A few weekends ago, I made a quick trip up north. “Up North” is a very Michigan term. Michiganders do not all agree on where up north begins and ends. For me the line is drawn from memory and experience.
Sitting on the shores of Lake Huron—steps outside of a little knotty pine cabin, around a fire pit, waiting for enough heat to burn marshmallows for s’mores—I reflected on my up north memories and experiences. Up north is both a geographic and spiritual location. A place I long for in times of calm and storm. When I’m craving peace and quiet. Wanting connection to a past and reminders of simpler seasons. Needing creative and healing energy. Making decisions or diving into them.
These days the world feels especially heavy and my heart is overwhelmed more often than not. Up north, whether I am literally there or there only in my thoughts, is vast enough to hold the complexities and emotions of being human. A place deep enough for me to sit with fears and hopes, doubts and dreams. I wander there to trade city lights for stars, traffic noise for turning waves. I put my feet in the water no matter the temperature. I hike the woods even in the rain. I go to write and also when inner critics tell me I never want to write again.
My desire is for 10 Camels to be a community that names and holds space for joy and sorrow, celebrating and grieving, certainty and curiosity, wonder and skepticism, the things that cause and quench our thirst. This desire is reflected in the words I share. I do not want to gloss over or deny reality, nor do I wish to let it take control or squash imagination completely. An unjust world takes so much from us, and I refuse to let it take my spirit too.
Poetry inspires, challenges, soothes, provokes, affirms, stirs, and troubles the water. In these long and difficult, soft and warm days of summer, 10 Camels is sharing poems and some of their origin stories, birthed up north and shaped by the Mitten.
I’m so glad you’re here. Here’s the first poem of July, an ode to my great-grandpa Sherman, who introduced me to all things up north. His presence is so missed and he remains present in so many ways.
Take a listen and/or a read below.
Sunrise Side of the Mitten ©Rebecca Wilson, June 2025 Michigan the mitten state we use our hand to give directions to share our location on the back of my right my pointer finger right between the knuckle lines that’s where heaven was my grandparents’ cottage that turned summer into paradise the beach a sandy garden of Eden trees of goodness and syrupy pine cones grandpa and I sat there on the bench made from driftwood old lawn chairs beside us holding our dreams looking east the perfect place to hold a sunrise I’d say I see Canada he’d say no silly, that’s the horizon I’d insist yes, I see the other shore and he’d tell me about the curve of the earth the separation of sky and sea how where we stand shapes what we see then we’d walk collecting rocks and petoskey stones feeding seagulls leftover pancakes old bread he never tired of my questions or ran out of answers or stories from his almost nine decades of living not long before he died I went to see him at the nursing home he told me he saw a bear on the path outside his room no way, grandpa, not here in the city he insisted I told him all the reasons this was impossible he described the bear’s shiny black coat with precision years after his funeral there was a story in the newspaper about a fully-grown bear killed while crossing the expressway not far from grandpa’s window and I smiled pressing into heaven on the back of my hand remembering lessons learned on the sunrise side of the mitten
Poetic Prompts
Choose any or all or none to write or reflect about.
Share in the comments if that feels right. I’ll do my absolute best to reply to everyone.
If you’re in or from Michigan, where does “up north” begin for you? How did you come to this understanding?
What is your experience of “up north”? Do you have a favorite spot?
Where do you go when life is hard? When living feels easy?
What are you searching for this summer?
How is where you’re standing (or planted) shaping what you see?
Water-fully Yours,
Rebecca & 10 Camels
I lived in Minnesota for many years, and up north meant northern MN lake country. My favorite was backpacking the boundary waters.
When my Dad retired from the Air Force, he and Mom moved to the UP (upper peninsula for those not familiar with Michigan)…that was my experience of “up north” though I knew it was not the only definition of it! They had a beautiful home (which had the feel of a large cabin, not fancy) on ten wooded acres on a small lake, with eagles, beavers, deer, chipmunks, porcupine, and bear. The lake was for non-motorized craft only, and canoeing on it was so peaceful! Thank you for asking a question that sent me down that memory lane.