"Pure Michigan" is the tourist bureau's slogan for it.
This morning I had I diet vernors soda, which is a Michigan kind of ginger ale - pure Michigan. Like Stoney tangawizi, which is pure Kenya ginger ale. I'm becoming quite the connoisseur. From west to east it becomes stronger and less sweet.
Recently I passed a vehicle on a four-lane road with its back windows down, which caught my attention. I found that that was the purpose because the backseat passenger (who was an adult man) was entertaining himself by sitting sideways and trying to make eye contact with everyone his car passed. We had a fun moment. It wasn't a wierd moment.
It was pure Michigan.
We're on the second leg of the journey today; having slept over in the Detroit area last night. We, are going Up North.
Up North is where you're allowed to be a hick and joke about them like you know about them if you were born there.
My dad was born there. I've been to the brown trout festival (I wore a purple fairy dress but I still watched them gutting fish and stood around while grampa talked with his old hearty up north friends). My grandpa owns hunting land. We call it, "the land." I am very proud of this information. When we pass the "up north" rest stop on the way to our destination and walk in the door to greet the taxidermied bears, I feel a sense of inheritance.
I'm proud of my heritage up here. I'm proud to not be a tourist. (Let's face it; nobody wants to be a for-real tourist.)
My rule is that if I am "with," accepted by or am related to someone in an area I am no longer touring the area. The line is fuzzy. Sometimes I jump back and forth.
I like to think I have some hick blood in me. I've been told my dad's the quirkiest one of my parents, and that I'm the most like him. Maybe it has something to do with my northern aura.
We just passed a diner called "Ma's Girls. ". Enough said.
We also passed the Up North store without going in. Dad said we were breaking with tradition. Mom commented that the hand driers in the restrooms were always quite powerful.
There are more hand driers in Michigan. Less paper towels. I think Michiganders like their trees.
This is a good time.
No comments:
Post a Comment