Family traditions, they’re the one thing that only your family and you understand, that others may not. They often stand the test of time. As I’m sure your
family does, my family has several traditions that have lasted longer than
the people who created them. My absolute
favorite family tradition is our yearly trip to Hamlin Lake in Ludington, MI
every July. My Grandpa first started
going some 50 or 60 years ago with his family, and he carried on the tradition
with his kids, my parents continued it with us, and now my sister and I with
our kids. I hope that my boy Archer “Hamlin”
will too continue this trip with his family one day.
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| Me in 1985 and My Son Archer in 2014 |
I can’t think of any other place on Earth that I love more
than Hamlin Lake. Over Memorial Day weekend, my wife asked me,“What are your 3 favorite
places on Earth?” I told her “Hamlin
Lake, Indianapolis Motor Speedway, and Brookvil……I mean Home is #3, with you,
dear!” She was not surprised on my #1
pick, but she also knows that my blood runs deep in that sandy MI soil, and for
good reason: all the memories. I can
remember cool mornings untying and pushing off the dock with Dad and
Grandpa. The smell of 2-cycle outboard
exhaust mixed with the cool, wet smell of dew on fresh cut grass. I can still see Grandma and Grandpa on their
porch in the late afternoon sun, reading books and watching the lake. I can hear
my cousins and sister swinging on the giant swing set, and me, well I’m on the
dock with a Zebco 33 Rhino just trying to catch anything I can.
There were 5 cottages we occupied as a family. My Aunt Jody, Uncle Brian, and cousins stayed
in the cabin named Birch; My Great Aunt Vivian, Uncle Wayne, and Uncle
Raymond (the greatest bluegill fisherman to ever live, like seriously) stayed
in Pine; we stayed in Hemlock; Aunt Marcia and Uncle Jeff stayed in Beech; and Grandma and Grandpa were closest to the water in the cottage
called Oak. The cottages at the time
(and still to this day) are older, white painted pine board siding fashions the exterior walls. The roofs are
covered in forest green shingles, but they’re tattered with light green moss
and reddish brown pine needles. Front
and side porches on each cottage were usually fairly unkempt with coolers,
tackle boxes, lawn chairs, and fishing rods, with towels & swimsuits laid out to
dry. As a kid, I remember wondering why
Grandpa needed the 20 or so rods he had laid on his back deck - who would need
more than just a couple!? I think he’d
be surprised to see my spread of 30 or 35 now.
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| Dad Coming Down the Hill, 1997 |
Each morning, Dad and I would get up at 5:30 to the smell of
coffee already in the pot. He’d usually
have to get ready, but for me it was throwing on a hoodie and heading out the
door. As he geared up, I’d take tackle
boxes, rods, and coolers to the boat and wait for him to come down. I
always felt like I was waiting a lifetime for Dad to get to the boat, but it
was probably only 5 or 10 minutes at most. Finally, I’d see him headed down the hill, coffee cup and thermos in hand; he’d usually tell me he
forgot something and I needed to run back up the hill to the cottage, I hated that. Eventually we were headed out, but we had one
more stop: Barnhart’s Bait & Tackle, aka the Michigan Chocolate Milk Store.
Barnhart's is another place I’ll never forget, it was
my first experience with a boat-in convenience store. Dock your boat and run in to get snacks,
bait, newspaper, and even ice cream. I
usually would get a chocolate milk, a Cherry Coke, a bag of Cheetos, and maybe a new bobber, hooks, or a lure if I could sneak it into the stack of
things we were buying. We’d then of
course reload on beemoths, crickets, and any other bait we planned to use that
day. The clerk at Barnhart's in the
mornings was an older gentleman who was always willing to share info about the
fishing and lake; early in the week we often listened to his advice, but by
Tuesday…. We had it figured out. I
really liked stopping there in the afternoons because they usually had some
pretty girls in bikinis working the gas pumps, and to 9 year old me, I was just
fine with that!
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| Cousin Jamie, 2014 |
Once we left Barnhart's, we’d be off to our favorite weed bed
edge to throw bobbers for panfish. Dad
was a good teacher and was patient with my 100 questions. I’m sure he taught me a hundred
thousand times how to tie a bobber stop knot…. I finally figured it out at 27
years old, but with a little help and practice, he had me tying my own hook
before the age of 6. Hamlin Lake for a long time was very well known for their
panfish. It was nothing to bring in
bluegills, sunfish, and rock bass that you couldn’t get your hands around. We’d often leave the week with 10-20 bags of
panfish filets for the freezer, and we always had a fish fry one night with the
entire family. As I got older, we spent
more time bass and pike fishing, and less time chasing panfish. It’s funny now to see history repeat itself
as my kid, nephew, and cousins want to panfish.
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| Me with a Stringer of Dockside Gills, 1990 |
Once it got to be around 12pm, we’d usually head in for
breakfast. Pulling into the boat dock
was fun because everyone would come down to see how we did. We’d show our live well of fish off to the
people who cared to see, I loved when I had a big pike or bass to show off. Dad would head up to the cottage, and it was
often my job to carry the gear back up to the porch. Most of the time I would just continue to
fish right there from the docks, that is until Mom made me come to eat and clean
up. The rest of the day was spent going
out on my Uncle's ski boat, swimming at the beach, going to Lake Michigan, or
going into town to go shopping. Dad
would often go to the beach with the rest of the family, or he’d just want to
relax and enjoy the History Channel in the cottage while everyone else was at
the beach. Grandpa and I would often hang
back so that we could fish in the evenings together. Kind of like me, he wasn’t a big beach guy.
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| Grandpa, 198? |
The afternoons with Grandpa were always fun. We’d usually start in the early afternoon
bluegill fishing, and as it got later in the evening we’d switch to bass. We always caught fish, and I’m sure I learned
many things from him, things that I may not even know I learned from him now.
However, there is one family tradition etched in my
memory forever. The cottages we stayed
in were nestled in the back of Indian Pete Bayou, which was an idle zone cove for about
300 yards, so the slow roll in was
always a good time to chat. Grandpa
would often dip his stainless steel coffee mug into the clear lake water and
have a sip; that grossed me out, but when I tried it…. It was delicious. Neither of us died from the brain-eating
parasites they warn you about living in lakes and streams. The thing I remember the most about coming
through that idle zone with Grandpa was the Gin & Tonic
Horn. Most people have air horns on
their boat in case of accident or emergency; not our family, the horn is to
alert Grandma that we’re coming in, and a gin & tonic is needed at the
dock. I loved blowing the gin &
tonic horn as it was highly obnoxious, and what 9-year-old doesn’t love
obnoxious. From the moment we hit the
idle zone, the horn was in hand and ready. I’d blow it once, twice, three times, and maybe a fourth for good
measure. Right on cue when we were
pulling up to the dock, Grandma would be there with a bourbon glass of pale
white liquid, condensation dripping off the sides, and lime on top. The gin & tonic horn soon became a staple
in Dad’s boat as well, although Mom was not quite as receptive as Grandma.
I too carry the horn in my boat now, but my wife has not once ever brought me
the refreshing beverage when I pull into the docks. We blow that horn every time though, if not
for a drink, for a memory of those days long past. - Joey W. Buttram
