I found this photo today in my Lightroom archives. Shot in August on our last evening on the sailboat, a few days before we left Lake Superior for Texas. I never processed or looked at the photo again until now. Its quiet composition and sunset colors together with a distant horizon now appeal to me. Perhaps because Texas is behind us.
This photo was taken the morning after a day and night of heavy rain and wind. My husband told me the boat rocked and listed all night long (despite the fact that we were tethered to the dock at the marina.) I had slept through the night, hearing nothing, and missed the whole spectacle.
The featured image shows the marina headwall from the beach at Siskiwit Bay. The orange ladder and blue bench atop the marina wall caught my eye. The waves had a purplish cast, perhaps from the sediment disrupted from the lake bottom in the storm.
Earlier in the week, we motored to the sea caves and returned just as the sun was setting, the “blue hour.” The lake was so calm and still it magnified the reflection of the sunset. I took the photo above of Barker’s Point from the bow of our boat. At the time it was hard to imagine this same body of water turning into the mighty waves the happened a day later.
The first time I visited Lost Creek Falls, I went alone. The trail took me on a hike through forest so dense that little sunshine came through the tree canopies. I felt like I was walking in the twilight of evening, not early morning. No one else was parked at the trail head, or hiking on the trail, and I was little nervous, not knowing what to expect and wondering if I might meet a bear. After about 30 minutes of walking, I descended into a gorge. And there, running through the gorge was Lost Creek and its falls, cool, secluded and lush with flora that felt primeval.
Yesterday, we drove along the South Shore of Lake Superior, heading home after a short week on our sailboat in Cornucopia, Wisconsin. In the midst of vast fields of silky grasses and on the edge of the forest bordering the Lake stood an abandoned schoolhouse. I persuaded my husband to stop and explore it. The King School, per the sign, dates back to 1916 and was last used in 1948. The Cloverland Community Club operated in the building for some time after that but also was eventually left behind.
Walking up to the building, I was surprised to find its doors open. The three room interior appeared rotting and unstable. Some of the furnishings remain from its days as a schoolhouse. The glass windows are broken and milky white in places but flooded the rooms with light. The wooden floors were both soft and tilted in different directions. I felt like they would give out at any time. The Hammond piano sat silent, casting a shadow on the chalkboard. I loved the handwriting on the wall and chalkboard for its reflection of families who visited the school over the years. But even on a bright and sunny afternoon, the schoolhouse felt eerie and forgotten
In the photo taken outside of the school house, you can see a woman in the window on the right, with a flash of sunlight on her face. I did not know she was there or even in the building at the time I took this photo. It was only today when I uploaded and reviewed the photo that I saw her. I do not know who she was or what she was doing there. There was another family at the schoolhouse just checking out the premises when we arrived, but they left soon after and I never saw this woman. While I doubt that I captured a ghost, the woman in the window looking out at me is a mystery.