An Indoorsy Girl Goes to Michigan
Compromise and sunburn in a world without Michael or Farrah
Yesterday I saw a few posts marking the 16th anniversary of the deaths of Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett. One specifically asked where I was when I heard the news.
Easy: I was trapped at O’Hare with my five-year-old child and their dad, trying to fly to Michigan’s Upper Peninsula.
I was in hell.
For starters, I wasn’t thrilled to be on the trip in the first place. CJ’s dad Brian is a Yooper, as in a person from the UP, and we were off to visit his family which has never been comfortable for me.
At the time it was a very long drive from home, upwards of 13 hours. Plus, our destination was about an hour into the Eastern time zone. If you’ve never spent time near a time zone line, I recommend it if you love feeling like the time-space continuum is busted. Summer sunsets are near 10 pm and that just doesn’t sit right with my system.
Anyway, a 13-hour drive with a five-year-old sounded terrible, so I got the wild idea to fly to Chicago, then Green Bay where we would rent a car and drive the last three hours. About two hours of flight time—easy!
No.
Before finding the play area, we were crammed into a gate with people waiting for multiple flights since [redacted major airline based in Chicago] had canceled other flights, too. The weather was fine, and we were never given a reason why we spent nearly eight hours waiting to get to Green Bay (a three-hour drive from Chicago).
This was in the heady early smartphone days—iPhones had been available for less than two years, and we hadn’t made the plunge—so news trickled in through gate televisions and eavesdropping on people with better technology than my BlackBerry without a data plan. That’s how I learned about both deaths, the unknown of when we’d get to our destination and the cramped confines of the airport making the day that much more surreal.
Even though we’d left home around 8 a.m., we didn’t arrive at our destination until after 3 a.m. If you’re mathematically inclined, you know that’s far longer than the 13 hours we would have spent driving. Brian’s told me that the drive’s better now, thanks to a lot of the two-lane roads in Wisconsin being widened to four lanes since then. I noticed during a drive to Milwaukee last fall, but I haven’t been back to the UP since the 2009 debacle.
What matters: CJ had a fantastic time with their grandparents, and Brian got some good quality time at his childhood home. I survived and did fine in the long run.
Despite a lack of sleep, our first day was a gorgeous if not slightly chilly day at Brian’s hometown beach in Gladstone. It was the only day warm enough to get into Bay de Noch off of Lake Michigan, but it was relaxing and fun with a cautious but excited kiddo who thrilled at the schools of minnows swimming in the shallow end.
While I was diligent about keeping my pale, pale child coated in sunscreen, and pretty good about doing the same for myself, I forgot how easy it is to burn from the sun reflecting off the water. After spending a good portion of our beach visit lying on my stomach in the water with my back exposed, I found myself sporting the worst, blistery sunburn I have ever gotten in my pale-ass life.
In retrospect, I know I handled this correctly: I was miserable from the sunburn pain alone, which also left me feeling sick for a few days. I took to our bedroom with a stack of library books, feeling so guilty for not keeping pace with the rest of the family, but also relieved at not having to put on the mask I wore when I was there. I wasn’t helping in the kitchen, or visiting much, or showing my face. I was ill, for god’s sake. But at the time I was overwhelmed with the guilt of being a never-good-enough daughter-in-law. No one said this to me, but I felt it. Which was most likely a Robin problem after some rocky visits in the past.
I know that the Upper Peninsula of Michigan is a paradise of its own sort, with plenty of uncharted wilderness, bordering the daunting majesty of Lakes Michigan and Superior. Even though I’m not an outdoorsy traveler I can appreciate the beauty and power of this wildness. I’d love to return someday in a way that better fits the way I travel and who I am—the bad daughter-in-law who loves a slow pace and an absence of biting flies. The 2009 trip was a compromise, an attempt at being present with my family so they could have the experiences they needed.
I’m pretty sure we were all better off with me spending the bulk of the trip in my self-imposed infirmary. Without having a smartphone or even wi-fi at Brian’s parents’ house, it was one of my final experiences with navigating a strange place without digital accompaniment. Remember what that means? No streaming music or shows, no easily accessible camera, no texts from friends, no immediate news followed by think pieces and comment sections, no endless iPad library, no social media. Just me, my sunburn, and time.
I wish I had been able to put my guilt aside so I could enjoy that last bit of wild, slow disconnection.
Still, the pasties were delicious.