Alaska is home to the Fred W Ruehs Park, a Kent county park located along the Thornapple River. The park is only five acres, but what it lacks in size it makes up for in river frontage, lots of it. Plenty of room for a riverfront picnic and the day I was there, many families were enjoying a late summer picnic.

On February 14, 2004, Kevin proposed to Bren on the high bank side of the river. A round bronze plaque is glued to a large rock indicating it as their proposal site. We have no idea if Bren said Yes or No.

Alaska does not have many commercial storefront buildings today, and maybe it never did. A Sam’s Joint restaurant is one of the few business establishments in the village. Sam’s Joint is located in the former home of the Bavarian Inn. The building started out as a church and many remnants, including the stained glass windows, remain as a reminder of the building’s past.

Sam’s is always interesting with an eclectic assortment of antiques and all sorts of pictures and memorabilia on the walls. You will even find a boat affixed to the ceiling. We chose not to sit there just in case.

When driving thru Alaska or any another Michigan village, slow down and don’t be in such a hurry.

I came across Maple Manor by pure serendipity while out exploring the upper  Thornapple River. My goal on this last day of February, 2009, was to find the headwaters southeast of Charlotte. I didn’t succeed, but I had a wonderful afternoon, and if I’d had another hour of daylight and a county map instead of a state map, I’m sure I’d have found what I was looking for.

The Thornapple is, in my humble opinion, the most beautiful river in southwest Michigan. All rivers have their lovely stretches, but the Thornapple has more of them than any other river I’m aware of in this part of the state. It’s a clean river, untainted by industry, flowing through mostly rural settings and just a handful of town on its journey from the south central part of the state to its junction with the Grand River in  Ada.

I’m familiar with the Thornapple as far east as  Charlton Park, where it broadens out into Thornapple Lake. From that point on, I’m in personally uncharted territory. Today, I decided to acquaint myself with the upper half.

Just north of the bridge in Nashville, the first road east takes you for a winding journey right along the riverside for maybe a mile-and-a-half before curving to the north. A fleet of swans—scores of them, perhaps hundreds—call this area home. The swans were patrolling the waters in company with a multitude of Canadian geese, the weed birds of the North.

Farther east, down a muddy country road, I caught up with the Thornapple again. But it was a wilder version of the broad backwaters in Nashville. It had narrowed down to a wide, ice-fringed ribbon bordered by cattail marshes and forested hillsides. I stopped to snap a few photos under the late afternoon sun. The day, which had begun with bands of cloud and a light sprinkle of snow, had transitioned into a flawless blue mirrored in the river’s serene surface.

Down the road a few more miles lay Vermontville. When you draw near the town this time of year, you’re apt to see steam rising from local maple sap refineries. These aren’t big, commercial businesses; they’re down-on-the-farm, family-run operations, bastions of Vermontville’s treasure, real maple sugar and maple syrup.

Impulsively, I stopped in at Maple Manor, purchased a half-gallon of syrup and a sampler of candy, and talked with the crew, who were sitting around the boiler. But as I’ve said, that’s a separate blog, so stay tuned.

Twenty minutes later, I was back on the road and headed for Charlotte. Southeast of town, along the backroads, I once again crossed the Thornapple. But it was nothing like the broad channel that flows through Middleville, and Caledonia, and Alaska, and Cascade. Here, in the midst of farm country and lowlands, a narrow stream threaded through a tangled, swampy woods. The sun’s last rays slanted through tree silhouettes, glinting orange off of icy banks.

The day had wound to a close, and I, too, was winding down. I snapped one last picture. Then, climbing back inside my car, I commenced the long drive home.

The view outside is less colorful, and not a pretty one if you plan on driving today.

Either way, whether you’re looking out the window or at my computer screen, what you’ll see right now is a genuine, old-fashioned Michigan winter storm in progress, the kind we used to get as a matter of course back when I was a kid. This one has been heaving pretty much everything into the picture—heavy snow, light snow, frozen fog, freezing rain, sleet, even a couple scatterings of lightning and thunder. If you like variety in your winter weather, today is your box of chocolates.

In the official language of the Grand Rapids National Weather Service…

…WINTER STORM WARNING REMAINS IN EFFECT UNTIL 7 PM EST THISEVENING…HEAVY SNOW WILL TAPER OFF THIS AFTERNOON LEAVING BEHIND FROM 6 TO12 INCHES OF ACCUMULATION. BLOWING AND DRIFTING OF SNOW WILL BE APROBLEM THROUGH EARLY EVENING AS NORTHEAST WINDS INCREASE TO 15TO 25 MPH. WIND GUSTS UP TO 35 MPH WILL BE POSSIBLE. THESE WINDSCOMBINED WITH FALLING SNOW AND SNOW ON THE GROUND WILL REDUCE

VISIBILITIES TO NEAR ZERO AT TIMES.

This is the kind of snow I remember from my boyhood, the kind that makes you think, Yeah, this is Michigan, all right; a real rocko-socko winter storm. And the irony of it is, it’s not even winter. Not yet. This is just autumn’s last gasp, and it’s a doozy, a guarantee that when the winter solstice finally does arrive two days from now on Sunday, it will be as thoroughly white and wintry an event as you could possibly hope for.

Winter is limbering up, doing its stretching exercises in preparation for a good, solid, three-month workout that begins officially, as it does every year, on December 21. Last year we got record-breaking snowfalls; this year seems poised to outstrip 2007. Even as this present storm system winds down later this evening, the next one is already knocking on the door, with more snow in the forecast for solstice.

Solstice. The shortest day and the longest night of the year. With the sun at its southernmost position in the sky, the long slide to winter is at an end and the journey toward spring begins. Here in Caledonia, Michigan, the sun will rise at 8:10 a.m. and set at 5:11 p.m. Eastern Standard Time. We’ll get nine hours and one minute of daylight. But the times and length vary around the state. Down in Niles near the Indiana border, sunrise and sunset occur at 8:09 and 5:17, respectively; in Saginaw, the times are 8:06 and 5:03; in Sault Ste. Marie, 8:18 and 4:53; in Houghton on the Keweenaw Peninsula, 8:38 and 5:37.

This is a day marked by ancient festivals in many cultures, typically inspired by the same thing that gets me to feeling all happy and warm, namely: we’re heading toward spring! From here on, the days grow longer—incrementally, true, but we’re no longer moving toward the year’s darkest day. Now we’re moving toward it’s brightest, and halfway there we’ll greet April with a kiss as she embraces us with warmer breezes, wildflowers, and the return of the songbirds. To be sure, the worst weather still lies ahead. January, February, and March are not user-friendly months. But here in Michigan, we do what we can to make the best of them. A crackling log fire, a pint of rich, amber barleywine, and a snowy view outside the window to make you glad you’re indoors on a day like today…it’s not a bad thing.

Of course, there are also the photo ops that only this time of year can provide. As I’ve mentioned in a previous post, this winter has been a time of discovery for me as a greenhorn photographer. The other day, I took a little jaunt to Alaska Park along the Thornapple River. The day was a gray one, as days in Michigan so often are this time of year, but there at the water’s edge I found a few sights worth capturing. Even at full color, the effect was one of black-and-white, a paradoxical landscape of austerity and gentleness. That’s that nature of winter. It strips the outdoors down to its raw essentials. And that’s just fine. Till springtime warms the land, I’m content to explore the treasures of the ice and snow.

In parting, on behalf of Dave, myself, and Waterland Homes LLC, I’d like to wish you and your loved ones a very blessed Christmas. The times may be troubled, but God is gracious and good.

The lowermost 30 miles of the river is largely developed along the backwaters of three dams; the Ada Dam, the Cascade Dam and the Labarge Dam (aka the 84^th Street Dam) The backwaters are suitable for boating and fishing while observing some of the resident wildlife; ducks, herons, osprey and even an occasional eagle.

Fisherman will report catches of largemouth bass, small mouth bass, bluegill, crappie, northern pike and yellow perch.

Swans patrolling the old millpond.

Muskrats diving in the backwaters.

Fishermen hauling smallmouth bass out of the Thornapple River.

Walkers strolling beneath an archway of trees.

Cardinal flowers lighting the late-summer swamps.

Sandhill cranes nesting out in the marsh.

What’s particularly nice about the Paul Henry Trail is, it’s easy. Easy to access, easy to walk, easy on the eyes, easy in every sense of the word—and that makes it a joy to explore.

I’ve been walking the trail myself since before rocks were born, back when it was still just an old, abandoned railroad track winding along the Thornapple River through some of the most beautiful, richly varied territory imaginable. The Thornapple Trail Association has done a magnificent job of converting the tracks into a linear parkway that respects the needs of both the public and the environment.

To be honest, I was at first dismayed when this stretch of the trail was paved and opened to hikers, bikers, and in-line skaters. In my overall outdoor experiences, I’ve encountered far too many empty beer cans, snack wrappers, and paper cartons in the middle of nowhere, left there by thoughtless individuals who had no problem hiking such objects in when they were full, but who evidently lacked the stamina to carry them out when they were empty. I shuddered to think of that happening along the Thornapple Trail—but my fears have been alleviated. I’m pleased to say that Middleville residents seem to genuinely appreciate the treasure that lies just outside their back doors, and to respect and maintain it accordingly.

Park your car behind the police station on East Main Street, next to the little park on the east side of the Thornapple River. Once on the trail, you can see the first of two old trestles bridging channels that connect the river to the millpond and marshes on the east side of the trail. If you make it only as far as the second trestle, you’ll already have seen enough to make your visit well worthwhile.

But why stop there? The entire three-mile stretch of paved trail from the center of town to Irving Road is beautiful. Treat yourself to at least a mile, especially in late August, when the impossibly red spikes of  the cardinal flower glow incandescently in the floodplain forest. Or bring your bike or in-line skates and take the full tour.

Personally, I like walking best. It slows you down and gives you time to see. And there are things worth seeing. An owl peering down at you from a high branch. Soft purple phlox blooming by the trailside. A solitary swan prowling the backwater…a pileated woodpecker calling from the swamp…other birds you’re unlikely to see anywhere else. Indeed, you’re in the heart of a bird watcher’s paradise.

Take your time. Look. Listen. Did you bring your camera? You’ll find no lack of subjects. Great shots practically compose themselves for you along the Paul Henry–Thornapple Trail. It’s the crown jewel of one Michigan small town—a pleasant hike lined with splashes of Eden.