Beachgoers scuttle rocks over fresh water. The inland sea transforms the coast. Waves of azure and cyan blue relieve the eyes. In Betsie’s lantern room, looking through panels of vintage glass, you visit yesteryear. Imagine: what did hundreds of sailing vessels look like from a Keeper’s vantage point?
Everything at Betsie is in a state of flux. The weather is calm one day, raging tomorrow, and pulsating the next. These are Betsie Days. Gulls and terns soar and dive for food. Monarchs arch their wings on Betsie’s fresh and pushy breeze. These are Betsie Days. A place where sunsets are free and fiery beacons have no Keeper. Lovers gobble up Betsie’s beaches that descend in shades of pink and tangerine. These are Betsie Days. Betsie unrolls a sacred stretch of sand in the evening. Where stars walk in with no shoes and everyone knows the moon has a crush on Betsie. Rumor has it they spend their nights together. Chatting. Laughing. Counting tiles on the Scrabble board of dawn. These are Betsie Days.