Small towns that grow on you

When our family moved in 2012 from Indianapolis to Grand Rapids, we moved from the "Crossroads of America," where freeways and national highways radiated in every direction, to the last sizable city as you head north in Michigan. About 20 miles north of Grand Rapids, you notice a major change in the landscape. The fertile farms and hardwood forests that characterize southern Michigan (the "first four tiers") begin to give way to white pine forests over a blanket of ferns. The soils in these parts are less productive than in the south, so agriculture (excepting dairy) is not as important as it is in southern Michigan. There's no question that as you start to go "up north," things start to look very different. 

This becomes even more pronounced once you cross the breathtaking Straits of Mackinac and enter Michigan's Upper Peninsula. Although the eastern part of the UP has been connected to the lower peninsula since long before statehood in 1837, the western part of the UP that abuts Wisconsin and Minnesota was added as a consolation for Michigan's loss of a tiny strip of land that includes Toledo in the "Toledo War" of 1835-1836. (Yes indeed, the rivalry between Michigan and my native Ohio goes far back beyond football). The UP contains approximately 30% of the land area of Michigan, but only about 3% of its population. The largest town in the UP, Marquette, is just over 20,000 people. 

This was our first extended travel in the UP. We stayed in a tiny village called Grand Marais on the shores of Lake Superior. Grand Marais is, in many ways, a classic Michigan story of boom and bust. Originally plotted as a timber town, it grew to several thousand people and had its own railway in the 1890s. By 1910, however, the town had gone bust, and the railway came and ripped up the tracks to move them to Minnesota. The town only began to rebound through fishing in the 1920s when a road connected the town the main highway across the UP. Today, tourism forms the backbone of the economy. Although Grand Marais' history is decidedly less complex, the boom-and-bust cycle is not completely dissimilar from what has happened in Detroit (the city declared bankruptcy while we were in Grand Marais).

Downtown Grand Marais

It's hard to call Grand Marais "pretty," although it does sit rather dramatically on the pristine waters of Lake Superior. The town's downtown has three museums, a post office, a couple of small stores and shops, four restaurants, and a swimming beach on Grand Marais Bay. One of our first "learning curves" was the realization that anything resembling grocery shopping (beyond shopping at the gas station) required a drive of nearly 50 miles, one-way. Any more substantial shopping for clothes or shoes would have required nearly 100 miles one-way. 

On the shore of Superior - looking past the Grand Sable Dunes toward Grand Marais

Yet the town grew on us as we made it our base for exploring a stunningly beautiful region of the Superior Coast. It's the kind of place where they guy who runs the gas station will pull out his toolbox to do basic car repairs. It's the kind of place where people leave their doors unlocked and many things function on an "honor system." 

Perhaps our most interesting experience was walking to dinner at the West Bay Diner. The West Bay combines an early-20th-century frame home and a 1930-s era diner car in a mash up that, while not altogether architecturally appealing, certainly creates an interesting space. This is the kind of place where you dare not be in a hurry or come with a demanding spirit. Things are slow, informal, and clean-but-not-tidy. You just have to get used to the fact that they store their box of onions in the entryway. The story of the owners and the story of how they obtained a diner car from New Jersey is well worth reading. This was the only time I've ever been served by a waitress who is not only a published novelist but has also been published in the New York Times. A fascinating -- and very tasty -- experience. 

The West Bay Diner

It's a good reminder that we can't -- and shouldn't -- expect everywhere to be the same. Perhaps we'd all be a bit better off if we had to plan our grocery shopping a bit more carefully.