Michigan's Nautical City

When I'm up at Camp Yuc-Yuc, one of the "must-do's" on my list is taking a drive with the kids over to Rogers City. Rogers City is a quaint town, nestled on the northeastern shore of Lake Huron. Besides having everything a small town needs like grocery stores, banks, and hardware stores, Rogers City's prime attractions are the 100 slip Marina and Lakeside Park.

Lakeside Park has beautifully landscaped grounds and a wonderful playground for children. The parking is off-street and free. There are picnic tables and grills to use, and the most enchanting aspect is that it's right next to the beach, so if you want to swim and frolic in Lake Huron's surf this is a great place to do it. There's also volleyball nets and a boardwalk, in case you're in the mood for something more relaxing. While you're enjoying the beach you can also enjoy the view of boats coming and going at the Marina, which is located to the north. And, if you're lucky you might have the chance like I did to see a freighter cruising by on the deep waters of the lake en route to the limestone quarry, which can be viewed to the south of the beach. The quarry, owned by the Michigan Limestone and Chemical Company, is the largest limestone quarry in the world with the world's largest limestone processing plant. Pretty cool! If all this excitement and activity makes you hungry, you can walk over to The Pavilion Grille (at the north side of the park) and have some delicious ice cream. But ice cream's not their only attraction, they also have a full menu of beachside eats, which includes my personal favorite deep fried pickles.

Rogers City offers many other things to do from hiking on scenic trails to camping at state parks, and biking and other outdoor recreation (click here for a link to the Presque Isle County Tourism website). There are lighthouses to tour and lots of other interesting places to see like the Great Lakes Lore Maritime Museum. While I didn't have time to take advantage of all that Rogers City has to offer while I was visiting, I'm going to make plans to next summer. Besides the tranquility and the small town charm, the best thing about Rogers City is the people who live there. No matter where I went everyone I talked to was very friendly and down-to-earth and they made me feel right at home. Rogers City is a great place to visit and return to, year after year.

Tenting Tonight on the Old Campground

It was Friday afternoon and I headed down the road loaded for bare. I was kind to the motor, not pushing it, giving myself plenty of time to accelerate and decelerate, taking the turns slow. My son was busily drawing and playing in his seat, my arm was being sunburned through the open window, and Raaf was whining and panting from under the last open space in the car, under the refuge of the back seat. The day was sunny and clear, the traffic not too bad. I listened to the radio, seeking new stations as I drove out of range. Catching info about the weather and the Fourth of July festivities in the neighboring towns. We had our water bottles, I had my cell phone. I dumped a full package of M-n-M's into the bottom of my purse by accident, but it didn't matter. What mattered was we were headed up to camp.

I made really good time - I didn't stop once because I didn't have to. We arrived in the town of Onaway at twenty minutes to six, pulling into the parking lot of Tom's IGA to grab some groceries. Tom's has anything and everything you might have forgot before you left home. We bought some hamburger buns and bread, some fresh fruit, a can of spaghetti rings, and, the most important, a twelve pack of beer. Then it was on the road again, all the while my son whining, "I want to go to Camp Ocqueoc!" He is too young to remember what it's like to camp there!

When we got out to camp, my mom, daughter, and sister were there and happy to see us. "Did you bring the meat?" were the first words out of my sister's mouth. Not really, but because she lives in Canada, she couldn't bring any meat across the border and everyone was hungry. As she fried up hamburgers in the camper and the kids run amok, I popped open a well-deserved beer and surveyed the scene.

The long field grasses were swaying in the breeze and nestled among them, here and there, were dots of color. A variety of wildflowers grow on the property - wild orchids and Indian paintbrush were the two I could name off-hand. Facing west, where the sun was making its downward descent, was Indian Creek. I could hear the sounds the children made from where they were playing on the old wooden footbridge and the babbling and gurgling of the water as it flowed over and around the rocks. From the trees, I heard all types of birds calling - meadowlarks and cedar waxwings - and saw them flitting from branch to branch to catch their evening supper of bugs. The sights and sounds of nature calmed and soothed me.

We ate hamburgers for supper and nothing more. Simple is best. My sister and niece helped me pitch the tents and unload the van. My other niece arrived with her children just as the early dusk was setting in and we helped her get her tent up too. We ran an extension cord to the outhouse and plugged in a light. We hauled water up from the creek for washing. We had everything ready just in time as darkness had settled on the camp. We were all too tired to have a campfire on the first night, so we retired to our tents and to our dreams, eagerly waiting to wake up the next morning for our first day at Camp Ocqueoc.

Camp Yuc-Yuc: The Backstory

Many years ago, my siblings and I bought a 20-acre piece of property from our Grandpa after our Grandma had died. This parcel had originally been part of the land owned by her parents, then owned by her brother, and, sometime in the seventies after his death, she acquired it. She and Grandpa had parked a house trailer there and had electric run to it, and it had been their summer get-away for many years.

Way back in 1929, my great grandpa Chalk had bought an 80-acre farm, sight-unseen, up in Presque Isle County. He moved great grandma Belle and their four youngest children there from Flint in the fall of the year and he returned to Flint to work in a factory and send them money. Great grandma was stuck by herself out in the sticks and, according to family lore, hated every minute of it. Somehow, she toughed it out (they never got a divorce!) with no electricity and having to carry water to the house from Indian Creek every day. Great grandpa gave the back 20 to his son, Great Uncle Ted, and that's where he farmed and lived in a creek side berm. When my grandparents were first married, they lived there for a time, and it was in this berm where my mother was born. Naturally, one can see the sentimental value and significance this property has had for my mother and me and my brothers and sisters. It's been in the family for almost 80 years!

After Grandma died, Grandpa wanted one of us kids to have the property. He offered it to one of my brothers first, and instead of having it just for himself, my brother had another idea - for us siblings to buy it together. When this proposal came up, I don't recall hesitating. I became a property owner with them.

The first tradition we created was camping on the Fourth of July, and for quite a few years, we all tried to make it up for the holiday. And every time, small improvements were made - a new outhouse was built, the old berm was eventually burned down, and other general maintenance - nothing spectacular, but something was something. My dad, brothers, and brothers-in-law really worked their tails off.

We started out by calling the place "Our Property" or "Our Property Up North." Because the property is located very close to Ocqueoc Falls, some started saying, "Our Property near the Ocqueoc Falls." Pretty soon that morphed into "Camp Ocqueoc."

One Fourth of July, we had a particularly tough camping experience. The mosquitoes and black flies were atrocious! The days were hot and steamy! Everyone was being bitten and burned to death! Despite all the other mishaps, we managed to have a good time anyway, thanks to lots of bug juice and beer and campfire smoke, laughing it off, saying we should have t-shirts made that said, "I Survived Camp Ocqueoc." One of my brothers, always the pessimistic clown, declared that we should write "I Survived Camp Yuck-Yuck" instead because the whole experience had been rotten! His suggestion was a good one and we have lovingly/humorously called the place Camp Yuck-Yuck ever since.

Being the Creative Writer and English Minor, I pondered this name. Because the word "Ocqueoc" is pronounced "ah-kee-ock" I decided that the most accurate spelling of our camp name should be "Yuc-Yuc" instead. Three years ago, after my daughter asked me what "Ocqueoc" meant, I looked it up on the internet and, much to my surprise, found that the word is from the Odawa language and means "sacred." That was a quandary! There is nothing sacred about something that is considered "rotten," but, since the name had already stuck, I wasn't about to change it, so Camp Yuc-Yuc it is!

As the years have passed, almost twenty now, we've gotten together to celebrate the Fourth of July less and less. We have jobs, responsibilities, and families to care for. Every so often though, we do camp there. We all have dreams of what to do with the place, and these dreams usually include building some type of rustic cabin, but nothing has happened yet. For now, all that stands on the property is a falling-down shed, an outhouse, the old trailer, and my mother's camper, but, let me tell you, that's not what's important. What's important is how much fun it is to camp there when we do go and for all the special memories that have been created. Here's to more!

Getting Ready for Camp

All year I have been waiting to go camping on my property up north and, for the past two months, have been thinking about it and talking about it - I just couldn't wait to get there. As the weeks slipped away I made a mental list of everything I would need - tent, sleeping bags, food, drinking water, flashlights - I was making my list and checking it twice.

It just so happened this year my mom, my sister and her girls, and my niece and her children were able to come too and this was great, the more the merrier! Originally I had planned to leave for camp on a Saturday, but because of the turn of events with the arrival of more campers, I decided to leave on a Friday morning. My intentions were fine and dandy. My daughter was away at Vacation Bible School for the week, my hubby was away at a conference, and it was just me and my son. I would have plenty of time to pack and head out bright and early in the morning to begin my nine day camping adventure.

So what happened? I came down with an intestinal bug the day before.

All day Thursday I was weak and dizzy and running to the bathroom every half hour. I was vigilant though. Thankfully, my sister LDS was here to save me. She came over and sat with my son so I could go and buy new tires for the van and go to the store. When I came home, she helped me gather up camping gear and pack it in the car. I don't know what I would have done without her help! The remainder of Thursday night I packed and packed and packed, accumulating everything in the kitchen so I could be ready to go in the morning, and did all the last minute things one does prior to going on any vacation, including laundry, yard work, and re-siding the house (just in case).

Needless to say, Friday morning I was more pooped than perky. I tried to drink my customary cup-o-joe, but couldn't stomach it. I had to switch to a Coke. I shuffled around for a while, feebly hunting and gathering, talked on the phone with everyone and, as the morning hours burned away, finally arranged for my daughter to ride with Grandma. To say, "I was running late" was an understatement. It took me six hours to make breakfast, dress, and pack the car, sliding the last box inside at a quarter to two. Dare I say that the car was loaded to the hilt? I have a seven passenger mini-van and, when I had finished, there was just enough room for my son to sit in one seat and for me to sit at the driver's seat, oh, and a small space on the floor for Raaf the dog. My son had impatiently climbed into the car at twelve thirty (and who can say I could blame him) and was in his seat drawing a picture and hollering out every five minutes, "Mom! Can we go now?"

My reply? "Just a minute, honey, mommy still needs to pack a few more things." As I threw in the last of the gear I remembered one thing, horrified I exclaimed, "I forgot the kitchen sink!" And I would have brought that too, but because I couldn't find the wrench to unbolt it from the wall, I relented, surveyed the house one last time with a jaundiced eye, locked the door, and climbed into the car.

We were finally off to Camp Yuc-Yuc, and not one moment too soon.