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A Prescription for the Weary Woman Self-care, fresh air, pizza, Prosecco and pedicures—a solo escape to The Homestead. by LYNDA WHEATLEY
What kind of woman doesn’t bring her family to a well-appointed lakeside resort stocked with all the essentials of a good old-fashioned vacation—think: classic Beach Club, clay tennis courts, a par 3 golf course, ski hills and opportunity for memorymaking galore, from playing with clay and kayaking to swimming, stargazing, snowshoeing, fishing, biking and hiking? The wise kind. The kind who, in my case, is a 48-year-old working mom of an 8-year-old girl, 6-year-old boy, and, perhaps somewhat less wisely, new puppy. In short, the kind of woman who needs a break. And no, a 20-minute bubble bath during which small humans and canines whine outside the door does not count, nor (dads, take note) will it ever. For two blissful, affordable offseason days, I’m trading caretaking for self-care. My destination: The Homestead, a historic resort on the northwest edge of Lower Michigan’s fabled Leelanau Peninsula. A petite pocket of pools, ponds and vacation rentals of all kinds tucked into hillsides, The Homestead sits between the sparkling blue of Sleeping Bear Bay and the sandy swales and deep woods of Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore. The moment I enter my lamp-lit room at The Inn, a classic yet cozy hotel that hails back to The Homestead’s origins as a 1920’s-era wilderness camp, I gasp. From my window, I can sit by the fire and watch seagulls battling the wind blowing off Lake Michigan’s white-capped waves. But I resist. Something even more relaxing awaits: a one-hour massage at the resort’s Spa Amira. Twenty minutes later, my massage therapist, Brenda Albrecht, lays a warm wrap over my shoulders and says the words every mother of young kids longs to hear: “We can talk if you like, but
if you’d prefer to enjoy the quiet, that’s okay, too.” For the next 50 minutes, she silently untangles the warp and weft of my body’s muscle fibers, her fingers taking on the telltale crunch of stubborn knots until they puddle. After she hands me a cup of post-massage turmeric tea, I slip into the serenity room, just off the spa lobby. Like so much of The Homestead, Spa Amira and its summer pool and tranquil gardens are perched atop a bluff. I level my gaze at the drifting clouds, trembling treetops and infinite pool of Lake Michigan. I’m present. I’m grateful. I’m also starving. So I stroll down to the resort’s Mountain Village, hub of fine and casual dining options and fun- and wellness-enhancing spots like Rocky’s sport shop, New Leaf Fitness Center and Lilyjade Salon. With a big salad, homemade chili and Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups from Cavanaugh’s market in hand, I return to my room to savor each bite by the fire slowly, serenely and without interruption. Though having two days and a flatscreen TV to myself feels like a miracle, I resist the temptation and set out to enjoy something else I haven’t in years: a long, aimless walk. Alone. With no goal heart rate in mind or productivity podcast prattling on in my ears, I ascend the Bay View Trail, which wends into the heart of Sleeping Bear’s northern forests. I meander, poking at pockets of snow and mud, wondering when spring’s leeks will sprout. Later, I’ll return to Cavanaugh’s to indulge in a very self-caring dinner of pizza and Prosecco, maybe do some fireside yoga before reading in bed. In the morning, I’ll walk the beach, get a pedicure at Lilyjade, see if Brenda has room for a facial. And this summer, I promise myself, when Sleeping Bear Bay is warm and the property’s pools and Beach Club are packed, I’ll bring the kids, and my husband, too. But only after I book another couple of days for myself.
photo courtesy of The Homestead
I level my gaze at the drifting clouds, trembling treetops and infinite pool of Lake Michigan. I’m present. I’m grateful.
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