If you're traveling in the North country

Not even 24 hours into our U.P. trip at Hiawatha National Forest, I’ve decided I don’t want to leave.

I could live here. About 100 yards from the cabin is a trail used for ATVs; it’d be perfect for a sled and some dogs. The dogs follow wherever we go. So do the black flies. They don’t bother me much, but they seem to love Chris. Right now I’m sitting by a fire after eating some Salmon and having a few glasses of Reisling. I feel nothing in my head. No thoughts fill my brain about planning for this or that. I hear birds, the sound of hardwood popping in the open flame, the dogs pitter-patter along the trail or their mouths as they bite at flies, the sound of the south wind blowing through the trees. Otherwise, I hear nothing. I think nothing. I could live here.

This week, I will don my “dress suit” and traverse into town to Munising Memorial Hospital where I will (hopefully) follow-up with someone in HR about the resume I sent in a few weeks ago. Someday, I will live up here. It's a compromise between the far reaches of the west -- too far from my parents -- and the hot summers and lack of snow of Ohio.

....someday, I will have a cabin just like this: simple, open, with nothing to hide, yet tucked away. I will have dogs. I will have snow and hardwood in the winter, and pine and aspens waving in the summer. I will have the smell of burning wood, the taste of good wine, the sound of contentment all around. Every move I make now is a move toward that goal.

I think the unhappiness I have at home stems from having too much. I could sleep on the ground, if needed. What I love about this place is the simplicity. Simple beds made of 4 by 2’s, a firm mattress, water, fresh fish. We went into town today and bought two pounds of fresh trout pulled from Lake Superior. The dogs mill around freely and seem so much more content. They come when I call them, nuzzling my hand loyally. The moment is perfect.