Up North

Man, I miss family.  I miss familiar, nostalgic things.  Today I was thinking about Up North, that wonderful glorified trailer my Grandpa owns in semi-northern Michigan.  Maybe no one but my family will understand any of this, but this is what I remember...

Venturing into the dark, cavernous pole barn to find the shovels when we’d first arrive to an unplowed driveway and sidewalk.  Watching dad climb down into the pit in the front yard to turn something on-the power? the water?  the sump pump?  Don’t know, never mattered except that it was scary!  The metal music box, in the shape of a guy playing the piano, that I’d wind up as soon as I could after we arrived...that weird song I never heard any other place.  Building a massive card house using every card we could find that covered the whole floor, under the pull-out bed, past the doorwall and up to the fireplace.  Shag carpet and linoleum over a floor that creaked in predictable places.  

Walking the seemingly endless maze of trails out back wearing something orange so hunters don’t shoot at us.  Playing in the snow for hours on end till my nose went numb, my gloves and snow pants soaked through, and socks scrunched up into the toes of my boots.  Then the wonderful tingling over-warm sensation sitting by the fire with hot chocolate and dry clothes again.  The horrible feeling of stepping in snow melt by the door with fresh dry socks.  The fire crackle backdrop to a living room full of people deeply engrossed in books, or maybe a puzzle missing one stupid piece.  Writing in the diary something like “We made it here safe, the refrigerator was off and everything inside was bad.”  Reading Aunt Amy or Kim’s funny comments from the last trip.  

Sledding.  Terror and adrenaline induced euphoria, ready...set...go-push off and rush down the hard-packed snow, a touch on the left to steer, nope too much, touch on the right, snow spray in the face like needles, oh no, too much on the right!  LEFT!! RIGHT!!!  Flipped.  Face full of snow and laughing.  Then the long trudge back up the hill to do it all again, but get farther down the hill this time.  Dad’s green metal thermos full of blazing hot hot chocolate, so hot you have to add some snow before you can drink it.  Searching for a perfectly undisturbed white patch of snow to eat.  The heavy silence of the forest when I stopped walking with swishing snow pants and coat to listen.  The whiteness of the sky when I’d just finished making a snow angel and was pondering how to stand up without destroying her.  Snow ball fights when dad would come out and play.  His chuckle when I'd try really hard to hit him and miss, his full bellied laugh when I'd hit Aaron when he wasn't expecting it!  Sumo wrestling in a circle drawn in the snow.  Digging tunnels in the snow bank, homes for my chunky gloved hand person, pointer and middle finger legs, my hand the body.  Never could get it big enough to fit my whole self inside without it collapsing.  Searching for the biggest icicle hanging from the roof.  Asking mom to save the rest of my icicle in the freezer when I got tired of crunching away on it but didn’t want to lose it forever in the white snow.  

Finding old stuff in the drawers of the house-the American flag with a circle of stars, Reader’s Digest and National Geographic magazines from the 70’s, keys that fit nothing.  The smell of moth balls and wood smoke.  The crucifix over the bed in the big room.  Remaking the Mugwamp with an egg carton, squishy orange ear plugs, q-tips, paper dixie cups, mismatched buttons, some yarn, and a bell.  The shock at finding the Mugwamp inexplicably hidden in MY bag, then plotting how to make it all the way down the long hallway to the other bedrooms to hide it in someone else’s bag without raising suspicions.  The relief of knowing I won’t get stuck with it and be forced to sing a silly song at the end of the trip.  Listening to Grandma sing Girl Scout songs or tell stories I know can’t be true but can’t tell if she thinks are true.  

Playing card games at the rickety kitchen table, chips and dip, hot apple cider.  Waking up to noises in the kitchen, peeking at mom making breakfast trough the tiny window above the bed.  The sound the coffee pot makes when it’s almost done brewing.  My dad’s deep, quiet morning voice, my mom’s reply over the sizzle of bacon.  Staying asleep as long as possible even though I’m already awake, trying to sleep longer than Abby.  Cold nose above the blankets, cold toes below the blankets, cold early morning in the porch room after the fire’s died out.  The roar of the furnace kicking on, whoosh of Aaron using the bellows to restart the fire.  Warm when it’s so cold outside, quiet after a crazy life.  

I miss Up North, even though I know it'll never live up to these memories in reality.  At least from afar I can maintain my nostalgia! :)