I was deep into the swearing when the phone rang. The indoor baby swing was winning the battle. Some assembly required. That was the phone call that started the bicoastal (Michigan-California) career eventually giving way to full time Angeleno status. Not only was there a bushel basket of new clients and opportunity, the weather wasn't bad either. I did not have a memorial service for my ice scraper. I have been at it now for some 17 years, the last one marked by the winter that never came. Not that we ever really have winter but this year it was flat out cancelled...apparently due to lack of interest. Hence the statewide water emergency. I was blessed with several trips into raging snow storms back in northern Michigan where no one could catch a break. There wasn't a prayer chain long enough to put a hitch into old man winter's getalong.

What we really need is a pipeline carrying some of the excess water from there to here!

Thankfully summer is on its way. I love Michigan summers. Always have. Although like everyone there, I wish we could add a couple more months to the schedule. I suppose it's that flash in the pan time period that makes us all want to jar it like August fireflies. And yes, even though I live in the land of abundant sunshine, I am salivating for another northern Michigan summer. Ever since I was a wee tike with my feet dangling in the water from a sun warmed dock I have been hooked. As an homage to the upcoming summer games, here's a photo essay from last year which captures some of the savored, slow,simplicity of the times I love.

A screened-in porch. The ultimate summer refuge. As a young lad I tended to hang out on the porch with the adults during Martini hour, which generally speaking contained far more than 60 minutes. I would lie happily on the braided oval rug for a good portion of summer listening to their stories. The group was comprised of several generations of my family so I considered it a form of history lesson with some good natured humor and real affection thrown in. A lot of rocking and swaying and creaking...the furniture not the people. The cherry on top was actually a juniper scented olive coaxed from my grandfather's glass.

Yes. That's a big bowl of freshly picked morels. Ok, this is a bit of a spring-summer cheat. These are from a large paper sack of the fungus jewels I got during the morel mushroom festival in Boyne City. Produce isn't a just food in the summer. It's a topic for conversation and debate, a destination in the form of roadside stands and farmer's markets, a false idol of culinary worship, and darn good ammunition in a front lawn shoot out.

Home-made pasta ribbons drying in the kitchen. Because of the freshness and quality of the local ingredients we keep things relatively simple to enjoy the unadulterated flavors. It is only out of sheer respect for the tomato or squash or arugula that I suggest the fresh pasta support system. Light strands literally levitating on top of each other, floating on drops of olive oil..a cloud of yellow goodness dissolving on your tongue.

The drama of the lake. Changing all day everyday. I've gone thru an entire deck of PMS color cards trying to match the subtleties of the various sunrises and sunsets. It smells different each day, the texture of the air constantly new, and the storms racing across the water pushing the humidity into some unsuspecting woman's hair.

Rows of Lavender. Fields of corn, molting barns, and proud, proud trees.

Classic Americana Rooster art. This thing is 6ft tall! Don'tcha wish you were there when the guy stood up, crushed his beer can and exclaimed, "I got it!" And then proudly returned a few weeks later with his welded masterpiece? It takes all kinds and thank Godfrey we've got em!

The Horton Bay General Store accessorized with arguably the most classic summer ride. This was where Ernest Hemmingway bought his Rye, and worms, and cigarettes, and probably penicillin. Not a lot has changed except the imported wine selection. When you stand on that sagging porch you are absolutely transported back in time...the young, pony tailed decorating team asking for help with the 4th of July bunting, old timers in overalls jawing around a pickle barrel, and if you look upstairs you swear you can see a light bulb burning and the sound of a story being milled through an exhausted Underwood typewriter.

City dog thrilled to be in the light dappled woods. Never underestimate the restorative powers of the woods and the water for you can in fact teach an old dog new hips!

Morning walks along the shore. A lone sail boat posing as a still life wrapped in a gray cashmere fog.

The house guest that is always welcome. A local labor of love, handcrafted to perfection in small batches.

Burger with caramelized onions, garlic aioli slaw and crunchy onion ring.

Hot rod of Lake Charlevoix. And a vintage Chris Craft. It has a dockside V8 rumble as if they had put a microphone actually inside of Barry White while he impersonated Lou Rawls impersonating him. Yeah that deep.

Cold, clear Lake Michigan and it's crashing surf. Sugar sand and wind kisses. And then a trip to the Dairy Queen.

Summer is really about taking more than the moment to stop and really look around. Savoring the scenery, drinking in the laughter, and sitting quietly to absorb. Put the phone in the nightstand and look up. Don't wait for any of this. I recommend my new favorite phrase..."Now's good!"as the answer to any new question of opportunity participation.

Just got off Expedia! See you there or wherever your Michigan is. I will bring the corn.