From the Map of Michigan
I am holding half an acre torn from the map of Michigan. And folded in this scrap of paper is the land I grew in….
We haven’t necessarily “buried” my grandfather yet. He’s in a box. Well, two boxes. One that will take a final voyage back to England. The other is kind of just hanging out. Picking the perfect spot, you know? When we were up at our family cottage on Lake Michigan in August, grandma and I meant to go for a walk to pick out a good spot. It’s tricky, though. Finding a spot for eternity.
You see, the cottage is practically on a giant sand dune like the rest of the Lake Michigan coast. So we don’t want him to wash away. These things aren’t easy. Anyway, Alex knows to bring me there when I’m packed away in a heavy box just like grandpa is.
Because this is where I am from. This is what I am. I trace my life on that beach. The early years of the jetty-lined beach overpopulated with sandcastles and tiny cousins. The catamaran years. The years when the grasses began creeping down the hill and out into our beach. This place. I grew in this place.
And it’s funny, really. Because I’ve never been a Michigan resident, gone to school in Michigan, held a job in Michigan. But this little plot of land right there at the top of the pinky finger of that gigantic mitten, it’s meant more to me every year of my life than any other place ever will.
This is where I come from.
These pictures were taken a few weeks ago when we were up at the cottage on vacation. Yes, the sunsets are always this gorgeous. If you need proof, see this. And this.