The Good Life

Exit 310. My heart. My peace. I breath better when I'm up here. I smile more. I can shed city clothes and live in a swimsuit and flip flops. Or jeans and a sweatshirt, depending on the weather and the time of day. I can sing loud, and out of key at kareoke night with overserved locals and vacationers alike, who think you sound fine, as long as you're happy. I can eat Vivios pizza until I bust. Then hit up Dairy Queen, because calories on vacation simply don't exist. I can spend long, lazy, summer days outside. I feel free. Free as the seven-year-old kid on her bike, heading to the candy store in search of atomic fireballs, who loved this place then. And as a bigger kid, who still loves this place, nothing makes me happier than driving over the hill, milemarker 270, passing Gaylord, Michigan. I've made this drive countless times. Probably more than any other drive in my life. And I've teared up every time I hit this point in the eight hour trip. Maybe I'm delirious as the highway lines begin to blur, but as I drive over the horizon line, away from all signs of city life, headed in the direction of crisp, clear nights, warm days on the lake, porch mornings in wicker rocking chairs, bonfires surrounded by happy faces, cold beers in hands, and impromptu guitar jam sessions filling the air, I'm reminded of simplicity. Anticipation mounts. What can be better than spending a day on a boat, floating through a crystal clear lake that you've grown up in? A lake clean enough to drink out of, or take a bath in. A lake alive with the roar of speedboats, of laughter of locals and Fudgies and those in between (like me!).

This is the place my family loves. Not just my husband and my mom and dad and sisters, but my family, in its entirety. My great-grandparents "discovered" it. On their way to the UP with their five children, they stopped to camp overnight alongside Burt Lake. To make a long story short, they never made it to the UP that summer. Or any other summer after that. This place, once a pitstop, was now a destination. THE destination. Every summer for the rest of my great-grandparents' lives, and my grandpa's life, and every summer of my dad's, and every summer of mine, we come here. We all come here. Dozens and dozens and dozens of my aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, parents, and sisters invade every July for our annual Big Trip. To simply say that it's "fun," is the understatement of the century. It's completely ridiculous. I'm obsessed with July, for this reason.

When I was twelve, my mom had had enough of camping with three kids. I don't blame her; when we got to Burt Lake, we hit the ground running, or hit the lake swimming, as the case may be. So my parents embarked on a new adventure in the form of a lake cottage. Our summers turned into full blown lake adventures, and looking back, it brought about some of my most favorite memories...

Seeing my dad on a tractor in the 4th of July parade, watching fireworks over the Mackinac Bridge, vegging out on fresh whitefish dip. Mmm. Hoppies. Double mmm. Vivios. Triple mmm. Swimming at the green docks. Floating down Sturgeon River. Counting mullets at the Chevegas Fair. Spending evenings around a bonfire, laughing so hard my stomach hurts. Best friends and my godbabies. Maple Bay. Seeing my parents in total vacation mode: mom, on the porch, book in hand, smile on her relaxed face. Dad, clad in swimtrucks and a safari hat, beaming ear to ear as he starts up the boat. Free to be silly and loud with my sisters. Causing your standard amount of trouble. All trouble and those involved shall remain nameless to protect our adult dignity. And Matt? He was a goner from the beginning. He fell hard for this place too. We are currently engaging in a lifelong love affair that seeps to the very core of our hearts.

The town of Indian River rarely changes. It's something I cherish. It's a constant steady sense of happiness that keeps me grounded and centered. In writing this, so many moments flash before me, filled with laughter and ease. It's impossible to put into words how much this place means to me. My favorite smell in the entire world?  Bonfire. I wish I could bottle it and carry it along everywhere with me. It brings me to this place. The place where I played in the sand in diapers. The place where I said, I do. And a whole lot of in between. It was in those moments, my heart became complete. Here's a peek into the most beautiful place on earth, tucked away behind tall trees and crackling campfire smoke. Come north, you'll hear laughter and fun. And a really loud family. (More photos to come.. this is the first memory card. Of the first camera. Before the beer tent. And my cousin's 21st! Ha!)