Falling Waters

Gail and I went to Leland Michigan for a wedding this summer. Leland is a nice little village in the northwestern part of the state. It sits next on Lake Michigan just north of Traverse city.

Leland consists of 4 streets, a post office, a few shops and a couple of restaurants. It’s easy to tell whether the businesses catered to locals or the summer tourists. One such tourist spot is the Falling Waters Motel, our residence for the weekend.

Somehow when crossing the threshold of the motel’s office, we were teleported back to 1975. Burnt Orange drapes, a Starburst clock on the wall, macramé wall decorations. The motel was so tacky that tacky must be pronounced with three syllables: Tah-hak-ee.

The motel sits next to a small river outlet with a meager waterfall, thus the name Falling Waters Motel. The outlet is lined with small shacks commemorating Leland’s fishing past. There is also a harbor for Lake Michigan fishing boat to dock. But the fishing doesn’t just happen from the boats. Our neighbors at the hotel congregate on the small deck outside our room with poles in water and beers in hand. As if they are concerned about the fish seeing them, they are all bedecked in various levels of camouflage. Woodland patterned sweatshirts and hoodies abound. Add in trucker caps and cans of Bud-Light; this could be a family reunion for the Penningtons.