A quick trip to Wisconsin…and other deep thoughts
Schoolhouse Beach. I bet you’ve never been there. In fact, if you have, shoot me a note after you’ve read this.
I’m convinced you’ve never been there, mostly because it takes dedication to actually get there. It goes something like this, if you’re leaving from the Chicago area…
First, drive about 5 hours straight north along the shores of Lake Michigan. Stay right the entire time so that you end up driving onto the finger-like peninsula that juts into Lake Michigan and separates Green Bay from the rest of Lake Michigan. (Yes, there is a real Green Bay next to where the Packers play. No, it’s not green at all, unless you count the beautiful shoreline.)
When you get to the very, very end of the peninsula, you’ll find yourself in a tiny town called Northport where 503 people live. You’ll see a car ferry. If the weather is good, pay the fee to drive your car onto the ferry and enjoy the 45 minute ride across what the locals call “Death’s Door”. (Now you know why I said to only get on if the weather was good…)
After your short sea journey, the ferry will let you off on Washington Island (pop. 700). Drive your car 10 minutes, past the blooming lavender fields, to the other side of the small island.
There, you’ll find yourself at Schoolhouse Beach.
So…have you been there?
What’s unique about Schoolhouse Beach on Washington Island is that there’s no sand. None. Zero. The beach is completely made up of palm-sized, perfectly smooth limestone rocks. Did someone haul them in? Nope. They’ve been slowly deposited onto the beach over tens of thousands of years, since glacial times.
For those willing to put the time and effort into getting there, the beach is a popular picnic and swimming spot. While you won’t be making any sand castles here, the feeling of smooth rocks beneath your feet through crystal clear waters is uncanny and unforgettable.
It amazes me to think of the time it took Mother Nature to add literally millions of stones to a massive beach. Millions. Each one unique. Like looking at the clouds, our kids search through the rocks for a recognizable shape. A heart. A bean. The state of Nevada (yes, we found that one).
But we leave them there, because those rocks are so important that it’s actually illegal to take one from the shore. The locals know the beauty they have and protect it. The beach would be incomplete without even one of those rocks.
And maybe this sounds cheesy, but Schoolhouse Beach and all its beautiful stones always makes me pause for another reason too.
I think sometimes we have a tendency to build life up to be these grand moments that feel like boulders in our life. Big massive, one-ton events that shape us.
The graduation. The wedding. The baby being born. The career milestone.
Those all feel like big “boulder” moments.
But then I think of Schoolhouse and I’m reminded that the beauty of life can be found in the palm-size stone moments built up over time. Like the millions of rocks littering Schoolhouse Beach, our lives are a culmination of beautiful, smooth, seemingly insignificant moments.
That 10-minute conversation with a new friend. That one all-nighter you pulled to pass your business law class so you could graduate college the next week. The first date with your eventual husband. The second date with him. That time you finally let go of your 5-year-old’s two-wheeler and prayed she’d stay upright. Saturday mornings when your son curls up next to you as he watches cartoons. That afternoon you spent daydreaming about what would eventually become your own business.
Small, smooth moments in time.
Schoolhouse Beach isn’t beautiful because there are 5 massive boulders on its shores. No one goes there for that. It’s beautiful because of the millions of times the lake threw a single, smooth rock up onto the island. Those millions of small stones are what makes it beautiful and unique.
Are our lives any different? Those palm-sized rock moments are just as important as they build up over time. Sure, we’ll put the “boulder” moments up in frames and in our photo albums, but those small, smooth stone moments will be what makes the whole thing beautiful.
If you’ve never heard of Door County, it’s my favorite place on Earth (really). Check it out here.
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