Pour Michigan

On Saturday morning, Peter woke up before the sun ... and before me. He was dressed and out the door at 5:30 so he could fish the running salmon and steelhead with a guide named Evan.

The room was completely silent. There were no kids yelling, 'MAMA!' There were no chores to do. It was still dark, so I kept sleeping. For the first time in I don’t know how long.

I finally woke up at 7:30, my stomach still full from Larry Mawby's champagne and the locally sourced food and cocktails at Cook's House the night before. I drank a cup of coffee while referencing MichiganRunnerGirl.com. I figured out where my tennis shoes could take me today, got dressed and started running.

I ran across Traverse City and toward Old Mission Peninsula. About two miles in, I started getting a better sense of the community that makes up this pristine part of America. It wasn't in talking to people, but in reading the signage they had left around town.

The first sign I passed was on the lot of McDonald's. They were hiring. And loudly promoting that they started at $11 an hour.

A mile down the road a novelty shop attempted to lure customers in with a sign that read, ‘Petoskey Rocks and Petrified Poo Peruse Here.’ I laughed, but kept running.

As I started up Old Mission Peninsula, I intercepted a 5K. A woman on the corner signaled for me to run to the right where a sign read ‘10,000 rape kits sit untested each year,' I ran to left though. Those were Michigan Runner Girl's directions after all.

Up and down East Shore Drive houses either sided with Hillary or (still) sided with Trump. Despite their difference, everyone seemed to like a guy named Lon Johnson running for U.S. Congress though.

About six miles in, a bench painted with the words, 'pooped runners and bikers rest here' tempted me, but I ran on. The temperature was dropping, the wind picking up, so without long sleeves I had to keep moving.

There were signs for you to get apples over there, pumpkins right here, and wine just about everywhere. The bare cherry trees quietly told me to come back in the summer for their precious fruit.

As I headed back to the hotel, a readerboard outside of a Lutheran Church in town read ‘this is a sign that God loves you.’ I took it to heart.

When I finally returned to the Hotel Indigo, the sign 'hot' on the shower provided a warm welcome home.

My fisherman came back an hour later and we set off to taste the country side. We biked from winery to winery, up hills and down hills, through orchards and vineyards and in and out of one spectacular vista after another. It was an epic day.

Throughout the rest of the weekend, I saw additional signage that painted a more detailed portrait of coastal Michigan.
Don't frack here.
Unsalted and shark free.
Go Blue.
Go Spartans.
Tasting Room this way.
Come as guests, leave as friends.
Bride and (Drunk) Bridesmaid.
White fish spread and hamachi collar.
White and red.
Old and new.

Like the rest of the United States right now, it's a land politically and economically divided. There is a proud heritage of agriculture, hard work, shoreline, icy waters, and colorful historic towns with beautiful sunsets. And it contrasts but also complements a new generation of chefs, brewers, vintners, artists, fishermen, and settlers who are making the coast a hip destination. Every destination boasts a northern hospitality that is as strong as its counterpart down south. Outside is the place to be, even when the wind whips off the lake. And with a little luck and a really good eye, you can find your own Petoskey stone on the shore, without going to the store that sells petrified poo as well.

It took me a while to find mine. But when I did, I knew it wasn't a fake. And getting to spend a weekend with him, just us, in celebration of our five year anniversary, making new discoveries in such a majestic part of our country, was exactly what we needed. 

Lo.