After crossing over Sandusky Bay on the Bay Bridge, we drove around Marblehead Peninsula, stopping to see Marblehead Lighthouse. This lighthouse has been in continuous service longer than any other lighthouse. Construction was completed in 1822, and it’s been working ever since. As we walked nearer, we could see people far above us, walking around the light up at the top, holding the railing. We happily headed for the door.
It was a big old wooden door, painted green – and it was stuck. I pushed on it, succeeding in getting it open a few inches. I braced my feet and determinedly pushed.
What I didn’t know was that the lighthouse keeper was trying to shut and lock the door from the other side. He pulled it open, looking a bit disgruntled at this persistent tourist who wouldn’t take no for an answer – and I, still shoving with all my might and main, nearly tumbled in onto his feet.
I gathered myself together and grinned at him.
“Oops,” said I. “Sorry!”
He quit looking peeved and laughed. “The last tour went up at 4:30,” he told me. “I’m just locking the door; you can come back tomorrow at 9:00 a.m.”
Four-thirty. We were fifteen minutes too late, and ‘tomorrow’ would find us 500 miles farther west. But I thanked him, and we trekked off to the rocky shores of Lake Erie, where we used up handfuls of film and a good deal of energy clambering about on the boulders. Whitecaps sparkled snowy white in the sunlight, and breakers crashed against the rocks at our feet. Boats in the distance rose and fell on the waves, and sea gulls wheeled overhead, their cries drifting down like tinkling chimes.
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