After several days on the Leelanau Peninsula, I cross the Mackinaw Bridge to the Upper Peninsula, heading for yet another — the Garden Peninsula. I text my guy who opted to stay home for this trip, and let him know my service is going to be sporadic, if available at all. I’m still hurting that he decided not to come on this special week that I had been planning and talking about with him for months. I turn off my phone purposely before receiving a reply, knowing that I’ll be driving for several more hours anyway. I am a little bitter, a little petulant. Mostly hurt. Crossing the Bridge, though, lifts my spirits and a flood of memories washes my sourness away as I feel my heart strain toward the Upper, toward this land that is so special to me, and the secrets it holds.
The Garden is a hearty couple hours west on US 2, which in itself is a lovely stretch of road along the Lake Michigan shore. Towns with names like Epoufette, Naubinway, and Manistique (not to be confused with Manistee or Marquette, also Michigan towns) create great stop-offs, along with long, uninterrupted strips of sandy shore, an occasional roadside park with picnic tables and grills, and plenty of state forest to explore if a person ever had the time. The Cut River Bridge is along this stretch as well and a favorite destination of mine, but the bridge is under construction this time so I get to be detoured and discover a little area around Brevort Lake that I make a mental note to return to. After a morning of packing up my Leelanau campsite, and driving up the coast to the bridge, it’s already past noon and I’m ready to get myself set up and settled on the Garden.
Where I’m heading is, in fact, just south of a little town called Garden (zip code 49835 – not to be confused with Garden City, Michigan, zip code 48135, over in the thumb area I think). The campground is part of the state historic site which is the town of Fayette, where pig iron was made in huge furnaces, and shipped out of the beautifully blue harbor. I suppose the harbor water may not have been blue back then, what with the waste of the towns people and the furnaces, but today, the water is as lovely as any Mediterranean sea.
From my campsite I can see Lake Michigan through the cedar forest, glinting in the sun. My thoughts continue to return to my unplanned solitude, frankly bumming me out, and making me realize other times that my guy hasn’t followed through with our plan, or more specifically, with things I wanted to share with him. I make my way through the forest to the shore, marveling (yes, marveling) at the huge stones, which help take my mind completely off my heartache. The rocks up here feel ancient, like saying just the right word or stepping into a certain spot in the forest will catapult me across time to another dimension. It feels safe, peaceful, and so much bigger than me and my current woes.
As evening approaches, the sun begins to set across the lake, throwing the most amazing red light across the trees. I have a sudden urge to talk to my guy, to share this incredible beauty with him, and when powering up the phone, learn that I do in fact have no service. As in zero, no bars, no LTE, not even 4G, no nothing.
There is something very freeing about not having any cell service. The inability to get distracted by the Power of the Screen seems to let something in me reawaken – like taking off sunglasses or being able to take a deep breath again. I watch the sunset, and go back to my campsite and enjoy the night sounds, thinking deep thoughts to completion, rather than being pulled off by an urge to look up something on the internet, or jumping on some notification. The night sounds grow louder as the sun sets, and I lean back in my little camp chair, the warm campfire crackling, and just breathe, and listen.
