Where we are influences who we are.
The importance of place struck me this summer as Alexis and I straddled noodles in our swimming pool. Alexis is my eldest grandchild. It’s a privilege and blessing when our grandkids become young adults, and we’re well enough to spend time with them.
Burton and I began buying farmland in northern Michigan in 1985. The price was $250 an acre. Burton said, “If we don’t go out for dinner tonight, we could afford another acre.” (Fact check: in those days, at that price we could have dined out twice.)
With an in-town home in Charlevoix, MI, Burton longed to horseback ride in the country. He sought 25 acres with a barn. But as a professional real estate guy, he had a thing for corners. HIs goal of 25 acres turned out to be 225 acres, including a corner of two well-traveled roads. As adjacent land became available, the farm expanded. Most of our land is today farmed by neighbors who grow corn and oats.
Like most significant purchases we made in our 5+ decades, Burton was the driving force.
Usually, it went—
Me: “Too expensive. Too much maintenance.”
Burton: “We’ll figure it out.”
As a boy, Burton had a friend whose family owned a farm near Detroit. Some of my husband’s happiest childhood memories involved spending time on that farm.
Walking a wooded hill one afternoon in 1985, we realized our new farm needed a name. We decided on Timber Ridge. One of us came up with Timber; the other, Ridge. I’m not sure who coined what.
As unenthused as I once was about our farm, I’ve become a believer. Burton was right in recognizing how good it would be for our family. The best times we spend together mostly take place at the farm. At Timber Ridge, our sons compete ruthlessly at Shuffleboard. At Timber Ridge, our grandkids soar on in-ground trampolines and sneak candy from my pantry when their parents aren’t looking.
At Timber Ridge, Alexis and I noodled and chatted in the pool.
Our farm was the setting for many lively cookouts at small Carpenter Lake. When Burton died last summer, changing that little lake’s name to Lake Burton was a natural. For many years our family enjoyed barbeques by the lake. Then farm manager, Eric Cherry, played guitar and sang. We all sang along, perched on logs around a campfire.
Eric wrote a terrific song, “North of the 45th Parallel”. Our family joined in on the chorus:
I don’t know what heaven is like
But if I had a choice I’d sell you a ticket
Just north of the 45th Parallel.
The song provided the rollicking end to every campfire.
Lake Burton is a small kettle lake—one of many in Northern Michigan formed as chunks of ice broke off from the last glacier to travel this land some 10,000 years ago.
I stroll to the lake every day in summer and sit in the sunnier of two wooden swings. Lake Burton is currently home to about three dozen geese. It’s permanently home to thousands of fish. Burton loved paddling the lake in a green canoe handmade by local artist and boat builder Glen McCune.
In that canoe, Burton relished casting a fly rod, catching and releasing fish. (I consider fishing about as entertaining as watching weeds grow. But I’d accompany him with a book in my hands and a camera, later cellphone, to photograph his newest conquest.)
Lake Burton contains bass, pike, perch and bluegill. (David’s my source for this info. I can distinguish a bluegill from a seagull, but that’s as discerning as I can be.)
Burton’s mother, Edith, taught math at Detroit’s Mumford High School. After her husband, Dr. Sy Farbman, died, Edith could afford to send her only son to camp for only one season. At 11, Burton attended Camp Thunderbird in Bemidji, MN. He earned every badge there was to earn. He learned to canoe with a smooth J-stroke, to shoot a bow and arrow and rifle. He became an expert fisherman. It broke my heart when brain surgery and a stroke robbed Burton of his ability to canoe and fish.
Shortly before Burton died, his best friend since childhood, Michael Kramer, drove north to visit. We transported Burton to the lake in a van. He and Michael sat on chairs, relishing the conversation, the companionship and the view.
These days I accompany my sons on a pontoon boat fishing or towing grandkids on tubes. I‘ve come to realize Burton was right about creating the farm. And the pool that provided me two splendid afternoons with Alexis. And about other matters I disputed at the time.
I only wish I could tell him so.
Suzy
Thanks for the wonderful memories and for your gracious hospitality. I will always remember those special times of riding with Burt as well as the cookouts.
The first time I ever saw northern lights (aurora borealis) was at your first farm house years ago. They brilliantly danced and pulsated across the sky and I knew then I had found my spiritual home!!
I never pictured you as the outdoors type yet you have embraced the beauty and magic of Northern Michigan. It is truly like no other place on earth
Thanks to you and Burton for all the wonderful memories of being with such special and caring people!
It’s such a magical place and we were honored to visit last week. You have been and will continue to make beautiful family memories there with will keep Burton’s legacy forever! 🤗💕
Great story mom and TRR is indeed a magical place beyond what most will ever understand. BDF is everywhere in a positive wonderful way here @ TRR…
Once again you wrote a mesmerizing story of love, gratitude and strength found in your special place.