it. Pop Pop, as my dad is now known to us, called them Moon Babies because their eyes were so big. As the years would go by, he would dance with them on the back porch of 217 and call to them on their bikes to look both ways as they left the driveway. He was terrified and protective when little Mary Varina fell down the stairs. He was enduring when little Pierson let out incessant high-pitched squeals from her highchair. That first summer at 217, VV held one baby, I held the other. Pop Pop and Walker looked on with love and pride.
 
The next year, we brought a sitter with us--the inimitable Sara Hurston--who has become a lifelong friend. She and I dressed for the beach the first day and found ourselves in matching bathing suits, which was a sign we were destined to be friends but which was also very unkind for me, who had given birth to twins! That year stands out as one of the best. Sara helped with the girls, beginning with the long journey from Nashville to Charlevoix when we had to stop repeatedly to change diapers on the top of the trailer we were pulling. Having her with us gave me free time to do all the things we all love doing in Charlevoix, and then I also got to spend time with my 18-month old babies. They learned new words so fast--lake, boat--and splashed in puddles and skinned their knees and bewitched Eddie and Margie Mannion, who were our new neighbors up at 217. Liz Teasdale, along with Caroline, Doug, Cindy and their families, were also our neighbors, and it has been a joy developing those friendships over the years. There must be something in the water up there, because their household has two sets of twins, we have a set, and then it just keeps curving around the park, from the Hickey’s over to Tui’s and splitting off to the Bloom’s and on and on. Maybe it’s the water in the Belvedere in general: the more, the merrier.
 
We welcomed our third daughter, Campbell, in 2013 and throughout the years we have amassed a treasure trove of memories with our kids, as my parents did with us. Walker devised a game called “Crabdaddy” on the blob that involves using his legs as crab claws to take the girls down: a kid favorite. Each year, we reserve a spot at Fisherman’s Island and spend one night camping beside Lake Michigan, collecting rocks and eating smores: a family favorite. We play putt putt at Pirate’s Cove and go to town for chocolate crepes. We ride the Ferris wheel at the carnival and even won a fish there that has continued to live in a vase in our kitchen at home a full year later. We took a day trip to Mackinac, where we rode bikes around the island, with Campbell in her favorite spot on the back of our two-seater, the blue hair of her unicorn helmet flying in the wind. The year before my 40th birthday, I had the girls help me drag a rather enormous piece of driftwood up the dunes at McSauba because I wanted to use it as a centerpiece for my upcoming birthday gathering. Walker didn’t comment when I casually let him know that I wanted to take it home. On our way back to Nashville, a man at the gas station asked Walker why he had a tree on the top of his car. My wife told me to put it there, he responded simply. The guy nodded in understanding. (And the driftwood stretching the length of the long table looked fabulous, as did the placecards we made using rocks found on the beach!).
 
The kids have cherished the summers spent staying at 217 with their grandparents, as have Walker and I. They remember when they were little snuggling with Pop Pop in his bed and playing frisbee with VV in the yard and both grandparents reading them bedtime stories. Pierson talks about simple things, like the peaches lined up on the window sill. Mary Varina and Campbell talk about eating cherries on the back steps, spitting pits into the yard (surely when Pop Pop wasn’t looking). They all talk about Pop Pop spraying whipped cream in his mouth and eating all the Nila wafers. VV has her habits with sweets, too, like laying out all the Tom’s Mom’s cookies to pick the one that has the most chocolate in it. We love eating breakfast on the front porch with VV in her robe and sitting on the back porch with Pop Pop at day’s end to watch the golden light filter through the trees and listen to him yell at the cars to slow down. We all laugh about his endless squirrel-catching endeavors. The time together in the same house hasn’t been without its challenges--noise levels, toilet clogs, wet towels on the floor--but it has offered the priceless gift of intimacy. Suffice to say, we can all tease one another without fear of hurt feelings.
 
The kids have loved Gang, too, especially with Senior Pete (or “Seen”) at the helm. They have gone from being terrified of sailing to loving it and begging to capsize. They always remember to pack cleats and shin guards in anticipation of the Belvie/Townie soccer match. They love Pizza Movie Night and Council Circle. Mary Varina and Pierson have been up to Pictured Rocks for an overnight, with memories of Frank Crump throwing up in the van and swimming in Lake Superior at sunset. Campbell has picked cherries and strawberries and come home with wooden awards hanging around her neck and stains on her tennis whites. “King Gary” has greeted them with the same smile Chip Bemis greeted me, and they have made wonderful friends of their own, the children of the friends I had growing up. It’s powerfully grounding and uplifting both: the way things come full circle over and over at the Belvedere amidst a world where everything else changes so fast and so often.
 
Many of the memories my kids cherish feature their cousins: Gaits, Rush and Anne Barnett on the Jeffrey Buntin side, James and Neely on the Frazer Buntin side. They have had epic tubing wipeouts together and a lucrative rock painting business. They have hung out in hammocks and played Spikeball and ridden to town for Kilwins more times than any of us can count. The past two summers--2019 and 2020--the cousins have had time in 404 together. The year of COVID, all 14 of us were in the house to give my parents their own space in 217. A loaf of cinnamon bread from the Farmer’s Market lasted all of one breakfast. A box of Popsicles one day at most.
 
Jeffrey, Kemp, Frazer, Tiffany, Walker and I have our own memories, including when we ran aground on a late-night return trip from dinner in Boyne City. Jeffrey, Frazer and Walker have enjoyed nighttime expeditions fishing on the Jordan; Kemp, Tiffany, and I have enjoyed morning visits on the porch. Frazer and I have paddleboarded to Shade’s Point in the morning. (He made the SUP trip to Petoskey on his own. Who does that??) He and Jeffrey have played lots of tennis; Kemp and Tiff have frequented the lavender farm. But the memories that involve the full family are some of the best. One year, we hosted our own family talent show because we were going to miss the annual Gang-hosted one. We did it on the porch at 217 and the evening ended up featuring the following roster of notable acts: Pop Pop did an unexpected rendition of a wartime song with a broomstick as his microphone, the girl cousins did gymnastics, Gaits flipped water bottles, VV wiggled her ears, I read an original piece titled “Twas the Night Before Venetian,” Frazer and Tiffany did synchronous yoga dancing (lift and all), Jeffrey touched his tongue to his nose, Kemp sang the states alphabetically, and when his turn came around, Walker pulled up his shirt and stuck out his stomach as his talent. Had there been judges, they would have been speechless. I’m not sure any awards would have been given!
 
The favorite family memory of all time, though, has to be of mom’s 70th birthday. Those who know her know that VV has a thriving inner child. Rather than a cocktail soiree to honor her birthday, which falls on July 2, we wanted to surprise her with a party befitting not the age she is but the age she feels. So we organized a treasure hunt that took her all over the resort, from the troll bridge to the pier, in the pouring rain with her grandkids. The evening included the family kickball game, which had become a beloved tradition, with VV’s blue team 404 taking on Pop Pop’s green team 217. And it ended with the biggest surprise of all: a dunking booth, which we had done our best to keep hidden down at 404. Of course, VV got in that dunking booth and let her grandkids knock her in, much to everyone’s uproarious delight. The kids got in, along with Frazer in some giant alien head that had been procured from the carnival the year before. The night ended with certain family members doing the worm on the living room floor. How can you possibly beat a place where this kind of fun and togetherness can happen? The answer is: you can’t. You simply can’t beat the ongoing joys of the Belvedere.