That's What Heaven is For - New Buffalo

It was one of those weekends in my twenties where I really felt like I being young correctly — like I had it all figured out.

During the trip to New Buffalo was the first time I’d stayed in the lake for hours without noticing. My friend and I waded in the water, perched on either side of a long floatie and laughed at the same joke until the sun started going down. I’m sure my body was all wrinkled from being in there so long, but it was one of the rare moments in my life where I was too happy to notice something like that.

Nearly two years ago in New Buffalo: I had the time of my life. A big group of friends drove from Chicago to the little town on Lake Michigan, rented a big house and spent every day at the beach and every second with each other. We prepped for the trip by delegating grocery runs and signing up for breakfast cooking shifts.

During the trip we were filling gatorade jugs up with a concoction we called “Claw Juice” and staying up late playing card games. We were wearing each other’s sweatshirts and basketball jerseys and forgetting to take pictures together. We laughed around the dining table and at one point I realized how sunburnt we all were from our long days outside. There was nothing extravagant to it at all — it was simple and whatever the opposite of being lonely is. And I loved it very much.

We were staying close enough to the beach that we could walk to it. There was a hill going down to the shore that we had to drag our stuff down — wagons full of coolers, beach games, and blankets — but by the end of the day lugging everything back up was exhausting.

The water was glass the entire trip and the beach was, somehow, not very crowded at all. There was a wall of trees blocking off the town so when I stood on the beach, I couldn’t see anything on the other side. So it really felt like the sand and water and clouds was all there was on the planet. Maybe it was the calm I needed — but we partied the whole time and played competitive frisbee. So, there’s that.

One night we sat on the beach while the sun was going down and the sky turned bright pink. We made burgers on a cast iron pan over an open fire. They looked so mangled and gross, but they tasted good because we made them outside and food you make outside always tastes better for some reason. On our long march to the beach from the house, I dropped a couple of raw hamburger patties into the dirt — me and my old friend had a big laugh about it. We tried to just pick the dirt off but it didn’t work even a little bit.

Our friends took turns getting too high or too drunk or too tired or too hot or too cold and we took turns covering each other’s backs in sunscreen so we wouldn’t burn (again). The days were hot and Lake Michigan was perfect, because it always is.

When I’m old and aching from the slightest movement, I’ll think about the coolers and folding chairs we dragged up and down that beach. I’ll think of the pink skies and the warm lake and the massive grocery runs and the communal breakfasts together each morning. It’s funny remembering trips from a couple years ago and looking at pictures. I look and feel so different from who I was then, but I know I’d do it all over again now.

I didn’t know it at the time, but I was with a group of people I probably would never be with all together again, because of break-ups and all that comes with them. I thought that maybe, remembering that trip would make me sad, and it does — a little bit. When I picture us standing out on the back porch of the house, taking turns spraying each other with aerosol sunscreen and holding our breath, I can’t help but smile. It was one of those weekends in my twenties where I really felt like I being young correctly — like I had it all figured out.

When I think of our ride back through northern Indiana, I wish I held onto the moment a bit longer. I think we stopped in a Denny’s attached to a gas station — which is always my favorite kind of dumb shit to do, but it’s fully possible that was one of our other many trips around the midwest. I ordered french toast either way!

Our times together weren’t always like they were in New Buffalo, but all of life can’t be like a weekend on a midwest beach — that is what heaven is for.

I’m going to start a series of essays about small little trips around the midwest. It will run all summer and it will be for paid subscribers for the time being. This one, however, is for all :)