Charles Martin Cosgriff, M.D.

Believe me, you do not want Marty as your kindly old MD. Even I will admit that. For starters, I doubt I'd be all that kindly. Then there's fact that I don't care for blood, which might just make being a doctor a tad difficult. But perhaps I could be mistaken for one.

I did actually play a doctor in the background of the movie Little Murder, which was filmed in my neighborhood back in 2009. I was in two blink and you miss them scenes but I was in there, lab coat and all. So there's that. I could believably be mistaken for a doctor. In fact I was once mistaken for one. Or, more precisely, the doctor was mistaken for me.

Me Uncle Frank, who lived up in Hessel in Michigan's glorious Upper Peninsula, had to have surgery. He told me that as he was coming out of it and still very groggy, a doctor came over to speak to him. He thought that the doctor was me. All the while he was answering the surgeon's questions Uncle Frank said he was thinking things like, "Marty's not a doctor," or "Marty's not here, he's in Detroit," and the like. A funny story, in a cutesy kind of way. I assured him it could not have been have been me, for the reasons he cited plus one other. "What's that?" Uncle Frank demanded to know.

"You survived the surgery," I replied with a laugh. 

You know what? When he told the story the next time he added that reason to his list. 

Right Turns (Not Political)

I do love Michigan's glorious Upper Peninsula. But there are things about it which take adjustment, such as turn signals. You can trust them.

In Detroit, a great big nope goes out to that. A driver may have a signal engaged but it means diddly squat. Maybe they're turning, maybe not, and there's no sense trying to determine which it is. From what I've seen of other major towns, Indianapolis, Columbus, New York City, Dryden (especially Dryden) you simply cannot believe them. The driver is going to do whatever they please. A turn signal if anything means, I haven't decided yet, but you better not cross me.

Yet in the UP, they cast disparaging looks at you when you don't turn right in front of them when their right signal is clearly flashing as you wait to turn yourself. I had one guy noticeably staring me down when I failed to do that. You should have went, his expression said clearly. You must have seen my flasher.

Well, yeah, I did. But from where I live that lacks meaning. It takes me awhile to believe people are actually going to do what their actions indicate. Sorry, UP.

Not Exactly Spring Weather

It's still rather cool in Hessel, cooler than normal even though it's late May in Michigan's glorious Upper Peninsula. There are no buds on the trees, and a few piles of dirty snow are evident from road and driveway clearing due to the unusual snowfall in the area last winter. Today's high is only supposed to be 52, along with clouds, drizzle and windy conditions. I may just order a pizza rather than try to grill outside, and my reading may be inside by a window instead of out in the garage or on the front porch. Oh, I'll layer my clothes and read in the garage for a while, to be sure, because you can't beat the sound of soft rain on a tin roof. But you know what?

It's still Hessel, and a bad day in Hessel is better than a good day at work. Especially if you have a boss like mine. What an ogre.

October Hessel

We all know, that is, we baseball fans know, that October baseball is special. I can tell you that October Hessel is special too.

To be sure, I enjoy it. It has its own charm compared to the summer. But the days are shorter and the change more stunning because you don't notice the days getting shorter quite as profoundly in the day to day world where you live. It's as if sunset were suddenly 7 PM at home in late September. You're here in July, then you're here the first weekend of October. The difference is striking.

I was star gazing from the front porch at 6 AM today. I drove 'into town', Cedarville, all of three miles away for a coffee a few minutes later. There wasn't even a hint of dawn as I ventured east, the brights on as I drove.

The Sun is lower in the southern horizon this time of year, and for lack of a better term it seems unfocused, as through sent through a diffuser of sorts. Yet it's fierce enough to drive me off the porch by Noon whereas I can read there comfortably until around 2:30 in June. Then there's the Halloween decorations, which feel really incongruent to area. Neat, yes. But incongruent where you aren't a native. 

But, it's Hessel. Even though I will spend today working (telecommuting is another weird thing about October Hessel) you can't beat that. When I close the laptop, I'm Up North. I can't say that at home.

It Happens Every Time

One of the nice things about being in Hessel in Michigan's Glorious Upper Peninsula is that on clear nights and early mornings (and no full moon) you can see a lot of stars. As I was up at 3:30 this morning, I stood in the back yard and admired just such a sight. Life is good.

Yet the donuts have to be made. I needed to get packed for my return to the D after a short UP jaunt. As I pottered around I remembered that I have a find the Space Station app on my cell phone. I uploaded it several months before expressly to try to spot the space station one night as I was up north, away from the city's glare, and promptly forgot I had done it. So I took a moment and opened it. Well, whaddaya know? It was to pass over Hessel at 5:07 AM, well before daylight in these parts at this time of year. I was actually putting the app to use. 

Just after five I set my task aside and marched through the back door. The skies had clouded over since I had been outside the 90 or so minutes before. 

Well, I hope to spend one more long weekend up here at the end of September or beginning of October anyway, the good Lord willing and the Creek don't rise. We'll see what happens then.

 

Doctor Marty

Believe me, you do not want Marty as your kindly old MD. Even I will admit that. For starters, I doubt I'd I'd be all that kindly. Then there's fact that I don't care for blood, which might just make being a doctor a tad difficult. But perhaps I could be mistaken for one.

I did actually play a doctor in the background of the movie Little Murder which was filmed in my neighborhood back in 2009. I was in two blink and you miss them scenes but I was in there, lab coat and all. So there's that. I could believably be mistaken for a doctor. In fact I was once mistaken for a doctor. Or more precisely, the doctor was mistaken for me.

Me Uncle Frank who lived up in Hessel in Michigan's glorious Upper Peninsula had to have surgery. He told me that as he was coming out of surgery and still very groggy, a doctor came over to speak to him. He thought that the doctor was me. All the while he was answering the surgeon's questions Uncle Frank said he was thinking things like, "Marty's not a doctor," or "Marty's not here, he's in Detroit," and the like. A funny story, in a cutesy kind of way. I assured him it could not have been have been me, for the reasons he cited plus one other. "What's that?" he demanded to know.

"You survived the surgery," I replied with a laugh. 

You know what? When he told the story the next time he added that reason to his list.

Capturing the Past

I actually did it. As mentioned in this here blog recently, I sought out a book which I read as a preteen and enjoyed then, but hadn't read since. Against the Fall of Night by Arthur C. Clarke, if it's that much trouble to click on the embedded link. I had read it while eating Pringles and drinking Faygo Root Beer. As such, I bought a small supply of each along with a copy of the book off our dear friends at Amazon, taking all three items with me to Hessel in da U.P. a couple of weeks ago.

You what what? You can relive the past just a bit, even only a whiff, a mere hint of enjoyment. Sitting on the sofa up north while noshing Pringles and washing it down with Detroit's finest root beer, I did feel something like a young boy experiencing the book for the first time. 

To be honest, the story isn't exactly the greatest science fiction. I discovered that Clarke, something I did think about all those years ago, tended to drop names and facts into the narrative without explanation, as though I should have known them, and then never offered later background. The tale was also a bit too rushed. That was annoying. Yet it was adventurous and intriguing enough that I understand why a relative youngster just getting a taste for novels would like it.

And I did like it, despite the abruptness. You can go back, I will argue, even if only slightly. That's satisfying on its own level.

Time to Move

I love Hessel. The quiet, the isolation; it offers a chance to charge your batteries outside the pressure of the real world. You're simply away from it all and can catch your breath.

But maybe the world is creeping up upon Hessel. Maybe it's time to move on, deeper into the interior of Michigan's glorious Upper Peninsula. Civilization it seems is catching up to the Les Cheneaux Islands. I had to wait for two cars to pass on Cedar Street before I could pull out of my driveway yesterday. Two cars.

The hustle and bustle were suffocating.

Put on Your Happy Face

Even when I'm on even short vacations, I try to get my morning walkies done. A dad bod doesn't maintain itself, you know.

From the back door of our house on Cedar Street in Hessel to the end of Hessel Point Road and back takes me just about 45 minutes. 45 minutes is typically how long I try to walk of a morning. Serendipity. When in Michigan's glorious Upper Peninsula, that's the path I hike.

I had noticed the day I arrived last week that a crew was making its way slowly down the roads of Hessel, spraying thick, liquid tar to seal the cracks in the highways. They use a wand not unlike one on a pressure washer, only it leaves a coat of rubbery, hot tar to dry onto and seal said cracks. 

This past Monday as I trod along a little before 7 AM I happened to notice that the crew, or at least one member of it, decided to have a bit of fun. He sprayed a happy face on the asphalt of Hessel Point Road. 

Of course, I had to stop and take a picture:

Pretty cool, if you ask me. It helped get my day started right.

Horses in Hessel

As I sat on the porch in Hessel in the wee hours of Monday morning, somewhere around 4 O'clock, I picked up the clip-clop of hooves. It sounded as though a horse were coming up Center Street across from the house.

Then I realized that there was more than one. Clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop, almost in unison but not quite. "People are riding their horses in Hessel ahead of dawn?' I wondered.

I stayed quiet and unmoving. Within a minute there appeared three deer, lazily walking up Center. They stopped at the stop sign as though they knew they should. Then they meandered across to our yard and made tiny leaps over the stone fence, to wander past and up the back driveway of the Presbyterian Church next door without a care in the world.

I half wished I had had my phone to try for a picture. But I didn't want to startle them, and it was a very pleasant experience simply watching those deer saunter on by in the nocturnal atmosphere.

Odd Hessel

I know that it's the very definition of a first world problem. I'm in Hessel in Michigan's glorious Upper Peninsula in late September. It's unseasonably warm; temperatures are in the low 70s with bright sunshine. And especially in light of the recent issues down south in the after effects of Hurricane Helene, I've got it well. So what's the trouble, Marty?

Well, the Sun seems harsh, for lack of a better term. It's lower in the horizon and feels unusually bright. The sky, an expanse of very light blue virtually every day I've been here, is also abnormally striking. It almost looks surreal, as though not blue enough.

So I wonder: is the Sun harder on the eyes this time of year? Does its angle towards the Earth make the sky more uncomfortable? Even in the shadows on the ground I find such a higher definition of brightness and shade that it can be disconcerting, indeed almost other-worldly. Is there an astronomical explanation for this or am I psychologically superimposing ideas upon it?

There's advantages, to be sure. The earlier sunsets and later sunrises make it easier to see the starry night sky, which I love. I saw a couple of shooting stars at around 5 AM yesterday. In summer, it's already dawn by that time. I have to be up at two to see such things in June. 

I still like being here. Yet it never felt this way before, during the day anyway. 

Day and Night

I know that seasons change. Things are different at different times of the year. Yet that seems so stark in Hessel.

Yesterday marks my fourth trip to da UP, Michigan's glorious Upper Peninsula, this calendar year. In May, June, July, and even August when I'm up here, it's still bright at 9:05 P.M. Yet now in late September at a similar hour, it's pitch dark. What gives?

I know the answer of course. It's Autumn, it's after Summer, it's late in the year. Intellectually, I get it. Old Sol is lower on the southern horizon. He sets earlier. Hessel gets dark earlier.

I know that. Yet it's weird. I'm not sure I like that.

Silly Yet Rather Cool

Do you see me son Charlie in this picture:

That's him standing outside his car. The view is from the traffic cam in Cedarville, Michigan. I keep that particular camera open on my desktop all year simply so that I always have a view of the Hessel/Cedarville area at hand. While he was up there, I texted, asking him to drive over and see if we could capture his image. We managed it. Silliness, yes. But neat silliness.

He's waving back at you, you know.

Eerie Hessel

Earlier this month they repaved Cedar Street in front of our house in Hessel, Michigan in the glorious Upper Peninsula. I took a picture a couple hours before dawn the day after the work. This is it:

It's kind of eerie, don't you think? The interesting thing for me is that it reminds me of a recurring dream I had as child. Really. I remember a lone street lamp in the near distance against a black backdrop, with a vehicle parked underneath, not at all unlike the picture. In the dream, there were voices beyond the darkness, and maybe barking dogs, which I could never quite make out. I can almost hear them again looking at this image.

I like the picture, though what inspired me to go outside at around 4 AM to take it I don't know. And I must admit it's weirding me out a little.

A Sign

Yesterday, I was heading home from Hessel, in Michigan's Glorious Upper Peninsula. I was intending to come home Monday but consciously took an extra day because, why not? There was nothing all that pressing and I had no appointments. Indeed Monday itself was a profitable business day even though I was out of town. I took several calls, one of which was for a very significant machine and cable order (enough to pay for my long weekend and then some in fact) which the customer requested a delivery of the next Tuesday, something I could accommodate quite readily. So I didn't need to be home to work. Work found me, for which in this case I was quite grateful.

Still, the daily bread must be baked. I rose this morning, opened the old barn around 6:30 and set to work, in part to take care of a few things I couldn't do yesterday because I had played hooky. Hey, I'm a responsible adult. Sometimes.

The Shop lights flickered once, at about 7:15, yet stayed on. Not so a few minutes later. They went off and stayed off. I took out my cell phone to report the outage (who would have thought thirty years ago that such a thing could be done?) and was soon told that my power would be restored by about 5 this afternoon. 

Dang. I coulda stayed north an extra day. Ah well. Be happy with what you got, right?

Lawnmower Man

It took some doing, but I was able to get the mowers up in Hessel (we have two) running. They hadn't started in a long time, and admittedly I hadn't done much about them. Oh, there were a couple feeble attempts from time to time to coax them to life. Yet the machines seemed recalcitrant, unwilling to start on my whim, and I would surrender to their will.

But yesterday I became resolved: they would start. I won't bore you with details, and one took a lot more cajoling than the other, but eventually I was able to stand alongside both as they had roared to life in the afternoon Sun. I must admit to wearing a smug grin as I stared at them puttering. Who's the boss now?

My smile soon turned upside down. The thought rose in my mind that, with running mowers, I had to cut the Hessel grass. No more hiring the local landscaper. 

Now I'm not sure I'm the winner in this.

Everyone Needs a Getaway

While picking up a few things at a local store in Hessel, a tiny village in Michigan's glorious Upper Peninsula, I engaged the cashier is a little conversation. "I'm up here from Detroit, doing a few things with our cabin," I said at one point.

"Yeah," the cashier, a local, replied, "I have to get down to Harrison and work on our place there."

Harrison is just about smack in the middle of the mitten, or lower peninsula, of Michigan. "It's so quiet and peaceful," the man continued.

Though I didn't pursue it, I couldn't help but think, 'Quiet and peaceful there? You're in the sparsely populated UP. How could it possibly be quieter downstate (downstate is generally frowned upon by us Yoopers, folks from da UP) than Hessel?' 

We all need a getaway, I suppose. I just can't see what he's getting away from in Hessel by going two hours south. No offense, Harrison, because I've been there and you're cool. But escaping Hessel at all...I can't wrap my head around that.

Green February

This has been an abnormally warm Michigan winter so far, something which doesn't bother me at all. It's supposed to be 62 in Detroit today. Still, I understand the affect that might have on things like, oh, nature. How good or bad that is is surely a subject of debate.

I had a long day on the road yesterday, leaving at 1 AM and getting home a touch before 6 PM. In fact, I was in Michigan's glorious Upper Peninsula, stopping by me Hessel haunt for a few minutes as I was too close not to. There's next to no snow; my driveway was as clear as in June. Even the inside of the house wasn't particularly cold. 

There were signs for a 'Snowfest' today through Sunday, but I can't see where there'll be must festing.

I'm certain the snowmobilers haven't had much to do. I could see ice fishermen out on the lake despite there being standing water along the shore. I assume they know what they're doing but it didn't seem safe to me. They were way out there: a half mile or better if I were to hazard a guess.

Driving home during the day, I saw many farmer's fields in the northern and central Lower Peninsula going green already. The sight was odd, especially as there were occasional snowbanks in the shade. I do wonder what effect that has on their planning. But I'm not enough of a farmer to know.

Ah well. It is what it is.

Dear Marty

Dear Marty,

You don't have to explain anything to me. I'm fine.

Your money is your money. Your time is your time. You can spend your time and money with whoever you want to. If you want to spend them on those brazen, shameless hussies 'Up North' then that's what you do. 

You know what? Things are fine. I'm just fine.

West Branch.

Dear West Branch

Dear West Branch,

Look, I know it isn't your fault. You're just a victim of circumstance, a geographical accident. But you are half way to Hessel. And that's exactly the problem. 

Part of that's on me. When I go Up North like last Wednesday I should be happy to see you because the trip is half over. Yet I'm not. I can't be. I'm only 50% to da U. P. A lot of time is still on the clock.

Grayling, Gaylord, Indian River; that's when you start making time. That's when you're really picking up and laying down those miles. Then you make that curve around mile marker 334 and the Mackinac Bridge rises to greet you...

I'm sorry, I'm sorry. That was rude of me, West Branch. You can't help where you are.

We've had great times, right? Coffee stops, lunches, dinners; even breakfasts when I've left Detroit early enough. Let's focus on them. Let's remember the good times. I'll still stop, I'll still check in from time to time. I promise.

Friends?

Marty