Leelanau Up North

You have to be deliberate about coming to Leelanau. In the mitten state, Leelanau is the "little finger" county jutting out into Lake Michigan - as far northwest as you can go in the lower peninsula. Here, where the road ends and the water begins, there's no such thing as just passing through. No.  You drive (or hike, or bike) a two lane into Leelanau.  You're here.  And then you drive out of Leelanau when your time is up.  Hopefully not too soon. If you make it to this little northern outpost, you're not on your way to somewhere else. So, ... everyone here in the Land of Delight wants to be here.  Some, for a tranquil break from their downstate routine.  Others, for a permanent camp beside the water and the dunes. This makes for a pretty happy place for all concerned. And isn't happiness the whole point?  The longing for it is wired into us because true happiness is our destiny.  And Leelanau gives us a sweet taste of what i...

The Leelanau peninsula is home to countless thick stands of black locust trees - one of them right outside my window. Now many people simply don't like this tree - with its small canopy of tiny leaves, atop an ungracefully tall, thin and deeply furrowed trunk.   Yes, as trees go, the black locust is not a very pretty sight ... looking more, some would say, like an extremely large weed. But over the years, I've come to respect and admire this fixture of the Leelanau landscape. The black locust was widely planted in the early 1900's after the native virgin timber had been clear cut.  A fast-growing tree, it stabilized and enriched the soil - and served as a strong windbreak for the crops that followed the lumber boom. The wood of the black locust is very dense and hard - almost indestructible.  Taking an ax to it feels like hitting a brick wall.  No wonder that for the early settlers of the lakeshore, It was the wood of choice for fence posts, docks and...

Homeward  Bound  In  Leelanau At times in life, we're so focused on a destination ... that we don't really appreciate the journey. We make our pilgrimage to Empire Village in Leelanau at least once a month. Though we're always anxious to arrive in the Land of Delight as soon as possible, I have come to find the long drive Up North to have its own rewards. With five hours of meandering road ahead of us, we have the luxury of time.  Time to think, ... and to talk, ... and to listen (to each other and to good music).  Or, ... time to just be silent. These precious hours are hard to find in the downstate grind. As if in a dream, we pass in slower motion through quaint towns and villages - Clare, Cadillac, Mesick, Copemish - now comfortably familiar to us like old friends. We stop for dinner at Mancino's, where the friendly ladies know our names ... and our favorites on the menu.  (They've threatened to rename the tuna grinder & soup co...

"Dreaming of Spring" by Artist Kristin Hurlin of Glen Arbor, Michigan Some very smart people (PhD physicists and such) like to use the term "entropy," which the dictionary defines as "the general trend of the universe toward death and disorder." Now there's a pleasant topic for light conversation. Seriously though, you can see entropy all around - especially after the Leelanau thaw - when the finally melting snow reveals some disorderly things. Like a yard strewn with with wilted leaves and fallen branches.  A cracked and splintery wood deck.  A retaining wall with a few rocks discarded on the ground.  And the shriveled remains of little critters who just couldn't make it through the long, cold winter. A somewhat depressing scene.  You could say ... that decay ... rules the day. But tomorrow, come the spring warmth and rains, quite another scene will unfold. Trillium wildflowers - with their uniform of three leaves, three sep...

Empire  Bluffs  Trail  Under  April  Snow I find it somewhat amazing that people can be surrounded by one of the most beautiful landscapes in America, ... and are seemingly unable to pry their eyes from the exalted smartphone. I say only somewhat amazing because everyone millennial and younger deems smartphones a birthright that will not be denied.  I get that. But what I don't understand:  Why come to the Land of Delight - where the whole point is the scenery - and hardly raise your head to really look at it? And it can be dicey to have eyes glued to little screens in this big outdoor space.  I've seen more than one smartphone zombie walk into a tree, ... or nearly tumble off a narrow dune trail 300 feet above the lake.  This is known to cause some level of discomfort. Should we not spend nearly every Leelanau minute enjoying the view?  After all, given life's vagaries, who knows when we and the view shall meet again...

Empire Beach - Looking South In the same way that I contemplate those who came before, I wonder who will follow in our footsteps on this land, in this house, in Empire Village.  When our time is up. Who will walk on the paths we cleared among the locust trees?  Who will sit on the patio we made with the smoothest lakeshore stones?  Whose voices will echo in the house we so lovingly built on this hill years ago? Who?  Likely our children and grandchildren will follow for a number of years.  But who will come after them?  And on ... and on. Many have come before us in Leelanau, and many will follow after we're gone. We may leave our little mark - pray not a scar - upon the land, while we're in charge. But in truth, we are all temporary caretakers of this special place.  Good stewards, I hope, on our way to eternity. See You Up North, Chris                     Visit a Leelanau Landm...

When I walk my little plot of land in Empire, invariably I trip over a half buried, broken down fence.  Made of rough hewn tree limbs and barbed wire, it is pretty well camouflaged by a thick overgrowth of vegetation. After swearing into the wind, I get up off the ground and remind myself why I don't remove this hazard:  Because it's my link to the history of this land and to the people who came before me. The fence was most likely part of the orchard that covered these hills at the turn of the century.  Or a remnant of Norway Town, a settlement by the lakeshore of Norwegians who worked at the Empire Lumber Company mill during this period. I like to contemplate that a century ago - someone - filled with hopes and dreams, proudly planted the fence to cordon off their little parcel of land.  And now this land, in the fullness of time and by favorable circumstance, has become my own.  Remarkable.   I wonder if their hopes and dreams for the land ...