Upnorth

I’ve had the good fortune to live my entire life in two states, both of them named Michigan.  Most of the time, I’m in Henry Ford’s Michigan, the part of the state that housed the assembly plants and manufacturing centers that made the Motor City the car capital of the world.  Thanks to Mr. Ford’s tinkering tendencies, we have four major sports teams, access to Broadway shows on their first touring circuit, and eating opportunities that recently led National Geographic to name Detroit as the food destination city of the world.

The second Michigan starts right above Lansing, which is about a third of the way up the Mitten (we do indeed refer to our state’s peninsulas as The Mitten and The Bunny).  Interstate roads go there, but fade from five lanes to one.  Billboards are far less frequent, and McDonald’s are a good five miles off the main drags, in small towns where Mom-and-Pop stores still fly the flag on all major holidays.  Some call this the real Michigan, replete with agriculture of all kinds (most notably sugar beets, peaches, tomatoes, cherries, and Christmas trees).  Indeed, if Henry had been born elsewhere, Detroiters would all likely still be farmers, if we were here at all.

This is also what we southern Michiganders refer to as Up North, the world’s largest escape hatch from the corporate world.  Auto executives discovered the unspoiled beauty of this chunk of perpetual forestry and quiet, gorgeous lakes and proceeded to build cabins on all watery shores, places originally just big enough to sleep and eat in, and get away from it all. 

In the heyday of the Big Three car companies, execs would ship their spouses and kids Up North for the entire summer, then spend two weeks of their vacations taking Fridays and Mondays off to join them until Labor Day. These four-day weekends were rich with swimming, fishing, water skiing, bonfires, s’more making, and laughter.  Some cottages doubled as hunting lodges in November, but most were boarded up on Labor Day itself, and the cabins would only live in memories for nine months, or in stories told at Thanksgiving and Christmas.

Something magical happened to the Up North movement in the late 60s, when advances in salary made by the United Auto Workers allowed assembly plant employees and other blue-collar folks to buy cabins of their own.  Many were on smaller lakes, most didn’t match the grandeur of the auto exec cabins (which had added family rooms and marble kitchen countertops to their “cabins”), and Pabst Blue Ribbon was more prevalent, but the idea was the same. Work hard; vacate; breathe; remember your name.

Up North now has its own tourist-based economy.  The epicenter of it is fudge, a tradition that started on the island where Lake Michigan and Lake Huron abut.  Ironically, no cars are permitted on the island, where a couple of places started making fudge for tourists.  It’s now impossible to avoid it at the many Up North Mini-Mart rest stops, along with Up North apparel.  Most of it is sweatshirts, since first-timers don’t understand how cold August can be when you’re miles away from the heat-absorbing concrete of a city.

Up North is the perfect Labor Day reminder of what can be accomplished if work is valued with a fair wage.  What was once a destination for white collar workers became accessible to all, thanks to Walter Reuther, and the idea that bosses should make more, but not ridiculously more. 

Because even line workers deserve to see that special blue that is an Up North lake.

Respite

It’s the last legitimate shot
To wear shorts
Roast hot dogs
And splash.
Jet ski if you will
After September ‘s first weekend
But icy perils await.
For now
Revel in the glow of a last beach bonfire
Already clad
In your favorite sweatshirt.

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