The Midwest gets a lot of hate for a number of reasons.
Perhaps the biggest, at least to me, is the sameness of it all. I won’t deny
the existence of Midwestern hospitality, and while there is some natural beauty
in the Midwest, most of it has been bulldozed to make way for suburban
developments. It is a very bland, homogenous landscape of vinyl-sided prefabs,
covering the full spectrum from beige to taupe, with a CVS across from a
Walgreen’s across from a gas station across from a used car dealership.
(Seriously, Indiana, what the Hell is up with that?)
Breaking away from that sameness is Michigan’s Upper
Peninsula. The people who know about it all agree that it is a wonderful
place…but then, there is everybody else. On the one hand, there is the fact
that an unsettling percentage of the American population would fail even the
most basic of geography quizzes. But on the other hand, there are maps,
graphics, and illustrations that just plain leave
the Upper Peninsula off.
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| The Upper Peninsula should be right next to the Northeastern corner of Wisconsin. |
Their loss is ours, too, because the Upper Peninsula
should not just be its own state – which I actually am in favor of – it might
as well be its own country.
Michigan itself is an interesting state, unfortunately known
mostly for their run-down urban centers like Detroit, Flint, and Saginaw,
places that even the proudest of Michiganders (yes, that is the actual term)
speak about in the hushed tones typically reserved for discussing a recently
incarcerated relative: “Yeah, it’s a shame, really…” Of course, there is far
more to Michigan than just urban decay, fun and scary as all that is for
hipster photography students and locals, respectively.
At some point in the not-so-distant past, an advertising
slogan came about for Michigan’s tourism industry: “Say yes to Michigan!” The
counter-slogan for the Upper Peninsula, which has achieved far more immortality
than the original advertising campaign it mocked, is “Say ya to da UP, eh!”
Describing the difference between the residents of the Upper Peninsula, who
call themselves Yoopers (hey, it rolls off the tongue better than
Michiganders), and pretty much everyone else in the United States can be easily
summed up with that slogan.
The UP boasts a strong Scandinavian heritage, largely due to
the low numbers of people who initially settled there. In many ways, the UP
shares a lot in common with Aroostook County in Maine: low population density,
locals who are just as Old World as their ancestors who arrived six generations
ago, plenty of room for nature, and a local humor that is far less parochial
than one might think. Roadside souvenir shops boast Genuine Yooper Goods,
including this Yooper bug-killer:
My personal favorite was what looked like a mileage chart,
indicating the distance from various UP locations to other major American
cities. Instead of miles, though, the sign listed the number of “road pops”
needed to get there. I asked a shopkeeper what a road pop was, and with a proud
chuckle he informed me that road pop is beer. The distance from St. Ignace to
Chicago? Six road pops. Drunk driving – not funny. Road pops as a unit of
measurement – hilarious.
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| The Mackinac Bridge, connecting the UP to the Mitten. |
Of course, in the same way that Michigan isn’t all Detroit,
the UP isn’t all Scandinavian hillbillies. Marquette was a lovely college town,
and Ishpeming is not just home to a rich history of copper mining and the
International Skiing Hall of Fame, it was also one of the final contenders for
Michigan’s state capital. (Now there’s an interesting “what-if” for you, if
that’s your thing…) My friend and fellow Monkees scholar Colin told me we absolutely
had to visit Houghton and Hancock, twin towns separated by a river, on the
premise that “it is just like walking around inside a Gordon Lightfoot song.”
It definitely was, and we also had an incredible Finnish breakfast in Houghton.
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| Hancock, as seen from Houghton. |
And speaking of Gordon Lightfoot, the Shipwreck Museum in Paradise
features a short film on the wreck of the Edmund
Fitzgerald that reduced everyone – everyone
– to tears. Not just quiet weeping, either, we are talking full-on funereal
sobs. Beyond the tragic element of the souls lost in the treacherous waters of
Lake Superior, the Shipwreck Museum offered a lot about the lives of lighthouse
keepers, which was apparently a prestigious job in its time. The museum also has
startlingly realistic dummies, so if you visit, be sure to look out for that.
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| The Shipwreck Museum |
Whenever either of us write about a place we genuinely liked
– or even loved – both Alexa and I always wonder if our enthusiasm was
contagious enough, especially since writing such pieces typically devolves into
us saying, “This place is awesome, so just GO already and see it for yourself!”
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| Downtown Ishpeming |
It may not be the easiest place in the country to reach, but
for adventure seekers, who want to see what a colorful downtown looked like
before the invasion of the big-box retailers, who want to be one with nature
(did I mention we began camping out in the UP? Highly recommended, but bathe
yourself in bug spray – the deep woods stuff.), who love being on the water,
who cherish soaking in the local culture, well…this place is awesome, so just
GO already and see it for yourself!
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