Where we find ourselves
And how we connect with others. It's a journey I'm on and sharing in this final installment of my Upper Peninsula hiking trip. (Please read to the end for an idea and question I have for you!)
Just when I think it can’t possibly get any better, that another meandering hike through the woods and dinner out with myself and quiet night of solo tent-camping cannot possibly be topped, it does.
It gets so much better. So much so that I’m awestruck. Even more awestruck than I’ve felt these past few days, if that’s even possible.
I’m relaxed in a way I haven’t felt in some time.
Standing before an expansive view of Lake Michigan, a warm wind whipping through my hair and pushing white caps toward the shore, I think this is what it means to be in the moment. To slow down and pause. To take in my surroundings. To be truly content.
I close my eyes briefly, breathing in the freshwater air that’s tinged with a damp, earthy smell. A little fishy even. It’s like home to me. I exhale. I’m doing a lot of this, this deep breathing, during this trip.
“We have a couple of weddings here tomorrow, and they might use the bathroom and changing room, but mostly you’ll have it all to yourself,” my Airbnb host informs me as she waves her hand toward the building next to the large tent I’ll be staying in over the next couple of nights.
“That’s completely fine — I’ll be gone early for my hike and won’t be back until the evening,” I tell her while hoisting my large, pink duffle bag out of the trunk and placing it in the wagon she’s provided for me to carry my things down a stone pathway.
We chat for a few more moments and then Margaret scurries away to assist guests checking into one of the rental cabins also on this sprawling, rustic-feeling piece of waterfront property just west of St. Ignace. I load a few more items into the wagon before locking up my car and heading to my tent that is steps away from the rocky beach and wide pier I’ve decided is my next spot of exploration.
I like being alone, have always enjoyed time when it’s just me. Going to the movie theater by myself, sitting at a table for one, going for solo runs, booking a flight on my own — these are things I’ve done throughout my life and have savored.
Which is not to say I don’t like being around people. I do, quite a bit, particularly when it’s one-on-one and in smaller, more intimate groups, and lately I honestly wonder if I’m needing more time spent with others. I have talked about my need for more community in recent newsletters, including this one at the start of this 5-day trip up north and also in this one that I shared late last year. I’ve also been starting and stopping an essay about friendship in midlife for a long time now and hope to finish it soon.
What I’m finding is that I am wanting and seeking both experiences: soul-filling time away with myself and interactions with others that are purposeful and genuine and, as I’m experiencing more and more especially on this trip, are also eye-opening and life-affirming.
By no means do I have this balance figured out. Sometimes I think I want to be around others more often to make and cement connections, but then upon further reflection feel myself retreating inward in certain situations, choosing instead to play it safe and stick with what feels more comfortable. How this can look: opting for a night in with myself when everyone else is meeting up for dinner. Or choosing not to text or call a friend I haven’t seen in a long while because I’d prefer she be the one to reach out to me.
I try my hardest to listen closely to my heart when these instances come up. What do I really want right now? What is best for me, for my relationship not only with this person/place/activity, but the relationship I am pursuing with myself? I don’t always get it right. But the fact that I am more aware than ever of how I am feeling and tuned into what is right for the situation and for me is a good thing, I believe.
And so it seems, then, that this latter part my solo trip to the eastern Upper Peninsula is shaping up to provide an ideal mixture of these realities. I am carving out time to be alone, and I am putting myself into situations in which I am meeting new people, introducing myself to strangers, and am in the process learning even more about who I am and what I need and want at nearly 50 years old.
(I can’t help sharing at this point a light and fun moment shared with my co-workers, during one of our dinners, when my colleague and I realized we’re both celebrating a milestone birthday this year; our co-worker Tim proceeded to share this classic Saturday Night Live clip with us, a skit I’d watched years and years ago and of course now lands a lot differently with me. In a great way.)
Where my first long hike led to numerous conversations and connections, my third and final one proves to be something of the opposite. My fellow hikers are friendly enough — our guide is a man in his 60s, an experienced hiker who grew up in the region, and he kindly shares his vast knowledge of the trail and passion for forest foraging with us — but mostly I notice we’re all lost in our own thoughts as we make our way along the path.
The pockets of silence are punctuated by the sounds of our footsteps, a few quiet conversations among hikers behind me, and the rustling leaves (when there is a breeze; I’m drenched in sweat not too long into this humid hike). After several days of talking with so many people, on the trail and during the event’s afternoon sessions and dinnertime gatherings, I’m happy to be a bit more “off” and to have the chance to walk peacefully with my own thoughts.
I’m looking down at my feet, as we all tend to do while navigating single-track trails, but reminding myself to look up now and again — there’s so much to see, in every direction: a slice of surprisingly calm Lake Superior to the left, as we make our way through a wooded section that opens up to a bluff overlooking the water and a wide expanse dotted with baby jack pines growing back after a devastating forest fire more than a decade ago; the flowing Big Two Hearted River, and later the Little Two Hearted River; stand after stand of towering pines; and sandy walkways that intersect with off-road vehicle trails before melding into dirt trails surrounded by thick old-growth trees.
We stop midway through to eat lunch at Culhane Lake State Forest Campground, a small and lovely spot that is filled with campers. I make a mental note to add this rustic campground to my list of places to return to one day.
We carry on, plodding through a section that reminds me of a fairy tale forest — the ground is covered in emerald moss and the sun streaks through the tree canopy, pooling on the path before me. I take swigs of my water, careful to conserve what’s left. The miles tick by, my mind in a tranquil state, and then it’s just another mile to our destination.
We reach the end, our bus waiting for us, and I suddenly feel so spent, so alive. We all cheer when our guide suggests stopping on the way back for ice-cold water and snacks. At this great mom-and-pop convenience store, one member of our group buys a case of Two Hearted beer and passes them out to those who want to indulge in the trail’s namesake. (Interesting twist: one of my fellow hikers on this trek is Larry Bell, founder and former owner of Bell’s Brewery, which makes Two Hearted).
We’re sweat-soaked, dirt-covered and probably smelling ridiculously bad. But no one really cares about these things. I look around at everyone’s satisfied and smiling faces as I settle into my seat and take a long, sweet gulp of water.
As I lean my head back against the seat back, I close my tired eyes and think to myself: today is a very good day.
A final note about my trip up north: I took my time going home. The annual North Trail Association Celebration ended Saturday evening and I checked out of my tent Sunday morning. As is the tradition any time I am in the UP, I stopped by the Brevort beaches before crossing the Mackinac Bridge and heading home. This time, instead of simply jumping into the water for a quick dip (this tradition goes back to my childhood, when my parents always, always stopped for us to all jump in during our summer trips), I spread out a towel and read my book in between immersing myself in the cool Lake Michigan water.
I didn’t want to leave. I couldn’t wait to be back home. It was the perfect way to end my time away.
Thank you for reading and being here with me today. In case you missed the other three installments in this special North Country Trail/solo camping adventure series, you can read them here, in order:
Please hit the ❤️ button to let me know you enjoyed this and would like to read more of these kinds of stories here on Moving Through. I’d especially like to know if you enjoyed this series, so please drop my a note to let me know your thoughts!
I’m also toying with an idea about possibly creating an outdoors/movement-focused experience similar-ish to this one for all of us to potentially do together. Would this be of interest to you? Something small and meaningful and soul-filling. Many of you know that I’ve organized an annual women’s winter retreat for a number of years, and as I consider the future of this event, I am dreaming of something possibly different and more intimate. Let me know what you think in the comments.
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More soon!
-Heather
I attended the winter retreat in January and had a great time. I would be interested in other experiences!
Loved reading about your time away Heather. Definitely enjoyed the series. And can really relate to the time alone and with others, and the often complicated things about midlife friendships. I would definitely be interested in some kind of movement outdoor adventure! And could you please share info on where that magical tent is......