Geneva beacon Light

"Located where the Geneva State Park meets the Geneva Marina, this lighthouse is on a smoothly paved breakwater extending into Lake Erie. There's plenty of parking and a nice walk past the boats docked in the marina to get to the breakwater. The lighthouse is a simple conical tower painted white at the base, green in the center and white at the top. It is perhaps 30 feet tall and it protects the Geneva harbor. The lighthouse is not open to go inside. There are no windows and only a hatch for access. It's definitely not tourist friendly. There were a couple of folks by the light fishing this evening. It looked quite pleasant."

"I came to this park at sunset to see the view and escape my Agent's pleas that I appear at the previously agreed upon venues, as I was amassing a reputation that might lead some to think I was unreliable. Luckily, there are always more lakes to throw one's phone into, and when this is not enough there are always shores a bit too far inland to be encroached by driftwood and abandoned dreams. Here I found myself on that fateful day, waiting for my windsurfing instructor to appear. He, though, like the rest of my audience for that day's show, was in South Carolina, so there was nothing left to do but planks. Counting to 14 with increasingly shaky breaths between every count, I thought to myself how strange it was that I would die if I needed to hold myself suspended over lava or boiling water or a very thin crevasse for any amount of time. I have since made my peace with the repercussions. Along came Wally's uncle Ronny, and like all people who pay to attend a public gym, I was struck with unmitigated joy to make conversation with someone I already knew as a casual acquaintance. He told me a bit about the place, recommending I move along before I or he was caught, though most people would release us eventually (barring one adventure that became immortalized in a Disney film that cannot be named but will be hinted at in the next sentence). After a mutual chuckle that a monkey would recognize the fur of a king from before he had passed through puberty, Ronny passed on his newest work, which I have here reproduced with his fishy permission: The greatest sorrow of being alive Must be knowing - watching the end approach Like a comet coming closer, flying Out again as you watch its path encroach On the hopes that could have come to be and The dreads that come with what could be undone And the beat of a body flung around As if it can't feel the pull of the sun. Little do you know the tides are waning And toward a new gravity straining."

"Lovely place, just awesome, and I highly recommend The Anchor Motel as a good place to stay."