Fife Lake memories

My grandparent's old home in Fife Lake

As a child you are transported to and fro by car to visit relatives without really knowing what roads you are traveling over to get to your destination. When I was around 12, my grandparents who had lived all their lives in Berkley, Michigan moved up north to Fife Lake to retire. Moving up north is a pretty typical thing a lot of Michiganders like to do so my grandparents traded a home on a small suburban lot with lots of city conveniences, for a ranch style home bordering state forest land in a quiet town with very few services. My siblings and I loved visiting and spent many hours in the woods behind their home, even building a tree fort toward the back of their tree filled lot. My grandparents only lasted about four years in that home. Even though my grandpa’s brother lived just up the road, it was just too remote for my grandparent’s taste, so they moved back to Berkley where they lived out the rest of their days.

Flash forward to me, leaving my new home near Harbor Springs to travel down to Grand Haven to visit my aunt. I had recently moved back to Michigan from Philly and as I made my way down US 131, I realized I was going to pass right through Fife Lake and essentially go past my grandparent’s old house. Because I had never driven myself to their home, I knew I was going to have to rely on instinct and memory to try and find the place. As I drew closer to Fife Lake, I began to search for their old red house. Before long I came upon it, now painted blue, and all the feelings associated with being there came flooding back to me. Especially the memories I had of the natural spaces around their home.

My siblings and I had used scrap wood to build a triangle shaped tree fort between three trees. It had several levels and we even put shingles on the roof to help keep the rain out. We spent hours and hours going back and forth between my grandpa’s scrap pile and the fort, making it bigger and bigger. The fort itself was fairly close to a dirt road which ran alongside my grandparent’s property and as I sped by on that day, I wondered if the fort was still there. On my return trip from my aunt’s house I slipped down the dirt road and looked for the fort but the forest was too dense to see through. Disappointed, I headed home.

Is there a fort in there?

 On subsequent trips downstate, I always paused to glance at my grandparent’s house, remembering fondly my time there. But the existence of the fort nagged at me. I really wanted to see that fort again. But why? Did I want to be transported back to that place in time or did I want to see the stamp we had put on the place? To know that I had spent time there? I have traveled back to old homes I once inhabited but never felt this same kind of pull to revisit. I have driven past my grandparent’s old home in Berkley and not felt the same kind of emotion. The only thing I can think of is that a deeper connection was made to this place because I got to know not only the house, but also the natural spaces. I was drawn into the woods and got to know it intimately, forming a bond. There was much more to interact with in the woodlot behind my grandparents up north house versus their Berkley home with its small treeless lawn.

How does nature work such magic? Bringing you back to a place and time you experienced long ago, refusing to let you forget its beauty and embrace. Reminding you of the sun glinting through branches, forming shadows. The sound of twigs snapping as you made your way or the feel of hurdling over larger downed trees. The smell of earth and decaying leaves. The freedom to be kid without a care in the world. I can’t go back to that place but each time I drive by I can remember.

Just recently I drove past my grandparents Fife Lake house again. Once again I stopped, hoping there would be enough leaves off the trees to see the fort. But once again as I peered into the woods, there was no tree fort to be found. Driving further along the dirt road, I found a small indent in the forest where I saw a pile of old wood on the ground, making me wonder if it was the remnants of the fort. I mean, it had been 45 years. OK, so yeah, the fort probably wouldn’t still be standing. What was I thinking? It’s not like me and my siblings were expert house builders, building to last. So the fort is probably gone. But the woods I played in are still there and so too are all the memories I have that are tied to that place.