The closest thing to utopia in all of Michigan

I’m building a boat. I build one every summer and have been for five years. Before anyone celebrates my ambition, however, I think it’s important to keep in mind that the boats in question can be held in one hand. They also take me about a day to build – sometimes less than an hour. I’ve made a raft of sticks, a canoe of birch bark and even a catamaran from two toothpicks and two polyurethane cigars. I called that one “Smoke on the Water.”

Why do I build them? It’s part of a tradition that’s been going on at Flashlight Bend on the North Branch of the Au Sable River for a long time. Every Labor Day weekend ushers in the Flashlight Bend River Race. The details are pretty simple. Participants gather at a cabin near the starting line. They bring their boats to display. They usually also bring a dish to pass. For an hour or so, the organizers collect the entry fee – two dollars – and catalog the names of the boats.

The boats and the names are often ridiculous. First rule: As long as it floats and it’s homemade, it’s a boat. Second rule: The more clever the name, the better. One boat I remember consisted of a piece of Styrofoam with a six-inch stick stuck in it. A small plastic moon dangled from the stick. To the piece of Styrofoam itself the boat maker had glued a fake ham sandwich. The boat was called “Moon Over My Hammy.” I think you can see the nature of this group.

I could go on about the race. I could mention that there are now at least four heats to accommodate the growing number of participants. I could talk about the many prizes. I could talk about the (somewhat) serious nature in which the rules of the race are officiated by the Upstream Czar and the Downstream Czar. It might interest some to know that this race even has a queen.

But, I’m not really qualified to get into the nuances of the race. I certainly couldn’t give its history because its beginnings date back to before the Civil War. Okay, it doesn’t go back that far, but it’s been around a lot longer than I’ve been hanging around the North Branch of the Au Sable.

Really, what interests me about the race is how I learned about it, and how I slowly came to learn the many traditions and expectations that come with owning a cabin on Flashlight Bend. I think the traditions in question shed a great deal of light on why so many people who live south of Bay City like to head Up North as often as possible.

Shortly after buying it, my father-in-law decided to name his new cabin. He called it Rabbit, Run – after his favorite novel by John Updike. The name works nicely too because a stretch of water is often called a run – just like the stretch of water that works its way leisurely past the cabin’s dock.

Rabbit, Run is about a one-hour canoe ride downstream from North Down River Road. Not too far downstream from the cabin, the North Branch makes its confluence with the main stream of the Au Sable. It’s about as secluded as you can get in a modern cabin – seeing as how it’s almost 16 miles exactly from Lewiston, Mio, Grayling, Roscommon and St. Helen.

The setting, of course, is beautiful. But we soon found another beauty that came with the place, a beauty we hadn’t really anticipated. It’s a beauty, I suppose, that is a part of the Up North tradition.
I can still remember the first weekend we spent at the cabin just after the whole deal was finalized. We took drinks down to the dock. We watched brook trout feeding in the shadows. We relaxed our shoulders and let down our guards. Then our first neighbor came by. Not in a car or on Rollerblades, but in a canoe. Neighbor is a word people in Southern Michigan often hiss in reference to the selfish devils with whom they share a high hedge or privacy fence.

Not so Up North.

Our neighbor in the canoe bellowed his gregarious greeting. His smile was genuine. He asked if we were new and, receiving our answer, welcomed us. He asked where we were from and what we did. In the short time that his canoe was in earshot, he shared more with us than I’ve shared with some of my next-door neighbors downstate. He shouted to us over his shoulder that downstream by his place they had a bridge suspended over the river, and we could use it to cross whenever we wanted.

Other neighbors stopped by throughout the day. Some told us about the trail that ran along the river. Sure, it ran through people’s property, but as long as you had a cabin on Flashlight Bend, you were welcome to walk on through. Some told us about the best fishing holes along this stretch. Another said he had tubes we could borrow anytime to float the river.

I told the next-door neighbor that I planned to fly fish that evening. He ran back to his cabin and soon returned with a copy of the exact fly he’d used the night before to catch a seventeen-inch brown. He handed me the fly. “Good pattern for this stretch,” he said. “Good luck with it.” More than one of the neighbors told us about the Labor Day boat race.

The race sounded like a great tradition. But that day taught us about another unspoken tradition associated with being Up North – the tradition of neighborliness. Sometimes it feels like Mayberry right there on the river. I’m sure it’s not a phenomenon exclusive to Flashlight Bend. I’m sure many folks could tell their own stories of their Up North neighborhoods.

And, sure, some could tell stories of rude, selfish behavior from their Northern neighbors. I’m not fooling myself. Up North is not a utopia. But it’s the closest thing we have to it in Michigan. Take a look at I-75 on any given Friday evening in the summer. All those people must be racing toward something. It’s too bad that they don’t bring some of that neighborliness home with them. After all, north or south, we’re all the same people.

I don’t know what I’m getting at for sure. What I do know is I need to get back to my boat. The race isn’t too far off. In some ways, given my recent thoughts, the upcoming race saddens me. In the wrong frame of mind, I get melancholy on race day. I see that some people who were at last year’s race aren’t at this year’s. They’ve passed away. I see too how my children have grown, even over the short course of the summer. I hope they don’t ever grow to a point where the race seems silly to them.

Searching for it, I can also spot the faint hint of yellow in the leaves. It’s undeniable. Fall is coming.
Maybe that’s what gets to me the most. Pretty soon the snow will drive everyone indoors – or off the river altogether. Not too many people live on Flashlight Bend year-round. The tradition of neighborliness will go dormant.

I can shake off this mood, though. I know that, like so many things, the tradition will come back in full bloom with the spring. Up North is a state of mind; it doesn’t change a great deal – even after a long winter. It’s the very thing that keeps those who live south of US-10 coming back every summer. It’s the Up North traditions we remember.

Come January 2, anyone with some kind of Up North connection is already thinking, “You know, Memorial Day isn’t too far off.”

– Jeff Vande Zande teaches English at Delta College. His poetry books include “Tornado Warning” and “Transient.” His books of short stories include “Emergency Stopping” and “The Bridge,” a collection of short stories that take place around the Mackinac Bridge. To learn more about his writing, including how to order his books, visit the Web at: www.jeffvandezande.com.