Lake Michigan Shoreline

You wouldn't expect to find yourself in such a green, temperate, tranquil environment of the sort in which I found myself just a handful of miles North of the great Midwestern city of Chicago, along a secluded beach path at the end of a sleepy, wealthy dead-end street, off of which stands the crafts-modern styled house owned and occupied by my Godfather. It is a vision of the Pacific Northwest that I see along the path decending to the beach at the end of this street- hearty mosses grow well upon the forest's detritus; prehistoric ferns splay themselves across large sections of brush; a creek and birds and shorebreak provide an essential soundtrack; it's a rainforest, on Lake Michigan. The vision changes to something even more bizarre as the path opens to a lake view; corrugated iron breakwaters jut out into the blue and grey, and the beach, dotted with stones and dried sea plants, bends slowly, revealing the trees that shingle their way up the coast's bank. And its' quiet. And it's dull, but it's still green. And it feels far away, but there's a campfire, and wrought iron chairs, and an old Hilton Head tourist cap left on a log, and my mother and Godfather are there for a swim. The sky is a blanket, and I know I'm not found my way to some exotic littoral. Still though, it's an impressive morsel of America, here on the banks of Ravinia. The following pictures do their best to capture the mood (though the photographs make it seem more drab than lush. Concentrate on the grades).