I come from a long line of vacation slackers, which means, our family didn't go on vacation much. We only took two road trips of note when I was growing up. My dad had his own business and it was difficult for him to get away. We also didn't have a lot of discretionary funds for elaborate vacations in my family. This seemed to be the case for me when I first got out of college, or even when I first became a pastor.
And, humbly I admit: I need to get away. I need to get away more than I am willing to admit, even. I need to get away and I feel a little guilty about it at the same time.
This morning we got up and started on the road to Grand Marais. We made the obligatory stop at Betty's Pies (where we left Scout yodeling in the car for a little while), and then drove the rest of the way up without stopping.
It's one of my favorite places on the North Shore, this little town where the temperature rarely gets above 72 degrees, where there are artists and a bookstore, a famous donut shop, a Ben Franklin store crammed with everything you might need for wilderness hiking,canoeing or camping. It's right there on the lake, the greatest lake, where there are sailboats and hydroplanes and people walking their dogs.