Life between the lakes, part 3

                      

   

Life between the lakes, part 3

Every day this week, the temperature spiked at around 40 degrees in Deer Park.

Muskallonge Lake has been playing a chess match with mother nature, in a deceiving game of "freeze and thaw"

It feels more like autumn than it does Christmas, which is only two weeks away.

On our morning walks, the dogs and I traverse about half a mile down the road to where I believe there is a fox hole. (pictured)

I have no proof there is a fox living there but my suspicion was confirmed by a local.

All of this will change.

And maybe tomorrow morning we will see the fox before it sees us.

Yep.

That's me and my Dad, as I planted my feet in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan for the first time.

People often ask me about how my fascination with the Upper Peninsula began and why the UP has become such a big part of my life.

It’s a bit of a long story, but here goes.

In the fall of 1949, my mother, Dian (Haskell) Wurdock began college at McMurray College for Women in Jacksonville, Illinois. She was assigned a roommate, Ray (Carlson) May, who was from Lombard, Illinois.

These two young women hit it off immediately and ended up being roommates for their entire stay at MacMurray. No surprise; they remained best friends for life.

In 1954 Rae married Ron May. When Dad met Ron for the first time, the two laughed out loud because they were both wearing the exact same double-breasted blue suits. These men would remain best friends their entire lives.

But it really all started with a sneeze.

Rae’s father Dr. Albert Carlson, DDS began his dental practice in 1925 in Lombard, IL and it spanned 40 years. He was one of six Soldiers assigned to the Observation Corps who survived the Meuse Argonne drive that ended World War I.

In the 1930s air conditioning was not common. Dr. Carlson’s hay fever was so bad that after the advice of a friend, he sought relief in the Upper Peninsula and found it. While on Big Manistique Lake he saw a log cabin he loved. He bought property on nearby Muskallonge Lake and used the same cabin builder to build his own dream cabin, modeled after the one he admired.

Dr. Carlson (Papa) was an incredibly humble and generous man. Nobody in Lombard who needed dental work went without it. He would take chickens, eggs, or fresh cow’s milk as payment for his professional services when money could not be found.

Many could not pay.

Over the course of two summers in the late 1930s, Papa brought several men from Lombard to assist the cabin builder. This not only erased their debts but they spent as much time enjoying the outdoors as they did building the cabin with the Finnish cabin builder Papa hired.

Rae continued to cabin life as a little girl and after she got married, she and her husband invited my parents to join them on Muskallonge for a week and a new tradition began.

Though I am not a blood relative to Papa, I’ve been lucky enough to be thought of as such with branches of his family my entire life. This is proof of how life has a funny way of connecting people and small events in significant ways.

Since 1958, our families have vacationed together almost every summer and though the second generation is gone, the next generation continues to gather almost every summer.

In a conversation with my sister earlier this year, we discussed my growing desire to eventually move to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan.

Her reply was something like: “You’ve been wanting to live up there since you were five years old!”

It was a relief to hear that from her because I didn’t know how she would take my news. Now, fifty years later I am proof that dreams come true

I wrote my first book about the Upper Peninsula (Places I Hide) in 2008 and released a short story anthology (Bending Water and Stories Nearby) in 2013. I’ve written dozens of essays and posted dozens of photos ever since winning the first Detroit News and Free Press “Celebrate Michigan Photo Contest” in 2008.

So here I am. I’m finally living in the Upper Peninsula, temporarily residing in the guest cottage of a friend on Muskallonge Lake until I find a house in town. Each day in Deer Park is an adventure.

I hope you will enjoy reading about it as much as I enjoy living it

                                     

The sun is in no rush to invade Deer Park today. There is a smooth but dense cloud covering as far as I can see. It is swirled like icing on a pastry with occasional marbling that becomes more defined as the earth dips below the sun and the sky becomes lighter. The wind sock jiggles and the trees act as if they are shivering but I know they are no strangers to Mother Nature’s daily dose of living in the north woods.

What will this day hold for me?  It’s hard to tell. I’ve spent the last two days writing a bit and settling into my new place. I had to make one trip to town to complete a financial transaction, which did not go smoothly. There was a brand new ATM at the credit union, only it did not accept deposits. . . yeah, exactly! And then there was a bank that couldn’t help because I am a credit union member.

I haven’t been on a grocery run yet and am learning to drink coffee without any sweetener. It goes down harder but seems just as potent. One thing I am picking up on is how everything takes longer to do around here. This includes cooking (low and slow) walking (no sidewalks) driving (speed limit is 55) and even dressing the dogs and getting them out of the house (through the breezeway and garage).

And I absolutely love it.

Before I moved I was living in a woodsy pocket of Royal Oak where the trees absorbed much of the traffic noise. But regardless, it still existed as a low, dull static, punctuated by horns, occasional sirens and the frequent revving of an engine as the driver accelerated so they could beat the car ahead of them to the next traffic light.

The dogs are still resting after their breakfast. Lake Superior is relatively calm at the moment but I can still hear a soothing rush of the wind moving across the water. It comes from the exposed area of the road near the lagoon about a half a mile away.

My senses are starting to acclimate to my surroundings. When I walk down the road I am surrounded by Christmas trees, all waiting for December 25th to roll around. It will be here soon as another Upper Peninsula winter is on deck, waiting for the right moment to burst.

 

For the first time in almost 100 years, there are no members of the Wurdock family living in Royal Oak, Michigan. And that’s because a new chapter in my life began today.

Let me tell you about it.

But first you need to get the theme from the Beverly Hillbillies in your head. . . . play along.

Come and listen to a story ‘bout a man named Pete

Dirt poor writer with blisters on his feet

Then one day Pete was flirting with a dream,

So he loaded up the truck and I moved New-bear-eee. . .

Michigan that is. . .

No swimming pools

No movie stars. . . . .

Just cold lakes

Until I find a home, I will reside in a very quaint cottage/ guest house of a friend where wildlife is abundant and there was a recent report of a cougar.

If I see the cougar I will introduce myself.

Signed, with love from

The Royal Oak, Yoopers.