We are seeing the sun more and more lately; spring making itself known, even if my son insists the snow on the ground means it is still winter. I feel that, too, clinging to what is concrete about the season we are moving out of: still-chilly temperatures, snow piled up in the shadows, my pregnant belly. I know that so much is about to change. I feel the faint hints of what is to come, and yet, I am firmly rooted in the landscape of late winter; in what I know as a family of three.
Soon it will shift. We have said since we found out we were pregnant, “The baby will come in the spring,” so as ready as I am to meet her, I am in agreement with my toddler: it isn’t quite spring. The forecast is calling for 8 inches of snow tomorrow, and the kicks growing stronger in my abdomen are still pushing high against my ribs. We have a few more weeks of waiting.
I think one of the most prevailing lessons I have confronted as an adult is the importance of sitting in transitional spaces, and I imagine life will continue to be full of living in the pauses. Feeling the building energy right before the wave breaks.
Last night, the northern lights were visible throughout Michigan, and tired as I was at 10:30 pm, when I saw a glimpse of them out the window, I drove to the beach. Tim stayed home with our sleeping son, so I sat alone in the sand, watching the lights dance across the sky. I felt such a kinship with younger versions of myself, with the 28-year-old who moved to Empire simply to be by the water and to give myself the space to grow. I thought of other late nights spent chasing northern lights, the friends I have cried with while witnessing the spectacle. And I thought of the child kicking my ribs, the little human who will join us earthside sometime in the weeks ahead.
I know I will be changed when our baby arrives. My life will shift once again, and there is probably much I don’t know about being a mother of two. But kneeling in the sand under the dancing northern lights last night, I knew one thing to be certain: I will still be the self who drives to the lake to see the northern lights. I will still be the person who heads to the lake for most things: sunsets, coffee dates, quiet moments alone. Something about that feels so comforting. Even after everything that has shifted these last few years, I always know where to find myself: in all seasons, at all hours, and at any stage of life.
Here in the hesitation of winter turning to spring, we never know what we will encounter. Will the sun shine, or will a winter storm cover us? It is easy to be impatient, to wish for warmer weather, for the season to fully turn, to know what it will feel like to be at the next stage. But the pause feels extra beautiful this year, an invitation to sit in the cold sand and look up at the magic sky.
Swim Club
For those in northern Michigan, I’m bringing back Swim Club this summer! For now, I am releasing one date/month; keep an eye out for additional dates that may be added as we get closer to the season! Note that these will be at different times of day/days of the week; I’m hoping this will allow more folks the opportunity to join for one. All swim club meetups will happen at the public beach in Empire, in the north lot by the lighthouse.
Saturday, June 10 at 8pm
Sunday, July 8 at 8am
Wednesday, August 9 at 8pm
Sunday, September 3 at 8am
Lately Inspired By…
Last night’s northern lights, obviously. Such an exhilarating moment.
Currently reading the book “How We Show Up: Reclaiming Family, Friendship, and Community” by Mia Birdsong, and it is truly incredible. I love the ways Mia invites us to rethink how we exist in relationship to others. Highly recommend it if you’re interested in redefining what community and friendship look like.
My friend Alyssa Smith just released the Look Book for a second installment of her series “A Hundred Ways to Kiss the Ground,” which will be released on her website next Tuesday. You can shop her work on her website.
Mail me your lake stories or poems!
I love getting mail, and my visits to the post office are a beloved part of my daily routine. Send me a note sometime! Share a poem, a favorite lake memory, or a question. I will do my best to respond to each one.
Write to me at:
Mae Stier
PO Box 411
Empire MI 49630