Munising, MI. As good of a place as any to escape. A bed & breakfast on Lake Superior. I’m writing in an armchair in front of a wall of windows overlooking the darkening lake. I can hear the sound of the waves being whipped up from the cold wind.
I’m not sure what I’m doing, but I’m here after driving north today under a grey sky and along easy highways lined with autumn colors. My internal compass always seems to point north — it’s what got me to Door County (got me home).
I stop twenty minutes from Munising, needing to kill some time before I can check in at the bed & breakfast, at a random trailhead I spot on the side of the road. I hike in and out, moving my legs after a long drive, keeping my headphones out for once, and listening to the crunch of the leaves beneath my feet. I see no one else.
I make it to the bed & breakfast right next to the Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore and an old woman named Joanne shows me the ropes, giving me a tour of the apartment in the back of the home that was once built for her to stay with daughter and son-in-law after her husband passed. She tells me about her granddaughter, who’s thirty, who had to leave for a few years before realizing Munising was truly home. I tell her I understand. Joanne gets out a blank piece of paper and gives me recommendations on things to do and places to eat, drawing diagrams that will never be as useful as Google Maps but it’s kind and sweet.
Less than a half mile away is a trailhead that leads to Munising Falls and I take the short hike uphill and up stairs to an overlook of a waterfall. There’s another trail that goes further than I have time for but I want to stay outside so I hike thirty minutes in and then back again, climbing the bluff and getting patches of the bay below. I listen to my book this time, a Brian Jacques audiobook Castaways of The Flying Dutchman — I downloaded it last night after realizing I have owned the second book in the series for years and have never read it.
My internal clock is off after crossing into the Eastern timezone today but the walk helped me work up enough of an appetite. I head into town to order a personal wood-fired chicken alfredo pizza from a spot Joanne recommended, Cooking Carberry’s Wood Fired Pizza. I crack open a new journal while I wait, writing on the outdoor patio. When I have my pizza, I take it with me for a drive down to Sand Point Beach a couple of miles past the bed & breakfast. I park and eat and look out at the water. By the time I’m done the few people there are gone and I have the place to myself. I walk out to the water and stretch my legs down the road until I get cold before heading home. Or home for now.
I have loose plans. Hiking. A boat tour of Pictured Rocks. Writing. But I’m taking it day by day. For tonight, I’m going to take a bath and read a book. My room has a bathtub I’m dying to try.
With Love,
Natalie