Bridge to Nowhere

Anyone who grew up in Michigan knows what up north means. I don’t know if other states have an up north. For me, up north would always be my grandpa’s house in Houghton Lake. We would go up sometimes in the summer and usually every Easter. If I’m being honest, I never looked forward to going up there when I was young. I was so bored. There were no kids in his neighborhood and my older sister never wanted much to do with me at that age, but honestly I don’t know where she even was half the time when we were up there. 

Up north means something different to everyone here. I think there is a general consensus that it typically doesn’t start until you cross the Zilwaukee Bridge. Crossing that bridge always feels like entering a different version of life. One that is quieter, slower and more purposeful. 

Maybe it’s because it’s a holiday weekend, but I started thinking about bonfires and being outdoors. And somehow that always leads my mind back up north. 

There’s a certain smell when you are up there. The air is cleaner, crisp even in the summer, and at night the sky is clear enough to actually see stars. Real stars, not the faint few you see in the city light. 

I would love to take a weekend and go up there and just sit in the fresh air for a while. Anytime I have gone up north as an adult, it’s mostly been to Traverse City. I love Traverse City, but it’s busy. You don’t really get the quiet that most people go up there looking for. I haven’t gone up north in quite awhile. Honestly, I haven’t even really taken many trips since being on my own. Mostly, I feel guilty spending money to go somewhere just to be alone when I already have peace and quiet at home.

I sometimes feel like I would be perfectly fine being away from civilization. If I could make a living writing, I would happily have a little cabin somewhere beautiful and remote, while still being close enough to have things delivered. 

I wouldn’t even care if it snowed and was dark all the time, that is almost romantic. As long as I had my books to read, my laptop to write, and the occasional television show, I think I would be perfectly content. Maybe a handsome, rugged man that popped in every so often to make sure I was okay and to help keep the fire going…I mean, come on. It’s me, I have to add some romance in there.

I have even looked up multiple locations these past few years, dream places to live. Maybe when I retire, or maybe if I can write enough books to sustain my future, or maybe one day my job being fine if I was fully remote. Somewhere on the east coast,  somewhere in the mountains, or somewhere in Alaska. 

Until then, maybe I should plan a trip up north. Rent a little cabin close to a lake, maybe even Houghton Lake. Just to enjoy some quiet. 

Maybe that’s why people keep going up there. Not to escape life exactly. But just to hear themselves think again.