The weather warmed and the giant ice
along the shore began to break up as
the surf struck and waves crashed.

Bits of ice flowed out into the Big
Lake, but interestingly, little ice-
bergs flowed up the channel against

the current but with the wind — hund-
reds and hundreds of little icebergs
floating on the surface bumping into

each other like rubber ducks but look-
ing like tablespoon-sized scoops of Cool
Whip searching for Windmill cookies upon

which to land. They floated up the lake
called Macatawa, Ottawa for black. The
Ottawa left when the settlers moved in,

reputedly because the natives didn’t
like the odor of the Europeans. My
wife said, “It’s getting dark. Let’s

come back tomorrow and photograph them.”
But the next day the little icebergs
in the shape of creamy swirls wouldn’t

be there and neither would the Windmill
cookies; they are that popular here in
the Dutch settlement along the shores

of Lake Michigan called, appropriately,
Holland.