Spitacular

Whenever I go back to Michigan for a while, it doesn't take me long at all to get thoroughly entrenched in the place. No matter how long I have been away, there is something very natural to me about being there. So much so that when I get back, I have a few days of walking around in a bit of a daze, trying to remember my life. This is me, sleeping in my own bed. This is my job that I go to every day, wow. And look over there. There are mountains right there. I live in a place where there are mountains. WEIRD.

To get myself back in the swing of things sooner, I thought I would take a trip to see those mountains right up close in their faces. So I asked my best peeps, Biogirl and Nordic Boy, to hop a ferry with me and away we went.

First stop was Dungeness Spit. A spit is not just the loogie-related patooey action that Mr. Edwards taught Laura Ingalls. It is also a long piece of sand that juts out in a most boner-like fashion from the mainland. And when it comes to beach-boners, Dungeness is the biggest in the world. Yee-haw!

Look at that. You can't even see the end of it. (That's what she said).

What do you call the song that you sing while at Dungeness? A spitoon, of course. (Little kid style riddle courtesy of Biogirl).

What if the Spit were a really annoying rapper? It would be called D. Spitty of course. (Ok, that was Biogirl's too. She was on a roll.)

Nordic Boy is prone to gazing off into the distance, no matter what the occasion. The Spit was the perfect spot (Spit Spot!) for him to get some good pensive gazing in.

It's so weird to be looking downward and see the top of a mountain.

This is probably the only situation in which I am excited to see snow.

I tried to get someone to pull a Maria Von Trapp and twirl around but no one was buying it.

Ok, so you know that we weren't roughing it too bad when you see that there are paved trails. And mowed grass. But whatever.