Goal: Trespass onto Manitou Island – Check.Posted: January 28, 2013
Winter is wearing on me. I didn’t intentionally save this post for January – in truth I forgot about it in the frenzy of Halloweentime – but I’m glad I have this opportunity to bring a shot of much-needed color into the month. Back in October, I wrote about Manitou Island in a post titled Islands of Immortality. (‘Cuz I’m artistic that way, and stuff.) Go have a read so you can really appreciate what I’m about to show you. I’ll wait.
Back? Ok. Not long after my courage failed me that day, I was out driving with my 16 year old son. When we got down near the lake, he expressed some interest in the arched wooden bridge that crosses a channel next to Motoska Park. I told him what I knew about Manitou Island and confided my failed attempt to explore it with Kris.
He just looked at me. (You know the look – the one that only a teenager who is disappointed in you can deliver.)
I had no alternative – we rumbled across the bridge.
After crossing the bridge and descending a hill, the road split in two. We took the right fork. The island is heavily treed and the autumn foliage was at peak. The sun shone through the canopy, which danced in a steady but mild breeze. The resulting dappled shade from the trees, and the fallen leaves we displaced as we drove, made it seem like the pavement itself was in motion. To our left, we saw a park surrounding a central, well-kept tennis court. Along our right side, multi-storied colonial-style homes, on immaculately groomed lawns, dotted the landscape. After the park, the roads that flank it merge and continue toward the island’s point.
There are, perhaps, 30 homes arranged on the island. This one is at the point:
There is a strip of semi-wild scrub between most of the manicured lawns.
Traffic on the island was light, and consisted mostly of delivery and service vehicles. We didn’t see anyone in any of the yards. We didn’t see any security personel either. Even so, we didn’t push our luck. We stayed only long enough to take a few photographs.
I don’t know if I’ll ever go back. I can’t imagine the island ever being more beautiful than it was that afternoon.
If I ever have to retrieve my son (and, perhaps a pretty girl) from the local police station, though, I’ll be especially understanding – It’s the least I can do for a kid who loaned me a little youthful courage on such a perfect autumn day.