On 8/24 I had the pleasure of visiting Mackinac Island a second time this year, this time in the company of Sumi , AKA Tara, and her two sons Trevor and Gavin. Tara claimed my entries lauding how wonderful the island is convinced her to give it a look, and after dropping off her husband in Chicago was going to drive up my way and pay it a visit. Would I like to come as their guide of sorts? This of course freaked me out immensely. On the one hand, there's my terrible history with people, not to mention my anxiety, so I was certain that even if I did manage to go, I would be uncommunicative and miserable the entire time and would hence make their trip miserable as well. Plus this is somebody I know just from online. I've never met somebody from online before, and for the most part, I think it's an unsafe practice. On the other hand, Psychologist had just been prompting me to step out of my comfort zone, here was a chance to, and I knew I would kick myself if Tara went right through my town and I didn't even go along. Plus this is the island we're talking about. I had only a few days to make up my mind and knew that if I thought too long I'd convince myself not to go, so I told her all right, and we fixed a time for her to stop by. Then I spent the next day or so dreading her arrival and feeling like an idiot and hoping that if she did show up (for part of me really didn't think she would), I would at least be able to fade into the background enough that she and her sons could enjoy the trip somewhat on their own.

Tuesday morning arrived and so did Tara. She'd told me she'd wanted to see Cosmas, to which I'd replied, "Well, you can try," but I couldn't guarantee it since he's even more of a coward than I am. Hence, when she pulled in, he was already at the door clawing like mad to be let in. When Tara got out she held out her arms and I managed to hold up Coz and say, "Here he is--" but that was as far as I got, for he clawed up my arms and bolted into the house.

"Well, that was definitely a rejection," Tara remarked. She had to tell Trevor to get back in the vehicle as he'd wanted to see the cat, who by now was long gone. I got in the vehicle and we were all introduced--Trevor, eleven, and Gavin, just over a year old and letting out odd trilling noises that the others compared to Skeksis and aliens--and then were on our way. Tara had expected my hair to be longer since she was used to my photo in a ponytail, and she'd sped past my house at first since her GPS for some reason kept failing to warn her in advance of changes in direction.

"You know, there's a lot more here than I expected," she said as we drove through Cheboygan, and I almost blurted out a laugh, for I'm so used to Cheboygan having nothing except fast-food places that it's hard to keep in mind that some people come from places that are actually smaller. Tara lives on an island as well, in the middle of a lake, and I believe has to drive an hour to get to a big decent store. They'd forgotten some necessities so had been relieved to see the Wal-Mart--*cue angelic music.*

There's a long straight drive along a pine-lined highway to Mackinaw City and along the way she chattered about her bakery business. When we reached the city, we accidentally pulled in at Arnold Line, but she had a coupon for Star Line so turned to go there instead. I assured her there wasn't much difference that I knew of between the different ferry lines' rates and speeds except that Arnold has a catamaran, which I took once years ago and remember that I liked, though I can't recall why. In her e-mail, she'd been insistent on paying my way around, but I'd gotten some money from the bank and intended to pay what I could; however, she refused to let me pay for the ticket, as there was a "Two adults/one child" discount of some sort, so I had to put the money away. She decided on the larger of the two strollers for Gavin, and intended to bring along some snacks, but Trevor forgot these and seeing as the ferry was about to leave, they had to be left behind. Trevor felt quite badly about this for the rest of the trip though it ended up not being so bad at all.

The Star Line ferry seemed much, much louder than the Shepler's one I'm used to, though maybe it's because I never have any reason to talk to or listen to anybody on a ferry? The captain's message was just about inaudible. I wondered if they would sell the $1 booklets here like they do on Shepler's; a man appeared in the aisle, holding aloft a handful of the booklets and saying something, but I couldn't understand a word he said. While Tara was busy with Gavin (Trevor had gone to the upper deck--"You can sit upstairs or downstairs," I'd warned them, "but abovedeck, it's very, very cold and sometimes damp, so I usually sit belowdeck"), I waited for the seller to pass by, and raised my hand. "How much?" I had to yell; "One dollar," he yelled back, and I bought one and handed it to Tara since I already know basically what's in them, though I thought it might be good for a first-time visitor to have. She browsed this for a while since talking was pretty much out of the question, though at one point she did tap my shoulder and held up the book for me to see. She was pointing at a paragraph regarding transport on the island. It said something like, "There are two ways to get around the island--on foot or by peddling."

"So if you want to get around the island," Tara shouted, "you can either walk or sell small goods!"

Upon arrival at the island, we sought out the public bathroom, then looked for a place to get some snacks for Gavin to eat. I had to confess I knew there was a general-type store but I had no clue where it was. Fortunately, she found a Starbucks ("Go figure they'd have a Starbucks here!") and bought some vanilla milk and such to tide him over. We then went back out onto the sidewalk to decide where to go and what to do. Tara had said she'd wanted to see Fort Mackinac, Arch Rock, and one of the butterfly houses, and to perhaps have tea at the Grand (I'd agreed to the first three, but warned them that if the Grand's dress code was in action, I would probably have to skip doing that with them--to which she'd replied that Trevor was likely going to be the most casually dressed of our group so this shouldn't be a problem).

I'd also warned her about the astronomical prices of things on the island, but had looked up ticket and admission fees afterward and was surprised by how moderate the more touristy things were. Nowhere near as bad as I'd always thought. (I think tea at the Grand--afternoon tea, up to 5:30PM I think, is casual, though sounds very froufrou to me, with live chamber music and such--is like $20 or so, plus the $10 Grand Hotel admission fee--my mother had practically gagged at this, but if that's the kind of thing you're into, it isn't nearly as bad as it could be.) We decided on visiting Fort Mackinac first, and on the way up Fort Street (I'd warned her about it, that is the most hideous walking path there is) we passed a gigantic crow and discussed the ease and difficulty of the different trails, and then stopped at the admission fee sign to decide what to pay for. There was a $65 yearly family package which included admission to the fort as well as other parts of the Mackinac State Historic Parks system, which basically consists of Old Mill Creek, Fort Michilimackinac, and the Old Mackinac Point Lighthouse. Also included on the list was "Historic Downtown Mackinac Island."

"I know you've been around downtown yourself," Tara said, perplexed, "so I'm wondering what part of it they mean, that you have to pay a fee? Don't you just walk around free?"

I nodded, also confused. "They must mean the other historic buildings in town," I said at last, and pointed at a tiny house below the park. "Like McGulpin House and the Indian Dormitory and whatnot. They let you in there, but I think it's closed at the moment, and I've never been in it because it's so small it doesn't look like it has much!"

I doubted she would have much use for the family package, so we went for admission to the fort itself. There is a long, long, steep walkway up to it, and I've seen people on this all the time but have never gone up it myself--Tara asked if I knew what to expect from the fort but I had to admit I had no idea, I'd never been in there before--needless to say it was quite strenuous, especially with a baby stroller. I had to be careful which way I looked as my acrophobia was close to kicking in, but there were so many great views over Marquette Park and the harbor that I thought for sure I must have taken a hundred pictures of that alone. A massive garden lay below the fort walls and I mentioned how in the past there had been a soldiers' garden and a cow pasture nearby. The Trinity Episcopal Church was in good view, as was the Mackinac Bridge, way off to the right, and part of the Grand's golf course.

Tara deposited the stroller under the stairs at the top and we went inside the gate. The interior of the fort walls was quite peaceful, with a nice green and various labeled buildings scattered around, much like Fort Michilimackinac. There were Boy Scouts everywhere. Apparently, they volunteer to guide tourists around and explain things. Some were even walking in formation. I must confess I know next to nothing about Boy Scouts so to me it was odd to see them marching around, and they unnerved me a bit with how they stood about waiting to be approached, though I suppose it was good that they seemed so eager to perform a service.

We started looking around inside the various buildings, which included a "black hole" for prisoners also much like one at Michilimackinac, soldiers' barracks, re-creations of fort life with lifesize (and rather creepy) mannequins, and fully furnished sitting rooms and whatnot. Unfortunately I turned off the flash for some of these pictures and the backlighting from the windows was such that they're almost impossible to make out, though some shots turned out okay. Both Tara and I attempted "artsy" shots through holes in the wall, and Trevor got to poke around a children's area that I hadn't known existed, but it was quite a good idea; there was a place to learn how to hold a gun like the soldiers did, a dress-up area, various scenes of what the fort and island looked like long ago (I compared the views from the fort in the 1800s to the view visible out the windows today), stereograms, a thing you could reach your hand in to feel something and guess what you were touching, an audiovisual display with excerpts from the diary kept by a boy living at the fort in the 1800s (one of the scenes depicted him exploring a cave--I picked up the telephone receiver to hear a boy's voice talking of how they'd found and descended about thirty feet into a cave, prompting me to wonder, what the hell cave was that??), and various other things. As we left this area and walked toward another part, Trevor excitedly talked about a type of gun he knew and how it was loaded, and proceeded to demonstrate this for us.

He was busy loading and packing the gun and whatnot when Tara cut in with, "And by then eleven people have killed you with swords." I thought of the scene in Raiders Of The Lost Ark where a swordsman spends a minute or so displaying his skills before Indiana Jones simply pulls out a gun and shoots him dead, and tried not to laugh out loud.

"No, no!" Trevor insisted. "It didn't take that long."

"Well, okay. Demonstrate without explaining it and we'll see how long it takes."

Trevor started pantomiming how to load and prepare the gun. Tara reached out and made a stabbing motion at his chest while I surreptitiously made a stabbing motion at his back. "Now Rachel and I have both killed you," Tara said.

We entered a room dedicated to the fur trade and there were various pelts displayed upon the wall, asking to be identified. Some such as a fox and raccoon were quite obvious; Trevor guessed the beaver, but had difficulty with the badger and otter. Tara peeked at the answer for the badger and said, "Oh, this is what you do when you want me to buy you something." That mystified Trevor so she had to tell him the answer. She peered at the answer for the otter and said, "Come on, Trevor, this one's easy. You otter know this one."

There were various displays throughout dedicated to the role the Indians played in the area, and artifacts that had been found but not identified yet, also like at Michilimackinac. We exited one building through an area that was built up to resemble the front of a Victorian-style house with windows and everything. One of the buildings had several lifesize soldiers peering out gunholes, representing a battle in the War of 1812; one of the mannequins was moving, turning his head and speaking--"There are too many of them! We'll have to surrender"--the whole speech was quite melodramatic and overwrought and I had to stifle the urge to laugh since Tara and Trevor and the others seemed to be taking it seriously enough. Outside on the lawn, a pair of uniformed soldiers were demonstrating how to use a gun, and I shot a few distance photos of them; I was quite surprised later on to fullview them and see that the soldier standing in the background looked an awful lot like Hugh Laurie from House. "Maybe he has a summer job," my mother said after viewing the pictures. O_o

Within another building, a mannequin (I'm not sure what else to call them) stood admiring himself before a mirror; I wanted to get a shot including his reflection, and so did Tara, so we both stood at opposite sides and framed up our shots. I saw that the mirror caught not only the man's reflection, but Tara's as well, holding aloft her camera.

Just as soon as I noticed this, Tara said, "I can see on the other side of the room--"

"--You in the mirror!" I finished, so we had to move somewhat to get the shot and avoid shooting each other. The flash went off and I noticed only then that the mannequin had bright white teeth set in a creepy grin.

We were surprised to learn that what we'd taken to be a fake store was in fact a real gift shop, and so went inside. Tara asked which books were good and I was pleased to see that copies of Lore Of The Great Turtle and Were-Wolves & Will-O-The-Wisps were available, so pointed those out, since they're such a good introduction to the myths and legends of this area and along with the Haunted Theater got me started on my Manitou Island series. "Got that one, got that one, got that one..." I half-joked, pointing at other books. There was a lot of Somewhere In Time material; when Tara's mother, I believe she said, had asked where was this island she was going to, Tara had told her that it was where that movie was filmed, to put it in perspective. Sometime during our trip I pointed out the Round Island Lighthouse, which I believe is featured in the film, though I've never seen it myself and don't really plan to.

Outside again, they stopped to chatter with and question one of the Boy Scouts, as Trevor hoped to become an Eagle Scout someday, then back at the wall I noticed a seagull perched atop Father Marquette's head down in the park. By the time we got back down from the bluff it was almost noon, and time to eat.

"Do you have any preferences?" Tara asked; I've never once eaten in any of the island restaurants, so I had to say so. She'd heard about the Yankee Rebel Tavern, so wished to try that, but first we had to find it. While she was trying her phone ("They must have Wi-Fi here!") I pulled out the map, which I remembered listed all the businesses, and looked it up. Astor Street. That's a side street between Main and Market ("Market Street is where all the really expensive stuff is sold," I'd said, to which Tara had replied, "As if the stuff on Main Street isn't expensive?"), but which side street, I had no idea. After a pause I decided all we had to do was walk back into town and we'd surely run into it. The very next street we came to was Astor Street, and just up the hill a bit was the Yankee Rebel Tavern.

"See, you're being useful already!" Tara exclaimed.

In a slot outside the door of the tavern I found menus, so took one to browse since eating out with other people is a terrible phobic situation of mine. I hate taking forever to order something as well, and when I'm at a new restaurant, I'll of course have no idea what I want. When there's too many weird or unfamiliar items on a menu, my brain will lock up and I won't be able to pick anything. I have the same experience if, say, my mother tells me to go and get a tube of toothpaste. I'll go to the toothpaste aisle, see the dozens upon dozens of brands and kinds, and just...freeze. It's too overwhelming to narrow something down and decide so fast. So I looked at this menu before the others were even seated. The menu they handed out to us didn't list all the prices, but the paper one I picked up did. I goggled over the prices of the desserts. It was like $9-something for some chocolate torte thing! *faints* Glad I wasn't looking for dessert! I did take a moment to point out to Tara that the torte was filled with "chocolate moose." "Mmm, moose!" I exclaimed. "Tasty."

The tavern itself was dimly lit but rather nice. The waitress went to fetch a highchair for Gavin. I decided on some kind of turkey wrap sandwich, Tara got a sandwich as well, while Trevor ordered buffalo wings and Gavin got little fish-shaped fishsticks. Tara had to haul him off to the bathroom before the food arrived and was gone for so long I began to grow worried; the food came and Trevor plowed into his, though I focused on my pickle and chips since it seemed rude to start eating without Tara. Eventually I started eating anyway. She at last returned--"I'm guessing from the new outfit that there was an explosion?" Trevor inquired, seeing Gavin's new clothes. Tara was just glad she didn't get any on herself. He was put in the highchair and we commenced eating, though Gavin wasn't too interested in the fishsticks, and refused to drink the vanilla milk from Starbucks until it was handed to him in its original container with a straw--he seemed quite pleased with the straw, drawing it out and trying to insert it again repeatedly, and after drinking some of this attempted a few fries and a piece of toasted bread that Tara gave him. He wished for another fry before he'd finished chewing and swallowing a piece of toast, so Tara carefully extracted the bread from his mouth, and what followed was one of the strangest things I have ever seen. Gavin's eyes squinched shut and he opened his mouth wide, his head falling back, and commenced bawling...perfectly silently. O_O I'm not kidding. Not a single noise came out of him until he lowered his head and then there was this whimpery little "Aaaah," and that was it. Tara gave him the fry and all returned to normal. I had not known it was possible for babies to cry silently until now, so that was quite interesting.

I ate half my sandwich and then realized I had no desire to eat the other half! Tara, too, stopped halfway through her sandwich--"We should've ordered one and then split it!" Only Trevor ate his entire meal. I wrapped mine up in the napkin and placed it in one of the zip bags I'd brought; maybe some lucky raccoon or skunk would get it later on. For the first and only time that day I managed to pay for my own thing, as I'd threatened that I wouldn't eat if I wasn't allowed to do so. We cleaned up and exited and wondered where to go next.

"There's only two things I really want to see," Trevor stated. "The butterfly house and the haunted place. Those two, and I'm happy."

We went to the carriage ticket booth and I used the bathroom while Tara worked out which tickets to get. I'd never been on a carriage ride before in my life either, so again had no idea what to expect. We had to wait our turn as things were still quite busy despite the lateness of the year. A young handicapped girl was entranced by Gavin, and plied Tara with question after question about him--"Is he your baby? Does he cry? What does he eat?"--all of which Tara answered, before the girl's father shooed her along. I could be getting the order of things wrong, and this might have in fact come before we ate, but since we had some time to spare and Trevor wished to see the Haunted Theater, I agreed to go in with him, assuring him it really was not that scary at all; as I was telling him this, a man passed us by on the steps and said to the ticket seller, pointing at Trevor, "This kid wants to be really scared." Tara couldn't go in as she had Gavin; when we got up to the ticket booth, Trevor turned to me and held up his hands in a warning gesture, saying, "Do not pay for it. Don't pay for it," and bought the tickets himself with the money Tara had given him. So I wasn't able to pay for that, either, argh.

This time I took a bit more of a look at the photo collection out front; it was mostly shots of people standing next to a monster that doesn't seem to be in the Theater anymore, if it ever was, since I don't really remember it, some kind of one-eyed troll thing. I also noticed for the first time that the little area behind the ticket booth, where employees sit and where you drop off the tickets, was plastered with posters for classic horror movies. Trevor pointed out the Phantom of the Opera playing his organ, then we went inside. Despite my assurances that all he had to do was keep his hand on the wall and follow the arrows, Trevor seemed nervous in the near-total darkness, and insisted that I keep talking so he would know where to walk. I also couldn't convince him to sample the few startling things in the Theater, like for example the ledge that jolts (we stood there for a moment or so with me saying, "Step on it! Step on it! Come on, just step on it. It's not that bad, really" and him saying, "No. No! You step on it!"--when I at last did so he said, "That's all it does?"), or the room with the doors that make hideously loud noises when you try the knobs. He said he didn't like loud noises, but I turned the knobs anyway just to show him. Whenever there was a display that had a story behind it, I attempted to summarize these the best I could (I had already told him, at Tara's insistence, the story of the first whitefish, since she thought he would enjoy that one), though when I came to Ocryx he said, "I really have to use the bathroom," so I rushed through the rest. I did feel rather silly that the place is just so cheesy and you really have to be in the right frame of mind to enjoy it--honestly, if I hadn't grown up visiting the place, and didn't know the stories behind the displays, and didn't have such a personal connection to it through my writing, I'd probably get bored out of my mind going through it. So I hoped he'd enjoyed it at least a little bit though I wasn't sure. On our way out, somebody did snarl at us through the wall, and that seemed to startle him somewhat. I tore off one of the anniversary stickers for him at the exit. Oddly, it wasn't until much later that I realized that something had been missing--the Geebee display. He'd been there just the week before, so I wonder where the heck he went? Perhaps it was for the best, since he's tearing out a human heart and I wasn't sure if that was appropriate, though I guess brains turning into whitefish was.

Outside, Tara and Gavin were nowhere to be found, so we waited several moments, trying to decide what to do, until they at last returned--they'd been buying fudge for Trevor's homework, part of which required that he buy three different brands of the same kind of fudge and perform a taste test to see which was truly best.

Also at some point during the trip where I'm not sure of the order of things, we all stopped into a fudge shop together, to buy the third sample and other flavors Tara and Trevor might be interested in. ("I don't care how touristy it is, I'm going to buy some fudge!" Tara had declared.) A man was stirring and mixing fudge on a slab in front, and I told Tara of how some of the fudge shop workers get so sick of the constant smell of fudge that they can't tolerate eating the stuff. I saw that "Oreo" was on the list of flavors and said, "Mmm, Oreo," aloud, though wasn't motivated enough to buy any fudge myself. Trevor occupied himself by taking a bottle of Coke from a cooler and attempting to take photos or movies of it with his phone; he turned to me and said, "If I make a film of this, I can send it to Coca-Cola and then they'll pay me for advertising them." He threatened to photograph me as well, but I held up my hand and warned, "Don't even." Out on the street, we were repeatedly puzzled at the sight and lemony smell of island workers spritzing the carriage horses with something from a bottle; when Trevor or Tara said they wondered what it was but were afraid to ask, one worker said, "Don't be afraid to ask!" and replied that it was a citronella mix, to keep the horses from getting bitten. Shortly afterward, we returned to the carriage tour booth and boarded the waiting carriage.

Our carriage driver was about college age or a little older, and chattered the whole time he drove; the two horses pulling the carriage (or, rather, pushing, as the driver attempted to explain, then saying, "Told you it was complicated") weren't his regular team ("My regular team is named Wilbur and Orville!"), so his chattering was constantly interrupted with "Kevin, don't do that. Sam. Sam, make that turn, Sam!" This carriage was high up from the ground, requiring a movable set of steps to get on and off, and seeing as I was sitting on the side and there wasn't much support I felt terribly nervous, but I'd wanted the possibility of good camera shots. It was very, very slow and creaky--"This is just like my mother's Buick was driving up the hills in Petoskey when I was in college!" I told Tara. We went up Market Street to Cadotte Avenue, passing the Little Stone Church--on the ramp up to the fort, I'd pointed out its little spire to Tara, way on the other side of the island, and now here I could point it out to her up close--and various other buildings that the driver chattered about.

One thing I learned about the Mackinac Island carriage drivers is that they are constantly, constantly, CONSTANTLY telling really, really bad jokes and puns. I mean, seriously, they would not stop. Our first driver was more of the snarky sort--someone asked him who made the best fudge and he replied from the corner of his mouth, "Joann's. I didn't tell you that," and after informing us that a night in the honeymoon suite at the Grand cost $4000, he repeated himself, "I didn't tell you that." "See those little hills to the right, know what they're for?" he asked, pointing, and everyone looked. "They're to stop you from getting hit by golf balls," he answered, and I'm sure more than one of us cringed, and the carriage resumed its creaky upward advance. "Hey! Don't do that! Ah crud, he is doing that," he muttered; I'd thought that perhaps Sam or Kevin was leaving behind a road apple, but it turned out that another one of the carriages had taken the spot our driver wished to park in--"It's the spot where you're least likely to get hit by a golf ball, and he always gets it." When one of the drivers pulled his carriage up beside us as we moved on, the two drivers exchanged snarky comments--"My horses are faster than yours!"--"Yeah, well, guess whose were faster last week?" He also chattered with the passengers about where he was from and where he was going to college, and various other things, telling us not to feel too sorry for the horses since they got about an eight-month paid vacation.

We passed alongside the Grand and the carriage barns, which I'd never seen before, and made our way to Surrey Hill Square, where the carriage would drop us off and we could catch a later one to continue the tour if we wished. We browsed briefly through the Carriage Museum, one of whose stores I'd visited back in 2006 in my quest for new batteries, and Tara and Trevor went seeking a sweatshirt for him. I of course stopped by the bathroom and also the drinking fountain since I was so thirsty. "Remember to look up!" Tara told me, and it was a strange feeling to be in the company of somebody who's actually read my blog entries and so knew what I was talking about when I mentioned the battery incident, and knew that I don't look up nearly enough. There were more carriages and such suspended from the ceiling.

One of the two butterfly houses, the Wings Of Mackinac Butterfly Conservatory, is located at Surrey Hill Square--I'd gotten a picture back in 2006 of the blue turtle statue, "Lilly," located out front (I only know her name is Lilly as she now features a sign reading, "Please do not touch LILLY")--and we passed through a little gift shop to enter. There was a sign stating the three rules required when entering, but the clerk reiterated them for us--"Our rules are: Don't touch the butterflies, because it could kill them; watch where you step, because they might land on the ground; and check yourself for hitchhikers on the way out." We opened the door into the greenhouse and were smacked with a gust of warm air, it was like stepping through a decontamination chamber or something, and then we were inside the butterfly house.

I'd been in a butterfly house before, the one in Mackinaw City, which I think is affiliated with the Mackinac Island Butterfly House (the one we didn't visit on this trip), but hadn't been terribly impressed; I just remembered a white room with some butterflies flapping listlessly around. This, however, was much different. It was basically, like I said, a greenhouse, with all sorts of flowers and elaborate vegetation set amidst fountains and statuary and trellises, and the butterflies were everywhere. They perched on the plants, fluttered in the windows, hopped around on the flowers, and even, yes, landed on the ground around us. Most were iridescent and sparkly and a few were downright gigantic; I spotted a huge brown one perched up in the corner and at first thought surely it was fake, but on getting closer saw that it was real, so zoomed in to take a photo. Many of the insects obliged the people walking around by perching on flowers and letting their pictures be taken, though it was a bit difficult as they kept slowly opening and shutting their wings while doing so. Little trays set with rotting bananas were situated here and there and the butterflies happily perched on these to eat. They just wafted around through the air, perching and fluttering away again, and I'm afraid my pictures of the entirety of the house don't do it justice or even start to show just how many there were.

After walking all the way around the room I came back near the entrance/exit and was puzzled by the sight of a birdcage in which sat a small dozing cockatiel. There was a handwritten sign above the cage, saying something like, "Hello, I'm Oscar. Why is there a bird in a butterfly house, you might wonder? Because I'd get lonely sitting at home by myself all day. Here, people talk to me." Gavin reached out to try to touch the bird through the cage and ended up crying, though I don't think Oscar actually bit him. I kept watching my step lest I crush one of the butterflies, and tried to get some good shots of the colorful foliage as well.

The inside of the butterfly house was sweltering hot and humid, and I was dripping by now, but it had been much better than I'd expected. Tara pointed out a window through which we could see the caged chrysalises of unborn butterflies. I wouldn't even have noticed them, they were so unassuming. Scrawled across a mirror near the entrance/exit was the sign "Check For Escaping Butterflies." I began looking myself over and realized this was what the mirror was for, to get a look at your back; I found no hitchhikers, though just as I was ready to exit the house, a lone refugee fluttered along and alit upon my shirt.

"Go figure that as soon as I'm about to exit, one of them lands on me!" I exclaimed to Tara, though I wasn't as irked as I let on. You're not supposed to touch them, so getting it off me was a bit difficult; I ended up gently noodging its hind end, pointing it toward a plant, and after a tiny poke or two it fluttered on its way. We exited back into the store.

While Tara and Trevor looked around I too perused the items for sale; most were way overpriced for me, but there was a lot of really beautiful, glittery sparkly stuff, such as stationery pads with bejewelled butterfly motifs, and photo albums with more bejewelled butterflies, and even real butterflies mounted under glass; insects of different sorts had been arranged in artistic patterns, iridescent beetles and dragonflies and a set of three white, blue-glistening butterflies that I just had to surreptitiously photograph, they were so gorgeous. I'm glad that photo turned out. They had some beautiful crystal necklaces, but the prices were way beyond belief, so I contented myself with just looking at all the sparkly things. We exited back outside, where a monarch was flitting about the garden--"Are you an escapee?" a man demanded of it, as we made our way back up the winding path to the Carriage Museum to wait for the next carriage out.

By now we were all getting a bit tired. There was quite a lineup so we had to wait for a bit. I again managed to get a side seat when our carriage at last arrived, though this one was larger and set lower to the ground. The driver, a man perhaps in his thirties or forties, was just as chatty and full of really bad jokes as the other one--even more so, in fact, as he let out horrid pun after horrid pun. We cut through Cupid's Pathway and passed Ste. Anne's Cemetery--"Here we are at the dead center of the island! Why is there a fence around the cemetery?--because people are dying to get in!"--I recalled overhearing the same joke last year and realized that at least part of this must be part of the standard carriage tour repertoire. "Here we have the Catholic cemetery, and here's the Protestant one, both separate; no comment on that," he said. "Do you know what you have to do to be buried in the Mackinac Island cemetery? Firstly, you have to have been born on the island..."

As he talked about famous people visiting the island, and the first inhabitant of the cemetery (Mary Biddle, see my 2006 entries), I peered into the woods off to my left. We passed the Post Cemetery and Skull Cave--here came the expected tale of Alexander Henry--and meandered along Rifle Range Road. "He thought the cave was full of large round stones that were difficult to sleep on," the driver was saying, "but when daylight came, he saw that they weren't stones, but piles of skulls and bones! Can you imagine what it would be like to wake up on a pile of skulls all grinning at you...? I'm certain it was bonechilling..." I did learn something I didn't know before--the cave used to be much deeper but part of it collapsed long ago, I forget how long. Interesting. We passed what I believe is referred to in Wood's Historic Mackinac as the Natural Amphitheater, a great hollow in the woods, and tried to shoot pictures although we were in motion. A couple actually turned out so poorly that I deleted them, when I usually don't delete things at all. I wondered if the other passengers were wondering why I was taking pictures of trees. The carriage driver went on about the limestone base of the island and how limestone was burned and crushed up to provide the slurry that coated the fort's walls. He also chattered about how long it would take him if he were to save up to buy a cottage on the island--"A few hundred years, but because of something that happened just recently, it would take even longer." He paused expectantly.

Somebody obligingly called out, "What happened?"

The carriage driver grinned at us over his shoulder. "I got engaged!" There was a smattering of congratulatory applause.

"Up ahead is Arch Rock!" he proclaimed shortly later. "We'll stop and you'll have about five to seven minutes to get out and look around. After eight minutes--I'm taking off, and it's a long walk back to town."

We pulled into the open space before the Arch--"It's safe to leave your bags on the carriage," the driver called, "nobody will go through them--much." I decided to leave my purse to save my spot, and took just the camera. There was quite a crowd gathered already, but Tara and I managed to get up the steps to the view of the top of the Arch and the water below. Tara remarked on the array of colors in the lake and I mentioned how it varied from year to year, and how a photo I took of the area back in 1999 was positively rainbowy. We looked the other way, the typical view across the East Bluff, and I pointed out the low water level, explaining how it too fluctuated from year to year. "It's interesting to compare the photos from the different years to see how much it's changed," I explained.

I had earlier mentioned how Victorian tourists would actually step out atop the rock, a fact which made Tara shiver on seeing it in person. "I can see why they wouldn't do that now," she said. "Not only the height of it, but because it's so fragile looking, it could break."

I'd kind of wanted to use the bathroom, but the carriage driver shouted to draw us all back, so we retreated. I believe Trevor had wished to get the same view from near the Arch but had had to hold on to Gavin so missed the chance; I felt a little bad about that and hope that the photos Tara took suffice somewhat. I was dismayed to see that it looked as if an older man had taken my seat, but my purse had managed to keep a big enough space open for me to squeeze back in, so I was glad I left it there after all. We resumed our way back along Arch Rock Road, and it was a vaguely eerie feeling to see the sign marked "Winnebago Trail" as we passed it--it looked completely different from the carriage as opposed to my view of it the week before, on foot. Now I was in the position of the people I'd heard passing by as I'd been walking out in the woods alone the last time. I kept peering down at the edge of the road to my left and it was just very strange to me to not be walking for once.

"See this tree?" The carriage driver pointed out a tree just to the left. "That's a tamarack. And it's the last one upon the island." That surprised me and at first I thought he must be joking, but he followed this up with "Tamaracks grow well after fire passes through a region, so since we haven't had any severe forest fires, they've become quite rare. See that?" He pointed out various flowers and said their names. "About eighty percent of Mackinac Island is state park," he said. "Another percentage" (I forget which) "belongs to the Grand Hotel. Doesn't leave much for people to move in. Being a state park, all the plant life is protected." He pointed at a dandelion. "Any idea how much you would be fined for picking that?" A pause. "Fifty dollars." A murmur of disbelief passed through the group. "Pick a blade of grass, fifty dollars. Pick some poison ivy, fifty dollars, plus some unpleasant itching. Pick a ladyslipper...five hundred dollars." More murmuring, though I had known that fact already, that the ladyslipper is highly protected; I had not known the same about the grass, however. Good thing I've never picked any plant life on the island as far as I recall. "There are all sorts of wildlife on the island," he went on. "We have rabbits, chipmunks, squirrels, frogs, turtles, birds, foxes, and bats. We have no bears, and no wild deer populations; can you imagine a bear on the island?--that would be unbearable..." He gestured at the cedar woods we were now passing through. "Most of the forest on Mackinac Island consists of cedars, both red cedar and white cedar." He pointed at one cedar, then another. "Cedar (see there)? Cedar?" I tried not to groan. We passed a tree on the right labeled "WHITE PINE." "And there we have Michigan's state tree, the white pine. All the other trees are pining for this title..."

I really do hope the carriage drivers love their job, if only to make the horrid puns tolerable. Not just the telling of them, but the telling of them over and over and over, year after year.

We came to where Arch Rock Road meets Huron Road, passing behind the fort; there were still Canada geese resting on the lawn, and Boy Scouts were filing inside in formation. We rattled along onto Fort Street, passing by the Governor's Mansion. "Now here," the driver said, slowing his team, "is a spot you might want to stop and get off with your cameras, as there's an excellent view..." He gestured to our left, where a vista including the lake and lighthouses was visible. One man disembarked with his camera and crouched in the road to take photos, but I stayed put and just took a few from a distance. "I have to go," the driver said; I thought he was making a bathroom reference, but he suddenly nudged on his team and the carriage creaked and lurched forward. My hand flew up to my mouth and Tara glanced back over her shoulder; the man with the camera was still crouching in the road, the carriage taking off without him. He stood up and walked after us, since we weren't moving at that great a speed, and the driver halted the carriage as he climbed aboard amidst a little laughter. "I tell them I have to go," the driver exclaimed, shrugging, "and they always walk even further away!" He signaled his team and we resumed.

One thing I never pointed out, and which I never quite understood, was the odd little clicking noises which came from the driver the entire time, even throughout all his talking. I thought perhaps he was doing this for the horses, though there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to it. He pointed out Turkey Hill Road as he passed, declaring it to be the steepest upon the island. I had thought perhaps that dubious honor belonged to Fort Street, but seeing as the two run practically parallel to each other, I'm betting it at least runs a close second.

We passed some pastured horses and returned to Surrey Hill Square to switch carriages once more. Our driver had said that he accepted gratuities though they weren't required; I figured this was at least one small thing I could do, especially seeing as he was getting married soon, so handed him a $10 bill on my way off, since I had no idea of the proper amount of a carriage ride gratuity; I hope I erred on the side of too much rather than too little, though I really don't know; he thanked me, at least. I really did enjoy the atmosphere of horrible puns throughout the entire ride.

Our final driver was female, and unlike the previous two, offered no jokes or conversation; I guess it was just her duty to get us back to town. I wished once more for a side seat, of which there was no space available in Tara's row, so I scootched into the empty seat behind her; "Ma'am--? Are you together?" the driver asked, gesturing at Tara and Trevor, and I nodded and nervously said, "But it's okay," since I wanted to sit on the side. I feared that maybe groups were supposed to stick together; the driver made no argument so I guess it was all right, though it made me feel terribly awkward. We made our way back to Cadotte Avenue, passing the carriage barns and the Little Stone Church once more; there had been the option to make a stop at the Grand Hotel if you got on a certain carriage, I assume, though I hadn't really wanted to as the Grand, honestly, scares me. Tara had inquired if I wanted to and I left it up to her since I wasn't sure if she and Trevor still wanted to visit it or not; they seemed to be getting tired, so we passed it by, and I have to admit I didn't mind. We did pass a house with a tiny stained-glass window near the roof, featuring a horse's head, and I wonder what the significance of that was. Then along Market Street we went, and soon were back in town; I awaited the portable steps being wheeled over as the carriage was again high off the ground, and they made an awful squeak when I stepped on them and hurried off.

We stopped at the restrooms one last time and then went to briefly sit on the benches out front. I removed a green reversible beaded bracelet from my pocket--my mother had made it the day before to give to Tara as a gift. Tara, putting the bracelet on, said, "You have no way of knowing but green is my favorite color!"

We walked to the Star Line docks only to find that we'd missed the ferry and would have to wait a half hour for the next one. I felt a bit anxious that I should use the bathrooms a second time, but refrained from doing so. We sat on the dock taking photos of the various scenes around us--the nearby Hotel Iroquois, Round Island and its lighthouses, passing ferries, ducks, the water itself. Trevor offered me some Oreo fudge but I declined, not wanting to eat their goodies, though I wondered if they'd bought that flavor since I'd mentioned it in the store. (Trevor kept vowing to eat all the fudge himself at once; "No you won't," Tara retorted.) I haven't written about Gavin all that much as for the most part he behaved himself quite admirably, and any signs of crankiness seemed to disappear whenever Tara turned him upside-down, which he appeared to like. (I wouldn't be surprised if he ended up becoming a spelunker someday, though I didn't say this aloud.)

At last the ferry arrived, and we again got on the proper side to view the bridge (Trevor again heading abovedeck); I kept trying to shoot photos of it and a few turned out moderately okay though it's next to impossible to get a good shot from a moving ferry. "I keep trying," I had to yell at Tara with a shrug. We reached the mainland and got in the vehicle to return home. There was some joking about a "black hole" in the vehicle into which various food items vanished; "If we ever get buried in the middle of a snowstorm, we'll probably find enough in there to survive," Tara said. She fetched out a small box and handed it to me--a gift of cookies from her home bakery business. "They aren't personalized," she said; "I thought it would be cool to do something Egyptian or having to do with Manitou Island..."

"But what would you put on them?" I joked, and she agreed. The cookies were shaped like little white terriers, so cute. I again didn't mention it, but this made me think somewhat of the native custom of gift-giving--somebody gives a gift and then the recipient gives something in return, almost like a trade. She received a bracelet and I received cookies. So I thought that was very thoughtful.

As we neared Cheboygan I said, "Well, you know, I was absolutely terrified of doing this and thought for sure I'd be miserable the entire time, but I actually enjoyed it and am glad I came along."

"Me too!" Tara said. "I thought, 'This is insane!!' and almost chickened out but I really enjoyed it and am glad you decided to come. I'm just sorry we made you do all the typical fudgie stuff."

"I've never done any of the typical fudgie stuff before, so honestly it was interesting to get to do that. Any other time I'm too busy walking around in the woods!"

"So this was a great adventure for us both!"

As I mentioned earlier, Tara's GPS had an odd habit of not warning her in advance of changes in direction, so both on her way to pick me up, and on our arrival at my house, we sped past it and had to turn back. I believe it was past seven by now so it'd been a pretty full day. We said our goodbyes and thank yous once again, then she headed on her way to the next leg of her trip while I went inside (and ate most of the cookies later that night ). On checking the camera card, at first I panicked and thought I'd deleted a bunch of them because I'd been certain I'd taken a lot more, especially since I was so starstruck with the view from the fort, but they seem to all be there, over 300 of them. So combined with the pictures from my last trip, that's roughly 1000 pictures this year alone. Since this IC issue has had me so drained and despondent for so long (and also because of recurring Internet issues), I haven't worked on touching up and uploading my photos in ages, and I got all anal about my last batch so decided to start over from scratch with stricter limits on how much I'm willing to modify a photo, so I'm currently still doing the 2007 photos. It'll be quite a long while before any of the more recent ones make it to the Net (I've never uploaded any from last year, even), but I hope to someday.

I've had a few things happen since then (mainly, yet another person Psychologist said would love to meet me, who never bothered calling me back, what the hell is with these people?) which would sour the tone of this entry if I went too indepth, which I'd rather not do. To counter the bit of negativity I let slip in there (I can't help it, it just makes me so angry and disappointed), some time back I got my first look at a brown thrasher visiting our sidewalk, and the other day I spotted what looked to be at least four young squirrels frolicking around a hole in a tree. I thought for sure all the squirrels were growed up now; maybe somebody's litter ran late. I haven't seen that bunch visit our feeder, which puzzles me, but they were certainly cute, poking their heads out of the hole and chasing each other around. Meanwhile the grosbeaks are thinning out and the goldfinches seem to be multiplying just a bit, which means autumn is almost here. I went for a walk earlier when it was sunny and gusty but now it's really overcast and gusty so I'm glad I did that when I had the chance; Psychiatrist, when she upped the dosage of my bupropion since I've noticed no improvement, says perhaps I should try to walk more to counter this perpetual exhaustion (I haven't noticed a change there either, but whatever, at least I like walking, when I can summon up the strength).

You know, in a way, the trip I took with Tara makes me sad, since it felt really good just to have somebody to chatter with, who didn't seem to be getting bored to death any time I spoke something longer than a sentence, and I'm pretty sure I won't get to experience that again for a long time, if ever. I was honestly surprised that it went as well as it did for I was sure I would make everything miserable. Even though I'm sad that this is likely the only time I'll feel that companionship, I'm still glad I got to go and that I was invited along. I just hope I contributed something worthwhile in exchange.

So that's my second Mackinac Island trip of the year, and this entry is quite quite long, so there you go. Tar.