Sleeping Bear Dunes

My father walked these trails years before I was born. He kicked off his shoes and probably rolled up the pant legs of his faded and ripped jeans and took off running through the sand. I know this for a couple reasons. I found a picture in his slides when I digitized them, of a young man, probably a college buddy, running down a steep hill of sand. I always wondered about the camera angle and what the reason was for the photo. It shows no great scenery-just a man from behind, running down a hill. I also know my dad's bare feet have tread these dunes because I grew up seeing the world through his eyes and I'm old enough now to understand his thoughts. I know the trails he has chosen (when he's actually chosen to take a trail), the focus he's chosen for his photos, the knots he tied to keep the boat on the trailer, his choice of foods, his giant thermos of milk with ice.

My eyes scan the different kinds of flowers he probably admired, as my bare feet slide through the fine sand of the dunes where he once walked. I have no recollection of ever having been here. If I have, I was very young. But I know this is where the photo was taken.

His footsteps have long since been covered by the wind shifting the sand, but my eyes that are part his, take in the expanse of dunes, bright blue lakes and rolling green hills. I wonder if that farmhouse was here when he was. I imagine him running through the sand with his camera strap over his shoulder, clutching it to his waist to keep it from bouncing.

I convince a friendly couple to take photos of me while I run down the hill, trying to recreate the scene from my father's slide collection. It's humorous but fairly successful. I thank them and bound down the hill to use the restroom. Coming down the hill felt so good that afterwards, I climbed all the way to the top and took off running.

My feet naturally found the right place to land and I felt my toes spread out to grab more ground. As the dune steepened, my feet flattened out and my body grew sturdy. I smiled as a man looked over and stared at the grown woman bounding down the hill like all the children that were around. I opened up my stride and bounced down the soft sand hill with an ease and freedom I haven't felt in so long.

I know I got my sense of wonder and adventure from my dad, and I thank him for that. It's a beautiful thing to kick off your shoes, throw caution to the wind and race down a sand dune, and I don't think I would've done it had he not first taught me how.